AN: I know, I seem to be having a problem with deadlines lately. But it's still Thanksgiving weekend, so I'm calling it close enough. Also, on the subject of dates and such, if you're inclined to assign real-world dates to episode air dates (as I typically prefer), I'll just ask for some wiggle room. For whatever reason, I thought this needed to be set in S3, even though I know that doesn't really fit at all with a November holiday.

A Magpie Thanksgiving

Cheride

It was an early November afternoon when Peter Burke bustled through the doorway, barking at his criminal consultant. "Caffrey! What the hell are you doing in my office?" Sinking into his chair, he glared at the magazines strewn across the desktop and the others waiting on the side table. "And those don't look like the Gillespie ledgers you're supposed to be reviewing."

Neal barely glanced up. "It's my lunch break, Peter."

"Which still doesn't explain why you're in my office. Or why you're reading . . ." Peter snatched up one of the magazines. "Food Network Magazine?" He arched an eyebrow and slid another of the glossies closer. "Or Good Housekeeping. Seriously, what are you doing?"

Neal finally looked at the other man. "You've never seen anyone looking at recipes before? Food doesn't just spontaneously appear on your plate, you know. And there's more room in here than at my desk." He turned his attention back to the pages.

"You couldn't use the conference room?"

"Gillespie ledgers are in the way."

"Pretty sure the Gillespie ledgers belong here, which is more than I can say for this stuff." Peter was still staring. "Why the sudden culinary interest?"

"June's staying home this year instead of traveling with her family for Thanksgiving, but she's giving her staff the week off. I'm in charge of desserts."

"You couldn't just pick up a pumpkin pie like a normal guy?"

"Bor-ring."

"Traditional," Peter corrected.

"Same difference. Though I was considering pumpkin pie truffles." He looked up again just in time to catch Peter rolling his eyes. "Hey, I was about to invite you and Elizabeth to join us, but if you're gonna keep looking at me that way, I may change my mind."

"Much as I appreciate the almost invitation," Peter said with a smirk, "we're going to El's folks' place this year. In fact, I'd been meaning to talk with you about that."

Neal's face fell a little as he went back to flipping through pages, but he kept his voice even. "Save the speech, Peter, I know the drill."

"What? What speech? What drill?"

With a sideways glance that stopped just short of becoming a glare, Neal answered, "The 'I need to know you won't cause any trouble' speech; the one that comes just before the 'house arrest' drill."

"What?" Peter had been casually shoving the magazines into a pile, out of his way, but his hands froze as he raised a confused face to the other man. "Why would you think that?"

Finally setting the magazine completely aside, Neal straightened to face his handler directly. "You should leave the wide-eyed innocent routine to me, Peter; it's really not your best look." He took a breath. "But don't worry. If you thought I was going to argue about it, I know that would be pointless. So, like I said, save the speech."

"Neal," Peter began firmly, "listen to me. There's no speech. There's no house arrest." He shook his head. "I honestly don't know where you get these ideas."

Neal sat silently rigid, studying him for a long moment before deciding he seemed sincere. "No confinement?"

"No confinement."

"Huh." He relaxed again into his chair. "Didn't see that coming."

"Any reason you think I should confine you?" Couldn't hurt to ask.

"Of course not. But that's the way it was last year, so . . ."

"Ah. Well, last year things were different. Newer. Still tenuous."

That much was true. Last Thanksgiving—Neal's first out of prison—had rolled around almost immediately after the Haustenberg case, and Peter had wasted no time in contacting the marshals to completely eliminate his consultant's allowable radius for the long weekend. Neal had been annoyed, but he really had understood. And, honestly, if he had to suffer through house arrest, there were certainly worse places to do it than a Manhattan mansion. It hadn't really been much of a hardship.

But this year, Peter was burning with a suspicion that his consultant was harboring billions of dollars in stolen treasure. Since even Neal recognized that was substantially worse than forging a two million dollar painting for mostly altruistic reasons, he'd simply assumed he'd be locked down again if Peter were leaving town for the holiday.

Not that he could say any of that, of course, so Neal just pasted on his best con man grin and said, "Peter! You're starting to trust me!"

For his part, Peter laughed, but his lighthearted response carried only truth. "Don't get carried away there, Caffrey. Mostly, I've just decided that the likelihood of you causing trouble doesn't really change much whether I'm halfway across the country or in the next room, and confinement probably doesn't tip the scales, so it's just easier to save myself the hassle of dealing with the marshals."

Neal's grin stayed put. "Good enough for me," he answered brightly, even though it really, really wasn't. "I'll take what I can get."

But then he raised an eyebrow quizzically. "So, if there's no speech, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Hmm? Oh, right." Peter shook his head slightly. Sometimes the simple things got lost in the dance they did.

"I was actually going to ask a favor. Think you could keep Satchmo while we're away? The neighbors who usually help out will be gone, too, and Satch really isn't a fan of the kennel."

Neal's expression slid into a much more genuine smile. "Of course! I'm sure June won't mind and Bugsy will probably enjoy the chance to show Satch who's boss."

"Okay, great. Thank you." But then Peter looked meaningfully at his watch. "But don't think that'll get you off the hook for those Gillespie ledgers."

Chuckling, Neal got to his feet, gathering his stack of magazines as he rose. "Okay. But if all I end up with for dessert is boring pumpkin pie, I'm telling June it's all your fault."

Neal rubbed at his eyes and groaned a little as he shoved himself away from the seemingly endless stack of ledger sheets. "God. I'm calling uncle for a minute."

Diana looked up from the other side of the table. "Too much like work for you, Caffrey?"

The smug challenge in her tone didn't faze him. "You can't shame me, Berrigan, and you can't fool me, either. This is brutal, and you know it. We've been trapped in this room staring at these pages for almost two weeks. I know you're as bored as I am. Don't we have accountants for this stuff?"

"The FBI has accountants," Dina corrected. "Peter has us." But after a second, she gave up the pretense, tossed her highlighter aside, and stood and stretched. "It is brutal, though. What do you say we give ourselves fifteen minutes to walk down to the coffee cart and forget about kickbacks and billing schemes for a while?"

"Yes, please," Neal answered with some feeling.

"It's cold out there," Diana reminded him.

"I don't care. If I stay in here much longer, my brain is going to start oozing out of my ears. In fact, I'll even buy," he continued as they made their way downstairs. "Anything to keep these numbers from being burned into my retinas."

"You, too?" Jones piped up as they neared his desk. "I've been dreaming about balance sheets lately."

"More like a nightmare," Neal said. "We're taking a sanity break to the coffee cart; want to come along?"

"Don't have to ask me twice." He shrugged into his jacket and followed them to the elevator.

"So, how's the Martha Stewart routine going?" Jones asked as they descended.

Neal rolled his eyes. "You're still on that?" But he was smiling slightly at the good-natured teasing.

Jones laughed. "Well, between the fancy cooking and the tracking anklet, you gotta admit there are some similarities."

"Not to mention the securities fraud," Diana added with a grin.

"Hey," Neal objected, "regardless of your long list of suspicions, I was never charged with securities fraud, which means she's arguably the worse felon, yet I'm the one who ended up in supermax."

"You keep telling yourself that, Caffrey," Diana told him as they stepped out into an unseasonably blustery day and crossed the plaza toward their favorite coffee truck.

"Besides," Neal went on, ignoring the comment completely, "just because I'm looking for recipes for something you can't just pick up at the corner store doesn't make it 'fancy cooking,' it just makes it unique. In fact, someone once told me we had an obligation to assault the commonplace."

Jones squinted at him. "Do we want to know who was giving you such sage advice?"

"Probably not," Neal admitted. He put on a smile again as they reached the front of the line. "What'll you guys have?"

"Well, it is the season," Diana answered, "so pumpkin spice latte for me, please."

"Just a cup of plain black coffee is all I need."

"Of course it is," Neal said, shaking his head. But he relayed their orders through the window and added a cinnamon maple latte for himself. "With a cinnamon stick," he added, "and extra whipped cream, please." He tugged his jacket tighter around him. It was cold out here, but still immeasurably better than that conference room.

"Even your coffee is fancy," Jones grumbled as they moved to the second window to wait for their order.

"Don't hate just because I live a life of style, Jones."

"Okay, mister fancy-pants, share some of your Martha-esque knowledge, then. About food, I mean," Jones added quickly, "not securities. We're going out for dinner next week when my family's here, but what kind of easy dessert could I make that would still score me some points?"

"Pumpkin cheesecake parfaits," Neal answered immediately.

Jones stared at him. "Did you miss the part about easy?"

"Can you use a mixer?"

"Probably, though it's been a while. I'm pretty sure I own one, though."

"Then you're golden," Neal assured him with a grin. "No cooking or baking required; mixing is the most complicated part. They'll taste good and look good—definitely earn you points with your grandma."

Jones still looked skeptical.

"If you want," Neal offered, "I could come over and help you out Tuesday night. Then all you'd have to do is layer them into the cups for serving on Thursday."

Diana grinned at Jones. "That sounds like a good deal. Almost makes me wish I wasn't going to DC to see Christie's family. I've been looking for an excuse to have him cook for me again."

"This really isn't cooking," Neal insisted as he stepped forward to collect their drinks, then handed them over. "And, Diana, you don't need an excuse. I would love to have dinner with you and Christie again, my place this time." He glanced at Jones. "You, too. Bring a date. We'll make it a party."

"Would Sara be there to round out the couples?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "You're as subtle as Peter. But no, Sara is not likely to be gracing my table again anytime soon. Fortunately, I have a friend who makes a charming dinner companion."

Diana poked his shoulder as she sipped her latte, then wrapped her hand quickly back around the cup for extra warmth. "I hope you mean June, but for your cooking and the view from your apartment, we might even be willing to put up with Mozzie, so we'll definitely be taking you up on that. But right now, I think we've got a date with a pile of spreadsheets."

Both men groaned, but they followed her lead and headed back toward the building.

"At least it's warmer in there," Jones muttered.

"I'd rather freeze," Neal countered. "And I guarantee you, by the time next Thursday gets here, the thing I'm going to be most thankful for is a few days away from Lester Gillespie's never-ending ledgers."

As it turned out, the ledgers finally gave up their secrets the following Monday morning and broke the case wide open. By Tuesday, Neal was being sent in to try and scare up a confession by offering to bury evidence and hinting at his ongoing usefulness for the right price.

Knowing Peter had a plane to catch, everyone tried to send the man on his way, but the agent refused to leave in the middle of an operation, especially when he had a man undercover. Besides, all indications were that it would be quick, and Elizabeth was already working on rescheduling the flight for the next morning.

But despite Neal's best efforts, Gillespie strung them along for more than twenty-four hours before they finally got what they needed for an arrest, leaving everyone rearranging plans again, and scrambling to get where they needed to be for the holiday.

The unseasonably cold weather that had moved in the week before was quickly building into an unusually early snowstorm, and the Gillespie case had already put them all behind schedule. But they were basking in the glow of success and spirits were high as everyone said their farewells and wished each other a happy holiday on Wednesday afternoon, and Peter promised they'd celebrate their latest victory next week.

Neal still had plenty of kitchen duty ahead of him to make sure the house at Riverside Drive would have a suitable assortment of treats for the long weekend, but he still took the time to swing by Jones's apartment, even if he was a day late. He handed over a sleeve of simple but attractive parfait cups, then set about whisking and mixing and folding while Jones crushed graham crackers. Barely half an hour later, he covered the pumpkin concoction tightly and shoved it into the refrigerator to set up.

"That's it?" Jones asked in surprise.

"I told you it was easy. Tomorrow you just layer the cookies, filling, and whipped cream into the cups and then watch your family be impressed."

Jones smiled. "Thanks, man, I appreciate it. And hopefully we'll be able to enjoy them."

Neal didn't miss the slight undercurrent of worry in the words. "Everything okay?" he asked as he slipped on his coat.

"Oh, yeah, fine. They're just behind the storm, though, so it's been slowing them down. They were supposed to be here already, but mom just texted and said they might have to stop for the night."

Grinning, Neal said, "Just means you'll have time to sample one of your desserts after it sets up tonight." Then his expression softened. "Seriously, I'm sure they're fine. I'm sorry your visit will be cut short, but it'll be easier driving for them after the storm goes through. You'll probably feel better knowing they're off the road."

Jones nodded. "You're not wrong about that." He grinned. "And you're probably not wrong about sampling the dessert, either. Thanks, Caffrey. I'll see you Monday."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Jones."

The snow was falling by the time Neal made it home and he hurried inside. He shouted a greeting as he climbed the steps to his loft, quickly changed out of his suit and into casual clothes, then made his way back downstairs.

Stopping in the parlor to say a proper hello to June, Neal told her, "Mozzie's coming tonight because Tuesday's heat is on the fritz. Need him to pick up any last-minute things on his way?"

To her credit, June didn't even roll her eyes that Mozzie's residence of choice on Wednesday evening was called Tuesday, nor at the idea he was living some place questionable enough that it didn't even have reliable heating. Instead, she smiled fondly and said, "You know Mozzie is always welcome here, dear. But, no, I don't think we need anything. Before she left, I think Janet stocked the kitchen with enough food to last a month, including, apparently, the ingredients for at least half a dozen different desserts. You know, when I gave you that assignment, I thought maybe you'd just pick up a pumpkin pie or something."

Neal laughed. "No, you didn't. You know me better than that."

"Okay, you're right. But did think maybe you'd get something delicious from The Greatest Cake. Or maybe even make a couple of pies. I didn't mean for you to whip up an entire patisserie."

"Well, I did stop at the bakery and bring home some of those white chocolate macadamia cookies you like, and some of the decorated holiday cookies. But whipping up the rest of the patisserie is going to be fun, even if the Gillespie takedown did put my baking a day behind schedule." He smiled and leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek. "Besides, it's looking like it's going to be miserable out all weekend, so this way we'll have a nice variety when there's nothing better to do than stay in and eat."

June laughed and shooed him on his way. "I'm not sure my waistline will agree with that plan, but the rest of me isn't going to argue. Go work your kitchen magic. I'll send Mozzie in to help when he gets here."

Neal had a coconut cake in one oven and a dairy-free pumpkin pie in the other and was rolling his pumpkin truffles when his phone buzzed with a text from Elizabeth to let him know they were pulling onto his block. He washed his hands quickly and made it to the front door before the bell rang, throwing it open with a flourish to find—

"Lactose friendly pecan pie," Mozzie greeted, thrusting a dish into Neal's hands.

"Uh, okay. Hi, Moz. I was expecting—"

"Hi, Mozzie!"

"Mrs. Suit," Mozzie said with a smile, turning to face the voice coming up behind him. "Satchmo!" Then the smile faded and his eyes narrowed as he took in the rest of El's party. "Suit. Lady Suit." He kept his position in front of the open door.

"Mozzie," Neal scolded, "come inside; everyone wants to get out of the snow."

Moz shuffled inside, followed quickly by Elizabeth and Satchmo, then Peter with a bag of dog food, and Diana carrying a large pet bed. They were all covered with a thick dusting of snow, and Satchmo wasted no time in shaking free of his.

Neal laughed as he relieved Diana of her burden, shifting the pie he still carried. "Peter's putting you to work in your off hours now?"

"I'm hitching a ride to the airport," Diana answered with a smile. "Least I could do was tote a cushion."

"I'll just put this stuff in the kitchen with me for now," he said, reaching to take the bag of food from Peter. "I'll take it upstairs later."

"I can carry it in there for you," Peter told him and started toward the kitchen without waiting for a response.

That was definitely easier than trying to balance everything himself, but Neal had no illusion that was the only reason Peter was offering. He shook his head and followed his handler to the other room.

"So, there's a speech after all?" he teased, a small, fond smile on his face. He placed Mozzie's pie on the countertop and deposited the bed in an out of the way corner, then just waited.

"Not so much a speech," Peter replied, leaning the bag of food against a wall, "as a reminder."

He turned to find Neal still smiling, waiting. He let their eyes meet.

"You did good work this week, you know. You do good work. That hasn't changed—no matter what else might be going on."

That wasn't quite the reminder Neal had expected, and he thought he might've actually preferred some version of, 'If you run, I'll catch you.'

"Thanks. I think."

"I just meant you've got a life here, a life that gives you options for the future. Maybe more options than you've ever had. If you want them."

"I'll be here when you get back, Peter," Neal said simply, his expression open, sure. Then, after a moment, he added, "Honestly, if this weather keeps up, I probably won't even leave the house except to walk the dogs. Anybody who happens to be watching me this weekend is going to be bored."

Peter held his gaze for just a bit longer, then nodded once, satisfied. He gestured around the kitchen. "From the looks of things, you won't go hungry. Are you guys even planning a regular meal, or are you just going to survive the weekend on a sugar high?"

Neal laughed as they started back toward the front. "There's a turkey and a ham in the fridge, both of which are big enough to feed a small army. We'll be eating leftovers for a month."

When they returned to the entryway, June had joined the others and was visiting with Elizabeth and Diana while Mozzie had taken charge of Satchmo and was leading him around the downstairs, letting the Lab sniff out the new space.

"We should get going, if you're ready, hon," Peter said.

"Of course." Elizabeth stepped over to hug Neal's neck. "Thanks so much for keeping Satchmo. I'll feel better knowing he's with you."

"You're more than welcome. I'm just glad you guys could all still get your flights. I would've felt bad if my slow op made you miss your holiday."

Peter clapped him on the back. "Quit worrying about that. And anyway, last time I checked, you're not the boss, so I'm pretty sure it was my slow op that's the culprit."

They all laughed, and then there was a round of farewells and holiday wishes before the visitors tightened up their coats and headed back out into the snow.

Once the door was closed, Neal leaned down to give a quick nuzzle to Satchmo, then removed the leash and called him to follow. With a wave at June, Mozzie followed, too.

Moz was scheming as soon as they stepped into the kitchen. "Elizabeth told me she and the suit are on the last flight to Chicago tonight, taking off just after eight, and the lady suit leaves just a few minutes later; there should be at least an hour when they're both in the air. It would be better if that other demi-suit and the suit honcho were also out of town, but the holiday and the weather will definitely help. We should plan on leaving about eight-thirty."

Neal didn't even break his stride, just showed Satchmo his bed, then washed his hands and went back to rolling pumpkin balls. "I'm not leaving, Moz."

Mozzie wasn't surprised, but he didn't give up. "It really is an excellent opportunity, mon frère. With the suit's uncanny ability to track you, making your exit while he's out of pocket is the best-case scenario. A few hours' head start greatly increases the odds of success. I can have everything ready by tonight."

The buzzing oven timer gave Neal a perfect distraction. "Will you pull that pie out of the oven?"

"That's your answer to such an important discussion?" Moz snapped, but he still moved immediately to remove the pie.

"I know you're looking out for me, Mozzie, and you know I appreciate it, but I'm not leaving this weekend. This isn't the kind of thing you do on a whim. I mean me, of course," he added quickly, "I know you're prepared. Besides, I'm not ruining everyone's holiday."

Mozzie studied him intently for a moment, then sighed. "You promised him, didn't you?"

Neal shrugged. "Not in so many words."

"You're hopeless, you know that? I can't leave you alone with him for five minutes."

Hearing Mozzie's tone switch from the earnestness of escape planning to his typical grousing, Neal relaxed and offered a smile. "Hey, I made that pie dairy free, and next up will be cranberry-apple tarts that you'll also be able to eat."

Mozzie perked up. "Will there be mashed potatoes without milk?"

"And vegan butter," Neal confirmed.

"In that case, what can I do to help?"

Neal rattled off a few directions, and the two got to work.

After an undercover operation and a long evening of dessert-making, Neal was exhausted by the time he braved the snow for one last dog walk around the block and then collapsed into bed.

For once, Mozzie even accepted June's offer of a separate bedroom rather than Neal's couch, since they'd likely spend the entire long weekend in the house and some personal space might be a welcome reprieve.

As expected, the next morning dawned gray and cold, with just over a foot of fallen snow already on the ground and more still coming. Neal woke slowly, and would've liked nothing more than to burrow back under the covers and sleep for just a little while longer, but the warm lump beside him was looking at him with actual puppy dog eyes and his thumping tail shook the entire bed.

"You're as much of a taskmaster as your dad," Neal muttered, then laughed when Satchmo wriggled closer, tail thumping even harder. "You're cuter, though," he told the dog as he rolled out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.

After a brisk walk around the block, Neal made his way to the kitchen again. By the time June entered the room, he was flipping the last crepe onto a plate already stacked high.

"Good morning, dear, and happy Thanksgiving," she said. "But why are you in here cooking already after all the work you did on the desserts last night? I thought we'd agreed to split the work?"

"I was already up to take Satch out for a walk. Besides, you wouldn't want to deprive me of the cooking fun, would you?" Neal gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "And happy Thanksgiving.

"Anyway, this is breakfast," Neal continued, arranging the plate of crepes and a pot of oatmeal onto a serving tray. "After we eat, I'll get the turkey started."

"But—"

Neal held up a hand to stop her. "Janet left me very detailed instructions, even though it's hardly my first holiday bird. Surely you didn't think I would really let you be in here doing all the hard work yourself today?"

"Or I," Mozzie added, coming in from the dining room. "Over the years, Neal has molded me into quite the sous chef."

"It's true," Neal confirmed with a grin. "As long as I don't make him work with too much dairy."

"It's inhumane to make me cook things I can't eat," Moz explained. "But I'm very handy with meats and vegetables.

"And for the moment, the breakfast table is set. I just need to grab the juice and the jams."

"Well, thank you, boys," June said, beaming at them. "I certainly didn't intend for you two to take over the kitchen duty, but I appreciate it." As they made their way to the table, she added, "But I insist you let me make the stuffing."

"After everything I've heard about your famous recipe?" Neal replied. "I wouldn't dream of stopping you."

"This looks good," Mozzie told him as they began filling their plates. "And jokes aside, I do appreciate your dairy-free substitutions, mon frère."

Neal smiled at him. "It's no trouble at all, Moz. I'm just glad you're here."

They both knew traditional holiday gatherings would never be Mozzie's first choice, especially this year, when they had the means to be literally anywhere else, but Moz smiled back at him, content.

After breakfast, Mozzie set about cleaning up while June started her stuffing and Neal slathered the turkey with butter (plant-based, of course) and seasonings and slid it into the oven.

Late that morning, after he'd gotten back from another walk with the dogs and was basting the turkey, Neal's phone buzzed. The message was a picture of a two parfait cups, one with a perfectly layered dessert, one that had obviously already been eaten. He smiled as he composed his answer.

So you decided to sample your handiwork after all? Good call. And your presentation looks great! Was your grandma suitably impressed?

She liked the picture, came the reply. They're not going to make it here, though. They're spending one more night at the hotel, then heading back home.

Neal didn't hesitate with his own reply. I'm sorry to hear that. But you can't spend Thanksgiving alone, come over to June's.

Nah, I don't want to impose. I'll be fine here. Besides, the roads are awful. They're asking people not to drive if they don't have to.

"Such a rule follower," Neal muttered to himself as he snapped a quick photo of the bird in the oven and sent it to Jones. Then he dialed the number.

"Hey, Caffrey," Jones answered. "You're in charge of the turkey, too, huh?"

"Earning my keep, you know."

"Well, it looks great."

"Thanks. But the point of the picture was for you to see the size of the bird. A trained investigator like yourself, I'm sure you noticed it's just this side of gargantuan."

Jones laughed. "I did see that, yeah. You got a big group coming over?"

"Not at all. It's just the three of us. And there's a ham, too, plus a bunch of sides."

"Not to mention an array of desserts, judging by all the recipes you were looking at."

"Exactly. Please come help us eat this stuff, so I won't be having leftover sandwiches for the rest of the year. And there's a subway station five minutes from here, so you won't even have to risk violating the governmental wishes by driving; the one or the two train will get you here."

"Should I be worried that the guy who can't ride the subway without setting off his tracker apparently has the local routes memorized, anyway?"

"I'm gonna take the fifth on that," Neal told him with a laugh. "But we'll see you later?"

"Well, yeah, if you're sure, that'd be nice. I can be there in a couple of hours or so. Shall I bring the parfait stuff?"

"You can never have too many desserts," Neal told him in farewell.

As he turned to start chopping potatoes, Neal called out to the other room. "Mozzie! I have something I need to tell you."

When the bell rang a while later, Mozzie was still pouting.

"I still can't believe you invited a suit. Now we'll have to censor ourselves when it's time to say the things we're thankful for."

"I'm sure you'll manage," Neal told him with a chuckle.

"And what about our traditional game of holiday heist?" Moz demanded.

"Just check on the ham, Moz, and quit worrying. Besides, Jones is unexpectedly devious; he might surprise you as a criminal mastermind."

"Jones a criminal mastermind? Are you planning to try and recruit my agent?"

"Peter!" Neal whirled to face the newcomer. "What are you doing here? And you look like crap, by the way."

"See how fresh you look after eighteen hours in an airport terminal."

"You really want to compare long days in uncomfortable surroundings?"

"Maybe not," Peter conceded. "Anyway, the storm shut us down. We can't get out until tomorrow at the earliest, and El decided to call it quits. So I'm here to relieve you of dog duty this weekend."

"We haven't even given Satchmo his holiday treat yet," Moz objected. "Besides, he's one member of the suit family I don't mind sharing a table with."

Neal laughed. "I think what he meant was, since your plans fell through, you should join us."

"Neal! That's not what I meant at all!"

"Don't worry, Haversham, the chance to spend an afternoon listening to you explain how aliens possessed key members of global governments isn't high on my gratitude list, either. I just want to get my dog and go home."

"Typical limited understanding, Suit. It's not possession in its purest form—"

"Mozzie!" Neal turned back to Peter.

"Peter, seriously. What're you guys going to do? I know you're tired, but you still need to eat, and it's still a holiday. You could even have a shower and a quick nap before we eat; I know June won't mind letting you use one of the guest rooms. You shouldn't be driving in this weather, anyway. Apparently there's rules or something."

"And we all know rules are high on your list."

"See, now I know you're tired, if that's the best you've got."

"Where are you going?" Peter demanded as Neal moved past him toward the door.

"I'm going to invite your wife to Thanksgiving, since you're clearly too exhausted to make rational decisions."

"Caffrey . . . Caffrey!"

"Give it up, Suit," Mozzie told him. "You can't stop him when he's like this."

"Like what?"

Moz shrugged. "Gathering, collecting."

"I'm well aware of his magpie tendencies," Peter snapped. "But since I assume he's not planning to pick our pockets, I don't know what you're talking about."

"He's right; you're obviously too tired to think straight. And I don't know how many times I have to tell you, it's not about the stuff—especially not for Neal.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm in charge of the yams."

"Don't those just come out of a can?"

"Philistine. Why don't you go talk to your wife or something? I'm sure Neal has her inside by now."

Peter sighed. "We were supposed to be taking Diana home."

"The lady suit is here, too?" Mozzie threw his hands up, sprinkling brown sugar everywhere.

"The airport is closed, Mozzie."

"We might as well be having Thanksgiving in the middle of federal plaza!"

"Don't blame me."

"You're the one who corrupted him."

At that, Peter laughed. "I corrupted him?"

"There were no feds at the dinner table before you came along," Moz pointed out reasonably.

Before Peter could retort, Elizabeth came bustling into the room, her face ruddy from both the chill and excitement. "Ooh, it smells delicious in here! Hi, Mozzie, happy Thanksgiving!"

"And to you, Mrs. Suit."

She turned to Peter. "Hon, isn't it nice of Neal to invite us to Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah, it's very nice. But are you sure you wouldn't rather just go home?"

El's eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't I rather spend an hour and a half inching along on treacherous roads to get to a cold house that has no holiday feast instead of staying here to enjoy the day with our friends? That's really what you're asking me?"

"I think you're not the only one who's tired, Suit," Mozzie muttered.

Peter grimaced in his direction, but then turned a smile to his wife. "No, of course not. It's very nice of Neal to invite us to stay. It'll be great."

She kissed his cheek. "It will be great, you'll see. He already carried our bags into the room June said we could use, and she gave Diana a room, too. They said it's another couple of hours before lunch, so we have time for a nap."

"A nap does sound nice," Peter agreed, much more sincerely.

"Unless you need any help, Moz?" Elizabeth added.

Mozzie waved them out the door. "Go, rest. We've got things under control here."

"Wait until you see this room," El gushed as she led Peter out.

A few minutes later, Neal returned wearing a small, satisfied smile. "I caught Jones just before he headed out; told him to pack a bag and plan on staying the night." Then he looked at Mozzie and sighed.

"Okay, let me have it."

Moz spent a few more seconds spreading pecans around his casserole dish before looking up at Neal.

"This does put a whole new spin on the idea of a federal holiday," he intoned seriously, then went back to his yams.

Relieved, Neal chuckled. "That's it? No lectures on the evils of consorting with suits or anything similar?"

"No point. I know you can't help yourself, what with the Stockholm syndrome and all. Besides . . . I may question your choices sometimes, but I certainly understand the desire for something resembling family."

Neal smiled at him warmly. "Thanks, Moz."

Later, when June ushered Jones into the house, another four inches of snow had fallen.

"Man, it is really coming down out there," Jones said as he came into the kitchen, looking for an empty place on the countertop to put his bag.

Neal grinned at him. "Tell me about it. Even Satchmo is over it by this point. I'm glad you could make it."

Laughing, Jones emptied his bag. "Let me wash up, and I'll put these parfaits together. Though, from the looks of things, we don't really need more food."

"We might've gotten a little carried away," Neal admitted. "But I like to have a variety."

"Mission accomplished."

Neal went back to draining and mashing potatoes while Jones began filling his dessert cups.

"So neither Peter or Diana could make it out of town?" Jones asked.

"Nope. They waited around all night hoping things would clear up, but the planes are grounded. Even the train to DC wasn't going to be running again until later this evening. This might be the first time I've been glad travel wasn't an option for me."

"We're glad to do what we can to help."

Neal just winked at him and kept mashing.

"Okay." The kitchen door swung open as Moz pushed back through. "The dining room is ready, but I still wish you'd reconsider a separate suit table. At Mr. Jeffries', the little kids and the troublemakers always had to sit by themselves."

"And which one were you, little man?" Jones asked.

"Oh. I see the junior suit is here," Moz said to Neal, ignoring Jones completely. "I'm surprised I didn't feel some sort of universal imbalance set in. You know we're outnumbered now, mon frère!"

"I'm sure the universal balance is fine. June's on our side, so it's all good."

"Hah!" Mozzie jabbed a finger in Neal's general direction. "You forget Mrs. Suit. Her very name proves she tips the scale in their favor."

"You do realize that's not her actual name?"

"Semantics. She's a suit in spirit, if not in fact."

"I still think we'll be okay, Moz. Surely there's some sort of cosmic exception for holidays, maybe a clause for blizzard as an extenuating circumstance?"

"Now you're just mocking me, Neal. Everyone knows nothing less than tsunamis triggered by solar flares are provided for in the extenuating circumstances clause."

"How could I have forgotten?"

Jones just rolled his eyes and kept layering pumpkin.

"I need to go change," Neal said. "Moz, keep an eye on the veggies, would you? And you two try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

When Neal left the room, there was an awkward silence for a few minutes until Jones finally said, I don't know about a tsunami, but I heard solar flares knocked out power to a big chunk of Canada once."

Moz looked at him speculatively for a second, but then couldn't help himself. "Indeed. That was Quebec. You know, they reportedly lost control of some satellites that day." The air quotes made Mozzie's thoughts on that report clear even before he added, "But really, that's when they repositioned them to increase their surveillance capacity. They can watch almost all of North America now."

"I'm probably going to regret this," Jones said, "but who are 'they?'"

"Nice try, Junior, nice try. That's not the kind of information I share before I've seen how you perform during holiday heist."

"Holiday heist?"

"It's a Thanksgiving tradition. For some reason, Neal seems to think you're capable of joining in."

"I assume this heist is purely hypothetical?"

"Sadly."

"Okay." Jones shrugged as he moved his cups to the fridge. "I'm the guest here, so I'll play your little games. Actually might be kind of fun to see how you guys think. Not to mention giving the 'suits' a chance to maybe show you up a little."

"Hah. You wish."

"You remember we're the ones who busted Caffrey, right?"

"I heard that," Neal chimed in as he re-entered the kitchen.

"And believe me, I have a very good memory," Mozzie told Jones darkly.

"He doesn't really like to joke about that. He stays angry on my behalf." Neal threw a quick wink and a grin toward Jones to prove the anger wasn't his own.

"Somebody has to," Moz snapped.

"I know, and I appreciate it. But it was five years ago, it's Thanksgiving, and we're practically snowed in together, so let's cut 'em a little slack just for today, okay?"

Mozzie sighed. "As you wish. But it's going to cost you a lot of wine."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." Neal started pouring vegetables into serving dishes. "Now, can you guys help me carry the food to the table? I think it's time to get this show on the road."

When he came back to the kitchen for the next load, Neal found Peter and Elizabeth entering through the other door.

"Hey, guys! You feeling better now?"

"Much," Elizabeth answered with a bright smile. "What can we do to help?"

"Honestly, things are handled in here, but if you want to go ahead into the dining room, Jones would probably appreciate your calming influence on Moz."

El laughed. "I can definitely handle that." She bustled into the next room, calling out a cheery greeting.

Peter grinned. "Definitely the best person for the job. What can I do?"

"You want to pull those rolls out of the oven? Put them in those baskets there on the island."

"Can do."

As Peter set about following his instructions, he said, "I wasn't very gracious earlier; I really do appreciate you inviting us to stay."

Neal smiled a little as he ladled gravy into waiting boats. "Don't worry about it. I know you were tired. I'm sorry your plans got ruined."

"Honestly, except for El's disappointment, I'm not."

"Holidays with the in-laws not all they're cracked up to be, huh?"

"Not unless they're cracked up to be awkward and agitating."

"Well, Mozzie is here, so I can't promise there won't be any agitation, but I'm pretty sure I can guarantee minimal awkwardness."

Peter was chuckling when Diana stuck her head into the room. "Hey, Caffrey. Things look fantastic out here; anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, want to take the gravy? Peter can grab the rolls and I'll bring the turkey, then I think we're all set."

She took the offered gravy boats. "You know, when I said I hoped you'd cook for me again, this isn't quite what I had in mind, but this is really great. Thanks so much for letting us stay."

A soft smile lit Neal's face. "I'm glad you're here."

When Diana went back through the door, for just a moment, the men could see everyone gathered around the table, talking, laughing. Peter looked over at his still-smiling friend.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you arranged all this."

Neal chuckled. "I've scammed a lot of things in my life, Peter, but even I can't conjure up a blizzard on demand. Besides, I never would've deliberately ruined all your holiday plans, even as glad as I am to have you here."

"You really are a magpie, aren't you?" Peter asked, gesturing toward the door and the people behind it. "A collector."

"You've been talking to Mozzie," Neal accused lightly. "And I've told him, I don't collect; I carefully curate." But then he shrugged. "Still, there are worse things I could collect than friends."

"There are," Peter agreed. "That certainly wasn't a complaint. I told you yesterday, Neal, you've got a life here. And for what it's worth, I'm glad to be part of it."

"It's a life I'm grateful for," Neal said softly, staring at the closed door as if he could see the strange scene beyond it, federal agents and career criminals sitting down to a traditional holiday meal. "I just hope . . ."

After hesitating a second, he shrugged again, then looked back at Peter, sincerity glowing in his eyes. "Whatever happens in the future, Peter, I really hope you believe that."

Peter held his gaze for a moment, then finally said, "Well, you don't lie to me, right?"

Neal's smile returned, soft and true. "Right."

"Okay then." Peter clapped him on the back, then grabbed the bread baskets from the counter. "We probably shouldn't keep them waiting any longer."

"Probably not."

Pushing through the door, Peter and Neal surveyed the dining room, where Mozzie was gleefully explaining the rules of holiday heist, though Jones and Diana were countering with a proposed game of Thanksgiving takedown, while Elizabeth and June wisely stayed out of the discussion, and Satchmo and Bugsy waited patiently under the table.

But when they saw Neal in the doorway with a tray holding the day's main culinary attraction, they stopped their conversations and began to chant.

"Tur-key! Tur-key! Tur-key!"

"Carefully curated, huh?" Peter asked with a grin.

Neal laughed as they joined the others.

"Like all the best collections."

~END~

To everyone who celebrated the day, I hope your Thanksgiving was filled with all good things. And remember, holiday treats don't have calories!

Also, if you haven't seen the posts, OMWC is hosting another holiday challenge next month. Sounds like another few deadlines for me to miss, but go check out their socials for all the details.

And, as always, thanks for reading and sharing in my fun with Peter, Neal, and the gang!