Christmas was a delightful affair. Elizabeth's parents stayed for a grand total of five days – much to the annoyance of Peter. Carol and Jim had to be the bossiest geriatrics in the country; they literally couldn't stop reprimanding El for the state of the house ('you should really get that crack in the wall fixed, dear'), and Peter was getting visibly tired of the ceaseless demands.

"Peter, could you grab my coat from the car?"

"Peter, be a sweetheart and pop to the shops? I want some wine gums."
"Peter, could you get me a drink? I finished the orange juice this morning, so could you go out and get some more? Then pour me some? Then bring it here?"

"Yes, Carol." Said Peter through gritted teeth. Neal, who was curled up on the sofa engrossed in a book, looked up and caught his eye. "What's so funny?" Peter snapped, seeing the look on Neal's face.

"Nothing." He smiled, biting back laughter. "It's just… it's funny to see you being bossed around like that. Usually you're the one who does the bossing – as head of a team of agents at White Collar, I supposed that you're used to power. But now you're at the bottom of the pecking order!" Elizabeth chuckled too, recognising the truth in Neal's words.

"Hon, you've just got to take it in your stride." She told Peter calmingly. "I'm sure they don't mean to order you around like that. They're just used to certain… standards."

"Yeah," sniggered Neal, "they expect you to make them hot tea instead of that bitter stuff you served last night – stone cold and with the tea bag still in the cup!" Peter shook his head in Neal's direction.

"There's no need to bring my cooking skills into this. They are, after all-"

"Abysmal?" Neal suggested, "Pathetic? Non-existent?"

"I wouldn't be so smug if I were you." Peter shook his newspaper straight with a pompous flick of the wrist. "You won't be laughing come the New Year." Neal sat up straighter, the book in his lap falling shut. He didn't seem to notice that he had lost his page.

"What do you mean? What's happening in the New Year?" Peter grinned – pleased to have found himself with the upper hand.

"Why, you're going back to school, of course," he said. Neal blinked.

"I'm what?"

"Going back to school." Peter took a sip of tea and watched Neal carefully. The teenager seemed stunned.

"Sweetie, you didn't think that you weren't going to continue your education, did you?" El asked, surprised.

"Well… no, but…" Neal slumped back in his chair, emotions tangling inside him. He didn't want to go back to school. He liked the life he had here at the Burkes – Peter's suspension from work had at some point blurred into the Christmas holidays and as a result, nobody had had to work for the past three weeks. Neal loved spending time with El and Peter; now that the problems between him and El had been solved, everyone got on swimmingly. Carol and Jim staying over were an added bonus. But now? The home life they had forged together would be shattered. He supposed that this was inevitable. Peter had to go back to work at some point, El had to continue planning events come the New Year and he would have to continue his education. Neal shuddered. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Where?" He asked Peter quietly. The agent scratched his chin, obviously enjoying Neal's reluctance for education.

"The bureau was thinking to return you to that school you were at before, what was it called? Merrymen?"

"Merrinote." Neal sighed. "Are you serious?"

"I'm always serious," said Peter. "Besides, you'll enjoy it! You know everyone there already so it's not like you'll have to make new friends or anything."
"I'm good at making friends." Neal grumbled. "I'm not so good at retaining them. Are you seriously going to send me back to the school where I was arrested? Are you forgetting that you nearly crashed a helicopter into the top floor, handcuffed me in front of my classmates, and chased me through the corridors with live ammunition?"

"Neal," Peter started, "I know it's not ideal. But it's the only school that will accept you given your history and current situation. Plus, your scholarship is still active and it's within walking distance of the house. Apart from the events you just described, Merrymouse is perfect."
"Merrinote."

"Whatever." Peter stared at Neal expectantly, waiting for the verdict. But Neal wasn't quite finished picking out the flaws in the preposition.

"What exactly have you told the kids and teachers at Merrinote about me? They think I'm a criminal."

"You are a criminal." Observed Peter, taking a sip of his tea.

"That's beside the point. They saw me being arrested – they're going to treat me with disdain!"

"Or, they're going to treat you like a hero," said Peter. "It's a matter of perspective. But you don't have to worry about that. The bureau told Merrycactus that your arrest was a misunderstanding, a simple case of mistaken identity. Only a select few teachers know the truth about you. They're aware of your situation regarding the tracking anklet and they'll be keeping an eye on you for us." Neal ran his fingers through his hair, still undecided.

"This has to be against the law. Surely they suspect something's dodgy – as if the feds would spend so much time and money storming the school if they weren't 100% sure that their target was guilty! And if it really was a case of mistaken identity – if I really was innocent – then why would I run?" Peter shrugged.
"I have no idea. But you don't really have a choice. Like I said, no other school will take you and we don't have the money for a tutor. It's Merryturkey or prison."
"That's not much of a decision," said Neal, somewhat sulkily. "And Merryturkey, Peter? Really?" Peter shrugged again.

"You have to think on the bright side," said El, taking over. "Isn't there anyone at Merrinote that you miss? Any friends you want to see?" Neal's eyes brightened.

"Well, there was someone. Sara Ellis. I owe her an apology. And an explanation."
"Oh, a girl!" said El, grinning. "See – every cloud has a silver lining."

"Did I hear talk of a girl?" Carol entered the room and sat down on a rocking chair with an elegant swoop.

"No, it's nothing… she's just a friend." Neal hastily tried to backtrack, but at this point, all eyes were on him. He laughed.

"Alright. I fancy her. She's funny and clever and understanding…"

"Pretty?" asked Carol.

"Very."
The evening passed quickly. Neal was bombarded with questions about Sara and the conversation soon turned to his past adventures with members of the opposite sex. When he mentioned his courtship of the Princess Katrina of Denmark, everyone laughed and Carol clapped her hands with delight. Neal relaxed as the evening progressed. Truth was a drug – he felt better and better, calmer and happier, with every honest word he spoke. In this family, he could speak freely. He didn't have to lie or hide behind his con man mask. He could be himself. It was the best Christmas present he had ever received.

The next morning, Neal set about kick-starting his social life. He had gotten over the shock of being told he had to return to Merrinote and was now quite excited about the prospect. Despite what he had told Peter about the other kids not accepting him, he knew that he could use his charm to win them over. But first, he would have to get to know them. He hadn't seen anyone from Merrinote in over a month, and even though Sara, Kate and Gordon had crossed his mind from time to time, in the whirlwind of events that ranged from arrest to kidnapping, he had forgotten almost everything about being a normal teenager. So he had decided to throw a party. A big one.

Hey Moz. He texted the words silently and sent them skimming across the airwaves. Fancy a get together? Mozzie replied almost instantly.

Hell yes. What do you have in mind? Neal started to reply, but stopped when he felt eyes on the back of his neck. He glanced over and saw Peter watching him sternly. The two of them were sitting in the agent's mint green Volvo, on the way to the supermarket. Carol and Jim had, unsurprisingly, eaten them out of house and home, so Neal had volunteered to accompany Peter on a trip to buy more food. He wanted to get on the agent's good side. Peter glanced at the phone in Neal's hand suspiciously.

"Who you texting?" He asked.

"A girl." Neal said cryptically. It was a complete lie, of course, but he knew that Peter wouldn't approve of him talking to Mozzie. As far as the special agent was concerned, Mozzie was bad news. Neal had to admit that he had a point.

"Which girl?" Peter asked, cutting his eyes between Neal in the passenger seat and the cars on the road ahead. "Is it Sara?"

"Yeah," said Neal shortly. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No." Peter smiled warmly – which surprised him. He wasn't used to seeing Peter smile when he was away from his wife. "I like you and her together. I think she's a good influence on you." Neal saw an opportunity and grabbed it.

"Really? Because… Sara's having a party this weekend, more of a small get together really, and she was wondering if I could go." Peter furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

"What sort of party?"

"Oh, a small one." Neal twiddled his thumbs calmly, trying to radiate a sense of trust and control. "Her parents are having a BBQ and they're inviting some family friends and neighbours."
"And you."

"And me." Neal smiled winningly up at Peter. He looked calm and collected from the outside, but inside his head he was frantically employing all the conman tricks he knew. Everything from manipulation to echoing to good old-fashioned sweet talk and blatant lies. If he was going to throw a party, then he would prefer to do it with Peter's blessing. Sara's fictitious gathering was perfect – if Peter allowed him to go, he would be free to host a party at his old place. June wouldn't mind. She was always encouraging him to be more social. The Burkes would think he was at Sara's when meanwhile he would be reconnecting with his old friends in June's mansion. Not the most elaborate of plans, but he was confident that it would work. If only Peter agreed to let him go to Sara's.

"I'm not too sure about this," said Peter, beeping his horn loudly as a car swerved in front of him. "Bloody idiot… Sorry, what was I muttering on about?"
"Sara's party," supplied Neal helpfully. "You were saying that you think I should go?"

"No I wasn't." Peter glanced at him, frowning. "I don't think you're responsible enough to go to a party. And I'm not sure that it's the best thing for you to do, considering your current situation with the bureau."

"Aw Peter." Neal twisted in his seat, latching onto the one thing Peter had said that could work to his advantage. "I'm responsible. I'm very responsible."

"Really." Sarcasm oozed from Peter's words. "You're responsible. Ha! I bet you don't even know what the word means!"

"I do," insisted Neal. "Responsible means to be answerable or accountable to something within one's own power. You insult my intelligence, Peter." He smiled, flashing his very white teeth that sat behind very blue braces. "I bet I know more words than you do."

"I find that hard to believe," said Peter, tearing his eyes away from the road long enough to study the teenager next to him. "I'll have you know I participated in many a definition rodeo in my day." Neal snorted.

"What the devil is a definition rodeo?"

"It's a game where someone says a word and the first person to state what it means correctly wins a slice of pie," said Peter haughtily. "I was rather good at it."

"Ok," said Neal, seizing the opportunity. "If I can find a word that you don't know, will you let me go to Sara's party?" Peter chuckled, clearly confident that he would win.

"You're on."

"Right…" Neal thought for a moment. "I didn't know you were such a logophile, Peter."

"Nice try." The agent grinned. "A logophile is a lover of words. Next!" Neal wracked his brains.

"Define scabrous."

"It comes from the Latin word scaber, which means rough. So therefore scabrous means full of difficulty or scandalous and indecent."

"Damn it. You're pretty good at this game, Peter."

"Told you. You know what, Neal? You're not so bad yourself." They continued playing. Peter got most of the words Neal threw at him, but Neal knew that he would win. He tripped Peter with darkle. "Does it mean… a dark room?" The agent stabbed at the word, brow furrowed, obviously stumped.

"Nope." Neal beamed. "It's the opposite of sparkle. It's when something grows dark. I win."

And with that, Peter allowed him to go to 'Sara's' party, with a lot of promises that Neal would behave and be responsible and be a good little con man. They also promised to play Scrabble together.

A week later, Neal and Mozzie stood in the grand entrance hall to June's mansion, surveying their handiwork. The hall glowed like a crystal cave. Lights flickered from a dozen disco balls, casting glitter shadows on the wooden floor. Silver bowls, overflowing with crisps and chocolate, winked like cheery carbuncles beneath the swirling, rainbow lighting that soaked the room. Speakers trembled on a hastily constructed stage, waiting to broadcast music once the guests arrived. A fountain bubbled in one corner, cider spilling over the spout and gathering in the marble bowl beneath, ready to be gulped. Vodka and coca cola, the winning combination of old, dominated one table whilst bottles of beer and even champagne crowded another. Neither Neal nor Mozzie seemed bothered by the audacious display of illegal alcohol.

Neal was wearing dark jeans, a crisp white, button down shirt and a navy blue suit jacket. A bow tie encircled his throat. He turned to Mozzie, suddenly anxious.

"How do I look?"

"Like James Bond in miniature," replied his friend, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The little guy seemed hardly able to contain his excitement.

"So who's coming to this party?" Neal asked, casting a nervous eye at his watch. It was nearly half past seven. The guests would be arriving soon.

"Everyone," Mozzie grinned impishly. "I hacked into Facebook. Sent out the invite to everyone in your year group at school. And a few of my friends. And a few of your old ones."
"Sounds great." Neal snatched a quaver from a bowl and chewed on it mournfully. His stomach writhed with nerves. Here he was: a known criminal, hosting an illegal party in his old house, lying to his federal agent guardian and serving black market alcohol to minors. But that wasn't what troubled him. He was nervous about seeing his friends again. It had been over a month since he had come face to face with another teenager that wasn't called Mozzie, over a month since he had seen the girl he had once liked, Sara Ellis. He was looking forward to seeing her, of course, but at the same time he wished he had never had the audacity to throw this party. There had been a time when the merest mention of Sara had caused his heart to flutter like a butterfly. Now he wasn't so sure. So much had changed. So much had happened since he had seen her. He wasn't sure if he was the same person anymore.

"Moz…" Neal started, desperate to share his concerns with his oldest friend. "Is this a good idea? I'm suddenly having doubts…"

"Pull yourself together, Nick." Mozzie clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling softly. "You're a con man. The best in the business. You're a chameleon who can change his face as easily as his name. You are no longer Neal Caffrey, foster son of a fed, you are Nick Halden, millionaire schoolboy and it's time for you to make some friends." The doorbell rang. "I'll get it." Mozzie strode over to the door and flung it open; welcoming a tide of perfumed girls tottering on heels and boys with hair gelled thickly. I'm a con man. Neal thought sternly. A chameleon boy. He relaxed slightly as his usual, confident mask slipped into place, and he strolled over to welcome the teenagers into his home.

Three hours later and Neal was well and truly roaring drunk. He had downed the beer, popped the champagne, gulped the cider from the cider fountain and guzzled vodka without cola until his head buzzed pleasantly. He had spent the past three hours socialising with the kids from Merrinote and was now pretty confident that he was going to be accepted when he returned in January. He tottered through the soaring hallways of June's mansion, passing groups of bawdy teenagers. Cries of great party and nice one, mate filled his ears as he allowed his unsteady feet to carry him to the dance floor. The music here was so loud it made the very air thrum with sound. You could hear the throbbing rap songs throughout the house (probably throughout the neighbourhood), but it was cacophonous beneath the speakers. That didn't stop the kids from dancing. They jumped on the spot, hands raised, sending piping-hot ash from numerous cigarettes drifting down to rest on the marble floor. Neal scanned the bubbling crowd of at least 500 people with eyes clouded by booze, but he couldn't see her anywhere.

Sighing, he staggered off down the hallway and up the stairs – where he tripped over a couple kissing on the floor and nearly broke his neck. Laughing drunkenly, he weaved past them and entered his old set of rooms. He found her on what had once been his balcony, twisting her red hair between two fingers and gazing out over the city. She was alone.

"Sara." She turned.

"Nick! I… I've been looking for you – I couldn't find you anywhere! Where have you been?"

"Downstairs." Neal took an unsteady step forward and stood beside her, gazing out as the stars burned above them.

"That's not what I meant." Sara shivered, and without even thinking about it, Neal shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." He tossed a gentle smile in her direction, and Sara recoiled like she had been burnt.
"Stop it." Neal stared at her in wide-eyed confusion.
"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? You left me! You were arrested. In the middle of a geography lesson! Our teacher pointed a gun at your head-"

"She wasn't a teacher…" Neal started, bewildered by Sara's ferocity. "She was a federal agent by the name of Lauren Cruz-"

"I don't care what her name is, Nick." Sara tugged on a loose strand of her hair angrily. "You were dragged out of the school and shoved in a police car-"

"Now that's only partly true," said Neal, offended. "I ran out of the school and escaped to the car park in disguise. I'm not too shabby at eshaping, you know." Despite his best efforts, the copious amounts of alcohol were starting to take a toll on him. He was slurring his words. Sara took one look at his glassy eyes and fever flushed cheeks, then shook her head in disgust.

"You're drunk."

"I'm not. I'm just ver, ver tipsy-"

"Shut up, Nick." Sara sighed, suddenly weary. "You didn't call me. You said you would. You said you would explain."

"I'll explain now." Neal had already decided that he was going to tell Sara everything. He had decided that a long time ago. "And my name isn't Nick."
"Why the hell should I trust you? Why should I believe anything you say? You're a criminal and you're too drunk to stand up straight!"

"Now you… you lishen here." Neal pointed a wobbly finger at her. "I may be drunk, but I've been drunk before. Twice before, in fact. I shtrive to avoid alcohol apart from on very sshpecial occasions because it makes me two things: bold and truthful. If you want me to exshplain things to you, then I must be bold and truth… truthful. Only a handful of people know what I am about to tell you and I intend to keep it that way – but you, S-Sara Ellis, you are different. I want to tell you about me. I want to explain."

"Then do it." Sara took him by the hand, a gesture that surprised him, and led him over to the metal table on the terrace. They sat down side by side. "You say your name isn't Nick." He shook his head.

"It isn't." For the next half an hour, Neal proceeded to tell Sara everything. He told her about the microchip, about the deal he had struck with Peter. About his reluctance to give Peter the chip, despite the kindness the agent and his wife had shown him. He even told her about the ever looming threat of prison. When he had finished telling her about the latest bombshell in his ever turbulent life (going back to school) and his plan to throw a mammoth party in the hope of reconnecting with his old friends, Sara sat back and looked at him. She looked at him for a long time. Neal knew that she was seeing him in a whole new light.

"So you… you're wearing a tracking anklet?"

"Yep." Neal yawned, tired after all the talking and pleasantly sleepy from all the drink. Sara looked puzzled.

"But you said that you told Peter you were at my house."

"Yep."

"But… you're not."

"Nope." He wandered where she was going with this. His beer-addled mind was slow to slot together the pieces. Luckily, Sara connected the dots for him.

"You do realise that Peter can track you, right? How can you have a forbidden party when your location is stored on a computer? Peter can log in and find out exactly where you are." Neal sat up with a start, heart pounding. Sara was right! How had he and Mozzie managed to overlook something this important?

"Oh crickets." He swore. "You're absolutely right. Peter's going to kill me…"

"Neal? Neal!" Both Neal and Sara's heads snapped round at the shout. Mozzie was at the door, face flushed. He was out of breath and panting.

"What's wrong, Moz?"
"Cops. Right outside." Neal swore groggily. This was the last thing he needed.

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm bloody sure!" Mozzie growled, rubbing his eyes with vigour. He was also rather drunk – but unlike Neal, alcohol didn't improve his manners. Where Neal gained boldness and honesty from wine, Mozzie gained aggression.

"Calm down, Moz," said Neal in a placating tone. "What do they want?"

"How do I know? They're asking for you. The owner of the house, they say. They've been there for half an hour – every guest who isn't hammered out of their brains is searching for you!" Neal tried to push down the rising sense of fear.

"Thanksh for telling me." He was proud that his voice didn't waver. "Where are they?"

"In the foyer. Some idiot let them in." Neal stood up. Sara grabbed his arm.

"You're not seriously going to talk to them, are you?" She asked, face pale. "After everything you've told me… You're in enough trouble as it is! If the FBI finds out that you've been serving illegal alcohol, your deal with Peter would disintegrate."

"She's right," said Mozzie ominously, before shooting a curious glance at Sara. "Who are you, anyway?" She ignored him.

"Don't go." She swallowed, seeming to hesitate. "Don't go, Neal. You've only just come back into my life – I don't want you to leave again!" Neal chuckled.

"Both of you need to chill out. It'll be fine. They're not going to arrest me. Sara – I'll see you at school next week. Moz – look after her." He paused for the briefest of seconds, then leaned in and kissed her, full on the lips. The world seemed to stand still. He could just make out Mozzie rolling his eyes in the background. Sara smelt of lemon soap and flowers. They stayed together for one heartbeat, two, then disconnected with a jerk. "See you around, Sara Ellis." And with that, he turned and lurched towards the door, waltzing down the stairs and towards the waiting officers of the law, with alcohol on his breath and defiance burning in his eyes.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Neal approached the two officers: one old man and one young one, grey hair standing next to blonde. He proffered a hand for them to shake. They both ignored it.

"Actually, sir, it's good morning. It's quarter to five in the am." The policeman's voice was frosty. "Is this your house, sir?"

"Yes." Neal knew that that was one thing he couldn't deny. Half the kids in the house could have told the officers that anyway. "What brings you to my humble a-abode?" He cleared his throat officiously, aware of the way his speech had stumbled. The younger officer narrowed his eyes.

"Do you know how many calls from local residents are needed before the police come to put a stop to a party?" He asked. It was a rhetorical question, but Neal answered anyway.

"Four."

"Er, yes. Yes, that's right. Do you know how many calls we've received tonight?"
"No, sir." The young man drew himself up to full height.

"Twelve. Twelve of your neighbours have taken it upon themselves to pick up the phone and call the police. They've been complaining about the noise and the sheer number of kids at your residence. How many guests are attending your little party, might I ask?"

"I have honestly no idea." Neal was swaying on his feet. He steadied himself against the doorframe. "Seven hundred? Maybe more."

"I see." The older policeman drew out a notebook. Neal tried not to flinch at the sight. "How old are you, sir?"

"Twenty one." Even with his senses dulled by alcohol, the lie came out perfectly. The two officers exchanged looks. Then they both howled with laughter.

"Twenty one!" The younger one hooted. He couldn't have been more than twenty three himself. "How thick do you think we are?"

"You're fifteen years old." The greying cop snapped, suddenly serious. "This house belongs to June Ellington and you must be her ward and lodger, Nick Halden. We've got it all on record." He smiled coldly. "Get in the car, please. You're charged with underage drinking and smoking as well as distributing illegal alcohol to minors, obstructing the course of justice and disturbing the neighbourhood's peace. We're taking you down to the station."

"You must be joking." Neal scratched his head and sifted through his options. Running seemed like his best bet… until he remembered, with a pang of annoyance, that he was wearing a tracking anklet. He was already perilously close to the two mile radius boundary already. If he accidentally crossed it… Well, the only way this situation could get any worse was if the feds got involved. Besides, they already knew he was connected to June. Even if he did manage to get away, the officers could track him to Peter. The thought of a burly policeman knocking on the Burke's door in the small hours of the morning made him shiver. As much as he hated it, his fate was sealed. Fuming and tipsy, Neal shot a venomous look at the two police officers and climbed into the car.

Hey guys :D Hope you all had a great Christmas and a happy new year! This chapter was rather longer than I intended it to be, so sorry if it bored you out of your skulls!...I would love to hear your comments, so please drop a review! :)