(Still haven't gotten to see The Normal Heart AGH! But thank you to the lovely anon on Tumblr who requested this! I love this idea! Heads up, dates have been changed around so that Neal was about 16 when Felix died)

(No, I haven't forgotten about the other requests I've gotten. This one just happened to get done first. Yes, there will be another chapter for Take Me Back To Normal. I didn't plan it, but enough people have spoken up that I've been talked into making more, so there's that plus a request for another Neal Caffreys chapter, so that's what I'm working on! Thank you all for your patience!)

Neal remembered his fathers, of course. He'd never forget the day he held Felix's hand for the last time and told him he loved him, or the day after that when he found Ned lying there, seemingly asleep, but Neal knew immediately that he was dead too.

That was when he'd run for the first time. Neal Turner-Weeks disappeared, and Neal Caffrey was born.

He kept mementos of both his parents (even though only one of them was his biological father and anyone could easily guess which one). He had Felix's columns all cut out and kept together in a scrapbook. He read them often. He also kept both their rings, which he planned to use for his own special someone, if he ever got that lucky. All of Ned's books and things went with him as well, but Neal couldn't hold onto most of them. There were too many to run with.

He managed to keep most of those things with him, even through prison, and when he moved into June's. It was there that he finally had a safe place to put them and he was greatly relieved for that. He'd be devastated if he ever lost any of it.

Peter asked about his parents, of course, but Neal never gave him any more than a few vague —but not untrue— answers. That always did the trick and soon enough, Peter came to realize that Neal didn't want to talk about the subject, so he quit asking.

Neal had thought that would be that.

-)()(-

Awareness came slowly, but Neal could immediately tell that something wasn't right. His head felt hazy, and not just from sleep. There was the strong smell of smoke in the air and it took him a moment to fully wake up. When he did, he realized his lungs were burning and his eyes stung.

He sat up sharply, coughing, and he was out of bed in a flash, squinting through the smoke as his eyes teared up and he started shouting for June, only to remember that she was out of the country for two weeks, visiting relatives in Italy. That was a considerable relief, so Neal went searching for the only other living thing in the house, which was Bugsy.

The little pug was downstairs, running around frantically as he barked nonstop. Neal hadn't been able to hear him. He scooped the little dog into his arms and looked around. There was hardly any smoke down here at all, so Neal knew the fire was somewhere upstairs. He wasn't going back up to check.

Outside, he held tight to Bugsy, who struggled to break free of his arms, and called for help, though as he looked up to see all the smoke billowing from the windows, he knew at least one room was probably already damaged quite a bit.

The night dissolved into flashing lights and activity, and Neal was glad when Peter showed up after he called him as well.

"What the hell happened?" the agent asked, looking around in shock.

Neal shook his head. "Don't know yet. The firefighter I talked to said it looked like an accident, that's all." He was anxious now, though, and Peter couldn't tell why.

"June will understand, I'm sure," he said.

"Yeah, I know," Neal replied, shifting Bugsy in his arms. One of the firemen walked over, telling them they'd gotten the fire out and it was probably safe enough to go back in if Neal wanted to grab anything.

"Mind holding the dog?" Neal asked, glancing at Peter, who took Bugsy from him gently.

"I'll put him in my car. You two can come home with me."

Neal didn't argue with that, already jogging back inside and upstairs. Peter followed after making sure the dog was safe in the car. The house still smelled like smoke and there were a few firefighters hanging around, making sure the rest of the house was alright. Upstairs, Neal's room looked untouched, but the room further back was where the fire had been and the walls were charred black. In the middle of it all, Neal was standing in front of a tall bookshelf along one of the blackened walls.

"Neal?" Peter questioned. He was standing so still.

Neal didn't answer, but he turned around, a look of devastation on his face as he clutched something to his chest.

Peter frowned, a little concerned, and Neal sighed heavily before he could speak. Still, he said nothing, instead kneeling down on the floor where he set down the thing in his hands, a little book.

Wordlessly, Peter joined his friend on the floor, watching as Neal reached down to open it.

The outside cover was badly burned and the inside was no better. It was full of what looked to be newspaper clippings, and those had been mostly burned as well. Neal held a hand to his mouth, blinking to clear away the moisture in his eyes.

"They're gone," he murmured. "My god, they're gone..." He flipped a few more tattered pages before giving up and pushing the book away almost viciously.

"Neal," Peter started, but Neal shook his head, waving him off as he returned to the bookshelf, pulling a small box down before leaving the room quickly.

Peter watched him go, stunned, then focused on the book sitting there. He picked it up, flipping through it. A lot of it was burned beyond recognition, but he could make out some of it here and there. On one page, he found one of the articles mostly intact. It was some sort of fashion column, as far as he could tell. By Felix Turner. The name didn't ring any bells, but he quickly realized by piecing together a few more readable pages that these were all by the same man.

Peter glanced over towards the door. Why did Neal have a bunch of articles by Felix Turner? And why did he seem so upset that they'd been ruined?

He was determined to find out.

-)()(-

Neal twisted his fathers' rings in his hands, sitting upstairs in the Burkes' guest bedroom. He'd insisted that he'd be fine at June's. The fire hadn't even touched his room. But Peter had stubbornly brought him home with him.

"It smells like smoke in there," he'd said, "You'll sleep much better here."

It was already almost one in the morning, but Neal couldn't sleep. He figured that Peter and Elizabeth would be sleeping, though, so he was surprised when his door cracked open and then Elizabeth stuck her head in. Seeing him awake, she opened the door all the way and smiled a bit. "Can't sleep?"

Neal shook his head. "It's alright. You can go back to bed."

She didn't. Instead, she walked over to sit beside him on the bed, glancing down at the two little rings in his hand.

"These are mine," Neal felt the need to point out.

"Where'd you get them?" Elizabeth asked, not accusingly, but curiously. Neal was grateful for that.

"My parents," he admitted without meaning to. He was too tired to lie.

She held a hand out, tilting her head. "May I?"

Neal handed them over and she examined each one. They were simple silver, not with any particular patterns on them except an F etched into the inside of one, and an N on the other.

"Franklin and Nellie?" Elizabeth guessed, smiling.

Neal shook his head, amused. "No."

"Frida and Neal? Were you named after your father?"

Neal laughed. "No." He reached out to take one of the rings, holding it up to see the F on it. "Felix."

Elizabeth looked at hers. "And?"

Neal considered lying, but before he could think of a female name beginning with N, "Ned" had already slipped from his tongue.

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise for a moment, glancing at the rings again. "Were you adopted or was one of them your real dad?" she asked eventually.

"Felix," Neal said, smiling softly. "I look just like him, from what I remember. He died when I was young, so the only image I really have of him is... Well he got bad near the end..."

After that, everything just came pouring out. He didn't know why he was telling her all of this, but he didn't really care anymore.

He told her about Felix's slow and painful death, in and out of the hospital. He told her about waking up to find Ned still in his bed, but not sleeping. He told her about running away right then and there, never once looking back.

By the end, they were both crying and Neal told her about how the fire had destroyed the last remnants of Felix and how now all he had left of his real dad was the ring in his hands.

"Were you close to him?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

Neal nodded. "Always. He was quiet and kind. He just wanted to see the world and enjoy every bit of it. He was... a lot like me. Ned was loud and stubborn, always fighting for a cause. But that's not to say I didn't like him. I loved them both in their own ways."

"You don't have any other family?"

"No," Neal said quietly. "It's been over ten years now, but..." He trailed off with a shrug and a tiny smile. It still hurts, he wanted to say. He didn't have to. She knew.

Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on his back, giving him a gentle pat. "Try and get some sleep." She took both rings and took them over to the bedstand to place them in the little box he kept them in. "I'm making a good breakfast in the morning so you better be up."

As she headed for the door, Neal called, "Hey, El... Thank you."

She gave him a kind smile, and that was all before she disappeared back to her and Peter's bedroom.

-)()(-

Neal went back to June's bright and early. He probably would have left at the crack of dawn if Elizabeth hadn't made him stay for breakfast, though it seemed to be prearranged that way. Peter didn't pay attention to much, waiting for Neal to leave before he pulled out the charred scrapbook, spreading it out over the table.

Elizabeth perched over his shoulder. "You know he thinks that got destroyed, right?"

"It did," Peter hummed. "But there's something about it... Who's this Felix Turner guy and why does Neal have a bunch of his articles? There's gotta be something I'm missing."

"Hon," Elizabeth said, making him glance up. "Why don't you ask Neal?"

Peter snorted. "You really think he'd tell me?" But then he caught that look in her eye and squinted at her. "You know all about it, don't you? How?"

"He and I had a discussion last night," she replied. "But, really. You should talk to him about it. Just... ask him as a friend? Not as an agent?"

She gave her husband a quick kiss before heading to the door and Peter frowned. "What kind of discussion?"

-)()(-

June was, as Peter had said, completely understanding when Neal called to tell her what had happened. "I'm just glad you're alright," she said. "It was good luck that no one else was there."

Bugsy trotted around, inspecting the place as if there had been some grand change, but really, it all looked the same except the room upstairs that had been burned.

Once again, Neal stood there, looking at the damage. It was only after a moment that he remembered Felix's book. He'd been upset last night. He hadn't really looked at it. Maybe there was still some of it worth saving.

However, when he looked around, he couldn't see it anywhere. His heart sank even further and he brought both hands up to run over his face. It was gone. Peter might have taken it. Maybe he'd thrown it away.

"Looking for something?"

Neal spun around, blinking in surprise as Peter stood there, gazing at him curiously. In his hands he held the familiar, blackened scrap book. Neal eyed it almost warily, glancing between it and Peter as if he expected some side angle at play, some trick.

Peter held it out further, waving it a bit. "It's yours, isn't it?"

Neal came forward slowly, reaching out for it and then bringing it close to his chest as if it might blow away at any second. "You took it," he mumbled, not angrily. He was just relieved it was safe. Well, as safe as it was going to get.

"Yeah," Peter replied. "But El basically ordered me to give it back."

"Oh," Neal said quietly. That meant that she had told him everything.

"There's still a few pages that made it, at least partially, if that makes you feel any better."

Neal nodded, but said nothing, waiting.

"So..." Peter said after a while, "Who's Felix Turner?"

Neal looked at him in surprise. Elizabeth hadn't said anything. But he understood the little nudge she was sending his way, so he sighed, pulling the book away from his chest. "Felix Turner was my father."

He could see Peter thinking about that, the wheels turning in his head. "Was Caffrey your mother's name?"

"Yeah," Neal answered. "But she was a surrogate. I never met her."

Peter looked surprised at that. "Then who...?"

"My biological father was Felix," Neal said, "And my other father was Ned Weeks." He started flipping through the charred book in his hands, if only to occupy them with something.

"You never told me."

"I never told Mozzie," Neal said pointedly. "I never told anyone."

"Why?"

Neal shook his head. "It's complicated. People didn't understand back then and, frankly, they still don't. I just prefer to be my own person, not let myself be defined by who my parents were." Peter was looking at him imploringly, though, so Neal sighed heavily and pulled a half burnt chair out to sit down in.

"They both died within 24 hours of each other," he started. "It was 1993. Years after the whole AIDS thing that happened in the 70s and 80s. But people were still pretty ignorant about it. Felix got sick and... Well, you know how that goes. I remember all my friends and their families started looking at us like we were all sick, like how dare we be different than them?"

"What about your other dad?" Peter questioned.

"Felix died," Neal said. "The next morning, I walked into Ned's room and he was just... gone. They said it was Broken Heart Syndrome. I don't know about that. Ned loved Felix very much, but he always seemed stronger than that to me."

"Then you ran away," Peter guessed. "And you took your mother's name so no one could find you."

Neal nodded. "And you know the rest."

Peter said nothing for a while and Neal picked at the edges of the book in his hand.

"You know, I can probably find copies of those somewhere," Peter said. "We can put it back together, good as new."

Neal smiled sadly. "These were the originals. They had his notes on the sides." He'd never forget that handwriting. It was almost exactly the same as his own. "But yeah," he agreed. "I'd like that."

Peter walked over to where he was sitting, giving him a sympathetic look. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Neal assured, waving him off. "I'm fine."

The look Peter gave him clearly stated that he didn't believe a word of it, but he didn't call him on it either, instead offering a hand. "What do you say we clean this place up a little before June gets back?"

Neal took the hand and stood, looking around with a wince. "Yeah... It looks like a bomb went off in here."

As they got started, Neal set the little scrapbook aside. He'd deal with that later. For now, he was just grateful for a distraction. Peter was right. They could put it back together good as new, even if they'd lost a little bit of Felix to the flames.

-)()(-

"Close your eyes," Peter ordered.

"I already know where we're going," Neal grumbled. "I can smell El's cooking from here."

It was Neal's birthday, but he wasn't focused on that. Tomorrow, they'd go and pick up the copies of Felix's articles, then they could get started on recreating the scrapbook. It wouldn't be perfect. They couldn't possibly bring back Felix's notes on the margins, but Neal would be happy anyway.

"Just close your eyes," Peter said again. "Do you want to be the one to ruin your own birthday? Because Elizabeth wants this to be perfect."

Neal rolled his eyes dramatically, throwing up his hands. "Fine, fine. But if you lead me into a wall..."

"What do I look like?" Peter muttered, and as Neal obediently closed him eyes, the agent took him by the arm and led him inside.

Neal was oh so tempted to peek, but when he tried, Peter stuck his hand over his eyes, apparently anticipating that. "No cheating!"

"Alright! Alright!"

He could tell when they walked into the dining room. Peter slipped the hand away from his eyes, and he expected to open them and see good food and better wine, probably a cake or three on the side, but there was nothing like that. Just a single leather-bound book in the middle of the table.

Neal blinked. It looked like...

"You put it together without me?" he questioned, glancing at Peter in surprise and a little disappointment.

Mozzie spoke up from his place at the end. "Just open it."

Neal picked it up. It felt the same in his hands as it always had, and it smelled like old paper and aftershave, as it always had. But the best part came when he opened it to see the newspaper clippings inside, all whole and even a bit crinkled and yellow as he recalled them being.

And there, scrawled on the edges of every page, was Felix's handwriting, clear as day. Neal glanced up in shock, looking around at the other three. "What... How did you...?"

Mozzie raised a hand. "That would be yours truly. Perfect recall, remember? I... read through it once when you were out. I also took the liberty of aging the paper a bit for you."

Neal flipped through a few pages, but couldn't read much due to the tears welling up in his eyes. It was all there, like he'd never lost it in the first place. "I don't even know what to say," he said, smiling broadly and probably looking like an idiot as he half laughed, half cried, clutching the book in his hands.

Elizabeth came right over and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, which he returned gratefully. "You don't need to say anything. We already know."

Neal didn't let go of the book all night long, and when he got back to June's, he flipped all the way through it, finding every detail the same as he remembered. Even the handwriting was spot on. He had to remember to thank Mozzie for that again and again until he got sick of it.

The little book was tucked under his pillow with great care, and that was where it stayed. Neal sometimes felt like it allowed him to be closer to Felix in some way, that when he fell asleep every night, his father would smooth his hair back and whisper a good night as he had so many years before.