New York, Neal's apartment. Monday evening. February 16, 2004.

He wouldn't admit it to Peter, who had a penchant for saying "I told you so," but Neal liked the stability of a long-term legal job. While the FBI work still wasn't as exciting as he had hoped, it left him with time and energy to channel his creativity after hours. The last few weeks he'd been painting.

He hadn't yet discovered what his own style was, but he liked exploring who he was as an artist, and the pieces he produced served as an outlet for his emotions. In the corner of his apartment in the Ellingtons' mansion was a dark rendering of the building's exterior, inspired by sorrow over Byron's increasingly poor health. Beside that painting was a pale, ghostly depiction of Kate, who seemed determined to fade out of his life. On the easel was an abstract he'd started over the weekend, expressing his fears and hopes about the interest his mother's relatives had expressed in reconnecting with him, now that he was out of WITSEC.

He hadn't been able to finish that painting because he realized he had to respond to their overtures, first. Funny how people often described him as impetuous, but on certain occasions he found himself frozen, unable to make a decision. Now circumstances took the decision out of his hands.

He'd left a voicemail for Henry that afternoon, describing what he wanted. An hour later he'd received a text, telling him to call at 7:30pm. It was 7:30 now, and he'd barely said hello before Henry jumped into the heart of the matter. "You're crazy."

"I think you mean traumatized," Neal corrected, "but with the situation well under control."

"Right. If the situation is under control, why do you think you need to buy the diagnosis you want?"

"Oh, I'm not trying to buy a diagnosis. I couldn't afford that on my salary these days. I'm looking for a trade."

Henry groaned. The sound echoed.

"Why are you on speaker?" Neal asked.

"The cast doesn't get removed until next week. Until then I can't hold the phone in one hand and take notes with the other."

Neal vividly remembered the night Henry broke his arm. It was the same night Lucas had held him hostage, and Henry and Peter had come to his rescue. Afterwards Peter threatened to fire him, and Neal really had gone a little wild. "Yeah, about when you broke your arm... Peter guessed what I had planned, and I told him you might have been there to stop me from stealing the truck, instead of being there to help steal it." There was silence in response, but Neal could picture his dark-haired twenty-seven-year-old cousin considering the options before he responded. Henry's smile and hazel eyes would be hinting at secrets. "Were you planning to stop me?" Neal asked.

"Did you want me to stop you?"

These were the kind of circuitous conversations you had when your best friend had a master's degree in psychology and had based most of his thesis on your experiences as a con artist. "I'm not going down that rabbit hole with you tonight. Look, you want me to agree to a reunion with the rest of the family. I'm willing to do that in return for a statement from a psychologist that I'm able to go undercover without risk of incurring flashbacks."

"Peter knows that I'm not a practicing psychologist, and when I met him I told him I'm too close to you to be your therapist."

"I realize that."

"Then what, exactly, are you asking me to do for you?"

Neal bit his lip briefly in a sign of trepidation that he was glad Henry couldn't see. "I want your mother to write the statement. I know a relative as close as an aunt would normally be considered too close. But since I haven't seen her since I was three, and have only talked to her once between now and then, that shouldn't be a problem."

"You know she isn't simply going to write a note that you're okay. She'll insist on talking to you. I'll insist on it, too. It's time you got help."

Neal wasn't surprised, even if he had hoped to get away without actual therapy. "If she'll write the statement after the first session, I promise I'll continue talking to her."

"At least once a week," Henry insisted. "If you skip even one session, she rescinds her recommendation that you can work undercover."

Bargaining with your oldest friend could be a pain in the ass sometimes. Henry knew him too well. "Fine. I'll do it."

"I'm so glad, sweetie." That wasn't Henry's voice. It sounded exactly like Neal's mom, which meant it was her twin sister, Noelle – Henry's mother. She was a professor of psychology in Baltimore, and occasionally took clients.

Neal swallowed. He'd never felt so afraid of a fundamentally nice person. "Mrs. Winslow. I didn't know you were there. Hello."

"You know how Henry is. He loves surprises, especially at someone else's expense. Will you please call me Noelle?"

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, Noelle. I'm sorry, it's just that you sound so much like Mom..."

"Of course, that must seem odd for you. You can call me whatever makes you comfortable. We'll set a schedule for our sessions, but first I'm dying to ask: why me? The FBI must have resources, not to mention the many psychologists available to you in New York."

Henry snorted. "Isn't it obvious? He doesn't want the things his therapist learns to go into his FBI file."

"Hush, Henry. I didn't ask you, and you know better than to interrupt. Make yourself useful and find my calendar. It's in my bag. Neal?"

Neal nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "He's right. And beyond that, the stuff I need to talk about happened when I was in WITSEC. If the wrong person got their hands on your notes, it might be used to track down my mom. I know you won't betray her."

"Oh, sweetheart," Noelle said.

"Stop right there," Henry said. "No mushy stuff. He's your client now. In fact, we need to postpone the family reunion until he's far enough into the therapy that it wouldn't change the balance of your relationship."

"It's times like these, when you sound exactly like your father, that I remember why I divorced him."

Neal tried to muffle the sound of his laughter.

"It's fine to laugh, Neal. A sense of humor is healthy. Now I realize it won't be practical to meet in person every week, but I'd like to start out face-to-face. As I recall, you had concerns about coming to Baltimore?"

"Robert would have a fit," Neal said, mentioning Noelle's ex-husband. Henry had introduced Neal to Robert three years ago. Convinced that Neal was "a no-good criminal like his old man," Robert had tricked Neal into committing a crime and then kept the evidence. He'd used that evidence to blackmail Neal, saying he'd share it with the police unless Neal dropped out of Henry's life. Henry wouldn't let that happen altogether, but Neal had stopped traveling with his cousin and moved to New York. Even with immunity from the FBI, Neal was concerned about the lengths Robert would go to if he learned Neal was hanging around Henry and Noelle in Baltimore. And Robert would learn. His company had access to more resources than the FBI did.

"I'll go up to New York for a session this weekend, and then we'll take it from there," Noelle said.

###

When Peter called Henry, Neal's cousin sounded surprised but pleased to hear from him.

"How's your arm?" Peter asked, aware that he should adhere to the niceties before demanding that Henry help bring Neal to his senses.

"Healing nicely. I have an appointment to have the cast removed next week."

"That's great. You know, Neal told me you were trying to stop him from stealing the truck. I'm not sure I believe it."

"A little mystery is fun isn't it? Especially when you're an FBI agent."

"Or when you're the heir apparent of a major private investigation and security company like Winston-Winslow."

"Has the FBI officially asked you to befriend me to learn what Win-Win is up to?"

"Officially, no. Unofficially is a whole other matter. But tonight I'm calling about Neal. Remember how you said we had a few weeks, maybe months if we're lucky, before his flashbacks make a return? It's been five weeks now. He wants to go undercover at a place we think is drugging their clients, and I'm concerned. We've said he can't participate until he gets clearance from a therapist, and you know a lot of psychologists."

"You think he's asked me to find a psychologist willing to give him a free pass?"

"Has he?"

"Don't worry, Peter. I have everything handled. If Neal needs to believe he's taking a short cut before he'll agree to therapy, there's nothing wrong with that, is there? As long as he gets what he needs."

"You promise he'll get real therapy, from a reputable psychologist?"

"He's going to see my mother. She won't let him get away with anything."

"Whoa." Peter's one conversation with Noelle Winslow had convinced him she was a force to be reckoned with. She'd have to be, as Henry's mother. "You're not messing around."

"He's my best friend. I'm not taking any chances with him. Now, is Elizabeth there? I'd planned to call her tomorrow, but tonight works if she's available."

"Um. Yeah. Hold on." Peter walked back to the sofa. "Hon, Henry wants to talk to you."

El's eyes widened in surprise. She shrugged, and took the phone. "Yes?"

Peter sat down, watching the basketball game in silence and trying not to eavesdrop.

A few minutes later Elizabeth ended the call and placed the phone on the coffee table. "You know how I've been talking about opening my own company?"

"Yeah, you've been calling it Burke Premiere Events. Classy name."

"When Henry was here, I mentioned it while we were making coffee. I told him it's scary to take the leap from having a full-time job at the gallery to being my own boss. Now he's suggesting a trial run. One event for a friendly client, where I'll arrange everything and see if it's something I really want to do for a living."

Peter forced himself to maintain a relaxed posture. But given the decades of animosity between the FBI and Winston-Winslow, he worried about his wife getting caught in the middle. "What's the event?"

"A surprise birthday party for Neal. A small but upscale event with family members traveling here from Washington D.C. and Baltimore. Did you know Neal's grandfather is an ambassador?"

"Yeah, I think he's retired. That sounds nice. Do you want to do it?"

"I do, but I'm worried about the timeframe. March seventh is right around the corner."

Peter stopped slouching in the sofa and sat up straight to face Elizabeth. "The seventh? Neal's birthday is the twenty-first of March."

"Then a party on the seventh will really be a surprise."

###

Every Tuesday someone from the White Collar division tailed Neal over the lunch hour.

It had started as a daily practice, the result of the team not trusting the former criminal Peter had recruited. But as they got used to him, the practice transformed into a weekly training ritual. During the Wednesday briefings Neal and that week's tail reported on what they had seen and done the previous day, and the team's skills at following suspects had increased as a result.

They never told Neal in advance who would be the tail. He figured it out when he spotted someone following him. And sometimes he figured it out earlier, based on the behavior of the team in the morning. From what he was observing today, Neal thought they were going to try something new. As usual for a Tuesday, they had wrapped up the morning briefing and sent Neal back down to his desk while they decided who he would elude this week. Watching the discussion taking place in the glass-walled conference room, Neal noticed Jones' teasing expression as he said something, after which Peter looked surprised and the team laughed. Then Peter nodded.

Neal suspected that Jones had challenged Peter to take a turn. And already Neal was considering how to elude the boss. Up to this point Neal had withheld certain tricks, just in case he really needed to elude the FBI someday. But he was tempted to use some of those tricks today. Things always got more competitive when Peter was involved.

Even as Neal wondered if Mozz could help him stow base jumping gear on a skyscraper before noon, Neal's cell phone vibrated, and he recognized one of Mozzie's numbers. "What's up?" Neal asked.

"I've received a message from Kate. She wants to meet you today, at noon. I'm supposed to tell her the location. Do you want to use Friday?"

The safe house Mozz had named Friday would normally be an ideal location for a meeting, but not on a Tuesday. "Thanks for the offer, but I can't go that far. I have a two-mile radius today." After a spectacular chase scene with taxis two weeks ago, Peter declared the Tuesday Tails had to remain on foot and could go no farther than two miles from the Federal Building.

"What?" Mozz didn't know about that latest restriction.

"Never mind." The team was leaving the conference room. Neal had to pick a location before they came downstairs and overheard this conversation. He named a café about six blocks from the office and said he'd be there at 12:15.

After he ended the call, Neal couldn't stop thinking about Kate. He was grateful she was finally willing to talk to him. He shouldn't question his good fortune. And yet, he couldn't stop wondering: what did Kate want? And would it cost him his deal with the FBI?