Thanks for reviewing and sharing your thoughts on the progress, and direction, of this story. I think there will be two, maybe three, chapters after this one before I say Au Revoir to Bonjour Encore. :)

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Peter," Elizabeth was shaking his shoulder, her voice low. "Peter, go check on Neal."

Trying to wake and regain cognitive function, Peter opened his eyes. Confused, he listened. There were no sounds from across the hall; the nursery was silent. "I don't hear anything," he mumbled, "He's already gone back to sleep, El."

"Not that Neal," she insisted, "The other one. I heard him moving around a minute ago. Go down and make sure he's alright."

The other one.

In his exhausted state he had momentarily forgotten that the other Neal was in the downstairs guest room. He opened bleary eyes and looked at the clock beside his bed. Three-twenty four. Before Peter could either agree to go or protest further, he too heard a noise from the room directly beneath them. It wasn't a bump or movement this time; it was a low cry. Elizabeth's eyes widened and instantly awake, Peter got up.

"I'm on it," Peter said slipping on his shoes, "Don't worry, El, I'm sure he's okay. Probably just needs to take his medicine."

He descended the stairs, turned the corner and crept down the short hallway to the guest bedroom. The only light on downstairs was the light from the bathroom at the end of the hall. The light that streamed through the doorway illuminated his path to the guest room door. He hadn't heard any additional sounds during his trek and instead of just barging in, he paused in the hall and peeked through the open door. He hoped to see Neal still in bed, having fallen back asleep after whatever had awakened him. But it was not so.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair sticking up at odd angles in the dim light.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice when he saw Peter, "I didn't mean to wake you up. I didn't wake Neal, did I?"

"No," Peter stepped into the room, keeping his voice low as well. Something about the hour dictated it. Plus, the walls in his house were thin. He hadn't realized how thin until after Neal had been born. One excited exclamation during a ball game would wake him all the way upstairs. "If you wake Neal you'll know it. That kid has a set of lungs on him. You didn't wake me, either, you woke El." Before Neal could voice an apology Peter hurried on. "She sleeps light; she has ever since Neal was born. I swear he can turn over in the room next door, and it wakes her up." He paused. "She heard you moving around and thought you might need something."

"So she sent you to see," he said, his tone contrite, "I'm sorry, I don't need anything, I just…."

He stopped without finishing the statement, looking up at Peter in what seemed like, in the dimness of the room, mild distress. Peter knew the afternoon had to have been hard on Neal whether he'd acknowledged it or not. "Just what?" he encouraged, moving closer.

Neal met Peter's eyes briefly before looking away. "I'll be fine, Peter, please just go back to bed. I'm sorry I woke Elizabeth."

I'll be fine, and not I am fine. It was a distinction Peter picked up.

Peter knew they'd promised him space, but instead of giving it he did the exact opposite; he sat down on the bed beside him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Even after hours of sleep, Neal still looked tired, and Peter guessed he would for some time. Whatever was bothering him, he wasn't ready to share. It could be any number of things; he had a lot going on. All Peter could do was offer, and continue to offer, to listen and leave it at that. Neal had not been particularly forthcoming as Neal Caffrey and was even less so as Nathan Clay. When Neal didn't answer his question, Peter let out a sigh.

"Look," He stood. "I'm here if you need me," It was almost three thirty in the morning, and he hadn't slept much, either. "I don't know what else to do but to keep telling you that." He moved towards the door. "See you in the morning."

"I had a dream," The words were spoken quickly as Peter stepped into the hall; he halted and turned. "about my….my funeral," Neal finished ruefully.

He'd had a nightmare. That was what had awakened him, what the low cry had been about. Having nightmares wasn't unusual in the Burke house; Peter had been awakened many times the same way, and so had Elizabeth. Especially since his kidnapping. It wasn't something he liked to talk about; they made him feel powerless and weak. Much the way he had felt in that small 10 x 10 cell in Venezuela. The only time he had talked about them was during his mandatory visits with the bureau psychiatrist, and then, only as briefly as possible.

"It's understandable," Peter moved back into the room, surprised that Neal would share such a personal detail. He wouldn't have in the past. But, as he kept telling Peter, things changed. "You've been through a lot, and this afternoon was tough. You were blindsided by both Jones and Elodie. I'd be surprised if you didn't have nightmares after that." Peter retook his seat on the bed beside Neal. "Want to talk about it?"

"I've had," Neal began, glancing sideways at Peter, "dreams since I came back to New York. Some more unsettling than other but I expected as much."

"You expected nightmares?" Peter didn't know why that bothered him so much, but it did. Neal's snort implied he hadn't liked Peter's choice of description.

"Dreams are just the subconscious mind sorting through things," he said, "and I have a lot to sort though. So yeah, I expected them. But this dream…." He met Peter's eyes. "I'm sorry you and Elizabeth had to go through that."

He'd dreamed about his funeral; Jones earlier comments had made an impression. If not on Neal, on his subconscious mind.

"It was hard," Peter didn't know what else to say. It had been more than hard; it had been terrible. "But we got through it."

"Because you had each other," Neal said. "that's what I kept telling myself; that it would be hard, but you'd get through it. But I know what its like to lose someone you care about, especially if you feel like it was somehow your fault; I'm sorry I put you through that."

Peter knew Neal's reasons for faking his death were complex and that escaping retribution from the Panthers had only been a part of it. He had always wanted to be free of the ties that bound him, but that desire alone was not enough to compel him to such action. Peter was sure he'd wanted that for a very long time and had passed up numerous opportunities to escape. He hadn't cut ties because he didn't want to leave the life he had found in New York.

His time in the city had been the most stable years of his life. It was the first time, Peter felt sure, Neal had ever had a home that meant more than four walls and a place to sleep; it was the first time he felt he belonged somewhere. As Elizabeth had correctly ascertained, that was what Neal had always wanted; to belong. Regardless of the constraints on his freedom, having found that in some way, he hadn't wanted to leave it behind. He had found a home in New York, a family of sorts.

But things had changed. His relationships became strained; he'd been disillusioned, and suffered betrayal and loss. Peter had worried about his state of mind after the whole Rebecca thing; he'd even turned down the promotion to stay close. Elizabeth, having already accepted her dream job, hadn't been thrilled with his decision and had gone to DC without him. After learning about her pregnancy, she had decided to return, but things remained strained.

Already believing his presence only complicated the lives of his friends, the added fear that the Panthers might strike at them to get to him was all it took to tip the scales. He let Neal Caffrey die, and he went thousands of miles away to start a new life as Nathan Clay. According to Elizabeth, not the life he wanted, but the life he could live with.

"I know you thought it was the right thing to do at the time." Peter's tone must have indicated that he thought that in retrospect, Neal now thought otherwise. But apparently that was not the case.

"Don't misunderstand," Neal said, his eyes meeting Peter's in the dimness. "I'm sorry you were hurt: you, Elizabeth, Moz, June, but I'm not sorry I did it; it was the right thing, Peter, it was the only way."

It was the only way that worked for Neal; Peter thought irritably, the only way he could extricate himself from his life as Neal Caffrey. He had thought Neal was expressing regret at his actions, but he wasn't; he was just sorry that his actions had caused pain. That regret, Peter knew, had been consistent from the very first phone call. He had never apologized for faking his death and was not doing so now.

Peter had come to terms with what Neal had done even though he didn't agree with it, but sometimes it still rankled. He guessed now it was more from pride than anything else; he still couldn't believe that Neal had pulled off something so complicated right under his nose and he'd never been the wiser. Would have never been the wiser had Neal not chosen to enlighten him.

"Like I said, we got through it, and once I knew you were alive…" Peter paused, looking at Neal curiously. "Did you always plan to let me know you were alive?"

"I planned to let Mozzie and June know, eventually."

"June knows?"

"Yes, Peter, June's known for as long as you have. She's even the owner of a couple Nathan Clay originals."

"Nathan Clay originals, huh?" Peter smiled. He was glad that June knew; she had taken Neal's death hard. All of them had. Even though Peter had felt the sharp pain of losing his friend, he hadn't grieved alone. He'd had Elizabeth and their friends; Neal's friends. They had mourned the loss together.

But Neal had lost, too; his friends, his home, and his sense of belonging. He had grieved his losses alone. It had been a tough year; not just for him but for Neal as well.

"You waited a year before telling anyone, why so long?"

Using his good arm to push down on the bed, Neal repositioned himself, moving, so his back was to the headboard. He pulled his knees up in front of him. Peter recognized the protective nature of the pose and thought that he had overstepped with the question. He should have continued to follow Neal's lead. But Neal's expression was thoughtful, not evasive, as he studied Peter.

"It took a year to know who I was; who Nathan Clay was going to be," He finally answered. "It started out as just a name on paper, but once I got there, I knew I didn't want another alias, another fake persona. I wanted something real."

The honesty in his voice kept Peter silent. He'd wanted a heart to heart with Neal for a long time. He hadn't pictured it to be in this way, both of them rumpled from sleep, sitting on the bed in a dimly lit room at four am, but here they were.

"From the time I became Neal Caffrey," Neal continued, "I've been playing roles, roles that suited an ever-changing cast of supporting characters. I've been whoever I was needed, or expected, to be. There were times when I wanted more than that, wanted a life that was really mine, but I could never…." He stopped and took a breath. "Apart from all of that, I didn't know who I was; who I would be if I got to choose."

"You didn't let anyone know because you didn't want them influencing your decision," Peter observed.

"It had to just be me," Neal confirmed. "I had to figure it out for myself."

Peter nodded. Neal, at his core, had always been a people-pleaser. It made sense that the only way he could know what he wanted was to remove what everyone else wanted from the equation.

"And once you did, you…." He paused, remembering Neal's precise answer to his earlier question. "You said you planned to tell Mozzie and June; you didn't plan to tell me, did you?"

Neal had been surprisingly open and, until now, hadn't seemed put out with the conversation. But at Peter's inquiry, he hugged his knees with his good arm and pulled them closer to his body. Again, a somewhat defensive posture. "Not originally."

"So," Peter asked, half humorously, "when did I make your need-to-know list?"

Neal, shrugged, eyes dropping. "When I decided that for the most part, you'd like who I was."

His words stung Peter. "I've always liked you, Neal."

Neal's eyes came up and met Peters, his look arguing that statement. "I always wanted you to," he admitted, "and I know you tried. But you are FBI and Neal Caffrey will always be a criminal; that friendship was doomed from the start."

He had said those words to Neal; that he was a criminal and would always be a criminal. When Neal spoke of people's expectations of him, he'd pictured himself in the role of the angel, sitting on Neal's shoulder urging him to be good, expecting better from him. Mozzie, of course, he cast in the role of little devil, telling Neal he could only be a criminal. But in reality, Peter had been the one to tell Neal that.

Treat him like a criminal and he'll always think he is one. Peter felt his face burn.

"I was wrong when I said that." At Neal's raised eyebrows, Peter shook his head, "Not when I said I've always liked you," he clarified gruffly, "when I said that you would always be a criminal. That was unfair, and untrue."

"It was how you felt at the time." Neal studied him; it was now Peter's turn to shift uncomfortably.

"Maybe, in that one, angry moment," Peter confessed reluctantly, "But I've never really believed that; ever." He paused. "And I certainly don't believe it now."

"Because Nathan Clay isn't a criminal?"

"Because you're not a criminal," Peter corrected. "Elizabeth said that it doesn't matter what you call yourself, you still are who you are, so conversely, you aren't who you aren't, either."

"I've taken my medicine, Peter," Neal said patiently, "and even if I hadn't I don't think I'd follow that."

"It just means that you aren't a criminal anymore, whether Neal Caffrey or Nathan Clay, because you've chosen not to be one."

"Do you really believe that?" Neal pressed. "If I'm living in New York and a painting goes missing from the MET, are you going to come to me and ask if I had anything to do with it?"

"Only if it is an amazing feat, the work of an obvious genius…." Peter tried to laugh away the question but stopped at the expression on Neal's face; it was not a joke.

If I am living in New York, he had said. This was an important question to Neal, maybe the most important one. He didn't just want Peter's friendship; he wanted his trust. Peter studied the blue eyes that were studying his.

Would he?

He'd been asked at a hearing if he thought Neal Caffrey was reformed and he'd responded by saying the only way to ever know the answer to that question was to set him free and let him decide for himself. It was much the same sentiment Neal had expressed earlier; he didn't know who he was until he got to choose for himself. And he had chosen. He had the freedom to be, and to do, whatever he wanted and Nathan Clay was not a criminal.

"I might come to you for help solving the case, but no," he said firmly, shaking his head, "I wouldn't think you had anything to do with it."

"Unless I'd been acting strangely?" Neal ventured, "Had recently been out of touch?"

"You're an artist; acting strange and being out of touch just adds to your charm," Peter mused. "Remember?"

Neal, unconvinced, held his gaze and continued, "or suddenly landed a windfall of some kind?"

"You're a successful businessman. I'm sure windfalls aren't that uncommon." Peter smiled, "I hear auctions can be very lucrative."

"Yes, they can be." Peter got a small smile in return, but it was short lived. Neal's face again grew serious; he pulled his knees closer. "I'm not the same, Peter. This isn't some kind of con."

"I know it's not," Peter acknowledged, "I'm not the same, either. You did a lot of soul-searching in that year and so did I. Time and experience has changed us both." He hesitated, giving his next words some thought. "and if you had decided that crime was going to be your career of choice, you'd have never let me know you were alive."

"No," Neal agreed, "I wouldn't have. The last thing I'd want was to have Peter Burke on my trail again."

"You so sure I'd have wanted to get on your trail again?"

"It's what you know," Neal said simply, "and I'm fun to chase. You couldn't have helped yourself. Tell the truth, once you knew I was alive, how long did it take for you to check the crime database to see if anything matched my M.O.?"

It was Peter's turn to go serious. "I didn't."

Neal looked at him in disbelief. "You didn't?"

"Is everything okay?" Both Peter and Neal jumped at Elizabeth's voice. She was standing in the doorway. "You've been gone a long time, Peter, I was worried."

"We're okay," Peter assured her, "Neal just had a…" he glanced at Neal, legs still pulled up protectively again his body, "a lot to sort through. We've been talking."

"That's good," She knew Peter had wanted the opportunity for some time. "I know this afternoon was hard, but things will work themselves out, given enough time. You'll see."

"Well, I got six weeks," Neal said humorously. "Jones is pretty upset with me," he looked at Peter, "with us. I'd guess that is what we can expect from everyone if the word gets out."

"Immediate joy followed by great anger," Peter admitted, "that was pretty much our response, too. Jones will come around; everyone will if you give them a chance. You just have to let them process it in their own time. They grieved for you, Neal, all of them. Clinton-" he stopped suddenly and looked at Neal.

"Diana is going to shoot me," Neal said soberly. Elizabeth laughed, and Peter couldn't help but smile at the resigned look on Neal's face.

Diana had shed tears for Neal Caffrey and her wrath, to be sure, would be harsh.

"She probably won't shoot you," Peter said, "but I'm sure she will seriously threaten."