Thank you all for the wonderful welcome back and your supportive comments that encourage us to write more. We appreciate your kind words.

And on a lighter note, nothing heralds a return to writing fan fic more than those interesting 'Guest' reviewers who are so passionate about the story that they forget (or are too afraid) to leave a forwarding contact name. You guys know who we are talking about right? These type of comments have all been written many, many times before…same o, same o. But can anyone explain please, because its something of a mystery that never ceases to amaze (and amuse) us, is why anyone in their right mind would read 26 chapters! that's 20 and 6 six more chapters of a story that they found upsetting or offensive? Now if it were us, and we are in no way speaking from experience, we'd be going back to our therapist and asking for a more intelligent, common sense strategy…or maybe even a refund. LOL We know we shouldn't be making light of them, but these 'guests' are just too much fun and make everything so much more interesting!

We hope you enjoy these final few chapters…all of you...

"Elizabeth and Peter invited me over for dinner."

Eric glanced back at the front door. "We're not about to be stormed by some overzealous swat team are we? Cause you know, if we are, someone should move the squirt out of the way."

"Eric…" Peter warned.

"It's okay, Peter," Neal assured before turning his attention back to his son. "My sentence has been commuted, Eric. It's all above board. I've been released."

"Since when?"

"Yester-"

"Eric," Peter cut in. "Remember me telling you a few days ago that it was being sorted? That Neal was going to be released?"

"You've been telling me variations of a story with that re-occurring theme ever since I came to live here. You have to realise that at some point along the way I stopped care- I mean I stopped giving it any credibility, Peter."

"How about," Elizabeth stepped into the conversation before it could get any worse, "we sit down and start dinner before the pasta goes cold?"

"Smells delicious, Elizabeth," Neal remarked positively on his way across to the table.

"Thank you, sweetie."

Eric groaned inwardly that Elizabeth was now calling Neal, 'sweetie.' It was just wrong. He slid down onto his seat before commenting, "I would have thought you'd lost your sense of smell for food, Neal, seeing as how you've been living on tasteless green and yellow slop for six months."

"Er-" Peter started but Neal cut him off…

"Actually, Eric, it was green, yellow or brown slop. On Thursdays we were fed some kind of beef stew although if there was any actual beef in it, I never came across it."

Eric stared at his father, uncertain of how to respond so he simply shrugged, "Whatever," and slunk further into his seat.

Elizabeth, seeing the steam beginning to rise from her husband's ears, reached across and quickly served up a plate of pasta for both boys. "Eat up."

Eric moaned, "I'm not hungry," and for once he really wasn't.

Scottie groaned as well while staring at the plate of food that his tummy just didn't feel up to. "Neber am eyes, Momma."

"And I don't care," Peter pointed his finger, the same one Elizabeth had been waving around earlier. "You'll both sit and eat and I won't hear a single complaint from anyone…or else."

"Okays, Dadda," Scottie agreed all too easily before picking up his fork but there was no way Eric was ever going to be so compliant…

"So Neal, I guess now you're no longer entitled to free government funded accommodation you'll be having to move back in with June…if she'll have you back."

"No actually, I won't be staying with June any longer. I've rented out a small place here in Brooklyn but I can't say I won't miss living on the Upper West Side. " Neal gazed off into the distance like he was remembering, "I had a quick look around yesterday but was unable to find anywhere that makes French toast bagels like The Brunch just one block from June's."

"That sounded a lot like a complaint, Neal," Eric pointed out smugly. "Peter warned us he didn't want to hear complaining from and I quote, 'anyone…or else.' Now he's going to have to smack your butt."

"The only one getting their butt smacked will be you, Eric," Peter stated firmly, "if I see one more snide remark even looking like its thinking of leaving your lips."

"No, it's okay, Peter," Neal tried to brush it off as nothing before turning back to his son. "I'm a little more…let's just say…seasoned these days, Eric. Unlike some, I know how to avoid being on the receiving end of a Peter Burke reprimand, but thanks for heads-up. I really don't feel like getting my butt smacked tonight so there'll be no more complaining from this side of the table. What have you put in this meat sauce, Elizabeth? It's divine."

"Uh," Elizabeth waved her hands across the dishes in the middle, "there's nothing special about it although I believe the quality of the wine makes a difference. The one I used tonight was from a bottle of Cabernet-"

"Not that one I was saving from Grant Holland's birthday party?"

"Yes, hon?" El happily disclosed. "The one that I purchased and you went and accidently left it here so we had to stop and get another along the way."

Eric remembered that incident. It had bored him at the time and it certainly bored him now. "So Neal," he redirected the conversation back. "How are you planning on affording this place of yours here in Brooklyn?" Eric prodded in his best insolent tone while stirring the pasta on his plate around with a fork. "What does a criminal informant get paid these days? I can't imagine you're even entitled to minimum wage?"

"Eric," it was Elizabeth's turn to chastise. "That's e-"

"Momma," Scottie groaned out while holding his hand to his mouth. "Eyes don fear berry good."

"Hey, it's okay sweetie," she soothed as she instantly moved to her son's side and helped him out of his chair. "Let's get you up to the bathroom."

Peter stood also, as well as Neal. "Anything you want me to do, hon?"

"No, it'll be fine. I'll sing out if I need a hand," she assured while guiding the youngster towards the stairs.

"Okay, I'll come up and check in a few."

Both Peter and Neal sat back down and Eric suddenly became very interested in staring at the food on his plate knowing full well Peter's accusing eyes were boring into him.

Neal could easily see Peter's irritation radiating in waves so he quickly thought to redirect the storm before all hell broke loose. "Actually Eric, I wont be working full time at the Bureau, thanks to Elizabeth. Through her connections she was able to help me secure a position as an assistant curator at the Brooklyn Museum."

"Seriously?" Eric was unable to help himself. "Man, heads are gonna roll when they figure out they've willing handed over the codes to the vaults to one of the world's most infamous art thieves!"

That was the final straw. Peter tossed down his fork and had the brat out of his chair before he knew what had hit him. "Excuse us for a minute, Neal. Eric and I are just going to have a little chat." And with that he hauled his impertinent young charge out the back door and onto the porch. It was freezing out but there was so much heat emitting from Peter, neither of them seemed to notice.

Peter turned the boy sideways and swung his arm, once, twice and then a third time for good measure before swinging him back. "What's wrong with you?" He pointed the finger again while bending down close so they were more face to face. "You're being rude, you're being insolent and you're being incredibly disrespectful!" Eric shrugged and noted despite knowing the obvious consequences, "Aren't they three words that all mean the same thing, Peter?"

Peter pressed his lips together before taking the boy's upper arm and spinning him sideways once more. This time half a dozen stinging swats were applied before he was turned back. Eric attempted to pull back while using his free hand to rub vigorously at his smarting rear, but Peter held fast.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, mister. You are treading on thin ice since your shenanigans this afternoon that you dragged a five-year old into and had his mother beside herself with worry, but I was willing to leave dealing with that to a later time seeing as how tonight is something your dad has dreamt of happening for what would have felt like an eternity. I know you are trying your level best to ruin it for him, but I will not allow it. You say one more word that's anything but respectful, positive or downright affectionate and I will haul your backside upstairs and give it a well-earned dose of my belt. Can I make it any clearer for you?"

Eric shook his head.

"Good." Peter released his hold and sent the boy towards the door with one final stinging smack. "Now behave yourself."

Eric kept his eyes downcast as he made his way back to his seat. He didn't want Neal to see his flushed face - it was bad enough that their guest would have heard the swats and more than likely, the gist of the scolding. Eric couldn't believe that Peter had whacked him for something so trivial. All he'd been doing was having a bit of a dig at the ex-con and it wasn't like the oldies wouldn't have done the same if they weren't trying so fricken hard to be perfect all the time.

"What's Dianna's son, Teddy up to these days? Still into everything?"

"Yeah," Peter recollected with a forced smile. The brat had riled him up so much, he needed to take a deep breath and calm himself, for Neal's sake. "The little guy sure does keep her on her toes. His latest thing is trains so he'd got Dianna taking him in and out of the city on weekends trying out every…"

…Eric tried hard to tune out the merry conversation and meaningless small talk, but the two men seemed to have an infinite supply of pointless discussion topics, almost like they'd each made a mental list earlier in the day of subjects that would be unlikely to upset the natural harmony of the evening. He continued to play with the as yet, untouched plate of pasta that was beginning to gel together as it cooled and didn't realise at first that his name was spoken until it was repeated again by Peter in a much less amiable tone.

"Eric, Neal asked you a question."

"Uh," the boy shrugged. "I didn't-"

"It's okay," Neal stated pleasantly. "I was just asking if you know any good restaurants in the area. Peter tells me you are fond of, what was it called… Marilena's Italian Kitchen."

Eric considered for a minute before making eye contact with Peter. It was like the man was trying to read his mind, trying to work out if what he was about to say had a Burke-approval rating. Eric giggled on the inside while thinking that it would be a cold day in hell before that ever happened. Next he glanced across at Neal. After all that time seeing him in prison, it felt so out of place, looking at him sitting so comfortably in the Burke's dining room. But it wasn't just that. The guy's overall appearance was also strangely different. Eric couldn't work out if it was simply because he was wearing civilian clothes, or because that 'dropped out of a building onto his head' image was less obvious tonight. Eric could only just make out the end of the plaster cast poking out from Neal's shirt sleeve and his hair was probably deliberately brushed forward to cover what was no doubt nothing more a faint red line above his eye, but it was even more than that. There was something about the way he hadn't let anything that had been said, faze him. That in itself was enough to make Eric suspicious. The guy was okay…at times but what was his ulterior motive. He had to have something going on after all, once a con, always a con. And where was Elizabeth in all of this? Had she been happy Scottie had felt sick just so she could excuse herself from what was turning out to be one dead-boring ass dinner.

"I wouldn't mind trying out Marilena's," Neal continued when it didn't look like the kid was going to respond. "If you want to go some time in the next few days, we could-"

"You really think you need to move into this particular neighbourhood?" Eric sat up and finally decided to speak out, ignoring the warning glare from Peter. "It's a big city, plenty of nice, desirable locations to choose from. And maybe if you promise to walk her dog most days and limit your arrests to only every other week, maybe June will take you back?"

"Eric!" Peter admonished. "That's enough. Wait for me upstairs!"

What? Eric almost chocked on the next breath. Surely Peter had to be joking. Not over this. Not over one more little harmless wisecrack. Peter must have completely gone off the rails as well, and more than likely, all because his superstar son didn't 'fear berry good.'

"Eric," Peter repeated. "Go to your room!"

Eric pressed his lips together mirroring a mannerism he had obviously learnt from Peter, before pushing up from his chair. "Don't you mean Scottie's room? I don't have a room, Peter. I don't have parents who ever bothered to make sure their son had a room he could be sent to when he acted out!" Without waiting around to see what Peter Perfect had to say about that, he stormed off to the stairs, but not before pausing to shout over his shoulder, "Go ahead and toss my dinner in the trash. I don't like Elizabeth's pasta! I've never liked Elizabeth's pasta and if you think it's any good Neal, you really have forgotten what good pasta taste's like! I can recommend Marilena's. Try it and you'll never want to eat here again!"

o0o

Eric paced around the bedroom cursing himself for landing right back where he had started - banished to the squirt's room awaiting his sentence to be carried out. It would only be a matter of minutes before their dinner guest departed in a fluster of apologies and his prison guard came up to deliver what was mounting up to be one hell of an ass beating. Eric highly doubted Peter would make good on his threat of using that wicked instrument of torture from the dark ages because on the few occasions it had been threatened, it had only been just that – a scare tactic. It seemed to be something the old man said when he had well and truly surpassed his tolerance limits and probably was what he was threatened with by his parents to keep little Peter Perfect in line growing up. Having said that, Eric wasn't looking forward to the alternative – a paddling of some sort, most likely with the ever popular hairbrush. It hurt like crap and when all things were considered, he wished he could wind back the clock an hour and start over, this time keeping his big mouth shut and his interesting annotates to himself. Getting pulled over Peter's knee to have his butt turned a cherry red was not how he first envisioned this day would end and it certainly wasn't worth the small amount of satisfaction that had been gained from pissing off the oldies in his life that had made him so miserable to begin with.

Eric heard footsteps on the stairs and with his heart skipping a few beats, he hoped like hell that his theory about the hard strip of leather threaded through Peter's trousers was accurate. Although he was hard pressed to have to admit it, the belt did have the desired affect – he was indeed sufficiently scared enough that he was prepared to say all the right things and offer any reparation to see that it never came to fruition.

While bracing himself for some seriously pathetic begging, the smarter side of his brain identified the footsteps as being different from Peter's, an assumption that was confirmed soon after when he heard the younger male's voice outside in the hall speaking to Elizabeth. It seemed as though he was about to be given a short reprieve, because a moment later, there was a hesitant knock on the bedroom door. Peter was never hesitant.

"Yeah, come in," Eric called towards the door unenthusiastically. He really didn't want to have to willingly entertain the ex-con but he wasn't about to throw away an opportunity of delaying the alternative.

"Hey…" Neal started as he came into the room and closed the door behind him…and then there was nothing.

Eric mentally rolled his eyes as he took up a seat on the edge of the bed. This was going to be another one of those painfully boring sessions where nothing of substance was said, least it upset one or both of the parties - just like it had been on all those excruciating Saturday morning prison visits Peter had forced him to participate in.

Neal's eyes took in the room before he commented quietly, "It's a nice room."

"Would you have ever expected anything less for the golden child? This was Scottie's room long before I came on the scene, and will be long after I leave."

"You know," Neal paused to clear his throat before continuing, "that's kinda what I was wanting to talk to you about."

"What? How Elizabeth and Peter spare no expense when it comes to Pip-Squeak? You can talk all you want but it aint gonna change a thing. The kid will always be showered with whatever his little brown orbs lay their eyes on."

"I was-"

"Actually, you know that part about me saying you can talk all you want? Is it too late to take that back because my head's starting to hurt. Can we just pretend we're up here having a heart to heart so Peter will leave us alone? Maybe you can just sit on Scottie's bed and read one of his lamo stories or something?"

"Eric," Neal ignored the ramblings and continued regardless, " I was talking about you leaving. I know you are planning on checking out of here some time soon."

"That's a load of rot. I never said anything about 'checking out.'"

Neal sat down on Scottie's bed but instead of selecting one of the little boy's books, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees so he was closer to his son. "I know that your mind is working overtime formulating some kind of game plan towards moving on. It's why you were unable to keep it together downstairs – you think you have outstayed your welcome and you're pre-empting any eviction action that may be initiated by either one or both of the Burkes."

"So you think you've worked me all out, have you?" Eric scoffed while pushing up from his bed so he could put a little space between them. "You really think I'm that transparent? What makes you think you can read me like a book?"

Neal smiled up at his son and spoke lovingly, "Because I've lived through this same story, Eric…and I already know the ending."

Eric laughed "Well, a mind-reader, a first class forger and now a clairvoyant. Wow, I'm impressed, Neal, and you know, seriously thrilled that I'm in for one hell of a genetic inheritance."

"Eric-"

"Neal," Eric cut in, "I'm not leaving okay! See, I have a bed and clothes," he waved his hands around to take in the objects, "and…stuff, so can't we just drop it?"

"Eric-"

"Neeeeaaal. Are you sure you just don't want to sit quietly and read one of those books? I can recommend, 'The Enchanted Forest.'"

"Eric," Neal tried once more, "You want to take a walk with me?"

"Huh?" Eric genuinely had no idea what the guy was going on about. "A walk?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"Ah," Neal shrugged. "Not too far. Just around the local streets."

Eric glanced across at the window before turning back with a frown, "Are you crazy?"

"No. Well, not that I'm aware."

"What the…why…why would you possibly think that it's a good idea…ah," it finally dawned on him. "You want to go for a stroll with me so we can have an actual father, son heart to heart?"

"No," Neal stated simply. "I just thought it might be a nice idea to go somewhere for a chat," he paused and waved his arm to take in the room, "that wasn't taking place at Golden Child Central."

Eric released a small chuckle, despite himself before flopping back down onto the bed. "Possibly not the stupidest idea I've ever heard but I doubt that I'd be allowed."

"That doesn't appear to have stopped you before."

Eric glanced up with 'who, me?' eyes.

Neal returned the look. "The Seven Eleven ring any bells?"

"No," Eric denied without hesitation. "In any case, what about dinner?"

"You already had yours." Neal waited a beat before reiterating his point…"The aforementioned Seven Eleven?"

"I was meaning you," Eric groaned like he was having to explain it to a toddler. "Aren't the oldies expecting you back downstairs? If you don't eat your dinner, you don't get any dessert."

"I've had enough."

"I hear you. No one believes me about Elizabeth's cooking. Finally, we have something in common."

"But not this. I really enjoyed the pasta."

"Yeah," Eric agreed in his most unbelieving tone. "Yet you happily snatched up the first exit strategy that came spiralling your way."

"Maybe my stomach's shrunk considerably during my stint in prison?" Neal shrugged before standing and moving across to the door, "Now you up for a walk or you just going to hang around up here waiting for Peter to finish his dinner?"

Eric considered for a moment before standing also. "You know, it really is a nice night for walk."

"Actually, its bitterly cold out but I'm sure you have access to a great winter jacket."

"You know Elizabeth," Eric scoffed. "Nothing but the best."