A/N: If you've read "By the Book" in the Caffrey Conversation AU, you may recall I mentioned a babysitter who called Neal and his cousins "the spawn." Here, the babysitter will tell his side of the story.

Includes a child who has an upset stomach, and another child with bloody nose. The third child just screams. Ear plugs are recommended.

Content Warning for references to a miscarriage.

White Collar Division, New York. January 16, 2004 - Friday afternoon.

When Special Agent Peter Burke returned from lunch, an administrative assistant informed him that General Eccles of the U.S. Air Force had called with a request to meet Neal Caffrey. The general would be available to stop by the Federal Building that afternoon.

"Where's Neal?" Peter asked Jones.

Jones looked up from a case file he'd been reading at his desk. "He's with Agent Wiese. We want to do surveillance on a suspected fence, and they're deciding on the best location to set up the van. They should be back any minute. Something up?"

"Maybe." Peter mentally ran through every con, fraud, forgery and theft Neal had confessed to, but could recall only one that involved the military. He still couldn't believe someone as young as Neal had passed himself off as a British Admiral. Neal had simply said it had been dark, and left it at that. "Has Neal worked any cases recently that the Air Force might be interested in?"

"There was that fake mortgage lender scamming military families, but I think all the victims had Army ties."

"See what you can find out about General Eccles. There's a chance he'll tell me his interest in Neal when I call him back, but I doubt it. Nothing's that simple when Neal is involved."

"On it," Jones answered, and Peter went to his office to return the general's call.

Peter spoke to an aide who politely declined to describe the reason for the general's interest in Neal. They set up the meeting for 2:30, and Peter returned to check in with Jones. "Got anything?"

Jones shook his head. "Eccles has an impressive military record. No ties to recent crimes as a victim or suspect. Nothing pops as a reason he'd be interested in Caffrey or the FBI."

Neal strolled off the elevator with Agent Tricia Wiese, both of them holding cups of coffee. "Neal! Get over here."

Neal leaned against Jones' desk and took in Peter's expression. "Should we have picked up coffee for you, too?"

"I don't care about your overpriced beverages. Tell me why General Eccles of the U.S. Air Force is interested in you."

Neal sipped his coffee as he thought, and finally said, "I don't recognize the name. There was that mortgage case last week, but the victims were in the Army." Another sip of coffee. "Do you have a picture of him?"

"Jones?"

With a few keystrokes, Jones had a picture on his computer screen. "Here you go."

Neal walked around the desk to look at the picture over Jones' shoulder. "Still not familiar."

"I don't like this," Peter said. "He's going to be here any minute. Jones and I will keep looking for information about him. I'll have you meet with him in Hughes' office, so we can see you from here. Wave at us if you need help, and I'll come upstairs. Is there any way you can signal us details of what he wants?"

"We could plant a bug," Jones suggested.

"It takes half an hour to set up the monitoring equipment," Neal said, with the resignation of someone who had been assigned that task more often than he liked. "Do you know Morse code?"

"Yeah," said Peter.

"Me, too," said Jones.

"If I need to get information to you, I'll stand against the glass wall and tap out a message. Thumb for dots and index finger for dashes. If he notices, it should just look like a nervous gesture."

An admin escorted two uniformed officers into the White Collar bullpen. Peter introduced himself, Neal and Jones. The older officer, in his late-sixties, identified himself as General Arthur Eccles. The other man was not introduced, but was in his mid-fifties and wore the insignia of a colonel.

"Jones," said Peter, "show our guests upstairs. Neal, let's get them some coffee."

The colonel requested water, instead. He had a hint of a southern accent. The general requested cream with his coffee.

"Do you recognize either of them?" Peter asked as he poured a cup of coffee.

Neal grabbed a bottle of water from the break room fridge. "No. But the colonel is the one who's really interested in this meeting. While the general was paying attention to all of us and taking in the surroundings, the colonel kept staring at me."

"I noticed," said Peter. "I'm sure Jones did, too."

They met Jones at the top of the stairs, and he told them, "The other guy still didn't give a name. When I mentioned my service in the Navy, he told me he's spent most of his career at Langley, but did a tour in Afghanistan last year."

###

Jones' comment triggered an idea, one so unlikely Neal almost didn't mention it. But as he hadn't been able to think of any other explanations, he said, "There's a slight chance his name is Trent Lombard."

"Who – " Peter started.

"They're gonna get suspicious if we keep talking out here." Neal took the coffee from Peter and walked into the room where the officers awaited. He handed over the beverages and didn't try to break the silence in the room. He had a feeling they were drawing things out to rattle him, but a good con artist didn't rattle easily.

The general stood by the desk, and asked Neal and the colonel to be seated. They took matching chairs facing the desk, and the colonel angled his chair slightly to observe Neal. "Thanks for being available with so little warning," the general said. "I hope we didn't disrupt any FBI operations."

"Nothing Agent Burke can't handle," Neal answered. A pause followed. He knew they expected him to ask what they wanted, but he simply smiled politely.

The general glanced at the still unnamed colonel, who shrugged. "I hear you're claiming to be Edmund Caffrey's grandson," Eccles said.

"No," said Neal.

"You're not his grandson?" Eccles asked.

"I am, but I've never told anyone," Neal said. "I'm not going around claiming to be anyone's grandson."

"Can you prove you're Meredith Caffrey's son?"

"Why?" asked Neal.

The general paced the room. "Is there a reason you're trying to be difficult about this?"

Neal casually leaned back in the office chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. "Yes, there is. I have no idea why you're interested in my mother or me. If you're familiar with the family, then you know why we've been out of touch with them since I was a very young child. When I officially signed myself out from WITSEC last month, I agreed not to share any information that might endanger those who remain under protection, particularly my mother. Therefore I find your interest in us suspicious."

"Do you think I'd offer to come to the FBI if I had been part of the ring of dirty cops and mobsters your dad was running with?"

"As you didn't give me time to look into you before this meeting, I have to err on the side of caution."

The general studied Neal a moment, and then turned to the colonel and said, "He certainly has Edmund's talent for polite evasion. Are you satisfied, Lombard?"

The colonel stood up. "Yes, sir. Thanks for your help. I can take it from here."

The general turned to Neal, who also stood. "Mr. Caffrey, I've met your grandfather a handful of times, and he always made an impression. I think he'll like you." He shook Neal's hand and left.

The colonel remained standing after he closed the door behind the general. Neal leaned against the glass wall, letting his hands rest against the cool surface. With his right hand, he tapped out one word.

###

Peter pulled a chair up to Jones' desk, hoping it looked like they were having a conversation about a case. But in reality, Peter kept an eagle eye on Hughes' office while Jones looked up Trent Lombard.

"Found him. I have a recent photo of a Trent Lombard, and he's definitely the mystery man upstairs," Jones said. "He served under Eccles in Afghanistan, and was based at Langley most of his career. No record of being a victim or suspect in a crime. He's married, with two sons. The wife and kids look clean, too."

"Can you find any connection to Neal?"

Jones entered new search parameters. "That's interesting."

Peter pulled his eyes away from Hughes' office for a moment. "What?"

"Could be a coincidence. Another member of Eccles' unit in Afghanistan was a David Caffrey."

A motion upstairs caught Peter's attention. The general was pacing, and he did not look happy. Neal shook his head, and the general looked even less happy than before.

"Neal," said Peter under his breath. "What are you doing?"

"Definitely not a coincidence. Take a look, Peter." Jones turned his computer screen around so Peter could see.

Peter's first thought was that Jones had found a picture of Neal in an Air Force uniform, but then he noted the other details of the photo. The officer had an arm around a woman holding a baby, and the woman's clothing and hairstyle were both from several decades ago. "That's David Caffrey?"

"Yeah." Jones pulled the screen back and did more typing. "He died in action this past summer. His plane was shot down."

Peter watched Hughes' office again. Lombard was standing also. "Afghanistan?"

"That's right. Okay, I've confirmed Neal is his nephew." He brought up more information and looked surprised.

Before Peter could ask what Jones had found, he saw Eccles leave the office and head downstairs. Peter stood to greet him. "Is there anything else you need, General?"

"No, thanks. My colleague can take it from here."

Peter saw Neal tap out a word against the glass wall. "Godfather?" he muttered. Did Lombard have mob ties?

Eccles did a double take. "You're quick. I didn't think the FBI would figure that out on such short notice." He glanced upstairs before turning back to Peter. "But it makes sense. Every Caffrey I've had the pleasure to meet has been sharp, and they like to be around bright people. This one wouldn't work for you if you couldn't keep up with him. Lombard is here as an envoy from the Caffrey family in D.C., but you're right about the other side of the relationship. He feels some responsibility for your consultant, and some frustration that circumstances have prevented him from acting on that responsibility."

As the general walked away, Peter looked back upstairs again. Lombard was Neal's godfather? "Let's see what else you found, Jones."

###

"My name's Trent Lombard. I appreciate your patience with all of this, Neal. Take a seat," said Trent. "I promise I'll explain what's going on here."

Neal returned to his chair and asked, "Why the secrecy?"

"When your grandfather learned you were out of WITSEC and had chosen to identify yourself by your mother's maiden name, well, he was ecstatic and worried. On the one hand, it seemed like a miracle that his long-lost grandson could be returned to the family. On the other hand..."

"I'm a stranger," Neal said.

"Yes, and you know what they say about things that seem too good to be true. Edmund's a diplomat, and as such his reaction was to send an envoy on behalf of the family. Someone to meet you. Someone who could help determine if bringing you back into the Caffrey family would be a good idea."

"A good idea for me, or for them?"

"Like I said, Edmund's a diplomat. He wants a mutually beneficial arrangement. I assumed that you'd be as smart as the rest of the family. That means you've done research on them already, and you might recognize my name. But you'd probably be less likely to recognize my face. I wanted a chance to form a first impression anonymously. The general was willing to lend his name and assistance, because David and I had both served with him." Trent finally sat down. "You've heard about David?"

Neal nodded. "I considered going to the funeral, but I didn't think I could slip in unnoticed."

"You've got that right. Give you green eyes and you're the image of your uncle thirty years ago. Just looking at you takes me back to our days at the Air Force Academy."

"I take it you're not going to ask for proof that I'm David's nephew."

"No. I'd already checked with the Marshals. Eccles said that stuff to see how you would react. It helped me get a sense of your character."

"Yeah, if you're looking for character, let me save you some time." Neal looked out toward the bullpen and waved.

###

Jones had found archived articles from the social pages of a D.C. newspaper. Trent Lombard was best man at the wedding of David Caffrey, and a few years later David returned the favor at Trent's wedding. Also mentioned in the first article was father-of-the-groom Edmund Caffrey, recently named ambassador to an Eastern European country whose name had changed in the intervening decades.

"Neal's grandfather was an ambassador," Jones said. "Did you know that?"

"No. And it's the kind of information that might have gotten him preferential treatment."

"Do you think he knows?"

"Which part? That his grandfather is a VIP, or that sharing that information might have smoothed the way for him here?" Peter shook his head. "Someone as smart and inquisitive as Neal... I have to assume he knew both."

"Why not tell us?" Jones asked.

Peter guessed that Neal wasn't going to brag about a connection that might not want to acknowledge him. Having a suspected criminal in the family could be detrimental to a man in politics. Edmund Caffrey might want to shut Neal out of the family for the sake of his career.

Was that why Lombard was here? To tell Neal not to contact the Caffreys? Peter's eyes narrowed at the thought. That's when he saw Neal wave. He almost ran upstairs in response to the signal.

When he opened the door to the office, he heard Neal saying, "I'm not an innocent lost lamb here, Trent." Neal looked up to catch Peter's eyes. "Tell the colonel what the FBI suspected me of, Peter. Give him the full list."

"We have at various times suspected Neal of forgeries, frauds, thefts and burglaries. We also know that he is a talented artist, a creative thinker who is perhaps more creative than a government agency like the FBI knows how to appreciate, and a valuable member of the White Collar division."

Neal's smile seemed reluctant. "And I'm a mean piano player."

Peter crossed his arms and added, "He also claims he could beat me at poker, but I find that difficult to believe unless he plans to palm a few cards. Anything else you need, Neal?"

Neal looked at Trent. "You were right. Too good to be true. Give my regards to my grandfather, and let him know I understand why he won't want to meet me. No hard feelings." Neal sounded perfectly calm, but Peter thought he saw a few cracks in the façade. It had hurt Neal to say that.

"I think you underestimate Edmund. He remembers you were a handful as a child, and he doesn't expect you to be a choirboy now. He picked me as his envoy, and I'm the one who nicknamed you the spawn. I'm not saying he's going to be thrilled about all of the things you've been up to, but the fact that you're working for the FBI says a lot. If you need time to get used to the idea, your grandfather will understand, but I've known him since I was fourteen, and I promise he'll want to meet you as soon as you're ready."

As Neal was temporarily speechless, Peter asked, "Is there a story behind that nickname?"

A mischievous light appeared in Trent's eyes, making it easier to imagine him as the best friend of the man who had looked so much like Neal. "Oh, yeah."