New York. Tuesday evening. June 29, 2004.

After a draining trip to Las Vegas and the success of recruiting June into the Urban Legend con, Neal would have preferred to celebrate with an evening off. He envisioned a nice meal, a bottle of wine and listening to music someone else had performed, topped off by appreciating the city lights from the comfort of his loft. Unfortunately Mozzie and June insisted that he couldn't afford to lose the momentum he'd gained in Las Vegas.

He begrudgingly agreed. After a cup of coffee, Neal started by calling Theo Guy, thanking him for arranging the performances in Las Vegas and asking if he could point Neal to more gigs in the next couple of weeks. Theo gave him some leads, and mentioned how pleased his friend had been with Neal's work in Las Vegas. The friend also had a club in Atlantic City and would be interested in duplicating the publicity he'd received by having the feuding Legends appear in his Vegas venue.

Theo also brought up Neal's suggestion that he hire an assistant. "I think I could afford someone part time. You know anyone who'd be interested?"

"Yeah, a singer who's going to business school. Part time is probably perfect." Neal called Randy Weston's store and confirmed that Sam would be working that evening, then arranged for Theo to meet him there at 7pm.

When he introduced Theo to Randy, the men immediately started talking shop. Randy recognized Theo as a former member of the band Local Devastation and was thrilled to have a bona fide rock star in his shop. Theo was impressed with the quality of Randy's instruments and said he would send musicians to the store.

Randy's daughter Sam was behind the counter, ringing up a sale. When she was done Neal approached and said, "Hi, I'm Neal. I think you know my brother, Shawn Legend."

"Oh, goodness!" Sam hugged Neal. "I can't believe it. I've heard so many stories about Shawn's little brother. He kept describing you as a teenager. It's hard to believe you're actually grown up. Can you hang around for a while?" When Neal said he wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere, Sam reminisced about the concerts where she'd met Shawn. She'd been a backup singer for a band before trying to go solo, and Shawn had encouraged her to strike out on her own. "I just wish I'd listened when he told me to avoid Masterson Music. Signing with Masterson was the worst decision of my life. Did you know Shawn visited me when I was recovering from my overdose? He actually felt guilty he hadn't done more to convince me – as if that were possible. No power on earth could have prevented me from signing that contract. Their offer, and the hype around it, that was the biggest high of my life. No matter how many drugs I took after it all fell apart, I never felt as good as I did when I thought I was going to get the fame and accolades they told me to expect."

That made Neal think about his mother and her drinking. Had she been trying to regain an earlier happiness, or simply to forget the sadness of her life?

"I've seen a lot of speculation about Urban Legend recently," Sam continued. "No matter what I read, I can't believe Shawn would treat Grace like that. Not after he was so kind to me."

Neal brought his mind back to Sam. "He'll be glad to hear it. It's good to see you're back on your feet now. Your dad said you're going to business school?"

"Yeah, it's a lot more practical than trying to make it as a singer, and it turns out I'm pretty good at my classes."

"I know Randy's thrilled to have you here, but what would you think about working for someone else? I know the owner of a recording studio who could use part-time help. From what Shawn's said about you, I thought you'd be perfect."

Sam stared at him a moment, and her eyes filled with tears. "I could… I could really work in the music industry, and not be in violation of my contract with Masterson?"

"We can take a look at your contract, but I've never heard of them prohibiting a performing artist from recording the performances of others. No promises, of course. It's up to you and Theo to see if you want to work together, and…" Neal trailed off as Sam hugged him again. This time she held on longer.

"I… I can't believe it." Her voice was broken by tears. "I never thought I could… I told myself that working here while I got my degree was all I could ever have, that music was never going to be more than a hobby to me now. I told myself everyone in the music business was a jerk, everyone out for number one, you know? I couldn't even let myself hope…"

Neal saw a box of tissues behind the counter and handed them to Sam, who was wiping her eyes. "Have you heard of Local Devastation?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" Sam smiled through her tears. "In high school I sang their songs all the time until Dad insisted I learn something else." She tossed a tissue into the trash, and then looked at Neal with dawning awareness. "You said Theo… You mean that Theo? Theo Guy! Oh my God!"

Neal took Sam by her shoulders, turning her around until she faced Theo and Randy. "Let's introduce you."

She squeaked and hid behind Neal. "Are you kidding? No. I'm a mess. I need to wash my face. And my hair is all… And my clothes... I can't meet him wearing this."

After a few minutes of reassurances, Neal pushed Sam in Theo's direction and got them talking. He watched in satisfaction as they got wrapped up in their conversation. Randy was behind the counter now, talking to a customer. Neal was about to walk over to the neighboring bar for something to eat when he heard, "'Scuse me, do you work here?"

A red-headed boy, about 14 or 15 years old, looked up at Neal. Seeing Randy was busy and not wanting to interrupt Sam, Neal smiled at the boy. "I'm helping out today. What do you need?"

"I need a guitar I can play so my brother will let me join his band." The boy mumbled it, as if afraid of being overheard and belittled.

"Garage band?" Neal asked. When the boy nodded, Neal asked about the kind of music the band would be playing, and subtly figured out the kid's budget. It was obvious the boy – his name turned out to be Wesley – had his heart set on the guitar he was standing in front of, but it was too expensive and not suited for a beginner. Asking what he liked about this guitar, Neal scanned the shop and found one that looked similar but would be a better choice. "Have you ever seen one of these?" Neal asked, pulling another option off the wall.

The boy reluctantly left his first choice and followed. He looked at the guitar in Neal's hands. "How is it different?" he asked, showing how little he knew about guitars.

Neal patiently described the merits of this model while also learning about the big brother who had recently decided he didn't want a little brother tagging along all the time. He demonstrated a chord and then let Wesley try it.

"Wow," said the boy, in awe. "I didn't suck."

"Yeah. Now try this." Neal adjusted the boy's fingers.

"Awesome!" The kid was so excited that he wasn't mumbling anymore. Sam and Theo heard and walked over. After being introduced, Theo didn't seem to mind that the boy had never heard of him. The former rock star grabbed another guitar and played along as Neal continued teaching the boy. Sam joined in on an electronic keyboard near them.

When an older boy with the same red hair walked into the store, he looked on in shock to see Wesley playing a guitar with a group of talented adults. As the impromptu performance ended, shoppers and Randy gave a round of applause.

"Ladies and gentleman," Randy said, "allow me to introduce this evening's performers. On keyboards we have my lovely daughter Samantha." Sam bowed. "On guitars we have Theo Guy, formerly of the Grammy-winning band Local Devastation, and…"

"And Wesley," Sam said. "And adding vocals we had a favorite from our Thursday night performances next door, Neal Legend."

Neal was glad to see the older brother congratulated Wesley, and that their parents were purchasing the guitar. "Do you mind if I mention this on our website?" Sam asked Neal and Theo. "It would be great publicity for the store."

"No problem," said Neal, knowing Mozzie would be thrilled to see more exposure for Urban Legend.

"Fine by me," added Theo. "It makes me wish I had time to give lessons. I used to, you know, when I was first getting started. Maybe once I have an assistant I'll have time for that again. Nice meeting you, Sam. Stop by tomorrow and we'll fill out an I-9." He shook her hand and then left the shop.

Neal glanced at Sam, who was almost jumping in place. "I got the job!" she said. She hugged him one more time. "I've got to tell Dad!"

Neal smiled, happy for Sam, and convinced that she and her father would be willing to help Urban Legend when they took on Masterson. He returned a few items to their proper places in the store while he relived memories of giving music lessons with Henry. You got a lot of wannabe musicians at concerts, who were thrilled to get lessons from actual performers. It was a way to pick up a little extra cash and to gain the support of fans. It worked especially well at the concerts that were all-day events with many bands. There was always time to kill between performances, and they'd set up near the refreshment area and get a line of people who wanted to learn the basics or refine their skills.

"Mr. Legend?"

Neal stopped daydreaming and paid attention to the world around him. "You're Wesley's mom. He's a quick learner," he said.

She nodded. "Mr. Weston said I can't pay him for the lesson because you aren't an employee, but I'd like to thank you. Wesley's been disappointed about being left behind as his brother gets older and forms his own interests. I haven't seen him this excited about anything in weeks. I really expect he'll want to take lessons and keep playing even after the garage band disintegrates." She handed Neal a business card. "I work for The New York Times. I'm an assignment editor for business news, but I know people in the entertainment beat. I'm assuming you're a professional musician?"

"Trying to be," Neal said.

"If there's something I can do for you, give me a call."

"Thanks," Neal said, sliding the card into his wallet. Coverage in The New York Times arts section would be amazing for Urban Legend. But having a contact in the business side might be even better when they wanted to spread the word about Masterson Music.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

On his way home, Neal stopped at the runaway shelter where he'd been doing volunteer work. At first he'd gone there on Saturdays, but running into Sara Ellis was a perk of volunteering and her schedule had changed recently. She typically showed up on Tuesday evenings.

When he arrived, Sara was already giving a self-defense lesson. Neal continued walking down the hall, stopping at a room where a group of kids were arguing with a counselor. "I'm not talking to no cop," a teenager insisted. "They don't wanna help me. They see me, they think I'm causin' trouble."

"But they can help," the counselor insisted. He noticed Neal in the doorway and said, "Tell them, Neal."

Neal shrugged. "I avoided cops when I was a runaway. When they saw me and my cousin sleeping in his car, they were more likely to threaten us with jail time for vagrancy than they were to point us to a shelter."

"Right," said the teen.

The counselor shook his head. "But don't you want to change that? If you want the cops to change how they react to you, they need to get to know you. That's why I want to invite members of the local precinct here to talk to us. We can educate them on how to interact with and help runaways, and they can help us understand why they've been hassling some of you."

Neal listened to the arguments going back and forth. There were three kids in the room, but one did most of the talking. At a pause Neal asked him, "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," he said immediately, with a sense of belligerence that definitely wasn't going to go over well with the average cop.

Neal kept his stance relaxed as he leaned against the doorway, and kept his voice soft and level. In no way did his body language telegraph aggression. "Yeah, I get you want everyone to think you're older, so they'll listen to you. I did the same thing – got an ID that said I was 18 when I was still 15. But really, how old are you?"

"Fifteen," the kid said, his voice softer. He liked Neal; most of the kids did. They believed that he really identified with their issues and experiences, and they were curious about him. He didn't tell them he worked for the FBI, and didn't talk much about his current life. As a result they spun fantasies that had him being everything from a spy to a gangster. And in their attempts to learn more about him, they unconsciously mirrored his gestures and tone of voice.

Neal nodded. "Thought so. Can you pull off thirteen?"

The kid nodded back.

"Here's what you do. Invite the cops here, and look as young as you can. Don't try to loom over them. Sit down across the table from them." He took the chair across from the counselor, subtly mussing his hair and pulling down his shirt sleeves so they looked too long. He kept his eyes wide and innocent, and looked years younger.

"Wow," said one of the kids.

"Keep your comments short and your words soft. You want them leaning forward to hear you. Yeah, like that," he said, gesturing toward the counselor. "They may come in aggressive. Be non-threatening. You're just innocent little kids."

One of the kids snorted.

"Yeah, but you can pull it off. You're innocent, scared little kids who need their help. Bring out their protective instincts. When they're calm, you start to mirror their body language. If they nod, you nod. If they lean forward, so do you. Follow their lead. People like that." He turned to the one kid who looked least convinced. Based on the comments he'd made earlier, it sounded like he'd had the most negative experiences with the local police. "Let's try it. You come in as the cop who's been on your case the most, and I'll be you." Neal stood and mimicked the kid's posture. He shrugged and crossed his arms and scowled. "Officer," he said in a challenging tone. Then he shook his head. "Since we're not having a shootout at high noon, that's not right." He relaxed. He didn't smile, but at least he cleared his expression of emotion. "Officer," he said again, with a neutral tone. "Have a seat," he offered, and sat down himself.

The kid strode forward with an exaggerated swagger and overly deep voice. He tried to lead with anger, but Neal kept diffusing the situation and refusing to argue. He ignored accusations and waited out the yelling. It was good for the kid to get this out of his system before the real cops showed up for the meeting the counselor wanted. When the kid ran out of steam, the counselor picked up the part of the cop's annoying partner, and he and Neal showed how the conversation could work, throwing in imitations of the kids and of TV cops to get some laughs.

He ended the conversation with a smile for the kids, but he felt tense. He'd almost forgotten what it had been like to fear the cops, and to expect any interaction with the law to be an interrogation. He was grateful to have those days behind him.

When he left, he found Sara waiting for him. "That sounded like a heated conversation in there. What were they talking about?" she asked as they walked to a favorite coffee shop.

Neal described the issue and concluded, "I ended up with equal parts success and frustration. I think I made a positive contribution, based on my own experiences and what I learned when Henry was getting his master's in psychology. It makes me want to call him up and talk to him about it, and then I hit the wall of frustration because there's no way to contact him."

"Still no word?"

"We talked for about five minutes this weekend before he disappeared again." He held the door open as they reached the coffee shop. "How was your self-defense class?"

As they waited in line, Sara praised her students and then transitioned into a description of what she was doing at Sterling-Bosch. When they found seats and waited for their order, she asked Neal how things were going at the FBI. He mentioned his hopes that he'd finally be included in the Robert Winslow case, after uncovering a lead over the weekend.

Their lattes were delivered and Neal asked, "Do you ever talk to your former co-workers at Winston-Winslow?" Sara had worked for Henry before Sterling-Bosch had recruited her away.

She shook her head and swallowed before saying, "I still feel bad about leaving when I did, right as everything happened with Robert and Henry."

"You couldn't have known," Neal said.

"No, but my giving notice and leaving a hole in the team didn't help. Henry has a loyal group and they… Well, let's just say they didn't hold a going away party for me. The more outspoken among them said I was abandoning ship. They didn't use the word rat, but it was implied. I think they enjoyed escorting me out on my last day." She took another sip, pausing for Neal to respond. When he remained silent she said, "Are you still with me here, Neal?"

"Sorry. I've been working on a plan for finding Henry, and you've inspired an idea."

"Let's hear it," Sara said.

Neal studied her. She had information he could use, but he had qualms about using a friend. It was bad enough making Angela deal with torn loyalties. "This isn't exactly by the book. Maybe you're better off not knowing about it. Plausible deniability, you know."

"To hell with that," Sara said. "I'd like to help. It would feel good to do one last favor for my old boss. Maybe then I'll stop feeling guilty about quitting."

"He might not be grateful," Neal warned. "He needs to be found and stopped from his reckless search for Robert, but he's too obsessed to realize it."

"All the more reason to take action, with all the help you can get. What do you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking of going to Baltimore over the Fourth of July holiday and sneaking into Win-Win."

"That isn't as simple as it sounds," Sara warned. "Their security is top-notch."

Neal hid a smile. Win-Win did have excellent security, but Sara didn't know about his cat burglar days. Getting into the building was the easy part of this plan. "True. But if I were to stop by Henry's apartment first, borrow his clothes to look more like him, and pick up his badge, that gets me inside. The thing is, I've never been to Henry's office, and the security people will be suspicious if they see Henry Winslow wandering aimlessly about while I try to find it. What I need from you is directions. You can tell me what floor it's on and how to get there from the elevator."

"That's easy enough. What do you expect to find in Henry's office?"

Neal shrugged.

"I'm not telling you how to find it until I know what you're planning." She put down her coffee cup decisively. "In fact, as a former Win-Win employee, I still have some loyalty to the company, no matter what they think. I'm not going to tell you how to find his office." Before Neal could muster his arguments to convince her to help him, she added, "I'll show you."

It took Neal a moment to process that. "Oh no. No, Sara, you're not going along with me on this. It's… It's going to be on the Fourth, while the office is empty. Don't tell me you haven't made plans for the holiday."

She barely blinked at this roadblock. "Nothing that can't be canceled."

He finished his coffee and leaned back. "If you give me the directions I need I'll tell you what I have planned, but I'm not taking you with me."

"Top floor," Sara said.

"Left or right off the elevators?"

"It's all so fuzzy. More information might jog my memory." She grabbed their empty coffee cups and stood. "Think about it."

She put the cups in a bin and walked to the ladies' room. Neal checked his phone for messages while he waited for her return. A minute later, a hand reached out from behind him and snatched his phone. "Hey," he protested, turning to grab Sara's arm.

She returned to her seat. "Oh, look, I can access your email."

"Stop that." Neal took his phone back.

"I can take care of myself, Neal. I know self-defense. I can be stealthy. Henry taught me a lot, and Sterling-Bosch has added to my skills. Instead of protecting me, why don't you respect my abilities and let me help?"

"You don't know what you're getting into."

"Then tell me. Let me be the judge of whether it's something I can handle."

"If I tell you, you have to promise you'll keep it to yourself, even if you decide you can't go along with it."

"That's fair. Now spill, hotshot."

Neal explained his reasoning about Henry's accomplice, and then said, "I suspect this person is accessing Win-Win data, and to do that he or she has to be keeping an eye on the company's security to avoid being caught. On the Fourth, if the accomplice learns that Henry unexpectedly arrived at the office that should shake things up. I think whoever it is will either show up or try to call him on his office line to confirm he's really there and find out what's going on. That's my best chance to confront this person."

"You're going to confront him alone? Are you crazy?"

"Keep in mind, this has to be a friend of Henry's, someone who wants to help him. If I can get a few minutes to talk to this person, I can make the case that the best way to help Henry is to let me find him." He smiled his most convincing, trust-me smile. "It's probably gonna be boring, just sitting around waiting to see if anyone will show up. Definitely not worth canceling your plans for."

Sara raised a brow. "I'll pack a lunch. We'll make a picnic out of it."

"A picnic in Henry's office?"

"Well, the security guards will get suspicious if someone they haven't seen for weeks suddenly shows up and spends hours in his office on a holiday. They'll be less likely to come knocking if they think Henry is there because his new girlfriend has a fantasy about a romantic tryst in the executive suites."

In the end, Neal agreed to let Sara go along to Baltimore with him. Mostly because he was certain that if he didn't agree, she'd simply travel there on her own and catch up with him. It would be easier to keep the situation under control if he could see what she was up to.

It wasn't, he assured himself, because he wanted to see how far she'd take the romantic tryst con. He smiled as he walked home, not sure if he was more amused by Sara or by himself. But it had to be a good sign that he was looking forward to this trip. Somehow, when he hadn't been paying attention, he'd started getting over Kate.

With his mind on his hopes and plans for Baltimore, he almost didn't notice U.S. Marshal Annina Brandel loitering outside June's mansion.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

In the Wednesday morning briefing, Neal said he needed to talk to Jones and Peter about the Winslow case. Hughes had returned from his trip to D.C. and raised a brow at this. Peter hadn't had a chance to talk to Hughes about his decision to involve Neal in the case, and he knew he'd be called into Hughes' office before the end of the day to discuss it. Peter's more immediate concern was for Neal, whose impatience was palpable.

When the others left the room, Neal stood and paced as he explained that he'd been contacted by the Marshals last night. Neal's absence from New York had triggered another phony email to Marshal Brandel, ordering her to look into where Neal had gone and what he was doing.

"Annina and her boss pulled in a tech expert they trust," Neal said, "and they think the emails are originating from the company that provides tech support for email and other standard corporate applications. They have internal support for the systems with witness data, but they outsourced the less secure applications to a vendor that specializes in IT. The Marshals aren't supposed to send witness data in email, so it's considered safe to outsource."

"What's the company?" Jones asked. "It might be the same group who provides support to the FBI. The government likes to reuse approved vendors."

"You think…" Peter started, but Jones was already nodding.

"What are the chances of the Manhattan branches of the Marshals and the Bureau being targeted at the same time? And what do the Marshals and White Collar have in common?" Jones asked.

"We're both interested in Neal," Peter said.

Neal stopped pacing. "Wait. What happened with our email?"

Jones filled him in on the attack that prevented email from flowing externally over the weekend. "Not a big deal, so no one noticed right away. But it could be a test by someone with bigger plans."

Finally sitting down, Neal said, "If Robert and his accomplice are behind this, he's more dangerous than I thought. The information he could have access to…" He shook his head. "How much of our Winslow case notes and speculation has been shared by email?"

"Most of it," Jones confirmed. "But we can plug that gap. From now on we'll communicate urgent updates in person, and keep our notes on a secure, encrypted drive with a password. It'll be hosted on FBI servers, and not in the vendor's data center."

Peter nodded in approval, but said, "I can see there's more, Neal. From the looks of you, you tossed and turned all night and you're running on coffee now. What else is going on?"

"Annina's alerting the Marshals protecting my mom and Ellen – going through channels that are more secure than email – to recommend they be relocated. She thinks if I'm a target, they could be too, if only as a way to get to me."

"That's smart," Peter said. "She's taking the proper precautions, and the Marshals have a 22-year track record for keeping your family safe. The good news here is that if Jones is right about the IT vendor, this could finally be a solid lead for tracking down Robert's accomplice. I'll see if we can send Travis undercover as an auditor. This time of year the government checks up on our vendors to make sure they're complying with all of the rules and record-keeping we require. He could find out who at the vendor has access to both the Bureau's and the Marshals' systems."

Jones stood up. "This could take a while. I think I'm on the right track regarding the vendor, but under the circumstances I don't want to use email to confirm. I'm going back to my desk to make some calls."

"Good idea," Peter said. "Neal, let's get some fresh air, OK?" He led the kid outside and away from sources of caffeine. Instead he bought a couple bottles of water and they sat near a fountain. The sound of the splashing water provided a measure of privacy. "What else did Brandel say?"

"She thinks my leaving town rattled someone. Knowing what a control freak Robert is, I have to think it's him. His inability to track Henry has to be driving him nuts. If he thinks I'm up to something, it could push him into making a mistake."

Peter took a drink of water. "Let me guess where you're going with this. You want to travel again?"

"Yeah. I'd already made plans to head out of town for the holiday weekend, and my first thought was to extend the trip. I'd like to travel under an alias Robert doesn't know."

"That would push his buttons," Peter said. "Both you and Henry disappearing. He'd think you're together, conspiring against him."

"Yeah, and it would be safe. Safer than staying home, actually, because he couldn't find me. But what if he decides to retaliate? Peter, if he knows where the Marshals have my mom…"

"They'll move her," Peter said, "and they'll take extra precautions. If you're going to do something to rile him, this is probably the best time, when your mother is getting special attention from the Marshals and before Robert has a chance to track down her new location."

Neal nodded.

Peter thought it over. "We're talking vacation time, right? You're not going to pull a Henry and use your time off to look for Robert?"

"I promise. Maybe go to the beach or something."

"How much time are you thinking?"

"Friday through Tuesday, to start. Maybe more time later depending on what kind of reaction we get from Robert."

Peter took off his suit jacket while he considered this. It was going to be a warm day. What was it with Neal and El? They both liked sunny beaches. Peter preferred winter vacations with snow. "I guess it's good to get in one last summer vacation before you start classes."

Neal had lifted his bottle of water to drink, but placed it back on the table. "You make it sound like I've had a series of summer vacations."

"Well, wasn't that essentially your life from 18 to 22, hanging out with Henry? One big vacation. No job, no responsibilities?"

"You're kidding me. You think that was a vacation? Peter, we lived hand-to-mouth. There were plenty of nights we slept in Henry's car. Yeah, we told ourselves it was a big adventure, but we… We had too much pride to ask for help, and we learned fast enough that the cops would rather chase us away than help us. That's part of the reason Henry enjoyed breaking the law. Better than letting the law break us. That's how he described it."

Peter sat back, hearing the anger and even a touch of embarrassment in the story. He suspected that this had been brewing in Neal for a long time. "That's not how it's supposed to be."

"Yeah. As a kid who'd idolized cops as heroes, I had a lot of illusions of how it was supposed to be, and they were shattered. Reality's harsh."

Peter simply listened. It was important to let Neal get this out without interruption, but in the back of his mind he was adding a note to Neal's file. Community outreach and public service were important goals in the Bureau. In Neal's midyear review, he should recommend that Neal talk to the local agents about how to interact with teen runaways. When Neal stopped talking Peter asked, "You still volunteering at the shelter?"

"I went by yesterday."

"Good." He drank more water and wondered if anything noteworthy had happened in that most recent visit. Spending time with runaways at the shelter probably brought these memories and emotions closer to the surface. "Your issues with law enforcement, does that all stem from your past?"

Neal looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Is anyone hassling you at the office?"

"No. Hitchum's gone. The only other person I had an issue with was Agent Rice, and it's not like I ever run into her."

"Right. But what about something more subtle? You know, someone making you feel like you're different."

"I am different. I'm a consultant."

"But we're all a team," Peter insisted. "Everyone should be treated the same."

"That sounds nice in theory, but it's another example of reality being harsher than your ideals. Real agents can do things I can't. And they get treatment and benefits I can't. They get tuition assistance, for one thing. It's like I told Noelle: I'm the Pinocchio of the office."

"That's…" Peter struggled with where to start. His heart plummeted at the thought of Neal not going to grad school after all the effort he'd put into passing the entrance exams. "I hadn't heard the tuition assistance fell through. When did you find out?"

"I don't know. A week ago?"

"What are you going to do?" Peter asked.

"Well, not tell anyone I was accepted into Columbia until I can figure out how to pay for it, for one thing." Neal stood up and ran his hands through his hair. "I've got some ideas. Just… just let me deal with it."

Peter stood up to pat Neal on the back. Interrogating him about his distant behavior could wait. The kid had enough to deal with. "Just remember I'm here for you. If you want to talk about it, to run those ideas by me or even just to vent, I'm ready to listen." They walked back inside, and were silent in the elevator. As he returned to his office, Peter saw Hughes was free. Perfect timing. He could find out what Hughes had heard at the party, and ask if there was any hope for reversing the decision about Neal's tuition.

A/N: Neal's advice at the shelter is inspired by his talk with the boy waiting to talk to the principal in the episode Upper West Side Story. Thanks to my beta Silbrith for prompting improvements in that scene.

In the next chapter, Peter finally talks to Hughes about the "teacher's pet" issue.