I haven't written anything in a while. Hope you will like it...

However, you read it at your own risk. It's not beta'ed. If you can't stand unbeta'ed stories, stop here. I don't want to annoy anyone.

The same goes for the chapters that will follow.

*** Story starts below ***

'Yes, Father! Mrs. Ellington is one of our patients. You will find her in room 1207.' The grumpy senior nurse couldn't help it, but a smile has crept on her face while talking to the priest.

'She's very tired today. Earlier this morning we did a couple of examinations, and now she's exhausted. Actually, I'm a bit surprised by your visit. She hasn't told us that she called for spiritual care. The resident priest of our hospital has offered to visit her already. However, Mrs. Ellington wasn't interested.'

The priest, who had introduced himself as Denis Jardin, was middle-aged, tall, slim. He wore a black clergy collar shirt with matching black pants that gave him quite a serene look. The gray streaks of hair and the short beard looked decidedly attractive. Not to forget the charming French accent. Even the horn-rimmed glasses were no turn off. Was swooning over a priest a sin? She smiled when thinking about going to confession next Saturday.

Truth be told, she could understand why her patient preferred Père Denis Jardin to the sturdy hospital priest who surely loved to hear the sound of his own voice.

The nurse opened the door to a spacious room to let the priest in. Right next to the window was a bed, and in the bed there was the fragile, but even after all the time, so familiar friend whom he considered his saving grace.

June was asleep. The monitoring screens showed steady curves. Reassuringly, the blood pressure just like the oxygen saturation values were displayed in bright green colors. Nevertheless, a look at the tiny body and the sunken face were proof that the old friend was not really well.

The priest took a chair, put it next to the bed, and sat down. 'I wait until she'll wake up. There's no need to hurry. I would appreciate some privacy for our conversation if that's possible.'

The nurse offered him to join her for a cup of tea in the reception area to help pass the wait. Father Jardin declined politely, took a bible out of his bag, and started reading. Obviously dismissed, the nurse left the room a bit disappointed.

Twenty minutes later, June Ellington woke up. Like usually, she needed a moment to come by and remember that she was in a hospital room - not at home. Looking around, she stared at the priest reading his bible. An amused smile lighted up her face.

'A priest, really? Isn't that a bit too much, Neal? Even for you...' It was only a hoarse whisper, but Neal Caffrey understood every single word.

His blue eyes were sparkling and this grin a tad mischievous. 'God bless you, my daughter! I got your message. You called for me. Here I am. Father Denis Jardin, at your service! If you want to give a confession or need spiritual advice, I am your man. Though, I'd rather suggest we start with a glass of champagne before Nurse Ratched comes back to crash our party!'

After being treated like a sick patient in recovery for weeks on end by doctors, nurses and family, June appreciated Neal chatting to her just like every other day.

He unpacked actually a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes wrapped in a cloth napkin from his huge briefcase.

Neal had carefully chosen flutes made of thin glass, and he filled June's flute only with a few sips of the bubbly liquid. He was aware that she might be too weak to hold a heavy glass.

A moment later, they clinked glasses to celebrate the moment in silence. Just the way it is with good friends they could talk for hours without running out of conversational topics or they could sit in silence without being bored.

After enjoying her champagne treat, June pointed to the bible. 'What's that with the bible? You're impersonating a priest quite convincingly. Tell me the story behind Père Denis Jardin.'

The bible was actually a rare print that had disappeared mysteriously from a private collection years ago. Allegedly it has been owned at one point in time by no-one less than President Lincoln. Neal was tasked to return it to its rightful owner by a benefactor who'd preferred to stay anonymous. He 'found' it in Barcelona after an elaborate investigation. A girl, a European aristocrat – who turned out to be impoverished as well as married - plus an unlucky love affair had been involved in the taking. Though, after all these years someone seemingly wanted to amend the wrong. Now, Neal was planning to return the Holy Book to the private collector from New Jersey who reported it missing.

June enjoyed the entertaining story, even though the part where Neal had recovered the bible stayed a bit blurry. But she was too wise to ask for details.

'And how did you come up with this new alias, Denis Jardin, ordained priest?' June was curious because this alias was very different from any other Neal had used so far.

Neal chuckled. 'Father Denis is actually a living person, a very good friend of mine. He's a priest serving in a little village in the South of France. He likes old wine, good food and endless philosophical disputes. I met him when I did some research on rural ceiling paintings 5 years ago. We became friends.'

As usual when talking about his friends, Neal's eyes got a warm glow. The real priest had a sense of humor you wouldn't expect to find in a man of the Church. He was neither a quixotic idealist nor a clerical hardliner. Denis Jardin knew a lot about temptations and life in general. Moreover, he was a man with the heart in the right place.

The priest needed to attend to some personal business of undisclosed nature. For one reason or another, that was nothing he wanted to discuss with his higher ups in too much detail. So when the bishop offered him to join the French parish in New York as a visiting priest for a few months, and at the same time, Neal was looking for quick means to go there, it seemed to be a perfect match.

'It's so much easier to use the identity of someone who really exists. The CV has no holes and the back-story holds on. It takes a lot of time to forge such an alias if you can't borrow someone's identity. That's how I turned into Father Denis Jardin, my Daughter.' The con man explained finally his motivation for taking this disguise.

June enjoyed Neal's impudence. But even more, she appreciated that Neal Caffrey had gone out of his way when she called for his help. 'Oh Neal, you haven't changed a bit. How I've missed your capers and stories. I guess a visiting priest doesn't lodge in the Waldorf Astoria. Where do you stay?'

You'd almost thought he was pouting from a look at his face... 'For now, I'm staying in a non-profit guest house that was recommended by the bishop. It offers low cost temporary accommodations to clergy. It claims to offer an old world charm. To my liking, the shared bathrooms have way too much old world charm. They could need some new world fittings. And the coffee tastes very pre-war, too. I'm looking for another place to stay. I want to lay low. Can't spend too much money without drawing attention to me.' Neal sighed while thinking about the venerable but dreary guest house. He missed Mozzie's safe houses. Too bad that they were all gone long since.

June smiled. 'How about staying with a relative, an old aunt or cousin second grade? I think we could agree a reasonable rent. Your old apartment is still there and I would be more than happy if you could take care of the house as long as I'm in hospital.'

Neal was surprised. 'It's still vacant? After all the time... Why didn't you rent it out or let one of your grandchildren move in?'

'It's your home, always will be. I was hoping that one day you might come back. And even if not, it didn't seem right to wipe out all those good memories of you in that room by hosting some stranger.'

It was a touching statement, and Neal was touched indeed. 'Then I feel more than honored and glad to take it as my temporary residence. Thank you very much for your generosity. I guess the bishop will be relieved to hear I'm moving in with a relative.'

After they've been chitchatting for a while, the younger man came to the point. 'You've sent a message that you need my help. Something you have never done before. ... I understood that it can't wait. So, here I am. What can I do for you, June?'