Tuesday morning. December 28, 2004.

When everyone was ready for breakfast, Angela led the way to a coffee shop on the beach. Neal skipped coffee this morning. A banana smoothie sounded like the perfect accompaniment to the muffin he ordered. They sat on a terrace that was right next to the children's pool and play area Angela had mentioned at dinner. Sure enough, Irene was captivated by the toddlers. It didn't take any effort at all to get her started comparing the little ones to her own children and grandchildren.

"Any conclusions?" Neal asked in an aside when they were done eating.

"I'd like to observe a little longer," Angela said. "How do you feel about some beach time?"

"I feel like I need to spend all day on the beach. With the poker game and the case, it seemed like I hardly got outside at all yesterday. That's got to be a crime here."

They picked up beach towels at one of the shacks staffed by the hotel along the beach, and settled near where the children were playing. Most of their group settled on towels or beach chairs, but Henry plopped down and started building a sand castle.

Noelle smiled. "I forgot we used to have a sandbox in the backyard. Henry loved it."

Neal sat beside him and studied the castle. "Sand Man?" he guessed.

Henry shook his head. "Who would call a kid Sand Man?"

A few children wandered over to help Henry with his project. Neal had noticed on previous occasions that both Henry and Irene were Pied Pipers. Children naturally gravitated toward them. Soon Irene was chatting with the little ones and their parents, while Angela observed. Henry welcomed the extra hands, and he instructed the kids to build extensions on his castle. He pretended to be taken by surprise when a moat was dug around him.

A glance toward the rest of the group showed that Peter was sitting in the shade of a beach umbrella. So far Neal had managed to avoid talking with Peter, but that couldn't last long. It was time to figure out what to say about the doubts that had been plaguing him recently.

"Still avoiding Peter?" asked Henry.

Of course Henry would notice. "I'll talk to him when I'm ready," Neal said. "At the moment I've got an idea that's a lot more original than a castle." He started piling up mounds of sand. When Joe's daughters asked if they could help, they piled up even more. "Sometimes I think of Peter as a polar bear," he told them as they carefully built up a solid base of sand for his creation. "He loves winter sports and snow. Look at him now, avoiding the sun. He's the inspiration for this sculpture."

People gathered around as Neal's project gained height. It took a careful mixture of sand and water from the ocean to achieve the solidity and smooth surface he wanted. When it was nearly three feet tall, Neal grabbed seashells to serve as buttons, eyes and a nose. "Perfect," he declared when he was finished.

"You built a snowman on the beach?" Peter asked. He'd wandered over a few minutes ago, lured out of the shade by Neal's work of art.

"I think technically he's a sandman."

###

They stayed on the beach until it was time for lunch. On the walk to the restaurant Neal and Angela trailed behind to discuss their findings, but this time Henry wouldn't give them any privacy. "Clever strategy," he said as he stepped between them. "What did you learn?"

Angela rolled her eyes. "You think I'm afraid to talk about our progress in front of you?"

"Maybe."

"Guess again. Dressa remarked on several kids who reminded her of you," Angela said.

"Noelle, too," Neal added. "You could tell by her expression when a kid reminded her of Henry."

"The one with the navy blue trunks and all the freckles?" Angela asked.

"Yeah, both Dressa and Noelle reacted to him."

"Freckle Face?" Angela guessed.

"Nope," said Henry.

"He yelled and ran around a lot," Neal said. "Wild Man?"

"Not even close."

"The thing is," Angela added, "that Dressa seemed the most taken with him when his mom made him sit down so she could brush the sand off him and refresh his sunscreen. He absolutely could not hold still. He shrieked and giggled and wiggled..." She came to a stop, facing Henry. "Wiggle Worm?"

Henry's expression went blank a moment. Then he shook his head. "No. Definitely not."

"But it's close," Neal said. "Something about that one struck a chord."

"We got this," said Angela, giving Neal a high five.

###

After lunch, Angela insisted on going along with Neal to the FBI offices, where he would review the file on the man who'd commissioned the theft of the pearls. She said she deserved a chance to be involved, since she hadn't been able to go along yesterday. This visit had to be the safest, most boring part of the case, and neither Neal nor Peter objected. However, when they were in a conference room waiting for a local agent to bring them the file, Neal brought up the fact that she'd already been involved in a case and had visited the Manhattan White Collar office during the Masterson sting in August.

"Yeah, I guess it's obvious I have an ulterior motive, huh?" The usually brash, bossy, self-assured girl looked shyly at Neal. "I hoped maybe on this trip you'd get used to me hanging around. I mean, we've really only spent time together at birthday parties and when we were Urban Legend. And now I'm moving to New York and going to Columbia and that's all great and exciting, but I don't know anyone. I haven't felt so nervous since I started my freshman year at the University of Washington. And this is scarier. I mean, most of the other students in the music program started in the fall and already know each other. And my mom grew up in Seattle so I've got grandparents and Farraday cousins there so it wasn't as lonely, and..."

She trailed off, seeming to gather her thoughts. "You remind me of Henry so much that sometimes it feels like we've known each other forever, but you probably don't feel that way, and... And I was hoping maybe we could hang out sometimes in New York," she said in a rush. "If that's okay."

"Yeah." Neal grinned at the big-brother feeling that was bubbling up inside him. "Yeah, that's definitely going to be okay."

Angela was about to say something in return but the agent arrived with the file. Actually, it was multiple files. Peter took half and gave the rest to Neal, and they started reading through them. Angela looked over Neal's shoulder until Peter said, "You're into planes, too, right? Like your mom."

She nodded. "I got a pilot's license before I got my driver's license."

"Take a look at these." Peter slid some papers toward her. As she read through the documents, he sorted through the remainder of his files and pulled out other papers he put into a smaller stack. He did the same with Neal's files, and then went back to his own methodical review of the files.

Angela grabbed the pad of paper and pen that had been lying on the conference table and started making notes. She checked the documents again, reviewed her notes, and then looked at Peter.

"Find something?" he asked. "Flight logs aren't exactly my preferred reading material. It looked like the local agents have identified the pilots he normally uses, and are tracking their flights. But since they don't name their passengers, I can't tell if there's anything useful here."

"These records indicate he's been coming here about once a month for nearly a year. There are two different pilots, but many different planes. All the same manufacturer and model, but different ID numbers. It looks like either he owns a fleet of planes, or the pilots have access to a fleet."

"Maybe the manufacturer could tell us who bought them. A big purchase like that might stand out," Peter guessed.

"Assuming they're still with the original owner," Angela cautioned. "These planes are workhorses known for reliability, and they're in high demand in the resale market. They aren't manufactured anymore, not since nearly twenty years ago."

"A workhorse doesn't sound like this guy's style," Neal said. "I'd have thought he'd go with something more upscale."

She nodded. "Yeah, these aren't planes I associate with luxury. What's really odd is that sometimes he arrives and leaves on different planes. The pilot brings him in, leaves a few days later with other passengers, and then returns to pick him up in another plane."

"The pilots are taking other business on their downtime?" Peter suggested. "That makes me think they belong to a charter company rather than working for him."

"Could be."

"You said you don't associate these planes with luxury," Neal said. "What do you associate them with?"

"Stuntpeople. If you go to an airshow where the pilots are civilians instead of military, you'll see these planes. They can handle moves like barrel rolls without stalling."

Peter thanked her. "I'm not sure what to make of it, but it's an interesting angle. The pilots might be stuntpeople or work for a company that does that kind of thing."

They wrapped up their review of the files soon after that. While they waited for the elevator, Neal asked if Peter had any ideas about Henry's nickname. They told him what they'd guessed so far. Peter shook his head, "Nothing comes to mind, but you might run it past my mother. In all her years of teaching elementary school, she probably heard tons of nicknames."

The bell dinged to indicate the arrival of the elevator, and they stepped inside. There was no one else with them and Angela said, "Speaking of mothers, I have a very nosy question that you don't have to answer." She looked up at Neal. "Given what you told us at Christmas, do you think someday you'll call Aunt Noelle Mom?"

"It's crossed my mind," Neal admitted, "but it doesn't feel natural. Maybe it would be if I said it all the time, but that goes counter to all our efforts to make it seem like I'm a distant Caffrey cousin. I need to keep that distance publicly so my dad's enemies don't figure out I was born Neal Bennett, and if privately I call her Mom, the risk of slipping up in public is higher." The elevator doors opened in the lobby. No one was around, so Neal added, "The big irony here is that for years Henry and I posed as brothers. Now that we know it's the truth, I have to deny it. That's probably the most frustrating part for me. This vacation is kind of a grace period, but when we get home I have to call him my cousin and think of him that way."

"I don't remember your father," Angela said, "but I like him less and less for adding this complication to our lives." Before they left the lobby, Angela looked around and said, "Isn't it odd, being in an office building in Honolulu? I always picture Hawaii as beaches and tourists, but of course people work and live here like any other city."

###

When Neal found a moment alone, he called Mozzie with the information about the airplanes. A pilot himself, Mozzie found it fascinating. "Do you remember the names of the pilots?" he asked. When Neal told him, he said he'd do some research of his own. "I have resources and contacts the suits can't use," Mozzie said.

"Let me know if you learn anything useful," Neal requested.

"All knowledge is useful, if only one knows how to apply it," was the answer.

Neal was chuckling as he left his hotel room, and nearly ran into Peter, who'd been waiting for him in the hall. "Practicing your tailing skills?" Neal joked. It was Tuesday after all. Usually on Tuesdays he led a member of the White Collar team on a training exercise they called Tuesday Tails. As their manager, Peter often had meetings over the lunch hour and therefore it was rare that he was able to participate.

"Seems like I have to. It's been nearly impossible to get a moment to talk. It's almost like you're avoiding me."

"Why would I avoid you?" Neal asked, walking toward the elevator.

"Good question. And when you deflect like that, it makes me even more suspicious."

"That's half the fun."

"I wish I could believe that's all it is. It would be a relief to know you're just yanking my chain, but I don't think that's it. Something's been bothering you since before we left New York. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Neal nodded as he reached for the elevator call button, but then changed his mind and didn't press it. "It's tied into the fact that it's been a year since I went to work for you. People keep reminding me that a year has gone by. A year since you recruited me, a year since I met June and Byron and moved into the loft. Almost a year since my first undercover assignment and since Noelle called your cell phone looking for Henry." They both smiled at the memory of how much she had terrified them. "Add on the fact that New Year's is approaching and everyone's reflecting on the last year. It's like there's this pressure right now. I feel like... Like there's something that should have happened, something important I should have done and it's... Well, it's bothering me."

Peter studied him. "Can't you tell me what that something is?"

"No. Not yet."

"I wish I could convince you that talking to someone would help you work through whatever it is. I'd like to know about it, but you've got a lot of people here who'd be willing to hear you out. Henry, Noelle –"

Neal shook his head. "No. I don't want to bother her. She should be focused on her wedding."

"I get that. And I suppose you're worried that Henry or anyone else you tell might want to share whatever it is with her for her insight. But will you promise to talk to someone after the wedding? If not me, then someone else you trust."

Neal finally pressed the call button. "Before we leave for New York," he said.

"Okay. I won't pressure you. Just tell me when you've talked to someone about it, so I can take one item off my list."

"Something else worrying you?"

"Yeah, this whole thing with Tulane. Do you really think it's wise for you to meet with...?" He trailed off when the elevator doors slid open. There were already people inside, and that meant he shouldn't talk about the case.

A/N: Many, many thanks to Silbrith for editing the first chapters over the holidays. We had a blast trying to decide on Henry's nickname, and I thought I'd share the fun with you by supplying some of our alternatives as guesses ahead of the reveal.