December

Neal's cellphone rang, he looked at it. It was Hughes, strangely, and on a Saturday. He answered, "hello?"

"Neal...How are your hands?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Are your hands bothering you?"

"Not particularly."

"Then could I bribe you with dinner to help me with something? I believe Chez D'argent has a tasting dinner running this weekend."

Neal blinked, impressed at the mention of a restaurant he hadn't ever even suggested to Peter or Elizabeth given the cost, and for a tasting menu to boot.

"What's the something?"

"I'm working on my convertible and I need a second set of hands. Rebecca is out of town and I thought you might not find it terribly objectionable. Plus if we get it working again we can drive it to the restaurant."

"Sure. Though I'm surprised you didn't ask Peter, he loves the idea of working on cars but we don't have anywhere to park a project."

"Peter's hands aren't any smaller than mine, and I think that may be a requirement."

Neal laughed, "okay."

"Are you at your apartment or the house?"

"My apartment."

"I can be there in about an hour."

"Sounds good."


Neal went downstairs about ten minutes before he expected Hughes, and found June in the sitting area, drinking brandy and listening to music. She patted the seat next to hers, so he moved over to the loveseat to sit beside her. She wrapped her hand affectionately around his arm, "and where are you headed on a weekend? To the house?"

"No," he said, smiling, "I'm going to help Hughes with his classic mustang, apparently. He's bribing me with the tasting menu at Chez D'argent."

"Ooh, excellent."

They sat and chatted about things, she asked after Elizabeth and the baby, Neal was happy to report both were doing well.

Eventually there was a knock on the door, June got up to answer it before Neal could get into his chair.

"Hello," said Hughes, pleasantly, "I'm here for Neal."

"Come in, he's just finishing getting ready."

Hughes came in, June's arm linked with his.

"Brandy?" She offered, as Neal got into the wheelchair.

"Oh, uh…" Hughes looked at Neal, seeing how close to ready he was.

Neal waved at him, "it's good, you should."

Hughes shrugged, "sure."

June poured him a snifter. Neal couldn't help grinning, as the two older people chatted over the drinks.

Something squeezed in his chest. Would this have been what it would have been like to have his parents in his life? Or grandparents? He had long ago realized a similar feeling had been what had clouded his judgment around Vincent Adler. That life had been twisted and doomed from the start.

This one…this was real. Peter and Elizabeth were real. This circle of people he cared about, who cared about him, who would care about his child…

He had successfully blotted a few earlier tears on his sleeve by bending down to retie his shoe, but at the thought that his child would be born into this family, this created group of people who would love them and care for them and raise them, and hug them… That they would never know anything except that…

Neal tried to clamp down his throat, but a sob came out anyway, and the attempt only made it sound more strangled and desperate.

Hughes and June looked at him, both alarmed. Neal blotted his face on his sleeve again, "sorry. My imagination got away from me."

June and Hughes looked at each other, then at Neal again.

"It's alright, Neal," said June, softly.

"What," said Hughes, almost as gentle as June, "are you imagining is your imagination?"

Neal looked between them, slowly realizing that it was possible that Hughes might have been fine waiting for his wife to come back to work on his project car–might not even have needed help at all. Might have just planned a Saturday he thought Neal would enjoy and couched it as a favor so Neal would say yes.