Disclaimer: You will not see my name amongst the credits for the show – therefore, Numb3rs cannot possibly belong to me.

A/N: A short, kinda pointless piece but this is me trying desperately to deflect the whumping urge that exam fever is causing (Magister Equitum concurs).

Warning: Spoilers for all of Season 4

Persuasion

"Hey Don," greeted Charlie as he entered the war-room where his brother was the sole occupant, organizing the daunting piles of folders and placing in each in their correct box.

"Hey." Don looked up and say the shoulder-bag his brother was lugging around. "Heading home?"

"Yeah, thought I would…unless you need me for something else?" Charlie offered.

"No bro, case is over – now it's time for the gun-toting population to get buried under a mountain of paper. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy," said Don, holding up a manila folder for his brother to see before tossing it into the box on the far right of the table.

"Right. Listen, you want to join me? It's not too late – Dad should have dinner ready by the time we get home."

Don shook his head. "As tempting as that sounds, we gotta finish up our reports – David, Megan and Colby are still at it." He nodded his head in the direction of the bull-pen where three distinct heads were deeply focused on their computer screens. "When they get done, I'll get done. But you head home, I'll see you later yeah?"

"Alright," acquiesced Charlie.

Don picked up another folder, one much thicker than the others, and quickly flipped through it to determine its destination, thinking his brother was on the way out.

"Hey Don?"

For all that the words sounded innocent, just from his brother's tone Don knew something was up. Lifting his head, he find his sibling sporting a hesitant expression.

"What?" asked Don extremely warily. He'd had a lot of experience with situations starting with a casual "Hey Don?" and they hardly, if ever, ended well. At least for him.

"I've been thinking…," Charlie began, eyes darting left and right in hesitation.

"Uh oh," murmured Don earning a roll of the eyes from his brother.

"Very funny Don," deadpanned Charlie. "Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted was that I'd been thinking and I thought…" Charlie paused again, the sentence was getting too confusing for him in his current nervous state.

"Spit it out Chuck, or are you waiting for my hair to turn all white before you do?" prodded Don.

"Right." Charlie took a deep breath before speaking altogether in a rush:

"IwasthinkingmaybeIshouldgetsomeFBItraining."

Don's eyebrows rose at the super-speed reply. "What? Enunciate Charlie - you know what that means, don't you?"

"You're a regular Joker today, aren't ya?" Charlie observed. "I was saying that maybe… if you can square it with the FBI… that maybe I should get some training?"

Yup, Don knew he'd been headed for trouble when Charlie said "Hey Don?" – he'd just known it. Damn.

"You?"

"Yes."

"Get training – real FBI training?"

"Yeah," Charlie nodded emphatically, his curls bouncing with the motion. "I'm not saying send me off to Quantico for 5 months, just a little taster course."

"A taster course?" Don repeated. He was still trying to picture Charles Eppes, FBI trained mathematician – the picture wasn't appearing.

"Yes," said Charlie for the umpteenth time.

"You want to learn how to pursue fleeing criminals, shoot a gun, escort prisoners, hostage recovery and all that?" Don asked in clarification.

Charlie sighed. "Yes, all that and some self-defense training as well. You've already taught me how to shoot a rifle; maybe I can try a handgun this time?"

Don tried to prevent the persuasive effects of the earnest, hopeful look on his younger brother's face by asking yet another question – he needed to distract, maybe convince Charlie to forget his current idea. If only he knew a titbit that would have Charlie going on a mathematical tangent for the rest of the night…

"I still don't know why you would want to get training, Charlie," Don said. "What, the chalkboard isn't giving you the same kick it used to?"

Charlie smiled a self-conscious grin as he pulled out a chair and sat down in front of the table where Don had been organizing the files – his very act of sitting telling Don that his persistent little twerp of a brother wasn't leaving the room without a definite answer, which had Don almost wishing for an emergency to call him out of the room and office.

"Think about it: with all my work for the FBI and other agencies , I've been shot at twice, been chased by a monster truck – wouldn't you sleep a bit better at night knowing I was a little more capable of handling any dangerous situation I might find myself in, due to my consulting work or otherwise?"

Alright, so his brother had a valid point there.

"I don't know Charlie, I still don't see what you think you're going to gain from a few days worth of training – self-defense isn't exactly something you can take a crash course in and walk out a master."

"Very true," admitted Charlie. "But what have I got to lose?"

Charlie, 2. Don, 0.

"Let me get this straight." Don tossed the file he'd been holding into a random box before pulling out another chair and sitting across the table from his brother. "You want training? Real, genuine FBI training?"

"For the millionth time, yes," sighed Charlie.

Don stared at his brother, thinking maybe if he maintained eye contact long enough and said nothing, Charlie would recant on his own and forget that he'd ever had such a crazy idea in the first place.

However, Don should have remembered he and his brother shared the same stubborn Eppes gene and Charlie had the advantage of knowing he was right, somewhat.

Don relented: "Fine. I'll look around; see if I can get you in for weekend training at the FBI facility here in LA." Before Charlie could look too triumphant, he added firmly: "But on some conditions."

Charlie immediately looked deflated but Don knew it was just an act.

"One, if Dad asks, you will tell him it was all your idea, got it?"

Charlie nodded. "Got it."

"Two, you shoot yourself in the foot and/or damage yourself in anyway; it is not my fault, alright? And you will make sure Dad knows that too."

"Fair enough." Charlie tried to hide a smile at how all the conditions, up till now at least, were basically Don protecting himself against the wrath of Alan Eppes.

"Alright," Don said slowly. "And if I come up with any other conditions at a later time, you will abide by them, agreed?"

"Hey, that's not fair, you could say one condition is that I don't do anything at all!" Charlie protested.

"Don't be ridiculous. But that's still the deal – take it or leave it," said Don firmly.

Charlie sighed. Something was better than nothing. "Okay, agreed."

"Alright. Good. Now go home will you? Take advantage of the opportunity," advised Don as he stood up and pulled a daunting stack of files towards himself.

"Okie dokie," said Charlie and hoisting his bag on his shoulder he began walking towards the door. He'd just left when he stuck his head back into the room. "Hey Don?"

Don sighed. Was Charlie going to ask him if he could carry a gun all the time after the training? Accompany him and the team to real live-action situations? His Dad was going to kill him, Don was sure of it.

"What?" he asked grumpily.

"Thanks," said Charlie, a big grin lighting up his face.

Don snorted. "Right. See if you can say that to me on the flip side. Now go home already, will you?"

Charlie snapped off a mock, sloppy salute and dashed off.

Three days later, Charlie opened his inbox to find an email from his brother, titled "Your Death-Wish". Smiling, he eagerly clicked on it and saw that the message contained details of where and when he had to show up to learn some of the activities Don had enrolled him for. What interested him most was the short note from his brother typed below the details:

"Three more conditions:

1) Don't be late.

2) Don't be afraid to fight dirty – which means kick below the belt if you have to.

3) Make sure your health insurance is up to date, yeah?"

Kick butt, Chuck.

– Don"

Khatum (The End)