Noelle Winslow's townhouse. Baltimore, Maryland. Sunday morning. August 1, 2004.

Neal yawned and looked at the bedside clock. Almost 10am. He wasn't surprised he'd slept so late, given everything that had happened the last week. They'd gone to Seattle Tuesday afternoon and confronted Robert early the next morning. Late Wednesday afternoon a groggy Henry was released from the hospital and they returned to New York Thursday morning. Henry stayed only long enough to pack up his guitar and the clothing he'd left in his guest room at June's home, and then returned to the Baltimore apartment he hadn't seen in a couple of months.

Peter had told Neal that the FBI offered a paid day off for what they called bereavement leave. Not that Neal felt any grief for Robert, but he did want to provide whatever support he could for Henry. He'd taken the train to Baltimore Friday morning and shown up at Henry's apartment.

They'd spent most of the day sitting on the sofa, pretending to watch TV. There'd been a constant stream of family and friends and Win-Win colleagues dropping by with food – mostly casseroles – and other offerings of condolence. They'd hug Henry, offer a friendly ear whenever he wanted to talk and then be on their way. It was abundantly clear that Henry didn't want to talk, so the visitors didn't stay long. Around 6pm Henry had roused enough to say there was "a thing" that evening, and drove Neal to a park where dozens of Winstons and Winslows had gathered.

After a picnic meal, the kids started playing, and Neal recognized the game of hide-and-seek that Graham had described. Several children expressed dismay that Henry wasn't joining the game. A few even gathered around him demanding tricks, and for a while Henry's old smile returned as he indulged in some sleight-of-hand. Neal got involved, too, and it was the only time he really felt comfortable that evening.

As the sun set and the mosquitos started hovering, everyone made their way home. Neal stayed the night on the oversized sofa in Henry's apartment, and Saturday morning they went to the funeral.

It was only the second funeral Neal had attended, and like Byron's, this one was packed. After the service, people gathered in the church's fellowship hall for coffee. Then there was a procession to the cemetery, followed by a brief graveside service as the casket was lowered into the ground.

Then they were on their way to Graham and Julia's home for lunch and an afternoon of awkward conversation punctuated by a string of visitors stopping by to chat and to ask if they needed anything.

It had been more draining than Neal had expected, and he was sure it was worse for Henry. That evening Henry actually asked Neal to stay at Noelle's townhouse instead, saying he needed to be alone. "I'd try to put on a brave face for you, if you stay with me," Henry had explained.

And so here Neal was, waking up in the guest room that used to be Henry's bedroom. Getting out of bed, he walked to the window and opened the curtains to check out the view – mostly other townhouses with an assortment of trees to provide privacy. A slim desk faced the window and Neal could imagine Henry sitting there and staring at the trees while deciding if he was going to attend Columbia or the University of Texas.

Soon the scent of coffee beckoned, and Neal got dressed to join Noelle in the kitchen.

She handed him a cup of coffee. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Thanks." Neal drank about half of the coffee and then opened the fridge. "The casserole brigade visited you, too."

"Yes. I think at least one of those is a breakfast casserole. Scrambled eggs and hash browns and sausage. We can heat it up, or go out for brunch."

"I'd rather stay in, if you don't mind," Neal said.

"We think alike," said Noelle. "It can be overwhelming, can't it, the entirety of the Winston and Winslow clans?" She turned on the oven.

"I didn't realize Graham had four great grandchildren already. I could keep track of who were Robert's siblings and who were his cousins, but I couldn't begin to tell you who were Henry's cousins versus second cousins, or whatever the right term is for kids of Robert's cousins. When I started meeting the Winstons I gave up trying to remember names."

"Half of each clan works for Win-Win, and they've been friends and coworkers for so long most of them feel like one big family. In the forty years since the company opened there have been a few marriages between the families, and that makes it even more complex. I saw you talking to Allen Winston at the park," she said, naming the CEO of Win-Win.

"Yeah, the park. What was that, anyway? A wake?"

"In a sense. A family as big as the combined Winstons and Winslows gets practice with funerals and grieving, and they've developed a tradition over the years. Don't tell anyone, but I call it the feeding."

"Sounds ominous."

"Mostly it's about making sure the grieving family eats, by providing food and distraction. Sorrow can make you lose your appetite, so they focus on other topics through the meal. Then after the food is gone they start talking about the dearly departed. And since Win-Win is full of investigators and psychologists – some of the nosiest people you'll ever meet – they start asking probing questions about your emotional state. That often leads to questions about the death, and turns into a feeding frenzy of Jiminy Crickets trying to get all the details of what happened and how you feel about it. They mean well, but it can drive you to distraction."

"That's why Allen was talking to me. He said he was rescuing me from a swarm of Jiminy Crickets. Somehow they'd found out I was at the warehouse and kept asking if I needed to talk about what I'd seen." The oven beeped to let them know it was preheated. "Let me," said Neal, and he slid the casserole into the oven and set the timer. He refilled their coffee and sat down again.

"Do you?" Noelle asked. "Need to talk about what you saw?"

"Henry asked me the same thing Friday night."

"I'm surprised it took him so long."

"Me, too. But he was leading up to a request that probably wasn't easy for him. Since he was unconscious for the last part, he asked me to tell him what he'd missed." He paused. "I didn't see it happen. The shooting, that is. Peter pushed me out of the way. I heard the shot though, and saw the aftermath. I told Henry what he wanted to know. That was... It was okay, wasn't it? It seemed like he deserved to know, and the facts would keep him from imagining something even worse."

Noelle nodded. "How did he take it? Did he seem all right? I can't get him to talk about it."

"Going into Jiminy Cricket mode yourself?"

"What can I say? I fit in well at Win-Win."

"He seemed okay with it. None of it was really a surprise. He's just... quiet. He doesn't want to talk, not to anyone."

"And how about you? Any nightmares about what happened in the warehouse?"

"A few unpleasant dreams the last couple of nights. Nothing like the nightmares that accompanied my flashbacks." Not wanting to focus the conversation on himself, Neal said, "Allen Winston also mentioned they're making some changes at Win-Win."

"That's right. It's been in the works for a while, but they're rolling it out next month. Well, this month, now. It's August already. Ever since Robert disappeared and his abuses of power came to light, they've been updating policies and some of the computer systems to prevent that kind of thing from happening again. I've heard they'll pay more attention in career planning sessions to stave off the kind of obsession Robert had with taking over the company."

They talked about Win-Win, covering Noelle's role on the board of directors and their guesses about when Henry would be ready to return to work. They paused when the timer went off, Neal pulling the food out of the oven and Noelle pouring orange juice. The conversation moved on to stories about college, Neal sharing some of what he'd observed when Henry got his masters, and Noelle describing her own college days. Neal was particularly interested in the time she spent on her doctorate, balancing her studies with work at Win-Win and planning a wedding. He still had concerns about how he'd balance his workload at the FBI with classes at Columbia.

After they were done eating and had put their dishes in the dishwasher, Neal glanced at his phone. "I feel like I should call Henry, but I know he wants to be left alone. He promised he'd call if he needed anything, or even if he felt lonely." He ran his hands through his hair. "I want to help, and I don't know what to do. I can tell he's getting fed up with the offers everyone's been making to listen if he wants to talk. I want to do something for him."

"I know, sweetie. Give him time. You know his birthday's less than a week away. Mom offered to scale back her plans, but Henry said to go full speed ahead. I think it will be good for him – a chance to be active, both mentally and physically, and to focus on something else. Maybe we can get him to stop brooding and tell us what he needs from us."

"But for now we let him brood?"

"Mm-hmm. He needs to get it out of his system, and he'll be annoyed if we interrupt him."

"You really aren't going to call or stop by his apartment all week?" Neal asked in surprise.

"I promised I'd limit my mother hen instincts to a few emails a day. As long as he responds, I'll leave him be. If he ignores me, I'm marching right over there to..." She shrugged. "I honestly don't know."

"Go Jiminy Cricket on him?" Neal suggested.

"I'll try to be slightly less annoying, but it won't be easy."

"Is the Executive Decision nearby?"

"It's docked about half an hour's drive from here. Why?"

"If Graham wouldn't mind, I'd like to hang out on the boat for a little bit. We've got a few hours yet before I need to head back to New York. Not actually sail it – I don't think my one lesson from Graham qualifies me as a sailor yet – but it would be nice to sit on the water and watch the world go by."

"You think Henry will head to the boat," Noelle said.

"Just a hunch."

###

The weather was perfect for lazing about on a boat. It was sunny with a cool breeze. Noelle had brought lemonade, cookies, and sunscreen. Neal chuckled as she double-checked to make sure he had enough sunscreen on his nose. "You've got the whole mom thing down, don't you?"

Her eyes widened. "Too much? I'm probably frustrated that Henry won't let me mother him, and I'm smothering you instead."

"No, it's nice." He put up his feet. "I'm surprised I'm saying this, but I kind of miss our sessions."

"We can still talk, you know. Family members talk to each other. It's almost mandatory. You can call me anytime at all."

"Just for the pleasure of hearing your voice." Neal tried the lemonade. Nice and tart. He wasn't a fan of overly sweet lemonade. "It was weird at first, how much you sound like my mom, but it doesn't bother me anymore." He looked at Noelle and recognized that melting-heart look. "Oh, sweetie," he said in chorus with her, and laughed.

"Behave, or I'll start calling you Baby Bear."

At the reminder of his grandmother's pet name for him, he stopped laughing.

"If you find yourself wanting advice, or... or... mothering, then call me. I've liked being part of your life, and I used those therapy sessions as an excuse to keep in touch with you long after it was obvious I wasn't objective enough to be your therapist anymore."

"I'm glad," said Neal. "I think I needed that connection at least as much as I needed therapy, and you did help me a lot." A motion on the dock caught his eye, and he nodded his head in Henry's direction. "How do you want to play this?"

"He's going to be annoyed we anticipated him. He won't like knowing we're worried about him."

"How about being worried about me? Once more for old times' sake, Dr. Winslow?"

She cleared her throat and asked in her most professional voice, "What did your colleagues say when you told them you'll be attending Columbia this fall?"

Henry had been striding toward them, probably ready to tell them to mind their own business and leave him alone, but he slowed when he heard Noelle's question. He approached quietly. Obviously he was reassessing the situation.

"Umm," said Neal. "Don't get mad."

"Neal, I'm not here to judge you or get mad at you. I simply want to understand. Do you mean that you still haven't told them?"

"Yeah," Neal acknowledged.

"Are you kidding?" Henry said. "What are you waiting for?"

Neal and Noelle didn't have to pretend to be surprised to hear his voice. Henry had been so silent recently that his outburst now was shocking. Neal welcomed the anger from his cousin, whose emotions had seemed eerily muted this weekend.

"Henry!" Noelle said in a chiding tone. Neal thought it was a smart approach. Showing pity would send Henry back into his morose fog.

"Well, classes start next month, right? He accepted the scholarship from Win-Win and paid for the first semester. There's no reason to keep it a secret."

"It's not like that," Neal protested. "I've been busy with the Masterson case. There wasn't time to talk about it and now... Well, you're right. It's so close to the start of the semester and it's starting to feel weird that I hadn't said anything all this time. They'll wonder why I kept it a secret, so I have to think of the right away to tell them that doesn't scream I was afraid I'd screw up."

"So the issue wasn't only the lack of money?" Noelle asked.

The session was supposed to be a con, but Neal was having a real revelation here. "Back before I met you, sometimes I thought of myself as the un-Midas. It felt like things I touched fell apart, instead of turning to gold. I've gotten past that, mostly, but I think that was a big part of not wanting to tell people I was accepted by Columbia. The tuition was part of it, too, but I also worried my shiny new grad school acceptance would turn to dust."

"Did you think of yourself as unworthy, or just unlucky?" Noelle asked. She patted the bench seat and Henry sat down beside her. He was paying close attention, clearly interested in Neal's answer.

Neal considered the question. "Some of both, I suppose. When Peter first recruited me, I told someone I had a shot at my dream job. A job at the FBI, immunity, meeting Michael Darling from Local Devastation, meeting June and renting the loft – it all seemed too good to be true. And it kept getting better. Henry introduced me to you and the rest of the Caffreys, and you're all... You're amazing. After I passed Columbia's entrance exams, I thought I was living a dream life. And dreams are fragile and temporary. I was happy, but worried. I couldn't help wondering: what happens when you wake up? When the dream is so good that it breaks your heart to see it fade away, how do you find the strength to face reality?"

"And don't forget Peter," Henry said. "Your dream father figure."

"He embodied my fantasy of what my father should have been like," Neal agreed.

"He's an object of hero-worship," Noelle said, echoing comments she'd made in past sessions.

"The trouble with that is trying to live up to your hero's ideals. I was doing everything I could to please Peter, but believed I was doomed to fail. And I wasn't sure what would happen when I disappointed him. I knew Peter was too fair to fire me for being a personal disappointment, but I didn't think I could keep doing the job and seeing Peter every day if I let him down. When I learned some of the team were calling me the teacher's pet, it fed directly into those fears."

"They did what?" Henry sprang to his feet. "After everything you've done, this is ridiculous. I'm gonna talk to Peter. No, Hughes. He has to see reason. You deserve that job."

"After everything I've done," Neal repeated, determined to keep Henry from interfering, "it's less of an issue now. These last few weeks, with my part in the Masterson case and also solving your kidnapping, they've seen what I bring to the table."

Henry stopped pacing and Noelle asked, "And the hero-worship?"

"I learned that Peter's fallible, too." He told the story of Peter's attempt to save him from a gambling addiction in Atlantic City. "He meant well, and I've forgiven him, after exacting a promise that he won't invade my privacy like that again. We're friends now. That's much more comfortable than holding him in awe."

"Do you still think the good things in your life are a matter of luck?" Noelle asked.

"Some of them I earned. Some are luck. I mean, what are the chances that Henry would find a runaway in a city the size of Chicago?"

"That wasn't luck," Henry protested. "That was pure skill."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. The thing is, I accept it now. The parts I earned, and the parts I lucked into, they're mine. I'm not passively sitting by waiting for the next stroke of luck to take it away. I'm doing everything I can to protect and keep the good things in my life."

"And taking time to enjoy it," Noelle said.

"Absolutely." He grinned. "Speaking of which, I think I know how I'm going to tell the team about Columbia."

For a little while, they kept the conversation going with Henry, and he was his usual self. But as time passed he became quieter. He declined to go along when Noelle took Neal to the train station.

"I thought we had him back," Neal said in the car. "It was working, for a while anyway."

"It was wonderful, Neal. You don't realize how much you helped him. It's fine to cheer him up, but you have to let him be sad. He needs to work through his grief on his own terms." As they neared the train station, Noelle added, "I've been thinking about that un-Midas touch you mentioned, turning good things into nothing. Many people would say an artist is the opposite of that. You start with a blank canvas, and turn nothing into art. There's a magic in that."

###

Peter spent most of Monday in a conference room, meeting with members of his team one by one to give their midyear appraisals. He should have done this last week, when it was still July, but Hughes had given him an extension in light of the Masterson and Robert Winslow cases.

Next up was Neal. On Friday when Peter had read Neal's write up of his midyear accomplishments, he'd been impressed and surprised. Neal tended toward verbose in his spoken communications, but his writing style was... Peter thought succinct was the best term for it. Neal's written case descriptions were as brief as possible. Often Peter had to press him to provide more detail for the files.

Therefore, looking at Neal's documented accomplishments, Peter had to wonder where this prose had come from. The description of Neal's work in the first half of the year was almost flowery. He reread some of it now, wondering if he'd imagined it.

A comment introducing his goals was, "We only hit what we aim for." Wasn't that a quote from Thoreau? And so was the summary statement at the end, "If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours." The section about the training Neal had taken included a Socrates quote, "Wisdom begins in wonder."

Peter looked at the date Neal had submitted this document, wondering what had been going on to inspire this. There was something about that date. He thought back to his surprise that Neal had been one of the first to finish writing his accomplishments. When Peter checked his calendar, his suspicions increased at the reminder of what else had been happening that day. Now he needed to know: was Neal in on it?

Neal walked in, looking sheepish. "Sorry, Peter. I know my accomplishments were due last week. I got the first reminder from HR a month ago and thought there was going to be another one. It must have gotten lost in my inbox."

Peter pushed the document across the table. "Take a look."

After a few minutes of reading Neal asked, "Did you take pity on me and write it yourself?"

"No. Check the last page. Date and time submitted." Peter paused and said, "It was the same day you gave your talk about working with street kids."

"With Henry," Neal added. "Of course. This has Henry all over it. He loved tossing quotes like these into his papers in college. I'm sure he thought he was doing me a favor. Probably thought he owed me after we rescued him and Angela from Enscombe. Do you want me to rewrite it?"

Peter shook his head. "As far as I can tell, this is a complete and accurate account of what you accomplished in the first half of the year. I'd even recommend using it as a model for your year-end accomplishments. This was clearly written by someone familiar with these kinds of documents, although he went a little overboard with the quotes. My concern is how he got into our HR systems to submit this."

Neal thought back. "I gave Angela my password to check her email. Later when Henry wanted to do the same thing, I knew better than to give him the password. I logged him in myself." He met Peter's eyes. "My best guess is he got it from Angela somehow."

"I need you to change your password, to be safe. I don't think Henry has any motivation to hack into our systems, but we need to make sure it doesn't happen."

"Yeah. As soon as I get back to my desk."

Peter was about to launch into the standard review, but he paused. "I haven't talked to you since the funeral. You okay?"

"Sure. I'm fine."

"How's Henry?"

The answer to that was longer, encompassing worry and hope, and a determination to keep an eye on his cousin during the birthday party this coming weekend.

"That's going to be in D.C.," Peter remembered. "How long will you be there?"

"I'll leave as soon as I get off work Friday. Noelle asked me to stay through Sunday if I can, and head back Monday afternoon. She told me my grandparents' anniversary is right after Henry's birthday. It's not a big anniversary, and after the major event Dressa is pulling together for the birthday party, they don't plan to do much to celebrate. But Noelle said the gift Dor and Dressa would love more than anything is spending a day with me."

"As it happens, I'll be in D.C. all of next week for a series of meetings and management training. If you drop by before you leave town Monday, I could show you around headquarters." And if all went according to plan, he'd have Neal's birth certificate. Annina had followed through on her promise, and Peter had an appointment at the marshals' office early Monday morning.

Neal agreed and they set a tentative time to meet. Then Peter gave Neal his midyear review, praising his work and making suggestions of things to try in the second half of the year. "I'm not the only one pleased with what you've accomplished so far. Our entire management chain is happy with all of us who worked the Masterson case. That was a big win for the Bureau. Between the evidence you helped us collect and the statements from the employees we interviewed, we've made multiple arrests and have confidence that the bad guys are going to jail for a long time." He turned more serious. "That being said, I'm aware that Henry wasn't entirely convinced that Stan's punishment would be sufficient. Have you heard about the fire?"

"What fire?"

"Saturday afternoon, while Stan was meeting with his attorneys, his house caught fire and burned to the ground. The state-of-the-art system that's supposed to protect his memorabilia failed, and it was all lost."

"He'd lost his insurance on his collection, right? Tricia told me she'd warned the insurance company most of it was fake."

"Not only that. The same company had insured his house. They canceled all of their policies with Stan on the basis of his fraud, and he hadn't had time to get a replacement policy. Between his home and his memorabilia, Stan lost his main assets. I'm told the law firm representing him is substituting their most senior attorneys with more junior people, since Stan's suddenly unable to pay their rates."

"You don't think Henry had anything to do with that? Saturday was the funeral. We were both at Graham's house all afternoon."

"True, but someone else in this case hates Stan and all he represents."

"Umm."

"Yes?"

"Mozzie did have a firebug phase. But there's no way he'd destroy that memorabilia. Some of it was legit, and Stan was rumored to have pages of music in Mozart's own hand. Mozz is a Mozart fanatic."

"Fanatic enough to break into the house, take the memorabilia he thinks has real value, disable the system so that it looks like everything burned, and then set a fire?"

"Umm."

A second umm from silver-tongued Neal was a bad sign, Peter guessed. There was something he really didn't want to say, but knew he should.

After a moment Neal said, "That's theoretically possible, but you don't have proof. If Mozzie did something like that, he wouldn't leave any evidence."

"I think it's best if we don't involve your friend in any more cases."

"He's not exactly eager to have a relationship with the FBI. We can make it work, though. If we ever need his help again, the trick is to be very specific in the parameters we give him. We didn't tell him not to go after Masterson or avail himself of Masterson's ill-gotten gains."

"We shouldn't have to..." Peter shook his head. "I don't want to go down that road. Do you have any questions about your appraisal?"

"Well, not exactly. Not about mine."

"I'm not allowed to talk to you about the appraisals of the rest of the team."

"I don't care about theirs. Have you gotten your review yet?"

"Yes, I met with Hughes last week. Why?"

"If anyone gave you grief because of stuff I did, or because you recruited and supported me, well, I'd like to talk to Hughes about it. Let him know I'll take the heat for it."

Peter blinked. Would Neal ever cease to surprise him? "No need." He tried to think of something he could comfortably share from his review to give Neal assurance. "Between the hunt for Robert and the Masterson case, we've done a lot of work with Win-Win. The Bureau's ecstatic, and Hughes knows you were the launching pad for that relationship." Wanting to change the subject he said, "Remember Agent Diana Berrigan?"

"Sure. She helped me prove Jason Ford was an accomplice in the kidnapping." Neal frowned. "Is she in trouble?"

"No, she doesn't need rescuing. In fact, we were so pleased with her work that we asked the Office of Public Affairs to let her be our probie. They agreed she's a better fit for our team, and she liked working with us. She's moving up here."

"At last, someone newer than me. Does she need a mentor? I'd be happy to show her the ropes."

"Don't get cocky, kid. She may be newer at the FBI, but you're still the youngest member of the team and you have a lot to learn before you're ready to be anyone's mentor. Tricia will be the one to show her the ropes. It's good for Diana, and helps with the issue you pointed out: that I need to give Tricia more leadership opportunities."

###

Friday Neal went to work early and skipped lunch so he could leave midafternoon. He caught a bargain-fare commuter flight to Washington, D.C. and took a cab to his grandparents' home. Tomorrow was Henry's birthday, and Irene had been planning the party for months. She'd been inspired by Henry's trip to Ireland, where he sought out some of his Caffrey roots in January. Edmund hadn't been thrilled that this grandson who had a tendency to disappear for months on end had met one of the itinerant branches of the family, while Irene took a different stance. If they didn't want the kids chasing after the caravans, why not bring the caravans to the kids?

She'd contacted every Caffrey relative she'd met in over fifty years of marriage, and invited them to a family reunion coinciding with Henry's birthday. She reserved the whole Cherry Hill Park, with its cabins and spaces for tents and RVs. Groups had been arriving since Wednesday. Some caravan members stopped on their way to the next fair. Some of the more settled family members made a vacation out of it. The park was on the outskirts of D.C., a comfortable drive for Irene and Edmund from their home, and was also convenient for Angela, who was staying at her mother's.

Arriving at his grandparents' home was momentous for Neal. He'd snuck in with Henry over Christmas while the rest of the family was attending a memorial for fallen soldiers, including his uncle David. This was the first time he'd been there since then, and Irene led him on a tour filled with memories of decades of family life.

He stowed his luggage in the room that used to belong to his mom and Noelle. It had two beds, and Henry's duffel bag and guitar were on one side of the room. Noelle was staying in what had been her brother's old room. Irene mentioned that Graham and Julia Winslow had also arrived in their sailboat that afternoon.

Everyone else was at the park, and Irene and Edmund drove Neal there soon after he arrived. The party was officially on Saturday, but there was already a festive feel. The caravans had set up their wares, including demonstrations of their crafts. Tantalizing scents led Neal to a set of booths where some caravan members prepared food he associated with carnivals and fairs. Neal grabbed a roasted turkey leg from a stall with a medieval theme, and he noticed many people in medieval or renaissance costumes. Angela wore an emerald green gown and a circlet of flowers on her head. Green and yellow ribbons descending from the circlet fluttered in the air and tangled in her hair. She was engaged in an animated conversation with a group of people who were inspecting instruments Neal wasn't familiar with.

"A dulcimer," Edmund said when he noticed Neal staring. "My father used to build them, and some of my nieces and nephews have carried on the tradition."

Some of those dulcimers looked like works of art, and Neal decided he'd return to study them later. First, however, he had to gawk at Henry. His cousin wore a light chainmail shirt and red tunic over his jeans, and was fending off at least a dozen elementary-school aged children wielding rubber swords. He had a shield he used to rebuff them, but would sometimes take them off guard by picking up one of the smaller opponents and swinging them in the air until the child was overcome with giggles. Neal smiled as he pondered what his fencing masters would say about Henry's technique. He was certain that tickling was not considered an allowable form of defense, but it did seem to be effective.

What had happened to the brooding, morose Henry of last weekend? As glad as Neal was to see Henry having fun, he didn't trust this drastic change in such a short time.

A/N: My thanks to Silbrith for her advice and inspiration. Henry's bout with tiny swordsmen and swordswomen is inspired by Chapter 8 of Silbrith's Queen's Jewels, where Neal fences with Jones' nephew Ethan. Silbrith also suggested Cherry Hill Park for the birthday party.

The renaissance festival feel of the party is inspired by visits I made to Scarborough Faire in North Texas. Their costumes, food and entertainment were all in my mind for this birthday party.