Chapter 9

'Hi Neal, how are you feeling today?' said Allison as she sat by Neal's bed

Neal shrugged.

'I hear you're leaving the hospital tomorrow. How's your wrist?' she asked

'They're going to remove the cast and put me in some sort of wrist brace next week' explained Neal, holding it up to show her

'That's good, and the rest?' she asked

'I'm really nervous about going home. I have no idea what to expect' Neal confided, nervously

'How did your first meeting with your daughter go?'

Neal smiled despite himself 'Strangely familiar yet totally unfamiliar' he answered realizing that made absolutely no sense

'That makes sense' answered Allison

He looked at her quizzically. 'In my head, I don't remember ever laying eyes on her before, and yet I was totally comfortable when I saw her for the first time. Maybe it's because Sara had told me about her and showed me her picture...'

'Or maybe you're tapping into some memories that are trying to bubble to the surface. Your mind is not the only place memories are stored you know, feelings are not facts' offered Allison as she scrutinized Neal's face for emotion

'She's beautiful, she has blue eyes – actually, it's like looking in a mirror – and she has my coloring' Neal said as he reached over to show Allison the picture he now kept by his bed. Allison smiled acknowledging the child in the photograph and she nodded.

'She was really excited to meet me – I mean, see me... I guess for her, seeing me is nothing new. I want to do what's best for her; I'm just not sure what that is' said Neal, wistfully

'What do you mean?' asked Allison

'Well, I've been her dad her whole life, I've behaved in certain ways, we have a history. But I don't have a clue what that history is and I'm afraid to disappoint her' Neal said

'Then you have to be honest with her and let her know how you feel. Just use really simple words and she'll understand. Your daughter loves you so she's not looking for you to fail. And ask Sara to help - she's been watching the two of you together for five years; surely she has some advice for you'

Neal nodded, unconvinced.

'I had another dream last night, I was in a Jacuzzi with Sara and she was pregnant – very pregnant. But I'm not sure if it's just because she's pregnant now... It was beautiful; I was holding her... I think maybe it was in the birthing room but I don't know if it's real or just a dream' Neal said in a faraway voice, recalling the pleasant feeling the dream had elicited.

'You could ask your wife about it when she comes later' suggested Allison

Neal looked up alarmed 'I'm still getting used to the word 'wife' he said looking down at his wedding band and playing with it

'How do you feel about Sara?'

'I care about her, a lot. She's just like I remember, warm, funny, sexy and she's carrying our baby... Maybe I love her, I don't know. She tells me she loves me all the time – I guess that's what married people do – but I just haven't been able to say it yet'

'Because you don't feel it?'

'I don't know... I just don't want to say the words until I'm sure'

'So how do you feel about walking into your house for the first time?'

'My house... it's strange I've never even seen it...'

'Well, you might be surprised at how you feel when you walk in. Even though your mind might not remember, your eyes and all of your senses know that house inside and out. Just don't put any pressure on yourself. Try to relax and things might come to you naturally'

Neal nodded, nervously.

'Did you start your memory journal like I suggested?'

Neal took out the notebook he always kept with him and began to skim through it.

'Can you tell me about some of them?'

Neal opened the book and glanced inside

'I dreamt I was in a room, painting a beautiful mural and I was so happy and excited'

'And...'

'It turns out that I painted a mural for my daughter's bedroom at June's – where we used to live.

Sara says I worked on it for months and that I was so excited about it'

'Neal, that's a memory of how you were feeling about your daughter before she was born. This is excellent!' said Allison

Neal looked back down at his notebook and nodded, awkwardly.

'Mozzie told me about our trip to Cape Verde and while he was talking, I saw myself painting the Mona Lisa. Moz says I did paint a reproduction of it and had it in my place. Also, I remembered that I'd been shot without him telling me... but maybe that's cheating 'cause I've got this scar on my right leg'

'Stop being so hard on yourself, Neal. That scar could have been from anything but you were able to associate it to that specific memory' said Allison, looking very encouraged

'Um, Sara was telling me about our wedding and I remembered some details about our wedding cake before she told me' he said thumbing through his notebook.

'This is really good progress, Neal'

'It doesn't feel like it. What's the point of remembering what was on top of my wedding cake when I don't even remember my own daughter' Neal said, frustrated

'Neal, this is how the memory works. It's not a neat little package in perfect chronological order. It's jumbled up feelings and images and smells and thoughts. It's a patchwork of things, just like life is'

'I don't want tidbits here and there. I want to remember how I felt, why I married Sara, how it felt when Hope was born, how it feels to make love to my pregnant wife...' Neal was getting emotional and his voice broke

'I think we need a bit of a break, what do you think?'

Neal took a deep breath and nodded.

WCWCWC

Wednesday finally arrived and Neal got his walking papers from the hospital. Although he was very relieved to finally be leaving, he was unsure about what lay ahead. Even if he wanted to take the cowardly way out, his former life didn't exist anymore. He had no choice but to make a start on all aspects of his 'new' life and he was terrified.

Sara was winding things up as Sterling Bosch before she started her maternity leave so Peter had offered to pick him up and bring him home. Neal took a long slow breath as he stepped out of the hospital. Although he had been cooped up less than a week, this was his first glimpse at the world six years later and he looked around to see if he noticed any obvious changes in the scenery.

'Well, everything still looks the same' he said as he got into Peter's car and buckled up

'I'm sure that things haven't changed all that much' said Peter

Neal couldn't help but think that, in fact, things as he knew them had totally changed. He watched as Peter drove out of Manhattan towards the suburbs, where Neal had never even imagined living. Arriving in White Plains, he immediately noticed the change in pace, the slower family oriented tempo and he began to feel uncomfortable and restless.

Peter pulled into a street that looked like all the other streets and pulled into the driveway of a nice, cookie cutter home – his home. The one that he and Sara had chosen together, the one they were paying a mortgage on, the one where Hope played with her friends and where he cooked meals and made love to his wife.

Neal was terrified but he put on his best face and thanked Peter for the lift, walking up the drive and waving as his friend drove away. Suddenly, he got one of his now familiar flashes. He was standing in the driveway with a little girl (Hope?) dressed in a nurses' costume and there were little goblins all around. Hope was hanging on to his hand tightly and telling him she was scared as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the house.

He put his hand on his pocket and felt for the now familiar notebook and took a minute to jot down the memory before taking a few tentative steps towards the front door and inserting his key. He had several keys on his keychain and he made the conscious effort not to think, letting his hand guide him and choose the one that opened the door to his 'new life'. The lock came open on the first try.

Neal wandered around the house, taking it all in. The living room was at the front of the house with a small two piece bathroom by the front door. Next to the living room, moving towards the back of the house was the dining room with the kitchen/family room bringing up the rear. He walked into the kitchen and everything seemed oddly familiar although no specific memory came to mind. Neal assumed he must have spent a lot of time in the kitchen over the years, knowing Sara and her dislike of all things culinary. He could see some toys scattered in the family room, a large screen television, puzzles, books and arts and craft supplies. The house had a nice lived-in look but it certainly didn't look like Neal Caffrey's place. He sighed – it was the 'new and improved Neal Caffrey's' place, he thought.

He glanced outside the patio door that was off the family room into the backyard. There was still some snow on the ground but he could see a swing set and he could make out what appeared to be a sandbox in the distance. He tried to imagine spending time out there with Hope on a beautiful summer day.

He wandered up to the second floor, noticing three rooms and a bathroom. The first, obviously Hope's room was beautifully decorated. Upon entering, his eyes were immediately drawn to a framed photograph on the wall – it was a photograph of the mural from his dream. Sara must have taken a picture of it when they moved out of June's place; he smiled as he realized what a sweet gesture that was.

The second room, their bedroom, was roomy and tastefully decorated. He recognized Sara's style and tastes; after all, he had known her for a long time and he'd spent many nights at her apartment on the Upper West Side. He noticed the painting Sara had spoken of over their bed. It was a beautiful rendition of Sara holding a newborn Hope in her arms and once again he was taken by her beauty as seen through his eyes.

The third door was closed and he opened it tentatively. It was the 'studio' as Sara had called it and it housed everything he could possibly need in order to paint and sculpt. He walked in and began to look around at the many pieces of original art on the walls all around the room; they were amazing. Whoever had painted these was an accomplished artist, someone who had something to say and the means to express his vision of the world. He smiled as he fully realized that he was that man and that he obviously had a very happy and full life in order to produce such gems. They were mostly paintings of Hope at various ages, in various poses – outside playing, in Sara's arms, running in a field of flowers, laughing. Although he had no recollection of painting them, their mere existence was confirmation that Neal loved his daughter and his wife very much and that he enjoyed their life together.

He wished he could instantly get that feeling back but he knew he would have to fight to get there and that it would be a long road.

TBC