Friday June 25, 2004.

The early start and worries about Henry had taken a toll on Neal, and trying not to treat Peter like a dad had added to the stress. Almost as soon as the flight took off he was lost in memories, picking up where he had left off the night before: taking advantage of an unused hotel room the night he learned Henry was Shawn Legend.

There was only one bed in the singer's hotel room, so they'd flipped a coin. Neal got the bed and Henry took the floor. Neal suspected Henry rigged the coin toss, because it seemed like Neal almost always got the bed in these scenarios. He added it to the list of mysteries surrounding his cousin: how did he control the outcome of the coin toss, and why?

Neal had been out of the hospital almost six weeks now. He tried to hide how easily he got tired, but sometimes it wasn't possible. Tonight he fell asleep as they were watching a movie. One minute both cousins were sitting on the bed, surrounded by ice cream and other snacks delivered by room service, and the next thing he knew he was lying down, the blankets pulled over him, and the bed cleared of the plates and napkins that had littered the space earlier. The lights and TV were off and there was a hint of daylight where the curtains met. Henry was sprawled on the floor with a pillow and extra blanket.

A glance at the clock told him it was early, barely sunrise. He should be quiet. He should let Henry sleep. And he tried to hold it back, he really did. But that seemed to make it worse. The more he tried to muffle the coughs, the more they demanded to be heard. Finally it broke through and he was coughing so hard he didn't know if he could stop. And then Henry was there, helping him move into a position that made it easier to breathe, offering water and a cough drop. When Neal started to relax, Henry examined the coffee maker and packets on the bureau, and returned minutes later with a hot cup of tea.

"Breathe it," he suggested. "The steam's better than the taste."

The steam did help, and sipping the hot liquid was more soothing than he'd expected, even if he wasn't a big fan of chamomile.

Henry sat on the bed, closely observing Neal's recovery. "It was probably the smoke," he said as Neal continued drinking the tea and breathing carefully. "At the concert, there was a lot of smoke when they set off the fireworks. And then people were smoking at the party."

Neal nodded.

"You could have told me, you know."

Neal simply stared at him. He hadn't wanted to admit a weakness, afraid that Henry would leave him behind, leave him alone, if he couldn't keep up.

Even though Neal didn't express those fears out loud, Henry seemed to get it. "You're family, Neal. We work this stuff out together." Then Henry told a story about his own brush with pneumonia, and about learning he wasn't as recovered as he'd thought. The story fascinated Neal, distracting him so that he relaxed and breathed normally again. "I finally agreed to physical therapy," Henry said. "That's what you need now. Let's get a move on. Pack your stuff, and we'll go to Austin and convince Miranda to take on another patient."

###

By the time the plane landed in Austin, Neal realized that as a teenager he had wanted to believe his cousin was the heroic, all-conquering figure he claimed to be. But now he needed the truth. When Shannon Hunter and her fiancé met Neal at the airport, he asked for her version of the story.

They were waiting for his flight's luggage to arrive, and Shannon sat down and fanned herself. "It always gets so hot in here."

"You okay?" Neal asked. He remembered Shannon as athletic, not someone to be affected by the walk from the parking lot to baggage claim.

Shannon and Jake shared a look of amusement. "The wedding's been postponed three times now. My grandmother has these ridiculous superstitions and keeps insisting we reschedule. I finally had enough. Jake and I moved in together, which got her riled. But worse than that, we got a jumpstart on starting a family. By Labor Day I'll definitely be showing."

"Congratulations," said Neal.

"So I guess as a mother-to-be I should practice my storytelling skills. Let's see. Once upon a time, there was a princess named Shannon who went to a water park with her friends on a hot summer day. They'd dared her to try the bungee jump, and she'd agreed even though she wasn't looking forward to it. She heard a – what shall we call him? She heard a jester in the distance, arguing with the king of the park. Suddenly the jester stepped in front of her in line when it was her turn to jump. She had to pretend to be annoyed, because she didn't want anyone to realize she was relieved. So she called him a jerk."

"Was he a jerk?" Neal asked.

"That's code for he didn't flirt with her," Jake added.

Shannon nodded. "I wasn't wearing those Daisy Dukes for my health. He could have at least ogled. But he barely paid any attention to me. He said it was his birthday, as if that was an excuse for jumping ahead of a princess in line. He put on the safety harness that attached him to the cord and was about to take his jump, but then he turned around and handed me his wallet. Guests at the park would put our stuff in lockers when we arrived, but I guess employees kept their wallets on them if their jobs didn't include going on the rides. Anyway, he asked me to hold on to it for him. I was holding it, staring at him, feeling like a fool for not protesting, but he had this way about him, like he was used to being in charge. I finally caught my breath enough to ask him his name. And he told me to call him Shawn. Then he jumped."

Jake called their attention to the bags that were finally arriving. Neal stood up to claim his. Then they waited at the curb while Jake drove his car around. "What happened after Henry jumped?" Neal asked.

"When the cord was fully extended you could see it was fraying. He should have barely skimmed the water, and instead he was dunked in the river. Then he took the first bounce, back up a ways and down again, but this time the cord snapped. My first thought was that he'd be fine. It wasn't that far a fall, and the water was deep enough that he wouldn't break his neck or anything. But we were right beside an area popular with whitewater rafters. He was swept away between boulders and rafts. Someone pulled him onto a raft and made their way to the shore. I'm just staring the whole time, you know? A bunch of us walked along the bridge to get a better view. When Henry was pulled off the raft, he must have been unconscious. I was half-convinced he was dead. There were paramedics a few yards upriver, treating what looked like a sprained ankle. They sprinted over and loaded Henry onto a stretcher and then drove him away. They hadn't done any CPR and that scared me even more. But they left with their siren blasting, so I assumed that meant he was still alive."

"Why no CPR?" Neal asked.

"From what Dad told me, he had cracked some ribs, and they didn't want to puncture his lungs." She paused as Jake pulled up and Neal stowed his luggage in the trunk. When Neal was in the car she continued, "I told my friends I wanted to go home, and they didn't argue. We were all shaken. It wasn't until I was nearly at my parents' house that I noticed I was still holding this stranger's wallet. I found his driver's license, learned his name wasn't Shawn, but that it really was his birthday. Looking at the date, it hit me. It was the anniversary of my brother's death, my brother named Shawn. I was nearly hysterical by the time I got home. There I was, crying about this stranger, and my brother, and bungee jumping."

This was a perspective Neal had never heard before. He wondered if Henry knew how upset Shannon had been.

"Dad finally pieced enough together to take the wallet and call local hospitals looking for a John Doe. When he got the answer he was looking for, he told me everything was all right. The next several evenings he spent at the hospital. He probably was there first thing in the morning and over his lunch hours, too. And then suddenly this Henry was living at my aunt Miranda's place. He was a lot quieter than I'd remembered. Very serious and determined. And embarrassed at my grandmother's insistence that he was my brother, finally returned to us. Dad said we weren't supposed to mention Henry outside the family, and to be wary of anyone who asked about him. There were a couple of rounds of reporters, but after that it was quiet. Henry stuck around four months, I'd guess, and then suddenly he was gone. And a few months later he was back with you, the little brother who seemed as quiet and mysterious as Henry did."

Neal grinned. "I don't think Miranda would have called either of us quiet or mysterious."

His phone beeped. It was noon in New York. Time to check in with Tricia.

###

Tricia and Jones had taken over one of the smaller conference rooms, posting a timeline for Robert Winslow's disappearance, and thoughts for tracking him down. One wall was dedicated to information about Henry. Peter thought Neal would find that reassuring when he got back to the office. They'd ordered in lunch, making the most of their time before Tricia left on vacation. Peter had arrived ten minutes ago, impatiently waiting for Neal's check in. It took extreme self-restraint not to pounce on Tricia's phone when it rang. She wisely placed it on speaker. "Peter and Jones are with me," she warned. "How are things in Austin?"

"Hot. Must be almost ninety degrees, and it seems even hotter when Shannon starts flirting."

Peter could hear laughter and shouts of denial in the background.

"Everything's great. Shannon's expecting, and they're going to name the baby after me. They just don't know it yet."

And in the background they heard, "God, no! I'm having a sweet little girl" followed by "But I wanted to have a boy and name him Calvin" followed by "We are not naming our child after the Calvin and Hobbes cartoons. That kid was a menace."

"We just left the airport," Neal continued. "Fortunately it's not far to Lawson's office. I don't know how much of this pre-wedded bliss I can take."

"It's not too late to take you wedding cake shopping," someone warned. "So much icing you think your tongue's going to go into sugar shock and fall off."

"Don't antagonize her," Peter warned. "I've been there. Buttercream icing overload is real."

"I'll be careful," Neal promised.

They wrapped up with reminder that Neal was to call back in six hours. Peter shook his head. "I wish I could believe he'll be careful. But Neal and caution seem to be antonyms." He looked at Jones and Tricia. "I suppose I sound ridiculous after that call, right? It doesn't sound like he could be much safer."

Jones shook his head. "I've never figured out if he's good at taking care of himself, or just lucky. Did I tell you about the time I asked George to follow Neal?"

Peter had heard the story, but Tricia hadn't. "Your Navy buddy? No, what happened?"

"It was right after Neal had a meeting with Kate. I could see she'd gotten to him, even though he said he was fine. I was concerned about Neal being Neal, you know, reckless and impulsive. It was tempting to follow him myself, but Tuesday Tails had taught me he'd spot me in an instant. So I sent someone he wouldn't recognize."

"How long did it take him to spot the tail?" Tricia asked.

"Not long," Jones admitted. "But he didn't lose him, because he was curious about who George was and what he wanted."

"Where did Neal go that night?"

"Lower East Side bar," Jones said. "A place with loud music, where he could let off some steam. They had some kind of amateur night. George said Neal was a decent singer."

"Yeah, he is," Peter said, remembering the Christmas concert in St. Louis. "I wish we could send George after him on this trip. I'd feel a lot better if someone I knew was keeping an eye on Neal."

"Well, actually," Jones said, "there is another way to keep an eye on him."

Peter nodded at the reminder. When Neal had first started working at the FBI, Peter had worried about how he would adjust, and had assigned Jones to befriend and track Neal. Hughes had introduced them to the cell phone records the NSA was starting to collect. They used Neal's records as a test to see if the data would be useful for tracking criminals. They'd stopped several months ago, but the dangers posed by Robert might justify starting again.

"Let's hold that in our back pocket for now," Peter said. "I think he already feels like his privacy is being invaded. I don't want to push it too far."

"He wouldn't know," Jones said.

"I would. I want to face him with a clean conscience." Changing the subject he asked, "What can you tell me about Shawn Hunter, and about Neal's arrest in Las Vegas?"

"Not much on Hunter," Jones said. "That ID was used primarily in the late '90s, usually in pharmacies or medical clinics. It looks like they used the ID and hit Lawson Hunter's insurance as dependents whenever Neal or Henry got sick or injured. Nothing major."

"But Las Vegas is another matter," Tricia said. "You'll never guess who flew into town to bail Neal out."

"Lawson Hunter?" Peter asked. It made sense to ask an attorney for help when you were in trouble with the law.

"No. Robert Winslow."

Peter took a deep breath. Was Neal's trip to Vegas intended to goad Robert in some way? "Jones, go ahead and start the paperwork for accessing the NSA data again. Tricia, give me the details about this arrest and how Robert fits into the picture."