Snow fell softly across New York, blowing gently against the panes of Neal's loft apartment. The con man sat curled comfortably on his couch with a steaming mug of coffee with baileys in his elegant hands watching the flakes turn into drifts outside. It was Christmas Eve, and Peter and Neal had knocked off early to be with their respective women, Peter with Elizabeth and Neal with June. His landlady had conscripted his height and strength the minute he got home to help with the last minute decorating, and then they had shared a meal before she shooed him off to bed. Everything was perfect and peaceful, June was most certainly asleep, Peter was home with his angel of a wife, and Mozzie didn't subscribe to Christmas and all its 'capitalistic atrocities', as he put it, always disappearing for the week before and after the 25th. No one would interrupt him indulging in his guilty pleasure. Mindful not to spill his drink, Neal padded over to the stereo, slipping the Michael Bublé Christmas cd into the slot and turning the volume down. He sighed contentedly as the first refrains melted from the speakers. Eyes closing, his feet shuffled in a slow dance around the apartment as he hummed along. All the residual tension drained from his shoulders as the music filled him with a peace he hadn't had since the same time last year. Christmas was finally perfect, and he eventually fell asleep to the gentle voice singing Silent Night.