It was the 21st of December – only four days to go until Christmas. Peter, Neal and Elizabeth had been rushing around for the past few days, trying to get everything ready for the big day. They had bought a tree and decorated it; Peter had salted the drive in preparation for the incoming snow, El had wrapped dozens of presents and, as promised, Neal had taught Peter how to cook.

They had finally found something that Peter was bad at. The stocky, intelligent special agent was useless – burning the apples instead of softening them, sifting flour all over the floor, using the scales to weigh the bowl instead of the sugar and dropping the unfortunate apple crumble on the floor when he had tried to remove it from the oven. Neal couldn't stop laughing. Even the washing up had been a disaster. Peter had squirted Fairy Liquid at Neal's head after the teenager splashed bubbly water all over his slippers. Unluckily, Neal had danced away from the stream of bubbles and the green gel had gone into the crumble. After that, they had abandoned cooking entirely.

Velvet night was now falling and everyone was seated in the warmly lit living room, faces grave. The lounge was infused with the scent of pine from the massive Christmas tree they had all helped decorate and mulled wine bubbled on the stove. Neal was wearing a drooping Santa hat and red pyjama bottoms lined with fleece. He liked them because they hid his tracking anklet completely – when he was wearing them, he couldn't see a bulge or the glow from the green light. Peter was curled up on the sofa with a mug of hot chocolate, whilst El leant on his shoulder, her French-braided hair catching the light from numerous cinnamon scented candles. But despite the festive atmosphere, the three of them looked at each other with apprehension in their eyes.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked his wife, voice shaking slightly. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes." El said quietly. She had the air of one faced with the apocalypse. "My parents are coming for Christmas." Peter groaned, as though saying the dreaded words aloud had somehow made the situation worse.

"They're not staying for New Year, are they?"

"I'm afraid they are," said El, voice hoarse. "I'm sorry hon, but you know what they're like. I couldn't get rid of them. They insisted on coming over." Neal watched the two adults with curiosity. He bit a chunk out of his (shop bought) mince pie, then turned to Peter.

"Am I missing something here?"

"What do you mean?" Peter looked over at Neal, as though remembering that the teenager was still in the room. Next to him, El stared blankly into the fire.

"Well," said Neal, feeling like this was the time to lighten the mood, "Christmas is a time for family and friends, for making bonds and renewing old ties. It's the time of year where you fix things up with the people who have upset you, and spend time with your family members."

"You really believe that?" Peter asked, interested.

"Yes."

"It's funny you should interpret Christmas that way. I mean, ironically, you don't actually have any family." As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a terrible mistake. Neal looked down, cheeks flaming. El sucked in her breath, shot a furious look at her husband and put her arm around Neal.

"Sweetie, don't you dare listen to him. We're your family now. You're a Burke, simple as that."

"Oh yeah?" Neal said, bitterness swirling through his words, "That's not what you said last night." El froze next to him. Peter's eyes widened in horror.

"Neal…" he said slowly, "what exactly did you overhear?" Neal was beginning to regret admitting to eavesdropping; but Peter's offhand comment had riled him and now that he had started, he couldn't go back.

"You said that I was being selfish." He told Elizabeth. "You said that I was putting Peter's job in danger by not revealing where the microchip is."

"Neal, sweetie…"

"I'm not being selfish," said Neal hotly, overruling her explanation. "Well, maybe I am a little, but this isn't just about me. Other people depend on the microchip. If I relinquish it, the others involved will suffer."

The only sound was the ticking of the clock and the crackle of the fire. Sparks flew up the chimney as his words simmered in the air. Finally, Elizabeth spoke.

"Neal, I'm sorry you had to hear that. I know that there are more sides to this situation – sides that we aren't even aware existed. But you have to understand: Peter and I are depending on you. You need to give us the chip."

"I don't need to do anything." Neal tugged despairingly on his sock. He felt terrible, but he had to say the words. "You can't ask me to throw my life away for you. That's my decision to make." Silence fell in the room. Elizabeth stood up and returned to her husband's side, leaving Neal alone on the sofa. Nobody moved or spoke until, suddenly, Peter leapt up from his seat.

"Hon?" he asked, voice rising, "When did you say your parents were coming?" Elizabeth clapped her hands to her mouth.

"They're right outside, aren't they?" Peter nodded grimly.

"Two people just got out of a taxi. They're walking up the steps now-" The doorbell rang stridently.

"Oh sugar plums." El stood up and brushed herself down. She didn't look at Neal as she walked into the hallway. "Big smiles." She whispered to her husband. Then she threw open the front door, letting in a blast of cold air, and ushered two people into the house. "Mum, Dad, so please you could come!"

"Yes, it's great to see you two again." said Peter, grinning in a rather strained manner. "It's such a pleasure to have you over for Christmas, Jim." He shook hands profusely with a large gentleman who must've been Elizabeth's father. He shared her dark hair and sincere smile.

"And of course we're staying for New Year as well." A female voice joined the hubbub.

"Yes, Carol. We wouldn't have it any other way." Said Peter smoothly. He hugged El's mother carefully, as though afraid she might break, and pecked her on the cheek.

"Come inside, come inside…" Elizabeth took her mother's coat whilst Peter was sent out to get the bags.

"Where is he?" Carol asked El in an undertone. Neal's heart jumped. He hadn't anticipated that he would have to meet Elizabeth's parents. These two elderly, windblown souls were his foster grandparents – his family, if El had meant what she'd said earlier about him being a Burke. He was suddenly very nervous.

"He's just in there, mum." El said, pointing at the lounge. Neal stood up, heart pounding, and straightened the Santa hat on his head. After a moment's thought, he took it off altogether and held it before him, twisting his fingers in the fabric. Carol opened the door.

"Neal?"

"That's me." He swallowed. "Pleased to meet you." He held out a hand for her to shake, but Carol ignored it. She briskly stepped towards him and enveloped him in a hug that nearly crushed his ribs, before holding him out at arm's length.

"Let's have a look at you." She trilled, taking in his rumpled clothes and ruffled hair. "You're a handsome young chap! And so tall!" Neal smiled self-consciously, unsure how to respond. Luckily, Carol didn't give him the chance. "My El has told me so much about you. She says you're wonderful and gorgeous and kind and charming – why, it's so obvious she loves you very much." Neal heard the heavy tread of footsteps before someone said,

"El's very proud of you, son." Jim stood in the doorframe. He marched over and shook Neal's hand. "I'm James, but you can call me Jim. Or," he said with a booming chuckle, "Granddad!"

"Yes!" said Carol, delighted, "you must call me Grandma." And suddenly there were tears brimming in her eyes. "I never thought I'd live to meet my grandchildren."

"Oh darling-" Jim put an arm around his wife, "you promised you wouldn't cry!"

"It's just that….when we found out El couldn't have children, we were all so disappointed-"

Neal took a step back. Elizabeth couldn't have children? That was news to him. And that could explain a lot. Carol kissed him on the cheek, hugging him close. "But now she has you for a son, and I'm just so happy for all of you."

"I'm sure you'll do this family proud." Jim told him, patting Carol's hand affectionately. "We can't thank you enough for what you've done for Elizabeth. You're the son she never thought she could have."

But I'm a criminal! Neal shouted silently. Though the unprecedented amount of love coming from his two… grandparents… made him want to cry, he knew deep down that they wouldn't be so pleased to meet him if they knew the truth about his past. And his not-so-innocent present – he was still keeping secrets from the Burkes, still withholding the microchip.

"Mum, dad?" Elizabeth came into the room, the smile freezing on her lips when she saw her parents clustered around Neal. "I see you've met Neal Caffrey."

"Sweetie, you mean Neal Burke." Jim clapped his daughter on the back. "He's part of the family now!"

"Where are we sleeping, dear?" Carol asked, hugging Neal one last time before sweeping out of the room and up the stairs. "I hope the room is tidy… and the bed mustn't be more than six month's old because of your father's bad back…" The three of them left the lounge, talking amiably. Just then, Peter lurched through the door, puffing under the weight of three massive, tartan suitcases. Neal rushed to help him.

"They seem nice." He said, taking one of the bags off Peter. "I don't know why you were so worried about them staying for Christmas."

"Oh, they're very nice," said Peter, wiping his brow, "but they're just so damned bossy. Sweet as anything, but as demanding as harpies!"

"Elizabeth!" Carol's voice wafted down from upstairs. "This shower is a mess! And there is soap on the rim of the sink!" Peter raised an eyebrow.

"See what I mean?" Neal laughed and helped Peter cart the bags upstairs. In the hustle and bustle of Carol and Jim's arrival, their earlier argument didn't seem so important. Neal was willing to forgive Peter for his previous comment about his lack of family. It was obvious he hadn't meant to cause harm. But he wasn't so eager to forgive Elizabeth. She had been cold towards him ever since she'd learnt about the existence of the microchip, and her forcing him to give up the chip (regardless of how it would impact his life afterwards) was irksome, as well as self-centred of her. What was more important – Neal's freedom, Mozzie's source of income, all their stolen treasures? Or Peter's job? It was a difficult decision, and one Neal knew he would have to make without Elizabeth pushing him into helping Peter.

That night, the five of them sat around the kitchen table, eating dinner. Neal and El had made spaghetti bolognaise and everyone was tucking in with gusto.

"This is delicious!" exclaimed Jim, shovelling pasta into his mouth. "What makes it taste so darned good?" It was an open question, so naturally Neal and Elizabeth both answered.

"Garlic salt." Elizabeth said, just as Neal announced,

"Worcester sauce." Jim looked between the both of them curiously. He seemed to be noticing, for the first time, that something was going on between Neal and his daughter. The air between them felt charged with electricity. A hostile atmosphere clouded the dinner table.

"It was the garlic salt, dad." El said, after a pause. "I put it in the spag bol and it gave it an extra kick. That's probably what you're tasting."

"Well, the meal is certainly delicious." Jim twisted more spaghetti onto his fork. "I extend my congratulations to the both of you."

"Thanks, granddad." said Neal, smiling sweetly. He had grown rather fond of the word. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue.

"So what are your hobbies, Neal?" Carol asked, delicately sipping pasta off her fork. Next to her, Peter tensed. The talk was edging towards Neal's criminal antics, and Peter wasn't sure he wanted to discuss that part of both their lives right now. Neal and Elizabeth were already at each other's throats; it wouldn't be a good idea to remind everyone that Neal had entered the family through the pathway of crime.

"I love art," said Neal, unaware of Peter's apprehension. "Painting and drawing eat up a lot of my time. I also admire artists – their history, their talent, their sheer abandon – it astounds me."

"Are you an artist?" Carol asked, eyes sparking with interest.

"Of a sort." Neal chuckled. Peter groaned inwardly. The conversation was teetering dangerously close to the topic of forging paintings. "Would anyone like any more wine?" He asked loudly. Carol looked up.

"Why, yes please, Peter. That would be wonderful. Thanks ever so much." Peter silently poured the wine and, in an attempt to cheer up the evening, jokingly offered some to Neal, who declined with a good-natured, "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Aha!" Said Jim, watching the exchange keenly. "How refreshing. A teenager who declines alcohol!"

"Yes." Neal toyed with his pasta, before saying smoothly, "I refrain from most illegal activities." Peter nearly choked on his bolognaise.

"You refrain from most illegal-" He began incredulously, but Jim ploughed over him.

"That's wonderful! So many people, especially young people, engage in crime these days. It's despicable. They do drugs, commit murders, steal things!"

"Ah," said Neal dryly, "That pesky eighth commandment."

"Thou shalt not steal." added Peter. He had given up calling Neal on his lie and was now sitting back, watching the show.

"Indeed." Neal gracefully sipped his water, "But is stealing always… bad?"

"Yes." Jim replied almost instantly. "Stealing is always wrong. As you said, lad, it goes against the God-damned Decalogue! And of course it's against the law. I say that yes, stealing is always wrong." Neal leaned forwards in his seat, delighted to debate a topic he was passionate about. Elizabeth observed his glee with a stony expression.

"What about the Robin Hood philosophy?" He pressed. "Steal from the rich to feed the poor? Is that wrong?" Now everyone was joining in. The group had inadvertently hit upon a rich subject and all the diners were eager to sink their teeth into it. Everyone loved a good debate.

"Yes, I'd say that's wrong too." Ventured Carol.

"I wholeheartedly agree." Peter eyed Neal over the top of his wine glass: a silent warning. The last thing he needed right now was Neal using his conman charm to persuade El's parents stealing was good.

"Ok, ok." Said Neal, holding up his hands as he was bombarded with negative responses. "Apparently you don't believe in stealing from the rich to give to the poor." He cocked an eyebrow. "But what about stealing for beauty?"

"What do you mean?" rumbled Jim. He reached for the parmesan and dumped a large load of cheese onto the last of his pasta.

"Allow me to use an example." said Neal, flourishing his hands like a magician. He was really in his element here – amusing a crowd with his silver tongue. How he loved to mess with emotions, play devil's advocate, be the life and soul of a gathering! "Say, for example, there was a jewel." Neal started. Carol gazed at him, enraptured. In stark contrast, El simmered with fury. "This jewel was the most beautiful jewel in the world. It was alluring, with a glassy finish and no imperfections, clarity pure enough to make a king go green at the gills with envy and polished so that each face shone like fire."
"It sounds lovely." Said Peter. Under the table, Jim crossed his ankles so that the bells on his reindeer slippers jingled musically.

"This jewel belonged – unfairly - to a rajah in India." Neal continued, voice mesmerizingly soft. "He had stolen the jewel decades ago and now he kept it hidden away in a vault underground, in a subterranean cave filled with all his other treasures. Why? Because he didn't want anyone else to see it. He didn't want to share his treasure with the world. But can you imagine the hope, the joy, the beauty, which that jewel would bring to the people of this planet if it was on display in a museum? Beauty belongs to everyone, not just one person, even if he is a rajah. Do you think it is wrong to steal this hypothetical jewel and return it to its rightful heir, the public?"

The room fell silent. Peter's mind whirled following Neal's fairytale like story. Hadn't Neal once stolen a jewel belonging to a rajah in India? He had a vague memory of the theft a few years ago. Neal's name had come up when the bureau had investigated, but there had been no solid evidence linking him to the crime. But now, after hearing Neal's story, perhaps he would have to go back and dig through the case again with Jones and Diana.

"I think that it is wrong," said Jim finally. "Stealing is always wrong." Neal's smiling face fell a little once he heard those words. Peter knew exactly what was going through the kid's mind. He was realising that he was the only criminal in the room, the only one who saw the world like he did. He was the black sheep of the family he had suddenly become a part of, and the others would never understand. Neal stood up with a murmured excuse about "going to get some air", and left the room. After a moment's hesitation, Peter got up and followed.

Neal stood in the garden, the light from various, flickering candles casting shadows on his otherwise pale face. Peter shivered against the cold bite of the wind and walked over to where the kid leant elegantly against a railing.

"You ok?" He asked, taking a swig of beer and staring up at the tail lights of an aeroplane streaking across the sky. If he tilted his head just right, he could almost imagine that the blinking, mechanical lights were stars.

"No." said Neal, scuffing his feet on the decking. "I'm not ok. Jim and Carol… they - they say that they love me. That I'm a member of the family now. But they don't know the first thing about me. They don't know that I'm a…a criminal! If they knew the truth, they wouldn't love me. They wouldn't want anything to do with me!" Peter shot a sideways look at the teenager.

"What are you on about? Carol and Jim know the truth about you! Did you honestly think that El wouldn't tell her parents everything about you? She tells her parents everything, so of course she was going to mention who and what you are."

"But… but…" Neal was flabbergasted. "They knew? So what did Jim mean with his comment about how young people these days engage in crime?"

"Oh, he was just messing with you." Peter said, taking another gulp from his can of beer. "He's probably just curious about you. Wanted to see your thoughts on crime. He used to be a policeman, you know, before he retired."

"What?" Neal tugged a leaf off a nearby bush and twirled it between skilful fingers. "So he was testing me?"

"Yeah." Peter smiled down at his foster son, fondness in his eyes. "And I think you impressed him. You made it clear that you steal for the good of others, not for yourself. He thinks that you're misguided. He knows that you have a good heart – perhaps if circumstances had been different, you wouldn't have chosen a life of crime. And that's not always the case – some people are literally bad, and would have ended up as a criminal regardless of their history. But not you. You're a good kid, Neal." Neal recognised that halfway through the speech, Peter had switched from talking about Jim to talking about himself. Peter obviously believed in what he was saying. Tears pricked Neal's eyes.

"That's deep, Peter."

"Yup." They stood together in companionable silence. Neal thought back to the dinner he had walked out on, viewing it in a different light. Carol and Jim knew who he was, but they still loved him?

"Peter, why do Carol and Jim adore me so much?" He asked, musing aloud. "They don't even know me."

"Perhaps not," said Peter, "but they're willing to give you a chance. They want to get to know you."

"That's more than can be said about Elizabeth." Said Neal, suddenly remembering all the bad things El had said to him – calling him selfish, forcing him to give up the chip and mess up his life in the process. Peter sighed.

"El loves you too, kid."

"Really? Doesn't seem like it. She's so determined to make me give up the microchip."

Peter ran a hand through his hair and sat down on a wicker stool. The elderly structure creaked under his weight.

"Neal, El loves you as well. I know she does. Did you… did you know that she can't have children of her own?" Neal nodded but stayed silent, recognising that this was something Peter found difficult to talk about. "But you're the son she never thought she could have." He continued, pushing the words out into the air. "She's only so hard on you because she knows that you can take it. She wants you to do the right thing and give up the chip, but she doesn't want you to get in trouble. She's conflicted. Torn between wanting you to do what's right and wanting to protect you. She doesn't know how to handle it."

Ten minutes later, Neal and Peter returned to the kitchen, laughing and joking. They helped Carol and Jim clear the plates, then Neal served the apple crumble they had made earlier. As they ate and talked and bantered like one big, happy family: ('pass the custard, Carol. No Jim, you don't need any more meat on those bones of yours. Peter, tell Jim about that exercise programme you're on!') Neal glanced from face to face.

There was Peter, smiling at the head of the table. For the first time, Neal was willing to accept him as his foster father. He was now something more than Special Agent Peter Burke.

El sat next to him. He now knew more about her past than he had ever before, and he was able to understand her actions. She was forceful because she loved him. She wanted to protect him. He was ready to forgive her.

Then there were Carol and Jim. His grandparents, who loved him regardless of who he was or what he had done. Neal smiled and spooned some apple crumble into his mouth, giggling as he watched Carol and Jim argue in that gentle way of theirs. For the first time since he had been arrested, he felt content with his life. Things were looking up. He had what he had always wanted: a family. A home. Parents and grandparents.

Maybe, just maybe, this was going to be the best Christmas ever.

Hey guys, hope you enjoyed this chapter! I would love to hear what you thought of it, so please drop a review! :D Merry Christmas!