A/N: We decided that Peter's birthday is in early January, a time when many people reflect on the past and plan for the future. As such, I took this tale down a poignant path. There's an OC with a terminal illness (trigger warning), and several of our Caffrey Conversation characters recall loved ones they've lost. There's humor, too, as the White Collar team conspires to surprise Peter with a birthday celebration. He's not an easy person to surprise!
Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 03, 2005. Monday morning.
When Agent Diana Berrigan strode into the White Collar team's bullpen, she saw fellow agents Jones and Travis in conversation in the breakroom. She waved at them on the way to her desk, and when her laptop was booting up she joined them. "Happy New Year," she said as she poured a cup of coffee.
They returned the greeting. "Tricia sent us a message," Travis told her. "Last night she wrote an email to the three of us."
Diana raised a brow. Tricia was her mentor when Diana joined the White Collar team but had been away recently training for a new role. "Isn't she on another team starting today?"
Jones nodded. "She said her last official act as a member of Peter's team was to remind us his birthday is next week. If we want to surprise him, we should make our plans before he gets back from Hawaii."
"What did you do last year?" Diana asked.
What followed was a nearly unbelievable story about a criminal who had specialized in hiding caches of stolen items for thieves. Apparently on Peter's last birthday, with prompting from friends of Neal's, the criminal turned over his list of hiding places and a treasure hunt ensued, ending with the discovery of sixty million dollars in cash that had been stolen from the Federal Reserve.
As Jones wrapped up the story, Diana shook her head. "So you're saying we need to do more than buy a cake."
Honolulu International Airport. January 06, 2005. Thursday.
"Your birthday is right around the corner," Betty Burke said to her son as they walked toward their gate.
It was hard for Peter to believe it was less than a week until his birthday. In warm and sunny Hawaii, it simply didn't feel like January. But the weight of his winter coat in his carry-on bag was a constant reminder that he was on his way back home to New York. "Here we are," he said, and led the way to a set of open seats at their gate.
In addition to Peter, his wife Elizabeth and his parents, their group included several Caffreys and Winslows who had gathered in Hawaii for a wedding that united the Burke and Caffrey families. The newlyweds were staying on the islands for their honeymoon, but the guests needed to return to the real world.
Betty sat beside Peter and Elizabeth and asked, "Have you made any plans yet?"
Peter shrugged. "I like to relax on my birthday, and it's on a Tuesday this year so there isn't time to do much. Something Italian for dinner and watching a mystery is all I have in mind."
"We'll have a cake," El added.
"Are you sure you don't want to do anything more than that?" Betty persisted. "I always feel bad for people whose birthdays fall in January. After Christmas and New Year's their families tend not to have the energy or money for another party, and it doesn't seem fair."
"You always planned something big when I was a kid," Peter remembered with a smile. "Skiing trips, hockey games, horseback riding, epic snowball fights with all the neighborhood kids."
"Until you turned fourteen." Betty sighed. "After that you always wanted a quiet birthday."
El cast a puzzled look in Peter's direction. He'd never told her about that. With a glance toward Neal Caffrey, Peter took a page out of the former con artist's book and deflected. "Last year wasn't quiet." He spent a solid twenty minutes describing his previous birthday, even though he'd already told his mom all about it a year ago. When he finished retelling the story, he abruptly announced he wanted a cup of coffee and left the gate.
But on the flight back to New York, when Peter's parents were napping in the row behind them, El asked in a low voice, "What happened on your fourteenth birthday?"
"It's a long and depressing story. I'd rather not tell it on the plane."
El glanced back at her mother-in-law and said, "I think your mom wishes you'd talk to her about it."
Peter felt chilled and reached up to adjust the air flow. "There's nothing she could have done."
"Maybe she needs to hear you say that. Or maybe there's something she needs to tell you. Whatever it is, she looked hurt when you changed the subject." El ended there, but her feelings were written all over her face. She was surprised — and disappointed — at how he'd shut down the conversation his mother clearly wanted to have.
Peter felt abashed that he'd reacted as if he were still a teenager. He was a year away from forty now and needed to act like it. "It's not exactly a discussion for an airplane, and we won't have a lot of time in the airport before my folks leave for Albany. Next time we're together, I'll ask her if there's something she wants to discuss about that birthday."
El looked satisfied, and Peter was glad she let the subject drop. He wished he were better at talking about this kind of stuff.
Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday morning.
"Here already?" Diana stopped at Neal's desk on the way to her own. It looked like he'd been in the office for a while. His cup of coffee was nearly empty.
He nodded. "Our flight landed around dawn, and I thought if I tried to sleep I wouldn't be able to wake up again before noon. I only went home long enough to take a shower and put on a suit."
Diana stole a glance in the direction of Peter's office. He was there, with the door closed. That meant it was safe to talk about their plans. "Jones and Travis and I are trying to arrange something for Peter's birthday, but so far our ideas have been pretty tame. We could use your help."
Neal grinned. "There was an email from Travis waiting for me when I logged on this morning. He said you wanted to plan a surprise. The trick will be coordinating something without making Peter suspicious."
"Do you have any suggestions for how we avoid that?" Diana asked.
Beeps sounded from laptops throughout the bullpen as meeting reminders popped up on computers. Time for the morning briefing. Neal stood up. "The best way to keep Peter from guessing we're colluding is if he assigns us to work together. Fortunately I read Travis' email before Peter asked me to help sort the latest case files. I can guarantee Peter will ask us to make updates to our reports on our last big case."
"What did you do?" Diana asked, but it was too late. Neal slipped away and chatted with Agent Jorge Badillo as they strolled toward the conference room. Maybe that was for the best. The pause to drop her laptop at her desk and to take off her winter coat meant she didn't walk into the meeting with Neal. She didn't want to make it obvious they were conspiring.
At nearly every morning briefing, Peter had a stack of case files on the table beside him. Some were new cases to be assigned. Others were completed cases. During the meeting he doled out the new cases, and at the end he let his team members know if they needed to update their documentation on completed cases before they could be officially closed. Today, he returned files to Jones, Travis, Neal, and Diana, with instructions to make updates as soon as possible. "It's been nearly a month since we made the arrests in the Samurai bonds case. Even with Neal's injury and the holidays, we should have closed this one out by now. Remember, if it happened in the field — "
"It happens in the file," Diana and several others repeated the mantra along with Peter.
He slid the case files across the table to the four of them. Diana opened hers and frowned at the notes from her boss. Missing pages? She thumbed through her write-up, which was indeed missing the last two of the five pages she'd written. Since she wasn't careless enough to miss printing and including pages of her report, she knew this was Caffrey's doing. When was the Bureau going to move out of the dark ages and make these files electronic, instead of printing and storing everything in the file room? Then team members couldn't sabotage each other by tearing out pages.
She looked up to see most of her fellow agents staring at her.
"Had to happen sometime," Jones said. "The streak has ended."
Until today, Peter had never asked Diana to update a report she submitted. She took pride in it but didn't realize anyone else on the team had noticed. "Tricia taught me well," she said. She tried to sound modest, but the laughter told her she hadn't pulled it off.
"Who's going to tell Tricia her angel has fallen from grace?" asked Caffrey. Diana had thought of him as Neal earlier, but when he annoyed her, he was Caffrey. And he was seriously annoying right now.
"Yeah," Jorge added. "Tricia thought her protege would go six months without having to revise a report. How long has it been?"
"Four months since Diana turned in her first case report at White Collar," Travis said.
"Who had four months?" Jorge asked. "The spreadsheet for the pool is back at my desk."
Diana glared at them. "You were betting on me?"
"I was down for four months." Of course it was Caffrey. He won the bet by cheating, and he'd better not think he'd get away with it.
"It was an impressive streak you had going," Peter said. "Previously the longest anyone went before getting their first returned report was three weeks."
"Wait, I went four weeks," Caffrey said.
"We don't measure it from your start date," Jones explained. "Your very first report was returned the day after you turned it in."
"Twice," Peter added. "I can't believe people complained I was going easy on you."
Caffrey nodded. "I wasn't happy about having to do those rewrites, but the practice getting my reports perfect helped when I started writing papers for grad school." He cocked his head and looked at Jones. "How long did you go?"
"A couple of weeks," Jones admitted.
Diana's eyes widened. "No way. Harvard Law had to rewrite a report within two weeks, and I lasted four months?"
"You had a mentor," Jones explained. "I didn't."
Peter chuckled. "At least Jones has the honor of being the only person who's had to rewrite a report because it was too verbose. Usually I'm begging people to add more detail." He stood up. "The rest of you could take lessons from Diana. We might want to schedule a workshop on case reports. It could be good training for the team."
Everyone groaned.
"In fact, why don't you practice now? All four of you had gaps in your report for the same case. Get Diana's feedback, so I don't have to return them again."
"I guess it will go faster if we make the corrections together," Diana conceded. "I'll see if there's a conference room open."
"We could use the lab," Travis volunteered. "No one was in there this morning."
With that, the team dispersed. Peter and the others returned to their desks, while Diana, Jones and Caffrey followed Travis to the lab. All of them pulled chairs over to Travis' workstation, except Caffrey, who was poking around a storage space. "Get over here, Caffrey," Diana ordered.
He complied, but as he sat down he asked Travis, "Is anyone using that corner?"
Travis shook his head. "Did you have a use in mind for it?"
"It could be a perfect niche for authentications," Caffrey said. "I've been doing more of that kind of work lately, and it would help to have a dedicated space."
"Save it for later," Diana said. "We can't waste time or Peter will be suspicious."
"Fortunately for us Peter believes it was his idea for us to meet this morning," Neal said. "I hope you appreciate how masterful a con that was on my part."
"I don't appreciate you ruining my perfect record."
"I was doing you a favor," Caffrey insisted, faking a look of innocence. "People were getting jealous. It was about to get ugly."
"Not buying it. And whatever you won with that bet, you're sharing it with me."
Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY.
Elizabeth wrapped her hands around a warm mug of coffee and told herself it was silly to shiver. The thermostat was set at the same temperature that had been perfectly comfortable when she'd left town before Christmas, but after more than a week in Hawaii she felt chilled now in New York.
She sat at the dining table, catching up on email for her business — Burke Premiere Events — but there wasn't much. Planning the wedding in Honolulu had been her last project, and she hadn't committed to any other events for early January so she wouldn't be distracted by clients during her vacation.
Her inbox had been pitifully devoid of messages, and she stood up intending to unpack the suitcases they'd left near the front door. Sometimes her best ideas came to her while doing laundry, and she hoped this morning an inspiration for marketing her business would arrive while she sorted sand-covered beachwear.
Before she could open the suitcases, her cell phone rang. "Hello, Marcus," she answered, when a glance at the caller ID told her it was her contact in the Shooting Stars foundation.
"Tell me you're back home and I didn't just wake you up in the middle of the night in Hawaii."
El chuckled. "I'm in Brooklyn and trying to adjust to winter."
"I have a family who needs your help."
After picking up a pad of paper and a pen, El sat on the sofa. "Tell me about them."
"It's a divorced mother and her two children. The boy is ten and the girl is six. The children live with their father, and this is a last vacation with their mom. She thought her condition was under control until a recent checkup. It showed that the medication she's taking isn't slowing the progress of her disease anymore. The doctors say it's terminal. She has a few more weeks where she's still able to be active, and then her condition will deteriorate rapidly."
"How can I help?"
"We're flying the three of them to New York Monday night."
"So soon?" El was used to having weeks to plan an event.
"We're always under a time crunch with these things. Think of this more as planning a tour instead of an event. We need your help identifying and accessing venues that will appeal to them. First thing Tuesday morning I'll kick things off. The mother will visit a specialist for a second opinion regarding her prognosis. Then starting with lunch we want to give them a chance to enjoy their favorite things together."
The Shooting Stars foundation was similar to the group that granted wishes for dying children, but the organization Marcus worked for focused on families where a parent was dying. The goal was for the children to have happy memories of being with their parent, to offset the grief that would follow. Several months ago, Marcus spoke at an event planners' conference, asking for volunteers willing to help pull off special days for these families. El and others had filled out a profile indicating their interests and resources, so that Marcus could call on the volunteer who best matched the needs of a given family.
"What are their favorite things?" she asked.
As Marcus outlined what each member of the family enjoyed, it was clear why he'd chosen Elizabeth for this project. But when El opened her calendar, something else became clear. This event would keep her busy on Peter's birthday.
That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, she told herself. She'd wanted an excuse to do more for Peter's birthday than eating lasagna and cake and watching a mystery. She could use her work on the Shooting Stars itinerary to distract her husband as she planned a surprise for him. Surprising an FBI agent was no easy feat, however. Once she told Marcus that she'd take the project, she considered her options.
Neal had mentioned that one of the tricks to conning a mark was to make him believe he was your accomplice.
She checked the time. The morning briefing should be over by now. She picked up her phone and selected the first number on the speed dial list.
Peter's office, Manhattan, NY.
Peter glanced at the caller ID and answered as soon as he saw who was calling. "What's up?" he said.
"Hey, hon. Do you have a minute? I need a favor."
"Now is good. You caught me between meetings." He stood and closed the door to his office for privacy.
"Remember me telling you a few months ago that I'd signed up to help a few charities with events? One of them just called me. They're bringing a family to New York early next week and asked for my help planning a special day for them."
Peter paused beside his chair. "Do they want a police escort? I have some contacts at NYPD."
"Nothing that elaborate. The family has two children. The oldest child loves stories about FBI agents. Those are his favorite TV shows and movies, and we want to arrange for him to meet real agents and talk to them about their training and experiences."
Sitting down at his desk, Peter clicked his mouse to show his calendar for the next week. "What day?"
"Tuesday."
He grimaced. "The annual budget and goal-setting sessions start next week. The only time I'm free on Tuesday is the lunch hour."
"That would work, actually. The family's busy in the morning, and I'm supposed to arrange a lunch for them. I could have a caterer deliver to your office. I'd just need to know how many agents to feed."
He made a note on a pad of paper. "I'll ask for volunteers and get back to you with a number."
"If you're in meetings all day Tuesday, can I assume you won't be able to leave early for a birthday dinner?"
He'd forgotten about his birthday. "Yeah, best to assume I'll be working late. We didn't have reservations anyplace, did we?"
"No, and honestly, with everything I'll be doing for the Shooting Stars family that day, it's a relief to know you won't be sitting around the house waiting for me."
A tap on the door had him looking up. Hughes stood outside, and probably wanted to strategize before their next meeting. "Sorry, hon. I've got to go. The boss wants to talk."
"Just one more question. Who should I talk to about reserving a room in your building for the lunch?"
"Umm. Barbara is still on vacation. She normally handles that kind of stuff."
"Would it be okay if I called someone on your team to make the arrangements?" El asked.
"Yeah. Probably not Neal. He has a lot of catching up to do. Start with Travis. You have his number, right? In fact, he might be a better person than me to line up volunteers and tell you how many agents will attend."
"I'll call him. Thanks, hon."
As Peter waved Hughes in, the name Shooting Stars ran through his mind. Why did that charity sound familiar?
Federal Building lab, Manhattan, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday morning.
"Peter's birthday falls on a Tuesday," Jones said. "We considered saying it's his turn for Tuesday Tails, and having you lead him someplace for a team lunch."
Tuesday Tails was a weekly training exercise where a team member was selected to practice tailing Neal — or being tailed by Neal. It had increased the team's skills considerably over the year he'd worked at the FBI. "I like it," Neal said, "but Peter would notice everyone leaving early to get to the restaurant ahead of us."
"And he wouldn't have time," Diana added. "I saw his calendar when I sat beside him for the briefing and next week looked intense."
"We keep coming back to serving a cake during the morning briefing," Travis said. "We wanted to do something more interesting."
"A gathering in the evening?" Neal suggested. "Assuming El doesn't have other plans. She didn't mention anything in Hawaii."
"We should call her," Diana said.
"I don't know," Travis said. "A call from the Bureau during the workday? Most FBI spouses would assume it's bad news. I don't want to panic her. Maybe we should email."
"Who knows how long it will be before she checks her mail," Diana protested. "What if she doesn't get the message until tonight, and Peter happens to see it?"
Neal was about to volunteer to call or text Elizabeth, but a cell phone started to buzz. Travis reached for his phone and looked bemused at what the caller ID told him. "We were about to call you," he said, and a moment later added, "Jones, Diana, and Neal. We're trying to plan something for Peter's birthday but don't have any ideas. At least, none that haven't been shot down by the group as too boring." He listened again and smiled. "Hold on." He set down the phone and pressed one of the buttons. "You're on speaker," he said.
El outlined her plan and the group fell silent as they heard about the hardships facing the Shooting Stars family, but they smiled at the prospect of giving both the family and Peter a special day. Diana took notes, and Neal put his own spin on El's ideas. He couldn't help trying to make things a bit grander. Diana read out a list of tasks and who would take each. When they were in agreement, they ended the call.
Neal stood up, hoping to escape before Diana remembered the other reason they had gathered, but she grabbed him by an arm before he could make his getaway. "Not so fast. First we're going to update the case reports. Then you're going to find the pages that disappeared from my report while you were carrying the files for Peter, and you're going to tell him that it's all your fault."
"Let him know I conspired for us to meet?" Neal objected.
"Let him know you were playing a practical joke and that my record for perfect reports still stands."
"At least let me wait until after Peter's birthday to admit it."
Diana rolled her eyes, but accepted Neal's request.
Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday evening.
Peter stepped into the townhouse to be greeted by an enthusiastic labrador. "Satchmo, sit." When the dog stopped jumping, Peter crouched down to scratch his ears.
"He missed us," El said.
"Is your sister still here?" Peter hadn't seen her car when he parked. Elizabeth's sister lived a couple of hours north of the city, and had volunteered to let Satchmo stay at her home so they wouldn't have to leave him at a kennel while they were in Hawaii.
"No, she wanted to beat the traffic home. She said hello and hopes we'll visit soon." El shared a story about Satchmo chasing squirrels and playing with her sister's kids.
"Sounds like he had a good time." Standing up, Peter removed his coat and sat on the sofa. Satchmo brought over toys, dropping them at Peter's feet. Taking the hint, Peter threw the items for the dog to chase after.
"I hope you aren't expecting a gourmet meal," El said, sitting beside her husband. "I'm exhausted. When I saw you parking I called out for a pizza."
"That's perfect. I can probably stay awake long enough to eat a pizza. This morning I thought jet lag wasn't going to be a problem, but by this afternoon I was struggling not to yawn in my meetings." He yawned now.
El yawned, too. "Same here. In the morning I worked on plans for the Shooting Stars family and went grocery shopping. I'd have taken a nap in the afternoon if my sister hadn't been on her way with Satchmo. Between catching up with her and taking Satch for a walk and giving him all the attention he thinks he needs, there wasn't a moment to rest until now."
Peter tossed a squeaky toy across the room. "I thought the Shooting Stars foundation sounded familiar when you mentioned it. I looked them up between meetings and confirmed I'd heard of them before."
El looked at him with dismay. "Tell me they're not being investigated. They do such important work."
"No, nothing like that." Peter kicked off his shoes. "They started up when I was in college, and by the time I was pitching in the minor leagues they'd gone national. The foundation arranged for a few families to come to our games, join batting practice, stuff like that." Satchmo carried over another of his toys — a thick rope — and Peter played tug-of-war with him.
Peter hoped his casual comment and the fact that she was tired would lead El to drop the subject, but when he let go of the rope and leaned back in the sofa, he realized she was gazing at him with that look she had, the one that meant she saw through him.
"I stayed away from the Shooting Stars families," he admitted. "They made me uncomfortable. I never knew if I should encourage the kids to open up about their fears, or if I was supposed to keep things light and avoid talking about the fact that one of their parents was dying." It seemed safe enough to admit. El knew he wasn't one for talking about emotions. She wouldn't be surprised to hear he'd been as awkward in his twenties as he was now.
"You're leaving something out," she said.
He willed the pizza to arrive to postpone this conversation, but Friday nights were busy for places that delivered food. "My fourteenth birthday. The one Mom wants to talk about."
"What happened?"
He'd never told this story to anyone and had avoided talking to his family about it. He gathered his thoughts, looking for the best way to explain the events and how they affected him. "My birthday's really the middle of the story. It started before that. Probably several months before, but I wasn't aware of it until late November. We spent Thanksgiving that year with my mom's parents."
El pulled a throw blanket around them, and it made him realize he'd been feeling chilled.
"Thanks, hon. When we got to my grandparents' house, I noticed the family behaving differently than in past years. Three of my cousins were more quiet than usual. They joined us outside for playing in the snow, but they weren't really paying attention. And then back in the house, there were a lot of whispered conversations among the adults. My mom's sister, the mother of those three cousins, didn't eat much, and she looked particularly frail."
"Oh," said El, in a voice that told Peter she knew where this was going. She'd met most of Peter's aunts and uncles, and none of them had been Betty's sister.
"That was the only year in my parents' marriage that they didn't spend Christmas together. Mom stayed home and took care of her sister, while Dad took me up to the cabin where we went skiing with his youngest brother's family."
El slid closer. A sniff told him she was trying not to cry.
"Those three cousins I mentioned, they lived half an hour from our house. You heard what Mom said at the airport about making sure my birthday wasn't eclipsed by Christmas and New Year's. There was always a party or event on my birthday, and those cousins always joined us. But that year… At the start of January, Mom asked if I'd mind having a smaller celebration, and she promised we'd make up for it with something extra special the next year."
"What did you say?"
"I agreed, and Dad and I planned a night of watching videos and eating popcorn and cake. At the video rental store, Dad took me aside and asked me to pick happy and upbeat stories. It was going to be just the three of us for my birthday, but my brother surprised me by showing up the night before. Joe tried to act happy and to keep me from noticing that Mom wasn't around. He took me out for lunch, and when we got back to the house Dad sat us down and said Mom's sister had passed away."
"I'm so sorry."
"Well, my cousins joined us after all. From what I gathered, their dad needed a little space to process his own grief, and Mom brought the kids over to our place to spend the night. They were in shock, I guess. I don't think they said more than a handful of words all evening. I remember we spread out around the TV and played a lot of movies. As soon as one ended, Dad or Joe had the next one lined up, well past my usual bedtime. I don't think any of us could have named a single one of the movies we'd seen if you'd asked us the next day."
El sniffed again.
"Later that year, Mom said the sky was the limit for my fifteenth birthday, so she wanted me to start thinking about it early to give us time to make plans. We could travel — even if it meant missing school. Or we could have a massive party at home. Well, I dreamed big for about a week. A professional hockey game in Canada was on the top of my list, but I was still considering my options when we went to my grandparents' place again for Thanksgiving."
"Were your cousins there?"
"Yeah. They were were sad heading into the first round of big holidays since my aunt had died, and Mom was subdued, too. She thought she owed me a big birthday celebration and was determined to follow through on her promise. But it didn't take a genius to figure out that the first anniversary of my aunt's death was going to be a downer for everyone. A party at home meant inviting my cousins. I'd realized over Thanksgiving I had no idea what to say to them, and they really just wanted to be left alone. Inviting them to a party… it seemed insensitive and awkward. Not inviting them didn't seem right, either."
"And traveling?"
"Professional hockey games are loud and crowded. The closer we got to my birthday, the more Mom was seeking out quiet and solitude. She went for a lot of long walks. I checked the calendar for the family cabin, and no one had it reserved the weekend nearest my birthday, so I said I that's where I wanted to go. It meant minimal effort on Mom's part, since the cabin's always well-stocked. And it meant I could avoid my cousins."
"Have I met them?" El asked.
"I think one of them came to our wedding. Do you remember meeting a Jennifer?"
El nodded.
"I avoided them for months after my fifteenth birthday. I didn't know what to say to them, and they clammed up around me, like maybe spending time with me reminded them of the day they lost their mom. We drifted apart, and over the summer they moved away. Their dad grew up in Vermont, and that's where they went. A part of me was glad to see them go, so I didn't have to talk to them about their mom and their grief. I felt like a coward."
"So you thought you didn't deserve big birthday celebrations after that?"
"No." Peter said it automatically, but then paused to think it through. "Well, maybe a little. Mostly I learned to appreciate a day of relaxation after all the frantic rushing around that happens from Thanksgiving through New Year's. The older I got, the more I was a participant in the preparation for holidays. Setting aside my birthday as a day with no expectations, no place I have to go, it felt like a gift." He shrugged. "And I don't really like parties. Sorry."
El chuckled. "I'd figured that out a while ago. I realized how ambivalent you were when it came to planning our wedding reception. And your eagerness to leave wasn't just because you wanted to start the honeymoon."
"It was mostly eagerness for the honeymoon, I swear. I thought I made that clear when we finally reached the hotel."
She blushed. "Yes." Before she could say more, the pizza arrived. When they were eating she asked, "Would you rather not take part in the conversation with the boy from the Shooting Stars family?"
Across the table from her, Peter swallowed and shook his head. "This morning I'd probably have looked for an excuse to get out of it. But now… I'm thinking of it as a chance to make up for avoiding my cousins. I'll follow his lead. If he wants to talk about the FBI, that what we'll do. If he wants to talk about his mom, I'll listen." Peter eyed the pizza. "You wanna split the last piece?"
"All yours."
He picked up the last slice. "You said there were two kids?"
"Mm-hmm. The younger one is a girl who loves music. I've enlisted Neal's help with her. He said he'll lead the family on an outing after their time with you."
"What about the mother? Isn't the day supposed to be about doing something she enjoys?"
"Mostly she wants her kids to have memories of her participating in the things they love. One thing she did ask for was Creole food. Stella — that's the mother's name — grew up in New Orleans, but her kids have never been there. She wants them to experience authentic Creole cuisine."
"In New York?"
"That was my reaction. Fortunately I mentioned it to Neal and he told me June is from New Orleans. Her chef knows several recipes that should work. He has a catering company and agreed to provide lunch Tuesday at cost. What he described sounds scrumptious. I'll definitely keep him in mind for future events."
Peter nodded. It crossed his mind that there must be more happening with the family on Tuesday. After all, El had mentioned having so much going on that he'd probably get home ahead of her. Maybe she was glossing over the details to avoid bringing back more memories of his aunt. Or maybe she was as tired as he was.
She yawned. "Do you think we could skip taking Satchmo for a walk?"
Satchmo scampered toward the front door and picked up his leash.
"I'm going to take that as a no," Peter said. He walked the dog while El dealt with the detritus of their meal. The night was clear, but in Brooklyn there was too much light to get a good look at the stars.
He thought he saw a streak across the sky out of the corner of his eye. Probably an airplane, he told himself, but he thought back to nights as a kid, watching the stars with his mom. She'd been a science teacher, and taught him both the science and the legends behind the night sky. They often stayed up late to watch meteor showers.
"Did you make a wish, Satchmo?"
The dog looked at him questioningly.
"I wish I'd had the confidence to talk to my cousins after their mom died. But I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to make retroactive wishes. Let's see. How about this? I wish to do better with the Shooting Stars kid than I did with my cousins. That should be easy enough. I don't think I need any fairy godmothers or magic to make that one come true."
Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 11, 2005. Tuesday morning.
"Stella, I'm Elizabeth Burke. I'll be your tour guide today." The children didn't know what was in store for them. They'd been told it was simply a tour of the city. "It's a pleasure to meet you. And these must be your children?"
"Evangeline and Antoine," Stella answered. She'd lived in Pittsburgh for fifteen years, but still had a trace of an accent from her youth in New Orleans.
"Mooooommm," the boy said.
She rested a hand on her son's shoulder. "They go by Evie and Tony."
The girl leaned against her mother and looked up at El with big brown eyes. Her curly black hair was pulled back with a ribbon that matched her bright blue dress. She held a stuffed animal tightly against her chest. It looked like a lion.
Marcus had sent a text warning El that the little girl hadn't said a word and the boy was grumpy. El had enough experience with nieces and nephews to take it in stride. "I hope you're hungry. We're setting up a lunch for you here."
"Can't we just get a burger?" Tony asked. He wore freshly pressed black slacks and a red plaid shirt. He'd been frowning since the moment Marcus dropped them off at the Federal Building, and El imagined he wanted to wear something less formal and be playing with other kids, instead of being surrounded by adults.
"He didn't want to come to New York." Stella's voice held a huskiness that could indicate a cold or tears. "His daddy made him come, but he isn't happy about it. I'm sorry he isn't more grateful for what you've planned for us today."
El thought about Peter, and how hard he'd been on his teenage self for not knowing how to respond to his cousins' grief. She couldn't imagine what it must be like for these children, struggling to accept their mother's illness and coping with circumstances they could barely understand. "If you're still hungry after lunch, I'm sure we can find you a burger. Follow me." She led them into the elevator and pressed the button for her husband's floor. She felt a twinge of excitement, because she didn't often get to visit Peter at work. "Here we go." The elevator opened and they stepped out.
Tony's eyes widened as he took in the FBI logo engraved on the door to the bullpen. So far, so good. His mother had been right about him being interested in the Bureau.
"You'll need badges, of course. Oh, good. Here comes Agent Miller with them now."
Travis opened the door, carrying guest name tags for the family and El, with their names printed beside an FBI emblem. "Now you're official," he said when each of them wore a tag with their name on it.
"This is the FBI?" the boy asked Travis. "The real FBI, not a TV show?"
"That's right. Food's this way." Travis opened a door that led to a series of conference rooms, and the tantalizing aroma of lunch greeted them.
Emil had outdone himself, in El's opinion. There were child-sized po' boys on bread so fresh that it called to her even though she and Peter had kicked off his birthday this morning with bagels from his favorite deli. A table along the left wall served as a buffet with jambalaya, gumbo, and shrimp creole.
Before they ate, El performed introductions. Jones was there with his niece and nephew, and Tricia had her sons with her. "Thank their teachers for letting them leave school for this," El whispered to Tricia.
Evie looked at the unfamiliar dishes with wide-eyed wonder. She studied each one carefully, and then reached out to stick her finger in the gumbo. Before she touched it, Emil said, "Non, cherie. See the bubbles?"
Tony spoke up. "That means it's hot."
"Oh, it means more than that. You see, I put a 'gator in that dish."
The other children gasped.
"An alligator wouldn't fit," Tony argued.
"A petit 'gator. He bites your finger if you try to sneak a taste, and he keeps the food warm with his fire."
"That's dragons," said one of Tricia's sons.
"New Orleans 'gators are part dragon. Well-kept secret," Emil said with a straight face.
El was delighted to hear Stella laugh.
Stella and Emil told the children about each dish, and the grown-ups chuckled as the kids made faces when they tasted some of the spicier items. The room grew quiet as they got serious about eating, and then Jones, Tricia, and Travis started talking about past cases. Travis described surveillance and his trepidation over his first big undercover assignment. Jones talked about stolen items the team had recovered, and Tricia mentioned going back to Quantico to study Behavioral Analysis.
Other members of the White Collar team joined them after the conversation started. El and Tricia had thought it would be best to start the family out with a handful of agents, so they wouldn't be overwhelmed by a large group of strangers when they arrived. Stella and her children sat at a table near the window with their backs to the door, so they didn't see how many people continued to join them for lunch.
Swapping out the large conference room table with smaller tables from other rooms had been quite a chore, and Jones had done much of it. He had an analytical mind and excelled at thinking through how to maneuver the tables through the door. As a result, El and Emil had promised Jones could have all of the leftovers from lunch. They were pleased with the result of swapping the tables, as the conference room had been transformed from a place for meetings into a small cafe. Emil had brought tablecloths and napkins in what he called Mardi Gras colors — purple, green, and gold — and they brightened the cold, gray New York day.
About five minutes after Stella arrived, Peter walked in and filled a plate. A seat had been reserved for him at the table where Stella and the children sat. He listened at first as Tricia wrapped up a story about Quantico, and then he added, "My favorite part of training was the driving course. I was top of my class at tailing suspects in a car."
Others agents laughed and teased him about his driving. Tempting though it was to become absorbed in the stories, El made a point of watching out for her guests. Stella had glanced back at the buffet twice and El told her, "There's plenty left if you want more."
"I haven't been hungry for a while, but I've missed Creole food so much. I can't help myself." Stella walked over to the buffet and as she filled her plate she spoke in a low voice with Emil.
El was glad to see Tony asking questions, and Peter looking perfectly comfortable answering them. The other kids also jumped in, eager to share what they knew. Tricia's sons had been there a year ago when the FBI found a cache of hidden money, and the boys described how the cash had floated down from the ceiling like snow. There were smiles and laughter all around.
Ten minutes before Peter needed to leave for his next meeting, there was a knock on the door. Diana opened it, and Neal carried in a cake. "I heard someone's having a birthday," he said.
The White Collar team sang Happy Birthday to Peter. To chants of "make a wish" from the kids, Peter blew out a candle, and then Emil brought over a knife to slice the cake.
"Wow," said Elizabeth when she saw the interior. "How many layers did you make?"
Emil handed the first piece to Peter as he answered, "It's a doberge cake. Eight layers is traditional."
As Emil continued slicing and plating, El distributed pieces of cake. First she made sure the kids were served, and then she saw to the adults. When she was done, she returned to stand beside the chef. "The food was fantastic. I can't thank you enough for pulling this off on such short notice. You're a treasure."
"It's nothing. Now that June's family is grown, she doesn't keep me busy as a private chef. My catering business is new, and this was good practice. And that one," he gestured toward Stella, "her smiles were the best thanks I could have. She's had too much sadness in her life."
Peter and Hughes made their goodbyes and left for an afternoon of meetings. For a few more minutes the children chatted with the remaining agents, and then Tricia and Stella led them over to El and Emil.
"I'm taking most of these kids back to their schools," Tricia said. She shook Stella's hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise."
The kids waved and called out "Bye," as four of them followed Tricia to the elevator.
Turning to Emil, Stella said, "Thank you. I never expected such a wonderful lunch." Stella patted her son's shoulder. "Tony?"
"Thank you," he repeated.
Most of the agents returned to their desks, and the room began to feel empty. Travis, Jones, and Neal stayed behind to help Emil pack up. El smiled at little Evie, who was again leaning against her mother. "Evie, I heard that your favorite music is Christmas songs."
The girl nodded.
When Marcus first mentioned Evie's love of holiday songs, El had groaned in frustration. A month ago there were dozens of concerts that would have been perfect for the little girl. But no one was performing Christmas music in January. Fortunately she had Neal. "Have you heard a song called 'Peace and Joy'?"
The girl nodded more enthusiastically.
"I'd like to introduce you to Neal Legend. He's a member of Urban Legend; they're the group who sings that song." El smiled at Neal.
Neal pulled over a chair and sat down, to be closer to the girl's height. "Hi, I'm Neal. It's nice to meet you." He extended his hand, and Evie reached forward to hold it a moment. "The people who sing it with me are waiting for us at a recording studio. Would you like to meet them?"
"Yeah." The little girl said. Her voice was barely loud enough to hear, but it had El beaming with happiness. Evie was talking, and Tony had stopped sulking. Things were looking up.
Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 11, 2005. Tuesday afternoon.
When no one else was looking, Neal grinned at Elizabeth. So far, so good. They'd done the traditional birthday cake and singing for Peter. It was important to give him what he expected. Now he'd think they were done, and he wouldn't be watching out for what they had planned next.
As they waited for the elevator, Stella asked, "How did an FBI agent become a singer with a hit song?"
"I wish I could say it was talent, but it was mainly luck." Neal led the way into the elevator and hit the lobby button once everyone was inside.
The little girl tugged on his coat. "Luck?"
Okay. It looked like the most silent member of their group wanted a story. "When I was a little older than your brother, my favorite musical group was Local Devastation. I never had the chance to go to one of their concerts before they split up, but a year ago I joined a choir. A Christmas choir," he added, since that was her favorite music, "and when I showed up for rehearsal, I recognized a former member of Local Devastation. In his rock star days he played the keyboards and won awards for the songs he wrote, but these days Michael is a teacher and a choir director."
In the lobby, a driver met them and led them to a limo where June was waiting. Neal introduced her as one of the owners of Masterson Music and a former singer, and she made each member of the group feel welcome.
When there was a moment of silence, he felt another tug on his coat. "Luck?"
"Right." Neal turned to watch Evie's face as he continued the story. "I noticed the choir director was scared about something, and I offered to help. I'd just been recruited by Peter to join the FBI, and I was impatient to show off what I could do."
"What was he scared of?" Tony asked.
"Michael was getting threatening messages, and he was afraid to ask for help. You see, when he was a rock star he was addicted to drugs and got in trouble, and he thought the cops wouldn't take him seriously because of it. But I took him seriously, and so did Peter, and together we found out who was sending the messages and why. It was someone he knew, someone who didn't really mean to scare him, and when they talked it over, they were both much happier." Neal grinned. "So happy, in fact, that Michael wanted to return the favor. A few months later I called in that favor as part of another case."
"What happened?" the little girl whispered.
"Well, before June took charge of Masterson Music, there were some bad people there, and those people weren't very nice to the singers and musicians who worked for them. Some friends and I wanted to change that, and we went undercover as a group called Urban Legend. We wanted Masterson Music to believe we were rising stars, and I asked Michael if he could help. He suggested we record a new song he'd written, and that was 'Peace and Joy'."
The song had been released in November, becoming a holiday hit months after Urban Legend disbanded.
When they arrived at Theo Guy's recording studio, Neal felt another tug after they clambered out of the limo. This time it was Stella, who'd placed a hand on his arm.
Wondering if she felt tired, Neal slowed his pace to match hers. "Doing okay?"
She spoke softly. "The people at the Shooting Stars foundation, they told me they wouldn't share details about my life with the people we met today."
"Your names and your medical condition are all I heard," Neal confirmed.
Stella stopped and studied his face. "Then your story… You didn't know about my history with drugs?"
He shook his head. As a con artist he had a lot of practice hiding his thoughts and emotions, but this time he let his surprise show. "I had no idea."
Stella started walking again. "When Tony said he wanted to meet an FBI agent, I was half-afraid he wanted me to be arrested again."
"But you're not… I mean, they wouldn't let you bring your kids on a trip like this if you weren't clean."
She nodded. "It was years ago. I'd been in an accident when Evie was about a year old, and got addicted to pain killers. I did some bad things, stealing from my employer to pay for the drugs. My husband kicked me out and I lived on the streets until I got arrested. I spent a year in jail, relapsed and got arrested again before I finally turned my life around. That was almost three years ago."
"It's all in your past, then."
There was no humor in Stella's chuckle. "My present's nothing to write home about, either. My husband divorced me and got custody of the kids, of course. He's remarried now. They don't need me, and just as well. I almost skipped the appointment with the specialist this morning. Why waste their time on someone like me?"
They'd reached the room where the other members of Urban Legend waited for them, and June and El pulled Stella away for introductions before Neal could respond to her.
Was this how his own mother felt? Neal's mom had been depressed and addicted to alcohol. Being separated from most of her family when she went into WITSEC hadn't helped, and then Neal dealt her another blow by running away. He'd heard she was clean now, but that she was cold and unwelcoming when she had a chance to meet with her sister last year. Did she feel as unworthy as Stella, rejecting her family before they could reject her? That idea put a different spin on events, one he'd not considered before.
The other two members of Urban Legend pulled Neal out of his thoughts. Henry handed him a guitar. Noticing that Neal seemed tongue-tied, Angela took questions from their visitors and then the trio performed "Peace and Joy" for Evie and her family.
They took requests for other songs Evie liked, and afterward they sat on the floor to chat with the family, who were seated on chairs. Evie plopped down beside Angela and held her hand. After a few minutes the little girl looked at her and said, "You're my favorite singer."
Angela hugged the girl. "Thank you. You're my sweetest fan."
With that the floodgates opened and Evie turned into a chatterbox. She talked about the carols she loved, and a theme quickly became apparent. She gravitated toward songs about happiness and hope and family.
Stella wasn't the only one wiping her eyes when they realized why Evie wanted to hear Christmas carols. The little girl believed in Christmas magic, and by continuing to listen to holiday music she was trying to extend that magic to keep her mother alive.
Neal needed to go back to work, but before he left he said to Stella, "The love you inspire is why specialists should spend time with you."
Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 11, 2005. Tuesday evening.
When Peter walked back to his desk after the last meeting of the day, Diana was the only person left in the bullpen. She called out his name when she saw him, and he paused at her desk.
"Big plans for your birthday?" she asked.
"No. El's still with the Shooting Stars family. We'll probably go out for dinner when she's done and call it a night."
Diana stood up and reached for her coat. "Yeah, that sounds like my kind of birthday. Neal asked me to give you this." She pulled a postcard out of her coat pocket.
The picture on the front of the card was The Starry Night by Van Gogh. On the other side was a message. Time for Tuesday Tails!
Because of the team lunch, they'd skipped Tuesday Tails this week, or so Peter thought. Apparently it had simply been postponed to the evening. Peter grabbed his coat, locked up his office, and dialed Neal's cell phone as he waited for the elevator. "Tuesday Tails?" he said when Neal answered.
"Usually you're too busy to participate. Since El's preoccupied at the moment, we wanted to give you something fun to do." Neal named an intersection and said, "That's your starting point."
Peter took a cab to the location Neal specified. Within a minute he spotted Neal's fedora, and started tailing him. Barely a block into the chase, he heard a familiar voice call his name. Peter turned around to see his boss. "Mind if I join you?" Hughes asked.
"You want to join a round of Tuesday Tails?" Peter kept following Neal, and Hughes walked beside him.
"When Caffrey ran his plan by me, it struck me that I've never had a chance to participate. You've been bragging about the things your team has learned through this exercise. I assume you'll mention it in the team's accomplishments for last year?"
"I've encouraged Neal to list it; he should get credit for the idea in his annual review. This way." Peter opened the door to a pub, and they walked toward the back exit, barely keeping the fedora in view as they dodged servers with platters of food and drinks.
"This is giving me an appreciation of his skills," Hughes said as they left the pub. Neal was nowhere in sight. "Where'd he go?"
Peter barely caught the door before it closed behind them. "Back inside. He must have slipped into one of the booths."
Sure enough, they saw Neal slide out of a booth and walk toward the front entrance.
"How'd he find an empty booth?" Hughes asked. "This place is packed."
As they reached the booth, someone else slid out. "Peter. You just missed Neal," Jones said.
"Yeah." Peter pressed forward, with Hughes and Jones in his wake. Every few minutes they ran into another member of the White Collar team, until Peter felt like they had a parade chasing after Neal. "He's like the Pied Piper," he muttered.
Diana chuckled. "Having fun, boss?"
"It's about to get fun," he promised. He'd seen the pattern in Neal's path. In order to arrange all of these encounters with team members, he must have planned a fairly straightforward route, and Peter took a gamble. Instead of keeping Neal in sight, he took a shortcut through an alley, and finally he was ahead of Neal. Peter stepped in front of him and swiped the fedora off his head. "Got you!"
"About time," Neal said. He took back the hat. "We're nearly there."
"What's our destination? I thought you might be heading toward the Met, since that postcard was a Van Gogh."
Neal wouldn't say, but they turned a corner and Peter could see the Museum of Natural History. "Starry Night," Peter said. "We're going to the planetarium?"
"Elizabeth spent the day taking the Shooting Stars family to do things the kids enjoyed. Now it's Stella's turn. She loves stargazing."
"She's got good taste," Peter said. When they arrived at the planetarium, the White Collar team sat behind Stella's family. El and June were also with the family.
Moments after they were seated, Marcus from Shooting Stars stepped forward to welcome everyone. He spoke about the foundation's work and then said a science expert would describe the constellations prominent in the January night sky.
A woman walked up to take the microphone from him, and she beamed at the audience. Peter nearly laughed out loud. They'd brought his mom down for a birthday surprise. He'd bet his dad was there, too. "Were you in on this?" Peter asked Neal.
Neal shushed him.
"Good evening. It's a pleasure to be here. My name's Betty Burke. I'm retired now, but I was a science teacher in Albany for many years, and I loved watching the stars with my youngest son."
Peter listened as his mother talked about the stars. She shared myths behind the constellations, interspersing the stories with scientific details about stars and the Milky Way Galaxy.
"I wish she'd been my teacher," Neal said when she finished and the applause died down. "I guess in a way she was, because she taught you, and then you took me stargazing at your cabin."
Elizabeth stepped to the podium and told the audience that there were treats waiting for them.
"That's Emil, isn't it?" Peter asked, getting glimpses of June's chef as they stood in line.
"That's right," Neal confirmed. "He baked the cake for your birthday, but he said the Creole meal for Stella's family wasn't complete without beignets."
"Those are like doughnuts, right?"
"When Emil makes them, they're like heaven."
Once Peter got his hands on the beignets, he had to agree. "El and I need to take a vacation to New Orleans," he told Neal. "She'll be into the history, and I'll go along for the food." Peter's parents were across the room and he wanted to talk to them, but Tony's voice stopped him.
"Agent Burke?"
"Yes. Did you have more questions for me?"
The boy shook his head. "No. I just wanted to say thanks."
"It was my pleasure. So, are you doing okay? I mean, with your mom…"
Tony shrugged. "Not really."
"I'm glad you're being honest about that." Thinking back to his missteps with his cousins, Peter added, "A lot of people are going to be uncomfortable around you, because they don't know what to say. It doesn't mean they aren't still your friends. Let them know when you want to be quiet, and when you want to talk about your mom, or when you want to talk about something else. Help them help you. Does that make sense?"
Tony nodded.
"What's your preference now?" Peter asked.
"I'd like to talk about something else."
"You had a lot of questions for Peter and his agents today," Neal said. "I'm curious what got you interested in the FBI in the first place."
"When my mom got arrested, I was mad at the cops. 'Cause they took her away and locked her up someplace we couldn't see her. And then she got arrested again and I was still mad at the cops, plus I was mad at her. My dad told me to stop being mad. He said for her second arrest she was caught up in an FBI sting. She wasn't a suspect and they would've let her go, only one of the agents saw she was in bad shape. Instead of sending her to prison, he took her to a place that helped her so she'd stop using drugs. After that she was better, and Dad said that agent was a hero."
"Yes, he was," agreed Neal. "He sounds a lot like Peter, actually."
Tony glanced from Neal to Peter and back again. "Did he save someone?"
"Me," Neal said. "He saw that —"
"Are you ready for dinner?" El interrupted. She'd walked over with Stella and Evie. June, Emil, Henry, Angela, and Peter's parents were making their way over. "We have reservations at an Italian restaurant."
Although Peter wanted to hear the rest of what Neal had to say, his stomach was all in favor of a change of venue for the story. "Emil gets a break from cooking for us?"
"This time a friend of mine from the CIA is doing the honors," Emil explained.
Tony looked stunned, and he wasn't the only one. "The CIA?" the boy asked.
The chef chuckled. "Culinary Institute of America. My friend is opening a new restaurant next week, and this week he's training his staff and preparing them for opening night. They've been practicing on friends and family, and tonight it's our turn. We'll have the restaurant to ourselves. He's set it up family-style for us."
"Do they have pizza?" Tony asked.
"Yes," Emil promised. "I checked."
The limo and a couple of taxis took the group to the restaurant. As soon as they were seated, it felt like a family gathering. The pizza was mouthwateringly good, and there was also a rustic lasagna, portobello ravioli, potato gnocchi, and a hearty seafood stew served with fragrant loaves of rosemary bread.
After consuming several slices of pizza, Tony said, "You were going to tell me a story about Peter being a hero."
"A story?" Evie piped up. "Neal tells good stories."
"Oh, well I…" Neal looked befuddled, and Peter had to smile. As a con artist the young man had gotten good at spinning stories, but his audience usually consisted of adults and strangers. Now he had two children and Peter's parents eagerly awaiting a tale.
Evie slid down from her chair and walked over to Henry, who was sitting beside Neal. Confident of her welcome, she climbed onto his lap.
Henry made a token protest. "Shouldn't you be sitting on Neal's lap?"
"Then I wouldn't be able to see him, silly."
"Evie!" her mother protested.
"It's okay," Henry assured her. But then he scowled down at Evie. "Don't you dare touch my tiramisu," he added in a mock-threatening voice.
She picked up a fork and reached toward the dessert in front of Henry.
"Evie!" Stella repeated.
"Mine!" Henry declared, taking a massive forkful out of the dessert before Evie could reach it. The custard filling was in danger of falling off the fork, and Henry draped a napkin over Evie's head to keep any spills out of her hair when he brought the heaping forkful to his mouth. He pulled the napkin away in time for everyone to see she was again attempting to steal a bite of the dessert. "Oh no you don't!"
She squealed with laughter, and the diners laughed along. A waiter brought a plate with a small portion of tiramisu. "For the signorina," he said.
Evie tilted her head back to look up at Henry. "Mine?"
"All yours. Unless I beat you to it!" He moved his fork toward her plate.
"Mine!" she said, and pushed her plate closer to Neal.
"Can we call a truce?" Neal asked.
Henry nodded.
"Truce?" Evie repeated.
"It means you'll stop fighting and behave yourselves."
Evie giggled and nodded.
Neal looked more composed now. He and Henry had run cons together when Neal was still in his teens, and they made a good team. Peter was certain Henry had initiated the teasing with Evie to give Neal time to prepare the story Tony had requested.
"As it happens, there's a related story that Peter started asking for a year ago, and his birthday seems like a good occasion to finally tell it."
"Christmas 2003?" Peter asked.
"That's right," Neal confirmed. "Once upon a time there was a boy who decided he didn't need family or anyone else, and he left home."
"You, in other words," interjected Henry.
"Could've been you, but yeah, this time it was me." Neal took a sip of water, looking around the table. Peter could guess he was considering how much he could share of a rather complicated family history that included being raised in WITSEC. "There'd been a lot of turmoil in my family. After my parents divorced my mom took me away and I didn't see the rest of my family for so long I couldn't even remember what they looked like."
Evie and Tony looked across the table at each other, eyes wide.
"I didn't have had a lot of family around when I was growing up, but we made a new family. There was a neighbor who was like an aunt. And of course there's Henry. He's my best friend and felt like a brother almost as soon as we met. Sometimes we'd tell people he was my big brother. That was kind of a fantasy of ours. Anyway, my last year of high school I got really mad at my mom and I decided I didn't need a family anymore. I ran away, but my family wasn't going to let me go. My mom asked for help, and Henry said he'd look for me."
"Did he find you?" Evie asked.
"Yep," Henry said. "Didn't take long at all."
"Yeah, he found me, but I was stubborn. I was willing to hang out with him, but I didn't want to rely on anyone else. The problem was, he disagreed. He wanted me to reconnect with the family my mom had left behind. Didn't matter how much I argued with him. He was certain he was right. You know how big brothers are." He said this to Evie, who nodded in agreement.
"Big brother was right," Henry muttered.
"First he introduced me to an uncle, and that was a bad idea. This uncle pretended to like us, but really he was mean. He tricked me and sent me away, all alone. And it turned out that I missed my best friend even if he was annoying a lot of the time. While I was on my own I sort of got into trouble."
"Sort of," Peter repeated. Thefts, forgeries, cons. The people at the table who knew Neal chuckled.
"I kept getting in deeper, and I thought it was too late to turn things around. To make things even worse, there was an FBI agent looking for me, and he was very tenacious." Neal glanced at Evie, and seeing her puzzled expression explained, "He wouldn't give up."
"Was it Peter?" Tony asked.
"That's right. I didn't make it easy for him to help me. I was working with bad people and started to believe I was bad, too. Well, one day I agreed to work with a particularly bad guy. I didn't know at first how bad he was, but soon I realized this was one scary dude. He hurt people who didn't do things his way. And who else do you think showed up?"
"Peter," Tony said.
"That's right. Even though I thought Peter wanted to arrest me, I didn't want him to be hurt by the scary guy. And I sure didn't want the scary guy to hurt me, so I helped Peter stop him. Peter arrested the bad guy and then told me that I was still a good guy."
Evie reached across to pat his hand. "You are a good guy."
"Thanks. I wasn't convinced at the time, but I wanted to be a good guy. Or… Well, I wanted to be like Peter, and he's a good guy. He told me that if I continued helping him stop the bad guys, I could be forgiven for most of the mistakes I'd made when I thought I was bad."
"Most?" Peter repeated.
"Stop interrupting, Peter. I'm trying to explain how you were a hero."
"It's taking a heroic effort to stay quiet," Peter complained.
Henry raised a wine glass. "I'll drink to that. When do we get back to the heroic best friend?"
"No one said you were a hero," Neal objected. "So, as I was saying, Peter arranged for me to make a fresh start, and offered me a job as a consultant at the FBI. These days I can take my bad experiences and use them for good, and he keeps reminding me that I can be good."
"You are good," Peter said. He agreed with Evie on that score. In Hawaii, Neal admitted to worrying he wasn't reformed enough, and Peter was on a campaign to keep telling Neal that he'd earned the white hat of the traditional good guys. Maybe he needed a white fedora to remind him?
"So he helped me escape the bad guys. And he actually cares that I succeed. Sounds pretty heroic, right?"
Tony nodded.
"And the Christmas story?" Peter prompted.
"Christmas story!" Evie said.
"When Henry heard that I'd settled down and gotten a real job, he showed up and tried to convince me again that I should get to know more of my family. Finally he wore me down and I agreed to his plan, but I was nervous about it. I didn't tell anyone at work what I was going to do over the holidays, and that annoyed Peter. That was so much fun that I kept refusing to answer Peter's questions about my Christmas vacation, and he kept trying more ways to trick me into telling him. I think he's figured out most of it by now, but I've never told him the story."
"I'm all ears," said Peter.
###
Neal told a carefully worded tale about Henry enticing Neal into meeting his grandparents. The day after Christmas they went to the grandparents' house. Neal glossed over breaking into the house while his grandparents were away.
Henry was referred to throughout as a best friend who acted like a big brother, giving the impression they'd grown up together, as the truth was not only confusing but also something they'd agreed not to reveal due to Neal's situation as a runaway from WITSEC. In reality, Henry hadn't needed to do any research, because Edmund and Irene Caffrey were his grandparents, too.
Neal did describe meeting his cousin Angela. It seemed Henry had already been telling her about Neal, and she was so eager to meet her cousin that she jumped the gun and arrived before Henry was ready. As Peter had already guessed, they bonded over a love of music and a big part of their first day together was making plans to stop Masterson Music from cheating singers.
There was a lot Peter read between the lines, and he vowed to get the full story. Looking at El, he could tell she had the same idea. Neal could expect an invitation to dinner at their house soon. Since Peter and El both knew about Neal's past, including his time in WITSEC, he'd have no excuse to leave out the details when it was just the three of them.
"And that's how Henry reconnected me with part of my family," Neal concluded. "I thought I was better off as a loner, but now I can't imagine not having them in my life. The support of family — and of friends who seem like family — makes me stronger."
Peter heartily approved of Neal's comment. The kid still had a lot of lone wolf tendencies, but at least he acknowledged the advantages of having a pack.
"That was the first Christmas after we lost my dad," Angela said. "I learned that people leave your life, but new people enter, and you need to appreciate them while you have them. I'm glad to have Neal back."
Evie was getting sleepy, and Stella decided it was time to take her children to their hotel. "Thank you all so much," she said as she lifted Evie. "I knew we'd meet kind people and do special things, but I had no idea you could make me so happy. You can't imagine what a difference you've made for us today."
Tony walked over to shake Peter's hand. "Thanks, Agent Burke."
Peter reached into his breast pocket for a business card. "If you want to talk, give me a call. I'll admit I'm often away from my phone when I'm working cases, but if you leave a message I'll get back to you, I promise."
Suddenly Tony hugged him, and then he dashed over to where his mother was waiting.
"Bye." Evie's voice was heavy with sleep, but she waved until the family was out of sight.
Neal, Henry, and Angela were the next to leave. They shared a cab and it sounded like they were going to spend the rest of the night reminiscing and arguing about who had been the mastermind in the Masterson Music sting.
Emil disappeared into the kitchen, and June pulled El aside. That left Peter with his parents.
"I hope Stella and her kids will be all right," Betty said.
Peter looked at his mother. "Me, too. Do you have a minute to talk?"
"Of course." She sat down at the table, and Peter sat beside her. "What's on your mind?"
"My fourteenth birthday."
"I'd nearly given up hope you'd ever be willing to talk about that."
"That was kind of the problem. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Not to you, not to my cousins."
Peter's father pulled up a chair. "Can I join in?" They nodded and Luke sat down. "We thought we were doing you a favor, keeping you in the dark about how serious your aunt's illness was. You were young, and there was Christmas and your birthday, and we didn't want to ruin those for you."
"But that left you unprepared," Betty said. "If we'd talked to you about it in advance, you might have been… well, I don't want to say you'd have been comfortable with it all. It's not comfortable to have a death in the family. But maybe less uncomfortable."
"Since we didn't talk about it beforehand, it seemed like you thought we shouldn't talk about it later," Luke added. "Looking back, I wish we'd handled it differently."
"It's a tough call," Peter said. "In your shoes, I probably would have done the same thing."
Betty reached out and held Peter's hand. "After that you didn't want birthday parties anymore, not like the parties we used to have. I've worried for a long time that we ruined your birthday forever."
"No," Peter insisted. "It made me feel differently about it, but you didn't ruin it. The older I got, the more I appreciated a chance to rest and loaf around."
"That's true, but you're holding something back," Luke said. He was the quietest member of the family, but he had observational skills Peter had learned to emulate.
Peter's first reaction was to say it was hard to explain, but he realized that it was simpler than he used to think. Meeting Stella and her kids had brought clarity. "Having seen what my cousins went through, it felt important to spend my birthday at home with my family, appreciating that I had a home and a family. I didn't want the distraction of traveling someplace or being in a crowd of strangers." He squeezed his mother's hand. "And starting with my fourteenth birthday, each time I've blown out the candles on my cake, my wish was for my parents to live long and healthy lives."
El walked up as Betty was wiping her eyes. "Ready to go home?"
Peter looked up to see June was already on her way out with Emil. "Will we learn what happens with Stella?"
"Probably not," El said. "Shooting Stars warned me that they guard each family's privacy, and therefore they can't give us updates. But there is reason for hope. When Stella heard that June's husband died from a similar condition, she opened up to June about this morning's conversation with the specialist. There's an experimental treatment that she's a candidate for, and it's had a high success rate. June's going to talk to the Shooting Stars foundation about a fundraiser to help with the medical expenses. It's likely Stella will have several more years of making memories with her kids."
"Not a fairy-tale ending," Betty said, "but better than I expected."
They pulled on their coats and walked outside. The owner of the restaurant had hailed a cab for them, and Peter thanked him again for the meal. "Can we just make a reservation to come back here every year on my birthday?"
"Not scared off?" The chef gestured at his Japanese features. "I worried people wouldn't take me seriously as the owner and executive chef of an Italian restaurant."
"It's the best Italian meal I've ever had, and I used to haunt Little Italy every weekend when I first moved to New York."
"Thanks." The chef shook Peter's hand. "I keep hearing my mother in the back of my head, asking why I couldn't open a nice sushi restaurant like my sister."
Peter made a face. He'd never understood the appeal of sushi.
The chef chuckled. "I hope you'll come back before your next birthday."
"We will," El promised. On the drive to Brooklyn she sat in the backseat, between Peter and Luke and she patted her husband's arm. "I hope this wasn't too much of a downer for your birthday."
Peter put an arm around her. "You arranged for me to spend time doing things I love, eating things I love, and being with people I love. That's my recipe for a happy birthday. The lesson I'm taking from today is to appreciate all of those things, and to tell you how much I appreciate you. Love you, hon." He kissed her and whispered, "Next year, just a mystery and lasagna?"
She chuckled. "Isn't next year your fortieth birthday?"
"Oh, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Betty said, from the front seat of the cab. "I have some ideas."
Peter groaned. "Dad, a little help?"
Luke smiled at him. "It's also Joe's fiftieth coming up. Maybe you can distract everyone with plans for your brother's party."
"I'll talk to Neal. He's an expert at distraction."
El leaned against her husband and laughed. "Remember, we're a year and a half away from Henry's thirtieth birthday. Neal might want to practice birthday surprises and party ideas on you as he plans for that event."
"Maybe I can strike a deal with Henry. If he helps rein in Neal with regard to my birthday, maybe I can return the favor." Already he saw the flaw in that idea. "Henry probably wants an outrageous party, right? This is all Joe's fault. He married Noelle, and now I'm related by marriage to wild party people like Neal and Henry."
The laughter continued, and Peter had to join in. Between school and work commitments, Neal wasn't exactly a party animal, and Henry seemed to be settling down, too. Peter didn't have to worry about an outrageous fortieth birthday bash, right?
A/N: Are you as disappointed as Peter that you didn't get to hear the details of Neal's adventures breaking into his grandparents' home? Then I have good news for you — those adventures are described in more detail in the next chapter.
Of course I had to write a story about Peter's fortieth birthday, and it is in the On Ice chapter.
See our blog (Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation) for "The new vignette: Wish on a Star" which describes some of my thoughts behind this story.
In case you were wondering, I've been purposefully vague about exactly what disease Byron and Stella had, and the same holds true with Peter's aunt. My hope is that readers who've lost loved ones to various illnesses can imagine those are the illnesses in my stories, and can identify with the characters who are coping with the resulting loss. Or you if you're at a stage where certain diseases are a trigger for you, you can imagine it's something else.