Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

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Don, Dita and the Detention Dawgs spent a little over thirty minutes discussing the fun-fair and the requirements to participate. All five boys were excited about the fair, stating adamantly that the money needed to participate could not come from Don or Dita's own pockets; however, they were unsure how they would come up with the money to purchase the required 1,000 fliers advertising the fair with their name on the corner.

Dita spoke up. "Why don't we do a small fundraiser? If we have our posters up by next Saturday, even Rooney couldn't complain that we posted them too late."

Don and the Dawgs said in unison, "You don't know Rooney."

"Well, leave him to me," Dita said confidently, "there's much more to me than meets the eye." She looked at Don, tilting her head forward and batting her eyelashes.

Don nervously adjusted his tie, checking Dita over despite himself, wondering exactly how much the small secretary could be hiding under her thick sweaters. Just a couple handfuls would be enough, he decided. He suddenly noticed the Dawgs were grinning at him and he blushed in embarrassment, desperate to change the subject. "Okay, uh, what kind of fundraiser can we do in one week?"

"Oh, that's easy," Jeff said, "How about we sell candy- if you go by one of those warehouse clubs and pick it up really cheap, we can double the price of each bar- we'd only need to sell about two hundred of them in order to have enough to pay for the fliers."

"Hmm. Sounds good," Don nodded. He asked Dita, "Do we have to fill out any forms or get permission from Rooney?"

"Yes, but don't worry- Ms. Sloan left me a whole stack of signed forms; all we have to do is fill it out."

"Well, then I guess the only thing left to do is see what booth we've been assigned in the gym and decide how we're going to set it up." Don stood and went to the door, holding it open for the Dawgs, who talked animatedly as they filtered from the room. Before Dita flittered through the door, she stopped to lean into Don, whispering in his ear, "A whole lot more than you think."

Two slaps on his behind and she was gone, leaving Don stunned but helplessly intrigued.

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Don led his troops into the gym. It was a chaotic bustle of activity. The bleachers were folded up against the side walls and the basketball hoops strung up, bright fluorescent lights making every person and item in the place brilliantly backlit. Along both sides of the gym and down two separate rows in the middle, groups of teenagers were busy putting together wooden booths, painting, writing banners, and talking.

Talking, talking, and talking- the whole gym was a loud hum of voices continually streaming from teenage mouths at a dizzying and immeasurable speed.

Don worked his way through the tightly pressed number of bodies, looking for the person in charge of the fair, the Dawgs and Dita in tow. As they squeezed through what seemed like innumerable young people, Don noted that none of the other students talked to his men-tees nor did they in turn talk to anyone else; when he glanced back at the Dawgs, he noticed their eyes were on the floor and their hands were in pockets, their usual swaggers missing as they shuffled along behind him. Don felt sorry that the young men obviously felt so out of place within their own student body. It was a feeling Don had rarely had the misfortune of having while in high school, where he had been a big man on campus for most of his time there.

He was so concerned about the young men that Don did not see the skinny, tall body that suddenly blocked his path. Rooney glared at Don- "Watch where you're going!"

Don bit his tongue, opting to apologize instead of remarking, so that the principal had no reason to kick him-and the Dawgs-out of the fair. He was not going to let Rooney ruin this for the boys, no matter how much he tried. "Sorry, Mr. Rooney, I didn't see you there."

Rooney stared distrustfully at Don. "Yeah, well...forget it. I just wanted to personally show you which booth is yours." With a cocky smile, he indicated that Don and his entourage were to follow him.

They maneuvered through the milling throng, stepping over cables and laid out planks of wood, bobbing about as teens tossed items across to each other and continued to chatter amiably. Don frowned as the din subsided and they exited the main part of the gym, wondering where Rooney was leading them. His frown deepened to a scowl when Rooney finally stopped in the furthest corner of the gym, several hundred feet from the nearest booth; their spot was located directly next to the boys' locker room and partially hidden behind a thick curtain that was normally used to separate the gym in half.

Don doubted anyone but themselves and Rooney would even know they were there.

Rooney pointed to the wall. "I trust you're handy with tools?"

That was when Don noticed a set of flat pieces of aluminum and clear acrylic stacked neatly against the wall. Of course, he thought, we have the dunking booth.

Before he turned and left, Rooney laughed at the dismal look on Don's face.

"What's that thing?" Miguel asked.

Don sighed. "It's a dunking booth."

"Nah, really? Din think they made those no more," Joey said. He walked over to the wall and checked over the loose pieces of the booth. "Think we might need somethin' to put it togetha?"

Jeff joined his friend. "I don't think we'll need a full set of tools. I can see where we'll need a ratchet, an electric drill and different size Philips screwdriver tips- don't know, maybe a wrench, pliers. Nothing more than that- oh, yeah, a hammer. I guess we'll have to hang the banner from a couple well-placed nails."

Miguel, Ben and Adam joined them; they began stealing into the boys' locker room to grab some wet paper towels and returning to clean layers of dust and grime from the booth. Don was amazed that they were so positive about getting such a lousy spot and the one booth that nobody wanted. He guessed if you've always had nothing, something always looked good.

Don took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Dita was immediately by his side and put a hand on his lower arm. "There were some tools in our club room," she smiled, "I'll go get them."

Don watched her leave, wondering briefly what she had hidden under the back of her skirt. A couple handfuls would be enough there, too, he decided again, turning back towards the Dawgs, who had been paying attention to Don and Dita's little interaction. Don put his hands on his hips and shook his head when the boys all bobbed their heads forward and back, all the while saying-

"Ooooooh, playa."

After Dita returned, the next few hours were spent putting the booth together. By the time they were done, the gym had almost completely emptied. Don and his team stood back to view their finished product, all of them smiling with satisfaction.

"Not too bad if I do say so myself," Don stated.

"Ain't bad at all," Ben argued. "It's perfect."

The rest of his friends murmured agreement.

"So," Miguel asked, "whatta we do- fill it now or next week?"

"I vote for now," Joey chimed in, "so the water has time to get nice and warm."

"I may be wrong," Jeff informed them, "but I don't remember putting any type of heating element on this thing."

"That's because you didn't," Dita said, "I'm afraid you boys are going to be dipping into some real cold water."

Don and the Dawgs instinctively placed their hands in front of their groins, grimacing at the thought of what that icy water was going to do to their nether regions. For the first time since they found out about the booth, the Dawgs all looked forlornly at it in disappointment.

Don sighed in resignation. "Look, if you guys agree to get out in the crowd and bring in some business, I'll man the booth. If I can handle gunfire, I can handle a little cold water. Besides, it'll give you guys a chance to go to the dance."

The smiles returned to the faces of the boys. "Deal," they said.

"Well, I guess that's about all we can do for tonight." Don picked up his jacket and offered to give everyone a ride home.

"Ya haven't forgotten our pizza?" Miguel said sadly.

"No," Don said wearily, "I haven't forgotten."

The boys eagerly headed towards the exit, Don and Dita trying to keep up with them. "I think I was conned earlier," he told the young secretary. "When it comes to certain people, I don't know why, but I have a hard time not caving in when they want something from me."

As she thought about what she wanted from the man walking next to her, Dita wistfully wondered if she could legally change her name to Certain People.

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Colby looked around the office, keeping his eyes open for Don. Not seeing his boss, he hurriedly grabbed his coat and made a run for the elevator.

Two feet- that's all he needed to get to the door.

But as he was leaning forward to press the elevator button, Don appeared from out of nowhere- three candy bars held in his hand.

"I think these have your name on them, Colby." Don waved the bars in front of the other agent's face.

Groaning inwardly, Colby took out his wallet and pulled six dollars from within. He handed the money over and accepted the three candy bars, a look of disgust upon his face.

"We appreciate your charitable contribution- don't forget, you can use it as a tax write-off," Don said merrily as he placed the money in his own wallet.

"Yeah, right- six dollars."

"I thought you bought more than three bars?" Don said with a thoughtful look on his face.

Colby realized too late the blunder he had made. Before the elevator arrived, Don somehow managed to have ten more bars in his hand. "I knew I was missing someone," Don said, rocking back and forth on his heels with his other hand held out expectantly.

Colby knew there was no avoiding it- he had to cough up more dough. Sans another twenty dollars from his wallet, Colby finally managed to get on the elevator and escape from Don, mumbling all the way down to the parking garage, where he threw the candy in the nearest trash receptacle.

Don had been cornering all of his coworkers for three days. At first, they had eagerly bought the candy bars- two dollars a shot was not bad when one was hungry and desperate for something, anything to eat. But word quickly spread that the candy was worse than inedible- as a matter of fact, questions began to arise as to whether Don had flipped out and was quietly but efficiently trying to do in his coworkers by collective food-poisoning.

To the regret of said coworkers, no one actually died from eating the candy and so they had no choice but to allow him to continue selling the foul-tasting bars of stomach death- a name that said it all about Don's candy.

Don ignored the rumblings of complaint coming from the office staff- both from their mouths and their intestinal tracts. Despite their best efforts, the Dawgs had been unable to sell even a single bar; Rooney's sudden ban on candy anywhere within the school the obvious reason why. So, stuck with two hundred candy bars and nowhere but his workplace to sell them, Don had spent the last three days hounding his coworkers to buy them- asking them politely when no one knew about their wretched taste, indirectly hinting at (really, threatening) weekend assignments and mounds of paperwork once the candy's reputation took a nosedive.

Don's sell tactics worked.

Colby had been a final holdout. While Don counted the money Colby had given him and noted he had only ten more bars left to get rid of, he wondered how he had missed his own team member. This led him to think about Megan and David. She had bought five bars on Wednesday- he easily remembered because Megan had taken only one bite before informing him that she was going to completely redo a previous profile she had done on him, this time making sure to see if, other than peddling the chocolate, he had any of the other distinct characteristics that would mark him as a sadist.

Don had just shrugged his shoulders.

Now David- did he buy any from him?

Don was positive he hadn't. Grabbing the final bars, he looked up just in time to see the blur of a body speeding past his cubicle. Don raced towards the elevator, seeing David desperately pushing the button.

Grinning wide, Don stopped running and took a slow approach. David slumped against the wall in defeat when he saw his boss.

"I think these have your name on them, David," Don waved the bars in front of the other agent's face.