Disclaimer: Numb3rs isn't mine.

A/N: Minor personal news – you will no longer be hearing me moan and groan about my A Levels (especially History). The result was a few weeks ago – I got all A's! I'm now headed off to university on the 23rd and my writing time will probably be affected (it already has… argh). Until then, here's a shortie fic while I work out a plot-hole in an upcoming one-shot.

Warning: Arguing with the 3 am muse may be hazardous to your health, and to the health of your fandom's characters.

D is for Dyeing

The scream was startling both in its' intensity and pitch. Had Alan and Don not seen Amita leave the house just twenty minutes earlier, they never would have believed it of Charlie, the only other occupant of the house other than the two of them. They both looked up at the ceiling as one, as though by staring hard enough they could have seen through the layers of wood and carpeting into the room Charlie was.

As it was, it enough to rally the eldest two Eppes men into action. Alan put down the newspaper he'd been reading, and Don the cold case files he'd been perusing and together, they both rushed to the staircase to go to the upstairs bedroom where Charlie had supposedly been taking a shower, not being violently attacked as the scream suggested.

As soon as they reached the first floor landing, a continuous litany of "ohmygodohmygodohmygod" reached their ears. Don was a hair's breadth behind Alan as the patriarch laid his hand on the doorknob and pushed against the wooden obstruction, more concerned about his son's security than his privacy. Besides, it wasn't as though he hadn't seen all of Charlie before. Same went for Don who'd once had to suffer through a diaper change on an infant Charlie in punishment of a crime he'd never dared commit again after.

Time stood still as the door swung away to reveal the interior.

Charlie, standing in front of the sink and cabinet, turned to stare at them with wide, horrified eyes which hid nothing of the terror he was feeling.

Alan and Don also stared back as their minds sought to come to terms with what their eyes were seeing…

… and then promptly burst into laughter, Alan holding onto the doorknob for dear life as he finally understood what people meant when they said they "almost died laughing". Don was hardly in a better condition, giving everyone a full view of his pearly-whites, not even attempting to restrain his grin as his body shook with silent laughter.

Charlie, his head of curls now a brilliant, bright pink, was not amused. His shock morphed into a glare directed at his father and brother who just laughed more as Charlie's cheeks sought to become the same colour as his dyed hair in his embarrassment.

"This is not funny," he snapped.

Don was the first to recover. "No, no, you're right." He coughed to hide another snort of laughter before adding solemnly: "This is a very serious thing."

Alan, wiping away tears of laughter from his eyes, jumped in with a question of his own in a breathless voice: "How did this happen?"

Satisfied that his family members were paying attention, Charlie's expression turned pitiful once again and he picked at his bright pink curls as he turned back to the bathroom mirror. "I don't know – I showered, I shampooed, I conditioned." Something clicked in his brain and turned back to his family with horrified eyes. "Oh god. I have a group of students coming over in ten minutes for an extra seminar." His voice pitched. "I can't let them see me like this!"

"We'll worry about that later – first off, how did this happen? Did Amita buy some hair dye and not tell you?" Alan queried.

"She's not going to buy pink hair dye, Dad!"

"Maybe she got red and it… went off?" Don suggested helpfully as his teeth kept on troubling his lower lip in a vain attempt to stop smiling. "You could call and ask."

Charlie mulled over the suggestion even as one hand continued to play with his shocking pink curls absentmindedly. "Hmmm…no, she must be in the middle of a lecture by now, I can't interrupt her. Or can I...?" The young mathematician glanced back towards the shower, and where the shampoo bottles were. "I'm pretty sure I used my usual one…," Charlie added as he held up the one in question, with its cap slightly discoloured by a reddish-pink substance, something Charlie hadn't noticed before.

"You mean your anti-frizz, anti-static, anti-dandr-," Don began but was cut off by an irate brother.

"Shut up!" Charlie growled in his misery.

"Let's hope it's anti-humiliation," Don murmured under his breath causing his father to snort. Alan quickly held up a hand in pacification when Charlie sharply looked at him. He was about to say something when he was cut off by the sound of the doorbell.

Charlie, if possible, began to look even more terrified as his voice reached a girlish peak: "That must be Isabella – she's always early to class and lectures!"

"Well you can't keep the poor girl waiting forever while you shave off all your hair, now would you?" Alan replied, putting to good use his parental authority.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Don muttered to his father, recalling the battles that had been waged between the youngest son and the father over the state of Charlie's hair, especially when they were kids.

Charlie, however, was already working on another solution to his current predication, his extremely high IQ being put to good use as he paced back and forth in the tiny bathroom: "No no no, I can't shave off my hair… A hat! I need a hat." He looked up. "Don! Can I borrow your FBI baseball cap? I don't have any of my own."

"Now wait a minute-" Don held up his hand but stopped speaking when he noticed that his brother's eyes were strangely fixed on it. Glancing towards his hand himself, he noticed the streaks of pinkish between his knuckles and fingers – completely giving the game away.

Alan was the first to recover as he snorted and clasped a hand on Don's shoulder: "It was nice knowing you, son." He then moved towards the stairs to let the waiting student in, leaving the brothers completely unsupervised.

Don, as Charlie continued to stare at his hand, curled his fingers inwards and shoved his hands into his pockets as a guilty smile graced his features. "Heh. What do you know? They really meant it when they said the dye was perman-."

He didn't have the chance to complete his sentence.

Khatum (The End)