Neal's apartment. Tuesday morning. February 24, 2004.

A/N: Content warning for a funeral. If those are triggers for you, consider skipping this chapter.

Despite his intention of sleeping in, Neal woke at his normal time. Hearing his own breath as he lay in bed in the silent apartment reminded him too much of listening to Byron's final breaths. That sound haunted him every night when he tried to sleep and every morning when he woke up.

Needing to hear something else, he listened to his MP3 player as he made coffee and started to put the finishing touches on the painting on his easel. Around 10:30 June knocked on his door and asked him to join the family who had gathered for brunch.

"I'm not really..." Neal gestured toward his paint-splattered shirt and jeans, but walked to the sink to clean up.

"You're fine," June said. "The girls are still in their pajamas."

Even with the granddaughters in pajamas, brunch was a somber affair, and as the only non-family member there Neal felt awkward. Half of these people he'd met for the first time at Sunday's open house. Thirty minutes later when his phone vibrated he was so glad for an excuse to get away that he didn't pay any attention to who was calling. He stepped into an unoccupied room and said, "Hello?"

"Neal, hi, it's Angela. Are you... Is this a good time to talk?"

"Um, sure." He'd met his younger cousin as an adult for the first time a couple of days after Christmas. Since she was in her senior year of college in Seattle, they didn't exactly run into each other or have much in common beyond a love of music and friendship with their older cousin Henry. He'd heard enough stories from Henry that it felt like he knew Angela, but actually talking to her was another matter.

"Aunt Noelle asked me to call you," Angela sounded as uncomfortable as Neal felt, "about, um, the funeral."

"Why?" Neal asked. He stood at the window sill, staring at the fog outside. It shrouded the house and blocked out the bustle of the city, providing an unusual sense of isolation.

"She thought I should tell you about what happened at my father's funeral last year." No wonder Angela seemed reluctant to have this conversation. "They asked me to sing."

"Yeah?"

"I thought it was no big deal. I've been singing forever and I've performed for bigger audiences, right?"

"Right." Neal had had similar thoughts ever since June asked if he'd sing at Byron's funeral.

"Wrong. I had no idea what I was getting into. There I was at the piano, playing the entrance to one of Dad's favorite hymns. I couldn't stop thinking about him, remembering his voice and how much I'd loved singing with him, and I lost it. I kept playing, but I was crying and too choked up to sing a single note." She laughed, but sounded choked up again from the memory. "I remember thinking that Henry would never let me live it down. He's such a perfectionist when it comes to performances."

"Tell me about it," Neal agreed. "He never lets up."

"I knooow," Angela said. "He's the worst." Then she sighed. "But then he goes and does something sweet. At Dad's funeral, he was standing in the sacristy."

"The what?"

"A room off to the side, where they store the priests' robes. The entrance was a few feet from the piano. My eyes were so blurry from tears I didn't even see him there, you know? But just as I realized I couldn't sing, he walked over and took the first verse. Sang it like that had been the plan all along. I joined him for the choruses, but I honestly doubt anyone beyond the first two pews could hear me. When it was over and I stood up, I was so blinded by tears I don't think I could have made my way back to the pew where I'd been sitting. Henry led me into the sacristy, and shut the door before I bawled my eyes out on his shoulder."

"He never said anything about it." Neal was surprised.

"Yeah, we never talked about it afterward. I really don't like to talk about the funeral. It still makes me cry, you know? But Noelle said I should tell you. Well, insisted I tell you. She said you needed to know and it would be good for me to talk about it. And now I'm annoyed at how right she was."

"She's a lot like Henry, isn't she?"

"Yeah, but you have to be polite to her. At least Henry I can hit."

Neal smiled, imagining what they would have been like as kids. He wished he could have been there in the midst of the inevitable fights.

They wrapped up the call so Angela could get to her first class of the day. Before Neal could summon the energy to return to the brunch, his phone vibrated again. This time it was Michael Darling, inviting Neal to join the former members of Local Devastation for lunch. With regret, Neal explained his 1:00 commitment to sing at a friend's funeral.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Michael paused and asked in cautious tones, "Have you ever performed at a funeral?"

"I've never even attended a funeral," Neal admitted.

"Have you had a chance to rehearse?"

"Not really. There's a piano here at the house, but the family's all here. I don't want to disturb them."

"Have you ever performed at the funeral's location?"

Neal shook his head as he looked out the window again. Normally he could handle a new venue with ease, but Angela's and Michael's comments were introducing doubts. "It's a church, not one I've been inside before."

"Can you and whoever you're performing with meet at the church early?"

"It's just me."

Michael sighed. "A solo at a friend's funeral with a piano you've never played before. Tell me where it's going to be. I'll meet you there at noon. We're going to give you a fighting chance."

Neal perched on the windowsill after he finished talking to Michael. Having doubts he could pull this performance off was bad enough. Even worse was admitting to anyone he had doubts. But he hated the idea of failing most of all. He wished Henry could be there as his backup, but there was an alternative if he could gather the nerve to reach out to her. He scrolled through the contacts list on his phone and selected Noelle's number. "Angela called me," he told his aunt. "She said it was your idea. Then a friend convinced me I should rehearse, so I'm heading over to the church soon."

"That sounds like a good idea," said Noelle.

"Ellen told me no Caffrey can pass by a piano without playing it, or listen to the radio without singing along. Was she right?"

"It's a family affliction," Noelle confirmed with a smile in her voice.

"Then you might have some advice, if you joined the rehearsal." Neal did his best to sound indifferent.

"I'd be honored."

###

Wrapped up in the challenges Jones had discovered with the Highbury case, Peter was tempted to skip Byron's funeral. But Elizabeth, probably because she knew he wasn't a fan of emotional events like funerals, had arranged to meet him at the office. She had the tenacity to pry his fingers off his computer keyboard if necessary to get to the service on time.

The church was packed, and Peter didn't see Neal. But El spotted his aunt and they made their way toward her. Noelle Winslow stood in the aisle, near an alcove with a piano and seating for a choir. Neal and Michael Darling sat in the alcove, looking at sheet music.

"What's Neal doing?" Peter asked when they were close enough to be heard over the many voices echoing in the sanctuary.

Noelle sighed. "June asked him to sing."

"Oh. Is that a good idea?" El wondered.

"Probably not," said Noelle, "but that won't stop him. He's as prepared as he can be, and he's going to let me help."

Then Michael looked up and recognized Peter, who introduced the Grammy-winning composer to El. She took it in stride, but when Michael was distracted she gave Peter a wide-eyed look and mouthed, "Oh my God."

A moment later Michael shook Neal's hand as they stood up. "I wish I could stay, but record company executives aren't known for their patience."

"Thanks for the help," Neal said as he placed the sheet music on the piano.

"Thanks for tolerating it. I realized after I hung up that in my new role as a professor I've gotten used to ordering around everyone I meet who's interested in music. But you aren't my student and might not appreciate being told what to do."

Neal almost smiled. "I'm not a big fan of orders, but I recognize musical genius when I see it. This arrangement you suggested is better than anything I would have come up with on my own." After wishing Neal luck, Michael was on his way and Peter followed El to a space on a pew near the piano.

A lapsed Catholic, Peter let his mind wander through most of the service. He focused when Neal walked up to the piano and placed a fedora on top of the instrument. The sound of crying in the church increased as people recognized Byron's hat.

Noelle had also walked to the piano. She stood to Neal's left while he sat and played an intro to "Let It Be." When Noelle and Neal added their voices for the first verse, Neal started out strong, but faltered at the first "let it be." Noelle placed a hand on his shoulder. She sang the first chorus solo. Neal joined in again, singing back-up for Noelle on the next verse and chorus, his voice fading occasionally. They took the final verse together as a duet.

When the song ended, Neal appeared drained and remained on the piano bench. He looked up at Noelle, who leaned down to drop a kiss onto his brow and then sat beside him, wiping tears from her eyes. "Neal has a support system," El whispered to Peter, "because of you." And she also wiped tears from her eyes.

When the service ended, El hugged Neal, who simply shrugged and said, "Not my best effort."

El shook her head. "True emotion touches an audience much more than distant perfection."

Peter patted Neal on the back, but struggled with what to say.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here," Neal said.

"I had to," Peter said, his voice gruff. "I'm your Tuesday Tail."

A/N: If this story were set later, I'd have Michael sing "Roads Untraveled" by Linkin Park with Neal to warm up. Unfortunately that song hadn't been released in 2004, but it popped up on my playlist while I was finishing the first draft of the funeral scene and it felt appropriate.

I'm dedicating this chapter to my mother, stolen from us much too soon by cancer. When she learned she had weeks to live, she involved the entire family in the hunt for the perfect music for her funeral. And when the time came, I sobbed through every one of those songs.

My thanks to Silbrith for her invaluable services as a beta-reader and sensitivity in editing the funeral scene.