White Collar Division. Wednesday morning. June 16, 2004.

As soon as the morning briefing ended, Peter and Jones met with Hughes to discuss the latest developments in the Winslow case. What troubled Peter the most was Jones' suspicion that Robert Winslow had an accomplice. "I can't prove anything," Jones said. "But there's a lot of references in his files to someone he calls Ferrari, from the mid-1990s through 2001. Then in 2002 there's nothing, but it picks up again in late 2003."

"That corresponds to when he banished Neal and then got interested in him again," Peter said. "Any leads on Ferrari?"

"Not yet." Jones sounded frustrated. "Robert did a very thorough job of erasing all electronic references to him... or her. We wouldn't know the name at all if not for a set of hardcopy files Robert didn't throw out before he disappeared. At this point, we don't even know if Ferrari works for Win-Win. Fact is, Robert didn't have a lot of warning that we were onto him. He did a half-assed job of making it look like his son was behind the attempts on Neal's life, and an excellent job of eliminating anything about Ferrari. That tells me Ferrari is important."

"Find Ferrari, and maybe we finally find Robert," Peter said.

"No leads on Robert Winslow's location, after all this time?" Hughes asked.

Jones shook his head. "He's spent over a decade working for a company that specializes in tracking people. He knows all the tricks for finding suspects, and he's avoided leaving any kind of trail. I gotta think he had an escape plan ready well in advance. He might have been working on it for years."

Hughes stood. "All right, gentlemen. I have a noon flight to catch. Call me if you need me. Otherwise I'll see you on Monday." He strode out to the elevators, and Peter walked back to his own office.

Jones followed. "Win-Win has amazing resources and they know Robert better than we do. If they haven't been able to find this guy by conventional means, I don't think we will either. It might be time to think outside the box." He glanced pointedly down at Neal's empty desk. The consultant was in the field with Agent Tricia Wiese, gathering intel for a new case.

Peter looked down to the bullpen and then closed the door to his office so they wouldn't be overheard. "I have a feeling I'm not going to like this."

"If we can't find Robert, maybe we bring him to us. We know what he wants."

"I'm not using Neal as bait," Peter said.

"How about we just spread the word that Neal's vulnerable? He doesn't have to be unprotected. We just have to let Robert think..." Jones trailed off, probably in reaction to Peter's expression. "Not the right time?"

Peter was known for going with his gut. Currently it was churning so badly he wanted an antacid. "We'll find another way."

Jones looked doubtful, but nodded and opened the door to head back to his desk.

"Hey, wait a minute," Peter said, grabbing a file folder from his desk. "Now that you're back, I have another assignment for you." As Jones reached for the file, Peter continued, "Our request for a probationary agent was approved."

"We get a probie?" Jones asked, sounding elated. "I'm not going to be the junior agent around here anymore?"

"That's right. In that file is a list of the upcoming Quantico graduates. Look over their resumes and the notes from their instructors. Pick your top three, and we'll interview them."

Jones flashed a smile worthy of Neal and jogged back to his desk with the file folder.

###

Saturday rolled around and Neal still hadn't spoken with Hughes. The man had gone to D.C. Wednesday afternoon for midyear planning sessions and wouldn't be back until Monday. Still no answer as to whether the FBI would pay Neal's tuition. Time was flying by, and if the FBI didn't come through for him, Neal would have to get creative or give up on graduate school.

His aunt Noelle Winslow was in town, having spent the week leading a seminar at Columbia. It was her alma mater, and Neal's grandparents had also attended the school. They were supposedly disappointed that neither of his cousins had chosen Columbia, and they were thrilled that Neal would be studying there. All the more pressure for him to find a way to pay the tuition at the pricey institution.

Neal met Noelle for brunch and they kept the conversation light, talking about her experiences as a psychology professor and her undergrad days in New York. It wasn't until the waiter was taking away their plates that Neal asked, "Any word from Henry?"

He immediately regretted asking. Noelle went from bubbly to sad in a heartbeat at the reminder of her wayward son. "Just a postcard."

"Same here," Neal told her. And looking for something to cheer her up he said, "I hear you've started dating Peter's older brother. Did you get to see him on this trip?"

She nodded. "We had dinner a couple of times, and tomorrow I'm meeting Joe's daughters. They're both home from college now."

Meeting the daughters, and spending Father's Day with them. This sounded serious. In Henry's absence, Neal might need to grill Peter about Joe and make sure this guy would treat Noelle right. Both Noelle and her identical twin – Neal's mom – had made poor choices in husbands the first time around, and his mom hadn't done great with boyfriends, either. Someone had to make sure Noelle didn't make another mistake.

Noelle stood and asked, "Are you ready?" Neal followed her outside and they walked to her hotel. They still had weekly therapy sessions, usually over the phone since she lived in Baltimore. She'd said that starting in July they could meet twice a month, which Neal took to mean he was making headway.

Settling on the sofa in his aunt's hotel room, they covered a familiar theme: worthiness. While Neal knew he didn't deserve the abuse and other negative aspects of his childhood, he struggled to accept that he deserved and could keep the good things in his life now. His acceptance into Columbia's graduate school – bypassing a bachelor's degree – was a case in point. It was too good to be true, and he didn't trust things that fell in that category.

"You still haven't told your co-workers about your acceptance into Columbia?" Noelle asked. "Why is that?"

Money was the obvious reason, and not one he wanted to discuss with her for fear of sounding like he was asking for a handout. But there were other reasons. "What if I can't handle it, on top of everything else? I'd rather wait until I'm sure I can balance school and my job. If I have to drop out, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Neal, you're an extremely intelligent, creative and stubborn individual. If you want to make it work, you will. What else has you reluctant to share your good news?"

There was the fact that he wanted Henry to be among the first to know. But that was another topic he didn't want to bring up with his aunt. "It's not just the pressure from the team. I'd rather not make a big deal out of this until I'm sure I won't let Peter down. He invested a lot of time in helping me prepare for the entrance exams. If I wash out, he'll be disappointed."

Noelle raised a brow. "Disappointed in you, or disappointed for you?"

Neal looked away. "I don't know. Both, I guess."

"You don't have to be perfect to be loved, Neal. We'd all be very lonely if that were the case."

Neal stretched and caught a surreptitious look at his watch. It had almost been an hour. She'd probably let him get away with changing the subject, and there was something he very much wanted to discuss. "Well, there's one thing I want to get perfect for Peter. Tomorrow's Father's Day. Elizabeth arranged for us to go to a Yankees game, but I feel like I should do more. Only... I don't really know how to do Father's Day."

"Oh, sweetheart," Noelle said, blinking back tears.

When Neal left a little while later, he was glad for her advice. But he was also sad, because today had proven what they'd both known to be true: the more they connected as aunt and nephew, the less effective she would be as his therapist. There were too many subjects he'd avoided today in order spare her. Soon he would have to ask her to recommend someone else.

###

Sunday afternoon promptly at 1:00, Neal knocked on the door of the Burkes' home, carrying two shopping bags. Elizabeth let him in. "What do we have here?" she asked.

"Dinner," Neal said. "I thought about making reservations someplace, but it's hard to predict when the game will end, especially if there are extra innings. Anyway, I'd like to make something for you. My mom was a chef, you know. I picked up a few things." He shut up, feeling like he was rambling. If he wasn't careful, he'd start describing her decline from upscale caterer in D.C. to sous chef and then finally short-order cook in St. Louis as her drinking took a toll on her reliability as an employee.

Neal had gradually taken over meals at home as his mom became too apathetic to deal with it, and sometimes when he was in his teens their only conversation for days would be her off-hand instructions when she noticed what he was cooking. He'd tried a wide range of dishes, hoping to engage her interest.

"Some of this should go in the fridge," he said, shaking off the memories.

He followed El into the kitchen and heard Peter jogging down the stairs. "There you are," he said, stepping into the kitchen. "I thought I heard you." Peter wore jeans and a black short-sleeved shirt. For once Neal wasn't wearing black, going for jeans and a blue shirt. El wore a Yankees shirt.

"Here." Neal pulled a gift-wrapped box out of one of the bags. "Happy Father's Day." He watched as Peter unwrapped it, although he pretended to be absorbed in putting the groceries away. When Peter pulled a silk tie out of the box, Neal added, "I'm told it's traditional to give an ugly tie, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. This one should dress up your favorite suit until you're ready to replace it with something from this decade."

Peter chuckled. "I remember in St. Louis, you made a smartass remark about me needing a tie from the current century."

Neal smirked. "I've still got your anniversary and Christmas coming up. By the end of the year we'll have you looking almost dapper." He caught Elizabeth trying not to laugh. "Are you with me on this? If we team up, I think we could give him a complete makeover."

El reached up to kiss Peter's cheek. "He got rid of the mustache for me last year. That's all the makeover I need."

"Wait, Peter had a mustache? Tell me there are photos," Neal said.

"No," Peter insisted. "I had them all destroyed."

The lighthearted banter continued throughout the afternoon. The fact that the Yankees played a great game buoyed their mood. Neal was never going to be the die-hard baseball fan that Peter was, but he certainly enjoyed the camaraderie. He heard about Peter's fledgling baseball career, and the injury that sent him to the FBI. "I thought I'd be playing ball another ten years. I'll admit I was devastated at first, but sometimes the curveballs that you curse in life turn out to be blessings in disguise. If I'd stuck with my original plan, I probably wouldn't have met either of you."

Back at the house, Neal put together a lasagna that he knew would satisfy the tastes of both Burkes. He'd placed it in the oven and was about to suggest perusing Elizabeth's music collection when she announced that they were going to watch a video.

Neal assumed it was a favorite movie of Peter's, and was surprised when Peter took the plastic case from El and asked, "What's this?"

She grinned. "Oh, a little bird called me last night and recommended this. I rented it from the place down the street. She also emailed a note for you." She handed over a sheet of paper.

Peter read it out loud. "Dear Peter, I'm so happy that Neal is spending Father's Day with you. Of course he was too young when he left us to remember any of the Caffrey Father's Day traditions. My favorite was when our parents reminisced about our most memorable childhood moments. It was embarrassing at the time, but now I look back fondly on those conversations. The DVD will give him a taste of that experience. You don't have to watch the movie. Simply go to tracks three and four in the extras. All my best, Noelle." Peter looked inquisitively at Neal. "You have a connection to this movie?"

Neal took the movie, puzzled. It was an early 1980s remake of a 1940s film, recently released on DVD. "My grandmother was in the original. She played a nanny for the squabbling offspring of a widow and widower, and she convinced the kids to get along after their parents got married." When he'd learned his grandmother was a former actress he'd looked up her movies, but hadn't watched all of them yet.

"Let's see what this is about." Peter opened the case and turned on the TV.

###

Track three was an interview with a very sophisticated Irene Caffrey in her home in Washington D.C. Her husband had spent many years in the diplomatic corps and Irene was the epitome of poise and grace under pressure. The interviewer asked about Irene's cameo in the remake, in which she played a grandmother, and he seemed determined to make the case that she wasn't suited for the part.

"I do have two grandchildren, you know," she said drily at one point, but the interviewer repeated his opinion that no one could imagine Irene as a grandmother, or even as a mother. In the nanny role, he explained, she'd been near the age of the children and had been more of a cohort or big sister. No one, he repeated, could believe the former comic actress as parental or authoritative.

Finally Irene held up a hand, and said, "Shush. Kevin, is that you lurking back there?"

A voice off camera said, "Yes, ma'am."

"A producer, like your father, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said again.

"I remember your mother brought you to the set when we were filming the original movie. You couldn't have been more than a couple of months old, and I chatted with her sometimes when she changed your diaper. I want you to know that I still have her number, and if you let this farce continue I'll be giving her a call this evening."

Snickering could be heard from the crew.

A voiceover announced, "Needless to say, that interview never aired, and the reason you probably don't recognize the interviewer is that he was fired the next day. Mrs. Caffrey declined a follow-up interview, as the movie was slated for a Christmas release in the next few weeks and she said spending time with her family was her priority going into the holidays."

The DVD clicked to the next track, and that same voice said, "The crew had arrived at Mrs. Caffrey's home about an hour ahead of the interviewer. They were given permission to film as they set up and adjusted the lights. In footage never seen before, one of our cameras followed the actress while she waited for the interview."

Irene Caffrey knelt in the middle of the living room where the interview would take place. The folds of her pleated ivory skirt fell neatly around her, and an emerald-green blouse complemented her eyes. Her golden hair was pulled back in an elegant twist. She looked around and said, "Well, I was going to introduce you to my grandson, but I don't know where he went. I do hope we find him soon. We'd be awfully upset if we lost him." Her voice had a teasing quality.

A childish giggle was heard.

"Oh, did you hear that? I wonder where that came from. Do you think it's him?"

The camera zoomed in on a child, about nine months old, peeking from behind a chair. He giggled again and then crawled toward her, babbling in baby speak.

"There you are!" Irene lifted the child up and he shrieked with laughter. She sat on the sofa, bouncing him on her lap and talking to the crew until the child yawned. "Dear boy's getting tired. Is it your nap time, Neal?" she asked. He gave an even bigger yawn in response. "Yes, I thought so." She'd pulled him closer to her body, his head on her shoulder, and was about to stand up when another little boy ran into the room. He was three years old.

"Neal, Neal, Neal," he chanted as he ran. He skidded to a stop in front of Irene and announced, "I'm here."

"Yes, Henry, I noticed. Aren't you the little scoundrel?"

"What's a scoundrel?" he asked.

"It's a very clever boy who sneaks away from his grandfather."

He shrugged. "He had a phone call. It was boring. I wanna play."

"I'm sure Neal would like to play with you, too, but he can't right now. It's time for his nap."

Henry pouted. "He sleeps a lot."

Irene reached out to ruffle the disgruntled boy's hair. "It's tiring growing as fast as babies do. But he's working hard to become as big as you."

Henry clambered up the sofa to sit beside his grandmother and looked at Neal with disbelief. "He's really gonna get big as me?"

Wrapping her free arm around the boy, she nodded. Before Irene could say anything, a dark-haired woman entered the room. She wore an apron over a cream blouse and black slacks. "I thought I heard you in here. Henry, I'm looking for someone to help me finish the profiteroles."

"Profi..." He trailed off on his attempt at the unfamiliar word.

"Profiteroles," she repeated. "Someone needs to drizzle chocolate over them and then taste them. I need an expert to approve they're good enough for dessert tonight. Do you think you could do that?"

"Chocolate!" Henry slid off the sofa and took the hand extended toward him. He was halfway across the room in pursuit of a sugar high when he turned around and yelled, "Bye, Neal!"

The woman paused just inside the doorway. "Do you need any help with him, Mom?"

Irene sniffed in disdain. "Don't insult me. Baby Bear and I will be fine."

"Baby Bear?" asked a voice off camera.

Irene beamed in the direction of the voice. "Would you hand me that bag? The blue one, behind you. Yes, that's it." A hand could be seen placing a bag on the sofa. Irene rooted around in it and pulled out a fuzzy onesie with bear ears on the hood. "Isn't it the most adorable thing? I had to buy it the moment I saw it." With practiced efficiency, she slid the baby into the onesie. "It's nice and cozy, and Neal sleeps best when he's warm."

"You call him Baby Bear because of the outfit?" asked a member of the crew.

"I bought the outfit because I call him Baby Bear. Come here." She beckoned. "Bring the microphone, right up to him." She turned the baby toward the camera. His face was scrunched up. "Hear that rumbly, growling sound? He does that when he's unhappy. It's our warning that he's about to cry. And that's my cue to take him up to his crib. I'll be back in a few minutes." As she left she could be heard cooing to the sniffling baby, "That's right. I know. You're tired, and I'm going to take you to a nice, comfy bed."

###

The track ended. Peter paused the DVD and there was silence for a moment.

"Baby Bear?" El said, her voice full of mirth. "And I thought Mom calling me Bumblebee was bad."

"I should check on the lasagna." Neal disappeared into the kitchen.

Peter chuckled as a grinning El leaned against him. Noelle was right. He remembered this about Burke family gatherings on Mother's and Father's Days: hearing stories about when he and Joe were kids, usually accompanied by viewing embarrassing baby photos. And yet looking back he treasured those memories of teasing and laughter. It was good for Neal to experience this aspect of family.

When Neal returned El said, "Noelle looked so young."

Neal met her eyes. "That wasn't Noelle."

"It was your mother?" she asked. "Of course, she's the chef. I should have realized. Identical twins."

"May I?" Neal took the remote from Peter and went back to a point before the unfortunate onesie made an appearance. He paused at an image of himself on Irene's lap, facing the camera. "It's so weird," he said after staring at the screen a moment.

Peter had been studying Neal while Neal studied the image. "Your mom wasn't allowed to take any baby photos along when you went into WITSEC."

"No family photos from before, and we were discouraged from having new photos taken. Although I just thought Mom was camera shy." He fast forwarded to the moment the camera panned to Meredith and paused again. "I don't have any pictures of my mom. And I sure don't remember her like this – so happy and normal."

"But you've seen family photo albums in the last year, right?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, sure," Neal said. "I've seen them." He walked over to the DVD player to eject the disc and returned it to the case.

"It's not the same thing as having your own, though," said El, with a significant glance at Peter. And at that moment Peter knew what they were getting Neal for Christmas. He was sure Noelle would help them get copies of old family photos to make an album for Neal. He liked this trend he was seeing in Neal: taking an interest in family, becoming less of a loner. It was something he wanted to encourage.

Soon they consumed the lasagna. Neal had also managed to produce a couple of side dishes and a dessert he called Zabaione alla Gritti. Peter was about to ask if there was any of it left for seconds when Elizabeth elbowed him, and he directed his glance toward Neal. The kid was staring at his own dessert, his mind miles away.

"Neal?" Peter said.

He looked up, startled. "Oh. Yeah." He stood and started clearing the table.

El joined in, and Peter did, too. Soon the dishwasher was loaded, and El stood in Neal's way as he moved toward the kitchen door. "What is it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "A lot of memories stirring around."

"Good ones?" El persisted.

"Mostly." He gave her a grin that Peter didn't entirely trust. It was his I-want-you-to-think-I'm-happy grin, but lacked the warmth his true grin carried. "I'm thinking of giving profiteroles a try. Maybe that will tempt Henry to come back. He has a serious sweet tooth."

They hung out in the living room a little longer, but when Satchmo demanded a walk, Neal decided it was time to leave. He turned down a ride from Peter, saying the man shouldn't be a chauffeur on Father's Day. He almost slipped out in the chaos of the Burkes dealing with getting the leash on their exuberant dog. But Peter wasn't going to let him escape like that.

"Thanks for the tie, and the dinner," Peter said. He pulled the young man into a quick hug. Neal actually stepped into it and patted Peter on the back before slipping away. It was progress. The first time Peter had hugged Neal – back in January – the kid had been startled and stiff.

Later, settled on the sofa with a beer in one hand and the other arm around El, Peter was ready to relax. El, however, kept fidgeting. Finally he put down the beer and asked, "What is it?"

"Did we do the right thing, having Neal here for Father's Day?" she asked.

Peter's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought so. I'd have said building family ties and putting down roots is exactly what he needs to keep him firmly entrenched in his new, law-abiding life. What did I miss?"

"I wonder if we pushed him a little too fast. He seemed overwhelmed toward the end. You know, I don't think he's seen his grandparents since his birthday party in March. I would say he liked them and liked spending time with them at the party, but then he needed to retreat, I guess. What if by trying to embrace him, we make him feel smothered?"

"Good point. If it seems like he's pulling away, we can give him space. Not distance ourselves, you know, but respect his boundaries." Peter stretched. "If you're right, the timing's good, anyway. Soon I'll be heading into my first round of midyear appraisals with the team. I won't have time to hover, at least not in the office."

Peter's infamous gut instinct was all for hovering, and this time he overruled it. If Neal needed space, he'd let him have it, at least for a while. But he still proudly wore his new tie to work on Monday.

A/N: Yes, I'm setting the stage for canon character Diana to join the team as a "probie." Silbrith's Woman in Blue is the inspiration for the Baby Bear – you'll encounter bear references in the final chapters of that story.

FYI, in reality Columbia wasn't open to women until the 1980s; instead they would have gotten their degrees from a sister school.