Happy Sunday! I know I usually post on Thursdays but since this is the last chapter, I thought I'd send it on early. Thanks to all who have read and especially to those who took the time to PM me or post a review. A very special thanks to MaxMusings for being both my sounding board, editor, and encourager. There wouldn't have been a chapter 29 (or possibly even an Aftershocks) without you.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The change Peter now observed in Neal as he laughed with Elizabeth, June, and Mozzie around the patio table hadn't occurred upon the series of pronouncements of Guilty from the jury or even when Terrence Eden had been sentenced to forty-five years in prison. Those things had lessened the tension in his frame and even his mind, to some degree. He'd been less on edge, less wound up and snappish, and after a week or so, there were also improvements in his physical appearance. The look of perpetual exhaustion began to fade and his clothes no longer hung as loosely from his still too-thin frame. Of course, Elizabeth did her best to eradicate that lingering by-product of the past months by having Neal at their dinner table at least once a week. But they could tell when therapy with Robert was particularly intense; Neal would be quiet at the office and would invariably pass on dinner.

They didn't talk about what had happened to Neal in Chicago. Peter was more than okay with that. He hadn't wanted the particulars when Hughes had offered them, but he'd gotten them and probably more when Neal had shown up at his door in the early morning hours and confided in him. That had been hard, but he'd felt all Neal needed then was a safe place to unburden his soul and have someone hold him until he was done. But the next afternoon, after awakening from his nightmare, Neal had not been able to calm down. Instead, his fear and desperation had escalated. The past and present, memories and realities mingled until Neal was literally out of his mind. One minute he would know where he was, and the next, he'd be flung back into the past, fighting, crying, and thrashing about as he relived that night again and again. Both he and El tried to comfort him, to assure him he was safe, but the relief they gave him only lasted a few scant moments. Then it would all start again. It had been terrible to see him suffer so and be unable to help, but the worst by far was when he simply stopped. Everything. He didn't cry or beg; he didn't cling to him for protection. He just sat still with a shell-shocked look on his face. They both knew he needed help beyond what they could give him. Peter could have taken him into the hospital but he had no doubt where he'd have ended up; sixth-floor psych ward. So instead of risking that, Elizabeth called her dad.

That whole week was touch and go, but the medication helped ease the nightmares. Neal had stayed the next two nights with them before returning to his apartment. He had seen Robert every afternoon until the trial started. After that, they had cut the sessions to just once a week. Slow, Neal had told him, we are going to move slow. Peter understood; Neal needed to be the one to set the pace and the boundaries. He needed to know he was the one in control. But even with that, there were times Peter could tell they were covering rugged terrain. Neal would be withdrawn and distant at the office and would decline his weekly invite to dinner. He never pressed him about the sessions with Robert or his past in general. He simply reiterated he was there to listen if Neal needed to talk.

Since the trial, Neal had been undercover twice, once as an investor and second as an art collector in the market for stolen Matisse. He'd done exceptionally good work, reeling in a scam artist and solving a theft at the Kane Gallery in Queens. And when the accolades had come, he'd accepted them with a grin. Amazingly, things had gotten back to normal; Neal had gotten back to normal. But last week at the office something had happened—something not normal; something big.

And just before quitting time.

"Brooks."

Peter looked up from his desk to see Neal in the doorway.

"Brooks?" he repeated in confusion, mentally running down the list of files he knew occupied Neal's inbox. "Brooks, who? What case?"

Neal gave a quick shake of his head before shutting the door. He moved further into the office. "It not a case, Peter," he said tautly, stopping in front of the desk. Peter recognized the look of distress. Whatever it was, it was important but apparently not easy to say. Peter saw Neal take a deep breath. "When I left home," Neal continued, his blue eyes intense, "and went to Chicago, my name was Danny Brooks."

The pronouncement dropped like a bomb; Peter was surprised the building didn't shake. Danny Brooks. After all this time, he had a name. Neal had given him a name. He sat there staring, unsure of what to make of this offering, much less say in response. So he didn't say anything; he just waited.

"I didn't lie in court," Neal assured him, a pinched look on his face. "I was born Neal. But when I was a kid, no one ever called me that." His brows furrowed. "At least not that I remember."

Peter felt his heart speed up as he got to his feet. Neal's childhood was territory he never thought he'd traverse; his true identity something never expected to know. Yet here they seemed to be. He moved cautiously from behind his desk, half afraid a sudden move would send Neal out the door. He stepped over to the more comfortable chairs. He took one and motioned to Neal to take the other. For a moment, Neal seemed hesitant and Peter let out a breath of relief when he accepted the offer. But he didn't lean back or make himself comfortable; he sat perched on the edge as if poised to take flight. When he didn't say anything further, Peter gently prompted him.

"So Danny was what?" he began tentatively, watching Neal closely. "A middle name? Nickname?"

Again Neal shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. But it was the name I went by when mom and I went into Witsec. I was three." Thunderstruck, Peter again found himself staring and speechless. Witness protection? Why? What had sent his family into hiding? And how could a fifteen-year-old disappear from Witsec and no one be looking for him? "I knew we changed last names." Neal's eyes had dropped to his hands, fidgeting on his lap. "But I'd always thought my name was Danny. I didn't know different until I looked at the back of an old picture mom had."

"A picture of you?"

Neal looked up, and Peter could see the pain in his eyes. "Yeah," his voice was husky with emotion. "Me, mom, and my dad."

His family. He and mom had gone into WitSec; there had been no mention of his dad. "What did it say?" Peter asked. "On the back?"

"Just Neal, age 2," he answered. "Nothing else. No other names or a date. Just that."

Peter frowned. "Do you know what your real name was? Or why you were in WitSec?"

"Mom said it was because my dad was a hero," Neal told him, "that he'd died trying to bring some crime family down. But that wasn't true." He looked pained. "He worked with that family; he was a...a dirty cop." His face flushed as if his father's crimes were a reflection on him. "He stole money from them, a lot of money, and took off."

What a piece of shit, Peter thought, his anger rising on Neal's behalf. A dirty cop was bad enough, but stealing from the mob and leaving his family to deal with the repercussions? There should be a special place in hell for a man like that. "So you and your mom were put into witsec because of possible reprisals from the mob."

"I guess so," Neal said. "I remember us moving five times, having to learn how to write a new last name five times. There might have been more, but I don't remember."

Peter had already determined Neal had had a lonely childhood, that he'd had little to no family or support, but life in WitSec was particularly isolating. Especially if constant moving was required. It made it impossible to feel secure, to put down roots, and build healthy relationships. These were things every kid needed, but Neal had never gotten them.

Well, until now.

"I was fifteen when I found out the truth."

And fifteen when he'd ran away and ended up in Chicago. "How did you find out?"

"I overheard mom and the Marshall's talking," he explained. "They'd come to tell us we needed to relocate. They didn't know I was home." Peter nodded in understanding, and Neal ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Nothing I ever thought about who my dad was, who I was, was true. I was so...so..." he abandoned the search for the right word, but his look conveyed it loud and clear: lost. He'd been lost. At an age already turbulent with self-doubt and discovery, Neal's understanding of who he was had been stripped away. "My whole life was a lie, Peter. All of it. Even my name." He gave a shrug. "I didn't know how to deal with that, or what to do with it, so..." his hands fluttered, palms up above his lap in surrender.

"So you ran," Peter supplied gently. After all, that was what Neal Caffrey did. When he was hurt, when he was scared or overwhelmed, when he didn't know what to do, he ran.

Neal nodded, and for the first time in weeks, Peter saw the tears building in his blue eyes. "And that's what I've done ever since."

Neal had been justifiably hurting, scared, and overwhelmed by the truth his nightmare had revealed. Facing that truth and then Eden in the courtroom was more than he could handle. He'd planned to run. He had his clean alias and cash in hand and Mozzie had made all the necessary arrangements. But instead of rushing to wherever an illegally perched helicopter waited to whisk him away, he'd found his way to the Burke house.

Peter reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Until now, Neal," he pointed out. "Until now."

"I don't want to be like him, Peter," Neal said in desperation as the tears spilled over. For a second Peter didn't follow but the next statement put him on track "but she said I was." She. His mother. He didn't want to be like his father. Neal swiped at his cheeks. "She said I was just like him."

How that had to have hurt once he'd found out the truth. That his father wasn't a hero but a bad cop. That he'd stolen from the mob and ran out his family.

"Neal-"

"She said I had his smile and his charm," Neal rushed on. Having started, he seemed determined to get it out. "that he put the blue in my eyes. I was so proud of that," he confessed. "I thought it was a good thing." Anguish stamped his face. "I could never understand why she-" he stopped and again wiped his wet cheeks. "But now I do. I spent all those years wanting to be just like him and now, now I'm afraid I am."

Peter wasn't prepared for this conversation; he'd never expected it to occur at all. But he'd learned over the past year his instinct was usually pretty good. His Caffrey radar had been fine-tuned; he not only knew when Neal was in difficulty he also more often than not knew what he needed to find his way out.

For someone who made his way in life by appearing completely confident, Neal was anything but. Peter had learned his insecurities, although very well hidden, centered around his feelings of self-worth. His past in Chicago had obviously been a major factor but his doubts about himself went further back than that.

"We all carry traits of our parents and even grandparents," he offered. "We might look like them or have their mannerisms but we are not them. We are our own men, Neal, and we make our own choices about who and what we're going to be."

Neal shook his leg. "Yeah," he said. "I know. And I'm a convicted felon."

He wasn't wrong. He was a felon. But he'd been convicted of a crime he'd committed when he was a minor. Of course, the record didn't show it that way. But even at the recorded age of twenty-one, he'd been young and it was a non-violent crime. It seemed unfair for it to haunt him for the rest of his life.

There had been a time when he'd thought Neal had purposely chosen to live a life outside legal bounds but now he realized Neal had just been trying to survive. He undoubtedly had inherited certain skills from his father and he'd used them to make a way for himself. Peter didn't condone his criminal activities but he now knew his course had been set more by necessity than chosen for sport. Hindsight was 20/20. It was easy to look back at Neal's life and see where he could have, perhaps should have, made different choices. But he also knew that Neal had only known a certain kind of life; a life where you lived by your wits and what you could get away with. Again, he didn't condone that lifestyle but he did understand it.

"Maybe so," Peter allowed gently. "But you're a lot more than just that, Neal. Look at what you've done since you made the choice to come to White Collar. You risked your life for June's granddaughter," he reminded him. "And for Lindsay Gless." He saw a glimmer of hope in Neal's eyes. "You make the world a safer place. Especially for people like Jackson."

"Do you really believe that?" Neal asked. "Do you think..."

"Think what?" Peter asked at his hesitation.

He frowned. "Think I'm a good person."

That he even had to ask, that after everything he still doubted his worth, broke Peter's heart. He knew he had inadvertently added to Neal's sense of diminished value. He'd been so good at hiding his true self that it had taken time for Peter to recognize some of his behaviors for what they were; insecurity. Since then, he'd been doing everything he could to rectify the damage he'd done. Neal was one of the best people he'd ever known and by far the strongest. He just had to keep telling him so until he learned to believe it.

"I know you are a good person," he put every ounce of FBI Agent authority into his words. But still seeing doubt in Neal's eyes, he again reached over to put a hand on his shoulder. "You are one of the best people I've ever known, Neal," he said with all sincerity. "You make a difference in people's lives." His throat begin to tighten. "In my life," he stressed, unable to keep the emotions that truth evoked in him from his voice. "I'm glad you are on my team, Neal, but I'm honored to call you my friend."

Silence fell upon them as they sat there, eyes locked and near tears. But only a moment. They both hastily got to their feet.

"I feel-"

"Now that-"

They'd spoken at the same moment, only adding to their embarrassment. Though he could feel his cheeks flushing, Peter couldn't help but grin. "You first."

Crimson had crept into Neal's cheeks as well but he gave a small, it's-not-a-big-deal shrug all the same. "I feel the same about you. If I didn't, I wouldn't..."

"Still be here?" Peter joked, trying to lighten the emotional weight in the room. "But be lounging around on some exotic island sipping fruity drinks?"

"That," Neal grinned back before growing more serious. "And I wouldn't tell you about...well, any of this."

This. His past. His name. His mother's what, disdain? His father's probable criminal activities and not so probable absenteeism.

Peter nodded solemnly. "I know," he said, acknowledging the level of trust Neal had shown him by telling him not only about Danny, but about his life as Danny. "Do you want me to make a few calls?" he offered. "Get more information about-"

Neal quickly shook his head. "No, Peter," he said. "Promise me you won't go digging in this," he pleaded. "I know that's what you do, but please,..."

"I won't do anything unless you are okay with it," Peter promised, seeing Neal's growing apprehension at the idea. "But it's better to know the truth than to be left with questions."

He'd said the very same thing weeks ago when the agents from Organized Crime had visited. He still believed it was true, that it was better to know than to imagine, but Neal's viewpoint hadn't budged. At all.

"Not always. Sometimes it's better not to know."

Although Peter understood Neal's fear he didn't ultimately agree with him. Whatever the truth was, it would be better to know than to create all manner of scenarios. But this was Neal's call: he had more than enough on his plate at present.

"I understand," he said. "Just know I'm here if you need me. All you have to do is say the word."

Neal looked a bit sheepish. "Help?"

He couldn't help himself. He clapped Neal on the shoulder. "You know it."

Since that day in the office the topic of Neal's past, and his father, hadn't been revisited. It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done; not running the name Danny Brooks thought the Federal Database. Or having Hughes reach out to the Marshal Service and ask about Danny Brooks. They would have his story; they would know who he had been, who his parents were, and what crimes his father had been suspected of committing. Was his mother still in Witsec? Was his father still on the run? It was all there. The answers he'd wanted ever since he'd met Neal Caffrey. But Neal wasn't ready to know them, at least not now. Maybe one day he would be but he could only fight one demon at a time. And currently, he was engaged in a mortal battle with Francis Douchant.

And truth be told, Peter was okay with not knowing. He really was. Who Neal had been as a child, who his family was, and what his father had been, ultimately didn't matter. Just like he'd told Neal, each person chooses who or what they will be and Neal had made his choice.

He was committed to working with White Collar, to use his skillset to make the world a better place. But more than that, he had chosen to stay in New York. To reach out. To connect with the people in his life. He saw the results of those choices now. Neal had finally found a place to belong and people who loved him. Something Peter believed he'd been looking for all his life. If he had what he'd been looking for, there was no need to run.

Here, gathered around the Burke Patio on a peaceful afternoon with burgers and hotdogs roasting on the grill, Neal was perfectly at ease. He had finally found a home.

The End