Weekend

It was a sunny Saturday. Neal guessed he should be pleased that Kate's clue led to a place within his radius. But Grand Central Station was not a small place. It was grand.

"Kate leaves you a bottle with a map on it, and this is where it leads us?" Mozzie expressed his frustration. "Grand Central Station?"

"It's something I'd recognize, Moz. Something significant."

"Significant? Grand Central Station!" Yes, it was significant, but not in that way.

"Something familiar," Neal corrected his statement

"She could have sent us anywhere, so she sends us to a place that leads everywhere?" Moz gaggled. Neal did not listen. He had seen something. Something familiar. An X. A metal structure, a pillar, with an X at the end.

"Moz."

The friend did not see it.

"You know, there's a great oyster bar in there—"

Neal jammed the bottle in Mozzie's hands and stepped up in the corner behind the pillar close to the wall where it ended. He felt with his hand in a small space under the X.

"I think there's something in here," he told Mozzie with excitement when he felt a piece of paper in there.

"X marks the spot?" Moz gazed. "Again?"

Neal got a grip of the paper and pulled it out.

"Kate likes the classics."

He sat down with Moz at his side and unfolded the paper. Neal had time to see it was a letter before his friend pulled it from his hands and read it to him.

"'Dear Neal. Heard you're looking for me. Wish I could explain more, but time is not on our side. But you need to stop looking. No one can deny what we have, but it's over. Please move on. Kate.'"

"All this for 'move on'?" He could not believe it.

"Oddly bipolar," Mozzie agreed. "I'd rather have some oysters."

Neal reread the letter. It did not make any sense. And most of all, it did not felt like Kate. It was her handwriting, but it was something about how it was written. And why leave a clue hidden on the wine bottle to tell him this? She had left the clue before she knew he had escaped from prison to find her. She had left it for him to find when he got out. It could not be a 'heard you're looking for me'. Unless she changed the message afterward. It was a possibility. She could have changed her mind.

"You know, your FBI-friend will check your anklet," Mozzie interrupted his thoughts. "And I know you don't want to lie to him. So why don't we go and have some oysters and you can tell the truth?"

"It's Saturday," Neal pointed out. "Why would he care as long as I'm within my radius?"

"Because you're Neal Caffrey, the greatest con-man ever lived."

And because it was Peter, Neal thought. But it was a weekend. No work. Sure Peter could leave him alone at least a little?

"Well, oysters are a little over my budget, Moz."

"Mine too. Who cares? I'll buy."

Mozzie rose and yanked his arm to get him moving. Well, Peter could not put him back in prison for eating for someone else's stolen money, could he? They walked to the oyster bar and ordered. Or rather Mozzie ordered. Neal was gone in thoughts.

"It makes no sense," he pointed out again.

"No, but did you know there are over three hundred varieties of oysters in North America alone? It takes its flavor from the sea, and it tastes different depending on where it came from."

Mozzie handed him an oyster.

"Try this. It's creamy and butter-sweet, with a slight hint of salt."

Neal ate, and it felt like he drank salt water. At once he was back in the real world. He made a face.

"A slight hint you said?"

Peter walked in Central Park with his wife. The weather was wonderful and they had a lovely very Neal-free day.

They passed a playground where a bunch of little kids ran around, screaming and playing. He saw El watching them and stopped. They had never had any kids and it was years ago they gave up hope to get any. Somehow they had never get things moving to see what options they had. He had his job, El had her own firm. Had they been too busy? Had they missed something important?

It felt like they were complete even if they did not have children. Would they feel the same in ten years when it was too late?

He glanced at his wife. She seemed happy watching the kid's play. Oh, god, what he felt old. She was just a little older than Neal. And Neal felt like a kid compared to this wonderful, intelligent creature. He placed his arm around her shoulders and hugged her.

And here he stood childless, when he had wished for several of them, and his thoughts went to his 'pet convict'. Was he the closest thing to a child they would ever get? A fully grown man who could have been the one charming Elisabeth instead of him?

"What are you thinking of" El asked.

"You don't wanna know."

"Neal?"

Did he say she was smart and a mind reader?

"Yep," he admitted.

"You're watching a bunch of playing kids and you think of Neal?" she laughed.

"It's a long story."

"I believe you."

They continued to walk.

"I'm starting to love him," El admitted.

She must have felt his grip around her shoulders stiffen because she laughed again.

"Not in that way, honey. More like…" She searched for the right words.

"A child?" Peter tried.

"Well, sort of. But no. More like a friend, I would say. Or like a nephew or something. It's platonic anyway."

"But you're far closer to him in age, than me."

El giggled.

"Neal is charming. But if I was interested in his type, I wouldn't have fallen for you, would I?"

She kissed him on the cheek.

Back home he turned on the computer and checked Neal's tracking data for the day. Neal had soon been out for two months and so far he had kept within his radius except for the first time he came to Peter's home. The kid walked a lot, just like himself. The contract stated he was not allowed to take the subway because it blocked the GPS-signal and moved too fast for any reaction to escape attempt. Even with that in mind, Neal walked a great deal. Peter could see he favored streets before others, stopped at certain places. Once he had checked out what kind of places they were and it was nothing odd about them. Food mainly. And clothes and jewelry. But looking was not a crime.

If Neal was planning something, would he see it in the pattern of his walks, Peter wondered. He felt suddenly paranoid and closed the laptop. Just because he wanted the kid around and loved working with him, he could not allow himself to get drowned in searching for clues that he did not know even existed.

"You know," El said behind his back. "I think you miss chasing him."

"Yeah," he nodded, knowing that she was right. "I do. I really do."

"Hon… make sure you don't make something up by mistake, just to get the chance to chase him again."'

He shook his head.

"I sure hope not. I really enjoy working with him, too. I think we just need a good case to work on."

"Anything in your pile?"

Peter nodded.

"NYPD turned a case over to us on Friday that I think could be within Neal's interest."

He handed El the file and she opened it.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"It's not the Dutchman, but it sure has a mystery about it," his wife concluded.