"Actually I have a way with children.

…I've been told I do."

A (hopefully!) amusing family-centered one-shot inspired by Charlie's line in Calculated Risk (season 2). I wrote this for my own enjoyment as a decompression after my finals last year and completely forgot about until I cleaned up my laptop the other day. I debated for a few days with myself about putting it up and eventually decided it might be worth sharing (hopefully I've not just completely embarrassed myself!). It's a simple story, not well written, proofed or beta-ed, and draws mainly on my own childhood experience with several younger siblings, but I really hope it's enjoyable all the same. I'm not used to writing humor, so please let me know what you think! Forgive me my trivial ramblings and I hope you enjoy!

"I'm so sorry to ask this of you, Alan. It's just that with Mike at that Travel Agent's conference in Miami and then the nanny called saying she has flu and I called his regular babysitters and they're both at summer camp - I'm at my wits end what to do with Oscar –"

"Please, Mandy, it's no trouble at all," Alan lied, smiling comfortingly at his sister-in-law. "These things happen. That's what family is for. Won't you come in - have some coffee?"

"Oh, I'd really love to Alan but I just can't - I'm going to be late for the court session as it is," Amanda checked her watch - a frazzled gesture that reminded Alan briefly of his eldest son. "Oscar, honey, you'll be good for Uncle Alan won't you?"

A pair of round dark eyes regarded Alan solemnly. Lord, but the curly-headed boy on Amanda's left hip reminded Alan of Charlie at eighteen months. Charlie got his curls from Margaret and while her little sister Amanda's hair was currently iron-straight and bottle-blonde, when Alan first met the girl – she must have been about twelve at the time – she had had the same brown corkscrew locks that he now saw on her young son.

"He'll be fine. Goodness knows I've had plenty of experience handling little boys," Alan accepted his nephew as the boy was passed from Amanda's arms to his. "Plus, it's summer break. Charlie's actually at home for once. It'll do him good to get away from his chalkboards –"

"Thank you so much. Look, I really have to dash, I'll be back to collect him around five, or I'll call you if it's going to be later," Amanda gabbled. "Here's his lunch –" she handed Alan an undyed fabric eco-bag that weighed an awful lot more than Alan would have expected if it contained only a toddler-sized lunch – "call me anytime. I'll have to turn it off in session but I'll check voicemail as often as I can. You have my number? Bye sweetie, see you tonight –" she planted a hurried kiss on her son's forehead and turned, teetering briskly down the driveway on thin stiletto heels. As his sister-in-law inserted herself into the silver Acura, Alan found himself wondering why so many women wore shoes that seemed designed more for torture than practicality.

The car roared away and Alan found himself standing in his doorway watching the car reverse at top speed into the street and speed away, with an overstuffed bag weighing down his left arm and a curly-headed toddler occupying his right. This is like 1982 all over again. At least he's not crying.

The mute bundle in his arms chose that moment to raise a siren-like howl that quickly threatened to deafen him. Talk about famous last words. Alan balanced toddler and bag and managed to close the front door with a less-than-agile kick, then staggered into the lounge. Small fists beat at his chest as Oscar violently protested, in the only way he knew how, being left alone with a man he had met only twice before.

"It's alright Oscar. Mommy will be back later," he placed the child down, trying to soothe him. Oscar collapsed face down on the rug. The screams began to increase in decibels, threatening to split Alan's eardrums. Fate has its way. I thought I'd left temper tantrums behind twenty-odd years ago. Hopefully he dug inside the eco-bag. As he had suspected it contained more than just Oscar's lunch. Alan rifled through an entire change of clothing, a packet of wet wipes, several pull-up style diapers – oh, fun – and triumphantly held up a soft, floppy brown monkey with long, dangling limbs.

"Look Oscar, here's monkey," he waved the stuffed toy over Oscar's head, allowing the legs to tickle his hair. For a moment Oscar's screams died down. The little boy rolled over, grabbed the toy - and threw it at Alan. The howls were back – and if Alan had thought they were loud before –

"You have excellent lung capacity," he placed his hands over his ears. "You'll make a good swimmer, or perhaps a trumpet player. On second thought - I shall advise your mother to steer clear of the trumpet – far too much noise – "

The door that led to the garage swung open violently and would have slammed into the wall if it weren't for the stopper Alan had put in after his sons had managed to swing it so hard it had cracked the plaster. Another curly-headed relative came flying through at top speed, chalk clutched in hand, eyes wide in alarm.

"Where's the fire?" Charlie stared around the room confusedly, obviously still half-immersed in Numberland. His eyes came to rest on the source of the noise and his eyes opened even wider. "Dad?" he raised his voice to be heard. "Why is there a child screaming on the Turkish rug?"

"Congratulations, Oscar," Alan told the toddler. "You've managed to get Charlie out of the garage without the use of a crowbar."

"Oscar? As in Oscar Borden, Auntie Mandy's kid?" Charlie came over and stared down at the little red face and beating fists. "What's he doing here? What's wrong with him?" At a particularly loud yell he tried to put his own hands over his ears but the stick of chalk made that difficult. He stuck the chalk in his mouth to leave his hands free – only to spit it out a second later. The chalk fell and landed beside Oscar.

"Oh man," Charlie's face screwed right up with disgust. "I forgot how revolting chalk tastes –"

He was interrupted – by silence. Then - a giggle.

Both men stared down in surprise. Oscar had stopped screaming as suddenly as he had begun.

"Oh, you think that's funny, huh?" Charlie raised his eyebrows. "You think me nearly eating chalk for breakfast is real funny, is that it?" He knelt down beside his father and eyed Oscar warily. The toddler gave him back stare for stare, tear-tracks marking his round cheeks. Charlie wrinkled his nose and pulled another revolted face, and Oscar giggled again.

"Nice work Charlie!" Alan was seriously impressed. "You've got the job."

"What do you mean-" Charlie was so alarmed by this statement that his words came out in a monotone. Alan had to hold back a chuckle. Charlie always did that when he was freaked out. He pushed his hands on his knees and clambered to his feet.

"Your Aunt Amanda has jury duty. Mike's away and the nanny is sick, so she's left Oscar with us for the day. Now, I have to be in Stan's office in half an hour. I'll be back at about four thirty. His lunch is in the eco-bag, along with his diapers and some other equipment –"

"DIAPERS?" Charlie almost shrieked, throwing his hands into the air and eliciting another giggle from Oscar.

"Yes. Don't worry, it's not hard - I'm sure a genius like you can figure it out." Oh, Alan was enjoying this far too much. He'd rarely seen Charlie so dumbfounded.

"Wh-what if I have plans?" Charlie stammered.

"You don't, remember? You were just telling me last night how you'd finished up Donnie's latest case, and how great it was to finally have one day when you didn't have to go anywhere or do anything." From the look on his youngest son's face, Charlie was now wishing fervently he'd kept his big mouth shut.

"B-b-b-but – Dad, I can't look after a kid! I – I'm not qualified! I have no idea what to do with them!"

"It's intuitive. You just have to watch him. Don't leave him alone," Alan warned. "Toddlers can get into all kinds of mischief in the smallest space of time. Listen, I have to go. If you have any problems, call my cell." He gave an altogether wicked grin and took his jacket from the hook.

"Wait! Dad – you can't seriously be leaving me with –" he was cut off as the door slammed. In disbelief Charlie staggered to his feet and ran to the window in time to see his father's car take off down the road.

Well…square my hypotenuse. He turned and found a small boy regarding him though large, dark, red-rimmed eyes.

"So Oscar, looks like it's just you and me," he told the child in slightly strangled tones. "Whoa – don't eat that –" he lunged forward to rescue the chalk that Oscar had just snatched up from the carpet. "It's not as good as it looks." He pried the chalk out of a surprisingly strong, damp grip and, seeing the lower lip quiver dangerously, shoved the toy monkey into Oscar's hand instead. Oscar hugged the monkey with one arm and placed his thumb into his mouth.

"You remember who I am right? I'm your cousin Charlie. Can you say my name? Char-lie."

A long stare. Charlie tried to remember if he knew what age kids learned to talk. He had only met his cousin twice, the last time being nearly a year ago when Oscar had still been a baby, and had no idea whether Oscar could talk at all – in which case trying to get the kid to say his name would be a futile exercise. He recalled Oscar's date of birth – that kind of thing he could remember without trying – and swiftly calculated his cousin's age to be eighteen months, one week and five days. Maybe he could look the talking thing up on his smartphone – if only he knew where his smartphone actually was.

He thought longingly of his chalkboards in the garage and wondered briefly if he could take Oscar in there and keep an eye on him while he worked, but that idea was quickly laid to rest. Even Charlie could tell that the garage, with its many garden tools, precarious stacks of boxes and poisonous household chemicals was not a safe environment for a toddler, and if Charlie started working he knew it would take something near an earthquake to distract him. Charlie was the first to admit he would not be considered a responsible adult when caught up in a line of thought.

"What am I going to do with you?" He asked Oscar rhetorically. "What do kids do with themselves?" He watched as the little boy began to explore, crawling around the table past the TV.

The TV. "That's it! Kids watch TV!" he grabbed the remote from the arm of the chair and flicked through the channels until he found one that was showing someone dressed up in a brightly-coloured dinosaur suit singing a song about a flower. It seemed that was the right thing. Though Charlie could not imagine himself ever being entertained by such a strange program, Oscar was immediately attracted by the bouncy music. He turned toward the TV screen, apparently entranced by the dinosaur's antics.

"Okay. Good. You stay right there while I grab some papers," he instructed his young cousin and darted at top speed back into the garage, grabbed hold of his laptop and a large square-marked notebook and as many files as he could carry. At least he could work in the lounge while Oscar watched TV.

He skidded back into the house, relieved to see Oscar still transfixed, and dropped his equipment onto the couch, setting up the laptop on the coffee table and stacking the papers along the cushions, leaving just enough space for himself to squeeze into the corner with his notepad. The cheerful chimes of the TV show began to filter out as he grabbed a pencil and began to scribble down the thought that had been interrupted by what had sounded like an air-raid siren twenty minutes ago. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Don leaned back in his chair and rolled his head, attempting somewhat unsuccessfully to ease the kink in his neck that was already forming. Only 11am and he was chomping at the bit. Hiding it better than Granger though. The junior agent was hunched over his keyboard, alternating between frantic bursts of typing and long pauses of staring at the screen with an expression that fell somewhere on the spectrum between deep anxiety and mortal agony. Every time another agent or administrative staff walked by, the man's eyes darted over and watched the person until he or her were out of sight.

After the beautiful Agent Dominique Phelps had gone by without so much as acknowledging his desperate green gaze, Granger picked up a ballpoint pen and began clicking it rhythmically against his forehead. Okay, Don decided, so the expression was closer to mortal agony. Get over it, Granger, you're not the only one around here with borderline ADHD. Third day with no callouts and my entire team's going stir crazy. He eyed his remaining stack of reports with trepidation. Were they breeding? He could have sworn that pile had been smaller yesterday.

An electronic ring pierced the miserable silence and four agents scrambled for respective cell phones with far too much enthusiasm. Don felt the weight of their reproachful glances when the ringing cell turned out to be his. A glance at the caller ID told him it was his father's house – no, Charlie's house, he reminded himself. Ah, whatever. It wasn't a get-out-of-jail-free card – ie an agent telling him a new violent crime had just occurred and he could bust his team out of their paperwork prison with a clear conscience. Vaguely he wondered why Dad was calling.

"Hey," he replied and then held the phone away from his ear. Bloody hell! What the heck is that noise?

"DON!" Charlie's voice was clearly audible even a foot away from his head. "You have to help me! He won't stop screaming and Dad's not answering his cell and he forgot to give me her number and I don't know what to DO –"

"Whoa – slow down a second Charlie -" he was utterly confused. His brother's voice was shaking, obviously panic-stricken. "Charlie, is that a kid screaming?"

"It's Oscar – you know, Auntie Mandy's son," Charlie gabbled. "Please, Don, I don't know what's wrong – he won't stop screaming – I need you!"

Don blinked. "I'm at work, Charlie, I can't just –"

"No – don't touch that – oh God!" as the sound of something large shattering came over the airwaves. Now his brother sounded on the verge of tears. "Please Don, I'll do anything – just come!"

"Hold on a sec –" Don placed his hand over the receiver and met three curious gazes. "Uh – it seems Charlie's having a bit of a crisis," he told them with a slight grin. Oh yes. I am so out of here. "I'm gonna have to leave you guys to it."

"Need some backup, boss?" Colby volunteered just a shade too quickly. Don smirked.

"Not as much as I need your reports. Sorry guys, just call me if anything comes up okay?" he nodded at Megan. "Keep him on the straight and narrow," he instructed, jerking a thumb at Colby's downcast face. David he could trust to do his reports as meticulously as if Don was hovering over his shoulder, but he wouldn't put it past his junior agent to jump ship and find an active team to tag along with as soon as Don's back was turned.

"Is everything alright?" Megan looked a little concerned.

"I'm not sure. It seems my brother has somehow managed to become a babysitter for my one-year-old cousin –" Don shook his head, how on earth had that happened – "and he has basically zero experience with kids. He's panicking."

"Oh," Megan's face lightened. "You know, I have a lot of sitting experience from when I was in college. I could –"

"Me too," David interrupted. "You know I volunteer with kids down at the community centre. I'm sure I could –"

"Seriously, it's okay," Don was torn between laughter and sympathy. If even David was trying to escape things were getting bad. "Look, just get your stuff done and I promise I'll get us some fieldwork tomorrow - even if it's only recon, okay? I better go rescue my brother. See you later," he turned his back on three sets of reproachful eyes and one pout – should I be worried that Colby is pouting at me? – and grabbed a black jacket with the yellow FBI letters emblazoned on the back – the grey clouds he could see from the bullpen windows portended rain. Finding himself alone in the descending lift he allowed himself a chuckle, shaking his head. Still – he had to admit that he felt like Charlie had just bailed him out of weekend lockup. Even a screaming toddler couldn't be as bad as all those wretched forms.

Right?

Don drew his SUV into Charlie's driveway, still relishing his newfound freedom. The Craftsman looked its usual well-groomed self, tidy and peaceful – but as soon as Don turned off the engine, the sound of distant shrieks reached his ears. Boy. This kid has serious screaming capacity. He hopped out of the car and slammed the door closed, heading towards the front door. This has got to be a first – calling out the Feds because a toddler won't stop crying.

He let himself in and immediately the decibel level went up several notches. Don resisted the instinct to put his fingers in his ears – not very dignified. His brother was instantly visible – kneeling next to the coffee table, where Don's trained eyes noticed the conspicuous absence of a certain green fluted bowl. Is that what smashed? Holy crap, Dad's gonna freak – and Charlie had long since succumbed to the noise level. His brother's palms covered his ears and Don saw with sudden concern that Charlie was rocking slightly back and forward, his eyes fixed on the far wall. Uh oh. Not good.

As a young child, Charlie had reacted badly to things he couldn't control, especially sudden or loud sounds – what was it called - 'sensory overload'. Don's brother had trouble adjusting to the noise of elementary school classrooms – that was why the special tutors were such a double blessing. Of course, college lectures were a far cry from the uncontrolled chaos of elementary school and these days Charlie could simply remove himself from a situation that was getting too much. But he couldn't remove himself from Oscar's presence – couldn't leave the child alone. The screams were already beginning to bug Don – he couldn't imagine how his sensitive brother felt after at least half an hour of it.

"Hey, Charlie," he walked over and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. Charlie started and looked up, his palms still over his ears but at least he stopped the unnerving rocking motion. "C'mon –" he offered his brother a hand and when Charlie reluctantly took his right hand away from his ears to take it, pulled Charlie to his feet and over into the kitchen – here the noise was lessened, so he could actually hear himself speak. He could still see Oscar through the serving window, face down on the carpet, fists and feet beating.

"He won't stop -" Charlie looked haggard. Don grinned reassuringly.

"It's okay, Chuck. It's just temper. He's probably mad that his mom isn't here."

"How do you know?"

"I used to have to look after you, remember? You were pretty good at the old screaming trick yourself," Don chuckled at the outraged expression that replaced the frantic look on Charlie's face.

"I never screamed like that!" Charlie protested.

"When you did – " Don ignored this blatantly untrue statement – "I would put you in the pushchair and run at top speed with you up and down the sidewalk. Worked every time."

"What? Mom let you do that?" Charlie was astonished. "Wasn't it dangerous? You could have tipped me out!"

"Nah – you were strapped in, and I couldn't have been more than eight or nine. I wouldn't have been going all that fast." Don grinned. "Anyway, we still have the pushchair, right? Dad never throws anything away."

"You know – yeah, I think it's in the garage," Charlie could picture the folding pushchair propped up against the garage wall with a broken deckchair, Don's old surfboard and a small mountain of boxes. He shot out of the door as fast as Don had ever seen him move – and that was saying something.

Glancing back over at the small screaming form that was his cousin – yes, still in the same place – Don spotted the remains of the green fluted bowl. It was in about eight pieces on top of a bookshelf where Charlie had apparently placed it so Oscar couldn't reach. Wincing, he wondered if he might be able to glue it back together. If Dad didn't look too closely, they might get away with it –

The swing door banged open and Charlie backed in, carrying a dust-covered pushchair and sporting a fresh cobweb in the curls over his left ear.

"Take it out front. I'll bring Oscar," Don directed.

Charlie nodded, heading for the front door. "Good luck. I tried to pick him up before but he's gone heavy," he called over his shoulder.

Gone heavy? Okay, so mathematicians weren't generally known for their upper-body strength but Charlie was fairly fit – could keep up with Don easily over a five-mile run – surely he could lift a toddler that couldn't weigh more than 20 pounds?

"Alright, buddy, let's go outside," Don bent down, grabbed the child beneath the armpits and lifted. And hauled. "Sonova-" he gasped. Was this kid rooted to the floor? With far more effort than he would like to admit he managed to pry Oscar up from the carpet. His cousins' arms flailed wildly, lashing out and scoring a direct hit to Don's right eye. "Ow! Watch it, kid!" he wrestled with the arms for a few more moments before tucking Oscar sideways under his right arm and heading for the front door, his left hand over his throbbing eye. If a one-year-old just gave me a black eye I will never live it down.

At least it served one purpose. At the door Charlie was rather unsuccessfully holding back a grin. Don was relieved to see the "almost-lost-my-sanity" air had dissipated. Charlie had unfolded the old pushchair and now it took both of them to wrestle their fighting, screaming, squirming cousin into the straps.

"God, if all suspects fought as hard as this –" Don tried to manoeuvre Oscar's leg through the harness.

"Did you bring your cuffs?" Charlie asked.

"They don't come in toddler size… I have my gun though."

"Don, you cannot threaten a toddler at gunpoint!" Charlie exclaimed, snapping a plastic clasp closed and leaning out of range of a swipe from a small but powerful fist.

"I dunno man, he's already assaulted a federal officer and resisted arrest. Building up a criminal record already – start 'em young, these days." Don stood up, Oscar finally secured and protesting it at the top of his lungs. "Now - you go. Push him as fast as you can, up the block and back." Don followed Charlie down the driveway and perched himself on the low wall at the front of the property. "You keep going until he gets exhausted. Works every time."

Charlie checked that his running shoes were laced. "Until he gets exhausted? What about when I get exhausted?"

Don just grinned. "It was also fantastic training for running bases. Go on then – unless you prefer the screaming?"

Charlie shuddered, turned the pushchair onto the sidewalk and took off sprinting.

This had better work, Charlie thought grimly as he pounded up the sidewalk, legs pumping. He still didn't quite believe that Don had done this with him. Surely he hadn't ever screamed like this?

To his amazement and unashamed delight, it was only twenty yards down the street, just as Charlie reached his top sprinting speed, that Oscar's cries began to diminish. Fifty yards and the slipstream was tangling two sets of dark curls – a hundred and there was only the occasional whimper. Triumphantly Charlie reached the end of the block, spun a rapid u-turn on two wheels and came hurtling back toward the house. By the time he was with Don again, panting slightly, Oscar's screams had magically transformed into gurgles of delight.

"It works! Don, you're a genius," Charlie beamed. Don grinned.

"I told you – this always worked with you. Keep it up. You have to make him exhausted otherwise he'll just scream as soon as you stop."

"Okay," Charlie willingly set off for another sprint up the block. Thank goodness he was wearing his running shoes. After the torture Oscar's screaming had put him through – God, he hadn't felt that out of control since the paper-clip riot in fourth grade – it felt fantastic to run through the quiet suburb, only the giggles of a finally happy toddler disturbing the rush of wind in his ears.

Charlie didn't have the words to describe his gratitude. He had been so bored, so lonely and frustrated, and all he could do to relieve the boredom was scream until he could scream no more. Then Don had come and taken him outside. Don was fast and exciting and Charlie laughed with the joy of the wind in his face and the speed of it.

Amazing. Charlie suddenly felt a lot more kindly to the cousin who had nearly managed to send him insane in only thirty minutes. I couldn't have been more than eighteen months myself. That's a very early memory. As he ran, he mentally re-considered his cognitive emergence expressions for the retaining of memory in young children.

Twenty tours of the block later, Charlie was distinctly less happy and all thoughts of cognitive emergence had been driven out of his mind. His mind knew that he was too young for a heart attack, but his legs and lungs didn't. Every muscle in his body was sending frantic signals to his brain that Charlie must stop running right now! He paused, gasping for breath, where Don still sat relaxed on the wall and wiped away the sweat that kept dripping into his eyes.

"He has more stamina than you did," Don observed calmly. "Usually you only lasted about twelve laps."

"It's your turn, brother mine," Charlie collapsed onto the wall beside his brother. "Go on, show me how it's done. I can't run another step."

"Outdone by a toddler, Chuck?" Don teased, but stood up willingly enough.

"Is that a black eye I see developing?" Charlie retorted, catching his breath.

Don felt his eye suspiciously – but the start of a whimper from Oscar was enough to send him hurtling down the street. Charlie smiled broadly at unusual spectacle of his tough older brother with a pushchair. He stood up to stretch his calf muscles and watched the yellow FBI letters emblazoned across Don's back recede into the distance. If only Don's team could see him now.

Something buzzed next to him on the wall and Charlie looked down to see Don's smartphone vibrate – a text had just come in. The phone must have fallen out of his brother's pocket when he sat down. A wicked grin spread over Charlie's face and he picked up the phone. There was a passcode to unlock the system but that was child's play to Charlie. Once in, he navigated to the film camera icon and waited until Don blasted past him. Then he turned the phone onto himself and pressed record.

"A day in the life of one of the Bureau's finest, Special Agent Don Eppes," he spoke mischievously to the camera. "Let's see what Agent Eppes got up to after an important call dragged him from the office this morning…" he turned the phone to Don's receding back, the FBI logo on the back of the jacket clearly visible as Don sprinted to the end of the block. On the way back Charlie zoomed in first on the intensely concentrated expression on his brother's face – does Don know how funny his face looks when he sprints? - then on little Oscar's laughing one. "Crime fighting, childcare, come what may," he narrated quickly, needing to finish this before Don realized what he was up to. "It's all in a day's work for the FBI."

As Don approached Charlie quickly ended the recording and hid Don's phone by his leg. "Go, bro!" he cheered as Don and Oscar flew past. Man, his brother was really fast. Must be all that chasing suspects around. He tried to hide the grin that was forcing its way onto his face. Do I really dare? Don is going to kill me…

Charlie couldn't help it – it was just too tempting. After an admittedly short struggle with his conscience, he sent the video to the contacts listed Granger; Sinclair; Reeves; after some deliberation, Billy; and finally, Edgerton. Then he tried to stop himself from giggling and bouncing like a wicked child when Don pounded past yet again and waited.

The first text was from Colby: LOL Don u r NEVA living this 1 down.

"Yes," Charlie crowed to himself softly. Score one for Charlie! A few moments later David and Megan's texts came in together – likely Colby had alerted the other agents to the message.

David: Man, you blew us off for this?

Megan's was more eloquent: Charlie you do realize Don is going to murder you when he finds out? Colby has just made it today's mission to personally show that video to every agent on this floor.

Charlie was shaking with suppressed laughter. He typed back to Megan: I plan to be far, far away when Don finds out. For now I am confiscating his phone. Don't worry - will screen for important calls.

Megan: I would scold, but have decided he deserves this for abandoning us here with a million overdue reports. Good on ya.

"Success!" Don pulled up in front of him after only six laps and indicated, beaming, the sleeping child in the stroller. Charlie rolled his eyes, slipping Don's phone into the pocket of his jeans.

"I did most of the work," he complained as they headed back inside, lifting from each end of the stroller to get it up the steps and into the house – by mutual agreement not daring to unstrap the kid in case they woke him.

"Well, I came up with the idea," Don countered. "And don't forget – it worked."

"All right, you win," Charlie admitted, parking Oscar beside the couch and collapsing onto it. "Thanks for coming over. I was about to lose it."

"Hey, no problem – just remember you owe me one." Don grinned. Charlie opened his eyes and winced when he saw his brother's face.

"Man, you should put some ice on your eye. It's already bruising."

Don's grin slipped as he brought his fingers up, feeling the puffiness above his cheekbone. "Great. I can't believe a two-year-old gave me a black eye," he complained. He walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer, rummaging through the frozen vegetables and meat. "Don't you have any ice packs?"

"Yeah, they're in the – oh," Charlie's voice drifted off. "That's right – I needed them to construct a demonstration for my fluid dynamics class…"

"Aw, man –"

"Just use the frozen peas," Charlie had pried himself up off the couch and was leaning in the doorway. He smirked as Don grumbled to himself and grabbed the bag of peas, sitting down at the table and slapping the bag over his eye. He wished he could take a photo of this, but Don would never let him get away with it.

"All that running made me hungry," Don commented after a few moments, removing the peas and looking at them consideringly. Charlie raised his eyebrows.

"All what running? I did at least twice as much as you! All right, put them back on -" he protested as Don appeared ready to tear open the bag of peas and begin to eat them even in their current state of cryogenic stupor. He opened the fridge, inspecting the contents. "There's some leftover lasagne. It's still good – I'll heat it," he pulled out the glass dish containing the meal Alan had cooked last night. It would serve Dad right if he had been expecting to re-use the meal for tonight's dinner.

It was probably the delicious aroma of the heating lasagne that did it. Oscar woke up and began demanding attention – loudly.

"Probably hungry as well," Don, blissfully unaware of the trickle of green pea gunge that adorned his cheek, helped Charlie to unstrap the toddler and lifted him out of the pushchair.

"Dad said Auntie Mandy left some lunch for him in the bag," Charlie remembered, lunging for the bulging eco-bag as his brother carried Oscar into the kitchen.

"We don't happen to have a high chair in the garage along with the stroller?" Don asked hopefully.

"Not that I ever saw," Charlie followed Don into the kitchen and dumped the heavy bag on the table. He rummaged around inside, pulling out two large Tupperware containers and opening the lids. "Wow. How much does this kid eat?"

Don leaned over, inspecting the contents of the containers, and whistled. "She must have used nearly a whole loaf of bread to make all those sandwiches. And – six boiled eggs?" he shook his head incredulously.

Oscar had caught sight of the food too, and held out his hands, demanding in no uncertain tone – though the words were incomprehensible to his adult cousins – that it was time for lunch. Now.

Charlie went back into the lounge and pulled several cushions off the chairs, then unclipped a few of the straps from the pushchair. Soon, with a little manoeuvring of Oscar and some teamwork, Oscar was strapped safely into a makeshift high-chair, on a level with the table top. Grinning with success, Charlie took out a neat, triangle-shaped sandwich sans crusts and offered it to his cousin.

Oscar grabbed the sandwich, looked at it, and then, with an expression of pure mischief in his big brown eyes, placed it down on the table and pounded it flat.

"Oscar!" Both brothers exclaimed together, with Charlie adding a little mournfully, "that was a perfect isosceles!"

"Maybe he doesn't want cheese?" Don suggested, peeling apart another. "This one's ham."

But the ham sandwich met the same fate as the cheese, along with a satisfied chuckle from the pounder.

"Little vandal, aren't you?" Don remarked when the tomato and the strawberry jam had been similarly treated, with the strawberry jam making a most satisfying sticky smear across the table. "Now I understand why Aunt Mandy packed you so much lunch. Probably knew that most of it would end up like this…"

Charlie was looking anxiously at the state of the table. "Don, why won't he eat? Auntie Mandy trusted us with him…we can't let him starve because he'd rather squash his sandwiches than eat them!"

"Chuck, relax. Oscar reminds me more and more of you at his age – " Don ignored Charlie's insulted expression. "There's a very easy solution. Watch." Don picked out a fifth sandwich and held it out to Oscar – but this time pulled it back just as Oscar reached for it and put it into his own mouth. "Mm. Egg salad." He said indistinctly as he chewed.

Oscar stared at him in utter astonishment. What was this? Instead of being pandered to, coaxed to eat, this man was calmly eating his own lunch!

Don swallowed and grinned at the child.

"Delicious." He took another sandwich and this time Oscar made a grab for it – but not quickly enough. The next sandwich was already in Don's mouth. "Not hungry, huh? Don't mind if I do! Hey Chuck, try some of these, Aunt Mandy's pretty good at sandwiches."

Charlie caught on. He selected another sandwich – peanut butter - and ate it, grinning as Oscar's astonished expression changed to one of outrage.

"You know what –" Charlie swallowed his mouthful – "More and more I'm understanding aspects of my own childhood - like why I always felt like I had to guard my food from you!"

"Don't knock it, Chuck, it works," Don finished peeling an egg, held it out to Oscar, but just as the child reached for it, he popped it in his own mouth. "What, you don't want it, Oscar? Too bad," he snickered at the outrage on the little face.

On the next round Don allowed Oscar to intercept a sandwich. The brothers grinned as their cousin crammed the bread into his mouth, watching them both suspiciously as if he expected them to snatch the sandwich back out of his hands.

"Don't let him have them too easy," Don cautioned, polishing off another three sandwiches before he let Oscar get his hands on another one. "He's smart – like you. He'll figure out we're tricking him if it's too easy."

"Reverse psychology," Charlie savoured his next sandwich, filled with a particularly delicious hummus. "I never realized it worked so well."

It worked all right. By the time the lunch boxes were empty, Oscar had eaten a healthy amount with an eagerness that would have amazed his mother had she seen it, and the toddler was now trying for his next great escape, squirming his way out of the makeshift harness his cousins had constructed. Don caught him before he hit the floor.

"A jail breaker, huh?" he held onto the struggling kid with some difficulty. "Chuck – there's too many low ornaments and things he can reach and break. We need to make a safe area he can play in without getting hurt – or breaking any more of dad's things."

Charlie winced at the reminder of the broken bowl. "What about outside? The back garden is pretty safe."

Don shook his head. "Koi pond. You know how many toddlers drown in ponds and pools every year?"

Charlie paled a little. "Good point. Okay – I know. Remember that run Dad built for the guinea pigs?"

Don blinked and recalled the wooden open-topped structure his father had constructed to allow the long-gone guinea pigs to run around outside. It was big, square, and essentially a playpen. "That would be perfect. We still have that?"

For answer Charlie darted back into the garage. Loud clatterings and rummaging noises soon saw Charlie dragging the pen out onto the back lawn. He let it rest on the grass and came back into the house via the french doors.

"It's still good – and it's about 16 square feet, so there's plenty of room for Oscar," Charlie began enthusiastically gathering up cushions and Oscar's scattered toys, delighted at the thought of containing the child for a while without having to worry about him. Maybe he could finally get some work done!

Don helped stock up the newly-converted playpen and when it was full of cushions, toys and the afghan from the couch, he lifted Oscar and put him inside. The brothers breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll work on the terrace – I think the extension cord will reach," Charlie was already on his way back inside to grab his laptop. Don nodded, he could work on the reports he'd brought along from the office – far nicer to do them in his brother's garden than in the stuffy bullpen.

Oscar's roar of frustration stopped Charlie in his tracks. They turned to stare at the image of their cousin gripping two of the bars in his sturdy fists and rattling them while he protested at the top of his lungs that this was not how he expected to be treated. Locked up like a common criminal!

"Should we take him out?" Charlie asked anxiously.

Don shook his head. "Naw – he'll get used to it."

They brought their respective work outside and Charlie was soon immersed. Don found it less easy to block out the entire outside world and watched with a dubious amusement as Oscar busied himself by tossing the cushions and toys one by one out of his new playpen.

He forced his attention back to the report. Oscar could amuse himself for a few minutes, surely. A few minutes later a tingling from his spidey-sense prompted him to look up again –

"Chuck!" he jumped to his feet. "He's tunnelling out!" He ran over as Oscar tossed handfuls of rich soil behind him, intent on escape. Don reached in to pry the boy away and sighed at the mud-covered state of him.

"Building up a regular criminal record, aren't you? It's no good, Chuck. He needs a guard. You're gonna have to go in there with him."

Don managed not to crack up at the look of open-mouthed astonishment that appeared on his brother's face, but it was a close thing.

"You're joking."

"No way man, I'm serious. He's lonely. He needs company in there." Don picked up a couple of pillows and tossed them back into the playpen.

"But why do I have to go in?" Charlie whined.

Don shrugged. "You're the one who was left in charge. Remember that phone call - you said you'd do 'anything'?"

Charlie shook his head, speechless, but Don knew he'd won. He tossed more cushions back inside as Charlie swallowed his pride and climbed over the waist-high railing. Sitting down cross-legged next to a suddenly-delighted Oscar, Charlie glowered at his smirking brother through the bars.

"I swear Don, if you ever tell anyone about this –"

Don schooled his features into his best shocked-and-wounded expression – how could you even think it?

"Don't give me that look. I know what you're capable of." Charlie grumbled, then yelped as a small hand entwined itself in his curls. "Ouch! Oscar that hurts!" he tried to extract Oscar's muddy fists from his hair, his own face becoming rather mud-streaked in his efforts.

"You see, Chuck? He was lonely. Have fun in there, kids!" Don chuckled.

"Don't call me Chuck. Or kid." Charlie's expression was mutinous. He sighed as Don made good his retreat, and turned to his small cousin. "So. Oscar. Have you ever played Avant-Garde?"

Don wandered back towards the house and his less-than-exciting report. I should check my messages, he thought, feeling in his pocket for where his phone should be. Just my luck if a case comes through while I'm playing Mary Poppins.

Damn. Where was his phone? He was sure he hadn't taken it out of his pocket. Must have fallen out somewhere – ah, there – he spotted the smartphone lying on the couch. As he picked it up, he noticed that there was another phone slipped down the side of the seat cushions – Charlie's - he'd recognize that beat-up piece of equipment anywhere. Idly he picked it up and slipped it into his own pocket, meaning to give it back to his brother once he'd checked his own messages.

Don swiped through the security and scrolled through the list of unread text messages. Strange – there was one from Edgerton. He wasn't in contact with the sniper instructor – not unless they were on a case together, which they hadn't been for months.

Having fun without me? Tell the Professor I owe him one – I'm using it as distraction practice for my latest trainees. So far not one of them can hit centre mass after watching that – laughing too much.

Don blinked. What the heck was Ian on about? Don would have thought Ian had gotten the wrong number if it hadn't been for the reference to "the Professor" – Edgerton's nickname for Charlie.

The next was from – now Don was really unnerved – the one and only Billy Cooper. Hell, he never heard from Coop. Fugitive recovery tended to do that.

That kid is kicking ur ass. This what they got u doin in LA? U need 2 get out more man!

A feeling of dawning, horrified comprehension was creeping down Don's spine. How did my phone get on the couch anyway? I haven't even sat there today. Did Charlie get a hold of my phone –

He opened the Sent folder. There – apparently he'd sent a video file at 11:30am to multiple contacts. Don knew he'd done no such thing – because at that time, he had been attempting to break the world record for the hundred-meter stroller-pushing dash... He closed his eyes briefly. Charles Edward Eppes, you are so dead.

He felt the same sense of futile reluctance to open the file that he felt when opening a car trunk that more than likely held a corpse in any stage of decomposition. In those situations he never hesitated. Now, he tapped the video file.

Well…crap.

"Avant-Garde." Charlie nodded. He still wasn't convinced that Oscar knew what he was saying, but it didn't seem to stop the kid listening to him. And as long as Oscar wasn't tunnelling out, that was fine by Charlie. His cousin had already managed to coat both himself, and Charlie, quite liberally with mud. I really need a shower.

"I used to play it when I was your age, before I discovered factoring. I didn't know what Avant-Garde actually meant, but for this purpose it doesn't actually matter. It's really fun, but it wears out the knees on your pants quite nicely. Still, I guess I'm not the one who has to replace them." Charlie uncrossed his legs and rolled over until he was on hands and knees. Then he started crawling rapidly in circles, yelling "Avant-Garde! Avant-Garde!" Over and over again.

Oscar was utterly delighted. He pulled his muddy thumb out of his mouth and imitated Charlie, uttering the first complete word that Charlie had heard from his young cousin. "Avant-Garde!"

I'm gonna kill him. Don was furious. How dared Charlie send that ridiculous video to his colleagues? Thank God his brother had at least refrained from sending it to the AD, but by the sound of it both Colby and Ian were making sure the video was seen by as many people as possible. Remind me to make sure we don't get any of Ian's latest batch of recruits in the L.A office. Way to undermine my authority before they've even freaking graduated!

He glanced out of the French doors, and what he saw made him pause. He pulled out the phone in his pocket – Charlie's phone – and considered it.

Maybe I don't have to kill him. Maybe there's a better form of revenge…

"Avant-garde, avant-garde…" Charlie's yells were less enthusiastic than Oscars, and his tail-chasing crawl didn't have quite the same energy. Still, it came across very well on video, the animal run with the esteemed genius Professor and the two-year-old, both in a very impressive state of dishevelment, playing a game that Don had forgotten ever existed. Even as he filmed, Charlie gave up and collapsed, exhausted, face-down on the cushions. Oscar played on, oblivious to the loss of his omelette companion.

"It seems the two-year-old has the greater stamina," Don whispered to the camera, not wanting to alert his brother to the fact that revenge was being enacted upon him.

Eventually even Oscar grew tired and flopped down next to Charlie, closing his eyes. Don wasn't surprised – that game had always exhausted him and Charlie as kids. Their mother had banned it eventually - something about it being too noisy – and Don had forgotten all about it until now.

Is Charlie actually sleeping? It was a very rare sight – Charlie's hyper-active, hectic energy kept him working on turbo-power long after most sane people would be asleep, and long before said sane people were up in the morning. His brother looked younger asleep, more vulnerable – and more muddy than Don could ever remember seeing him, even as a kid. Gleefully he took a closeup of Charlie's sleeping face between the bars of the playpen.

"Shhh – the Professor is asleep," he whispered and ended the video. Oh yeah, payback time. He found Charlie's list of contacts. Amita; Larry; and – yes! Penfield. He remembered how much the other Professor annoyed his little brother. Who else: oh, good – Charlie had Edgerton in there too, and Colby, Megan and David. His finger hovered tempted over 'Bob Tompkins' but he reluctantly refrained – there was such a thing as going too far, and Charlie after all had not sent his video to AD Wright. To console himself he sent it to the entire group under the heading 'Students' and slid the phone back into his pocket.

Revenge is sweet.

Don looked up from his last report as the front door opened, allowing voices to drift through the house. He recognized his father's tone, and the female voice must be Aunt Mandy. Grinning, he stood up and greeted them as Alan led his sister-in-law through the house.

"Donnie must be here somewhere – that's his SUV," Alan was saying. "Oh – there you are. Where are Charlie and Oscar?" Alan looked slightly anxious, though he was hiding it well from Amanda. Don hastened to reassure them.

"Charlie's been doing a great job at babysitting," he told them, stepping aside to give them the full glory of the playpen, containing his two slumbering, curly-headed relations. Amanda gave an exclamation that was half delight, half-reproach and moved towards the pen.

"Oscar darling! Whatever have you done to poor Charlie?"

Alan's eyebrows almost hit his hairline. "Is that the old guinea-pig –"

"Dad - shh! I don't think Aunt Mandy would consider it very hygienic!" Don hissed, grinning. "We had to coop him up somehow – he was running riot." Alan shook his head and watched as Amanda lifted a delighted Oscar out of the pen, waking a very confused-looking Charlie in the process.

"Why is Charlie in the run, anyway? Why is he so muddy – and was he actually sleeping?" Alan couldn't decide which fact amazed him more. Don grinned.

"It's a long story…"

Charlie rubbed his eyes, unknowingly smearing more mud across his cheeks, and blinked up at his Aunt Amanda.

"Goodness, Charlie, I am sorry," his aunt was apologizing. "He can be a real handful. I should have warned Alan…I never would have left him but it was all so unexpected, you see –"

"It's okay," Charlie stammered, struggling to his feet, still slightly confused by his unexpected nap. "Really, Auntie Mandy – he wasn't too much trouble." Lie – but his ordeal was over now. He could afford the lie.

"Well darling," and Amanda juggled Oscar onto her hip and offered her nephew a hand out of the guinea-pig-run-cum-playpen. "I must say - you certainly have a way with children!"

"Really?" Charlie brightened up at this. He was good at many things and he knew it, but he'd never considered childcare to be one of his talents. He smiled cautiously at Oscar, who grinned happily back, and reached out to grab at Charlie's curls. Charlie ducked, just as Don and Alan arrived on the scene.

"Thank you all so much," Amanda attempted to rub some of the mud off her son's face. "I must take him home and bath him…say ta, Oscar, to Uncle Donnie and Uncle Charlie for looking after you today!"

"Ta, Un'l Donnee," Oscar repeated obediently. Don's face lit up.

"Hear that, Chuck? He knows my name, he likes me better!"

"What about me, Oscar?" Charlie protested, hadn't he taught Oscar to play Avant-Garde, after all?

"Can you say ta to Chuck, kiddo?" Don asked the little boy.

There was a slight pause, and then Oscar beamed at the younger brother.

"Ta….UN'L DUCK!"

THE END

Thanks so much for getting this far and I hope you enjoyed my silly oneshot! Make my day and leave a quick review. Suggestions, character portrayal, lines you liked, critique, even just a word or two will be appreciated!