Jacobi Hospital. Saturday morning. February 28, 2004.

When Peter and Henry woke him in the chapel, Neal was disappointed to find he wasn't as sharp as he'd been earlier. But he'd known the focus brought by eluding Seamus Bickerton probably wouldn't last long. He yawned as they urged him into a wheelchair. "D'you get him?" he asked.

"He's under arrest," Peter said.

"Said he'd hurt them," Neal said. "Had to lead him away from my room so they could escape."

"Yeah," said Henry as he started to push the wheelchair. "You texted a warning to me and I told our grandparents to get out of there. You did good."

Neal turned to look at Henry. He'd taken the blue contacts out. "You aren't me anymore?"

"You're both yourselves now," said Peter.

They took Neal back to his room, where his grandparents waited. "We're going to sit with you while Henry and Peter get you checked out of here," Edmund said.

"I can go home?"

"One step at a time," said Henry. "We'll take you back to our hotel and make sure you're safe." He followed Peter out of the room.

"Safe from what?" Neal asked.

Sitting in a visitor's chair beside him, Irene took his hand. "They think that awful man wanted to kill you, or to take you to someone else who would have killed you."

Neal blinked. He knew that. His instinctive response was to say that he could take care of himself, that he had proven it by eluding Bickerton, but he realized it wouldn't sound convincing when he'd already forgotten about the danger. "I don't like being muddled."

"Dear boy," said Irene. "You're rather sweet when you're muddled, but I do look forward to having a conversation with you when you're thinking clearly."

He studied her, looking for similarities to his mother. Irene had the same oval shape to her face, the same green eyes. Her nose was familiar. "You're my grandmother. I wish I remembered you."

She squeezed his hand, and her eyes were bright with tears.

"I'm sorry! I didn't..." He looked at the Ambassador. "I'm already getting it wrong."

"We'll make new memories," Edmund promised.

"I wanted grandparents growing up. At Christmas I'd pretend we were going to visit them, and they would have a big tree decorated in red, with white and gold stockings hanging from a stone fireplace, and they would take me sledding down a snowy hill and give me hot chocolate. I used to tell Mom, but she told me to stop. I didn't tell anyone about it after that, but I still imagined it." He yawned, and then yawned again.

"Checking someone out of a hospital takes a while," Edmund said. "Maybe we should get you back in bed while we wait."

Neal nodded and leaned on his grandfather for balance as he moved to the bed. Almost as soon as he lay down, he started to drift back to sleep. But he thought he heard his grandmother sniff and say, "He does remember, Edmund. Why did Meredith tell him to stop?"

"I suppose the Marshals told them not to talk about where they came from. She probably did it to keep him safe."

###

The hospital wasn't happy about releasing Neal early, and managed to drag out the process for several hours. They even called Dr. Woodhouse, who returned to the hospital to speak to Henry. Upon seeing Peter's badge and hearing about the incident with Bickerton, she finally agreed that Neal might be safer elsewhere. "He'll stop feeling the physical effects of the drug soon. But the psychological effects aren't as easy to anticipate. If he has traumatic memories that he has repressed or simply tries to forget, they have moved to the forefront of his mind. Most people don't appreciate how important it is to get professional help for dealing with those kinds of memories. I understand your concerns about his safety, but I'm concerned about how he'll cope on his own."

"I get it," Henry said. "I have a masters in psychology, myself. I don't take this stuff lightly at all. A professional therapist will talk to Neal later today. You have my word."

When they got to the hotel suite, it was after 6am. They had room service deliver breakfast. Edmund and Irene stayed for the meal and then went downstairs to the room they shared with Noelle, pleading exhaustion.

Neal, on the other hand, said he'd had enough sleep to last a week. He wanted to go back to his apartment to pick up some clothes and other personal items. Peter and Henry both quashed that suggestion, and they came to a compromise. Peter would stay at the hotel with Neal, catching him up on the case. Henry would go to Riverside Drive to pack Neal's things, including art supplies.

Henry wasn't surprised to hear a familiar voice as he left the mansion. She called out, "Neal?"

He faced Kate. "No. And I'm not letting you anywhere near him."

"Henry, please. I know you don't like me, but I can explain."

"You were dating Neal, found out that the Winslows are a wealthy family, and came on to me."

"It wasn't like that. It wasn't about the money. Vincent told me to find out about you, and your reaction when I kissed you told me a lot. I know you're loyal to Neal. And you know he'll want to see me. Just tell me where he is."

"Until a couple of hours ago he was in a hospital, and I'm not telling anyone where he is now until I find out who tried to kill him."

Kate looked surprised. "I promise I didn't have anything to do with it. I don't want to hurt Neal. All I want is a chance to talk to him."

"You want to talk him into giving you the bond from Adler, because you need it to crack the code in the passports. But Neal doesn't have it anymore. You'll have to negotiate with me if you want the bond."

"What do you want?" Kate asked.

"I'll get back to you on that. Give me your number and I'll call you in a few days." Once Henry had the phone number, he went back to the hotel, making sure he wasn't followed. He wasn't going to lead Kate or anyone else watching the mansion back to Neal.

###

When Henry returned, Peter went back home. Noelle and her parents joined Neal, Henry and Graham for lunch. Neal let the conversation wash over him, without participating. He could con them into thinking he was comfortable around them and happy to talk to them, but didn't want to start his relationship with his grandparents on a lie. Every once in a while he looked up to meet their eyes. They both seemed kind and understanding, but sad, and he blamed himself for the sadness. Neal pushed away his plate and said, "I don't even know what to call you."

"Angela started calling me Dor, since Ambassador was a mouthful for a child, and sometimes Henry does, too," said Edmund. "Irene insisted that if I had a title she wasn't going to settle for Mrs. Ambassador."

"I know it's old-fashioned," Irene said, picking up the story, "but I decided to introduce myself to diplomats as the Ambassadress, and inside the family that turned into Dressa."

"Dor and Dressa," Neal repeated. "Unconventional."

"And proud of it," said Irene. She stood, smoothed Neal's hair back, and kissed his brow. "Edmund and I are going home now. We'll see you again soon, because we want to get to know you. But I can tell you need a break."

Neal felt like he should protest that he didn't need a break, but she was right. Grandparents were more than he could handle right now on top of everything else. He stood and hugged her. "Thank you, Dressa."

###

When Noelle announced it was time for their weekly therapy session, Neal regretted saying that he didn't need a nap. But he wasn't tired. It was Henry who granted him a reprieve by plopping down on the sofa next to him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Noelle asked her son.

"The FBI assigned me to guard Neal. Go ahead. I won't listen."

"As if you could avoid listening, sitting right next to each other. Can't you at least go to another room?" she asked.

"Nope."

Noelle looked around the living area. "You can sit at the piano."

"Okay." Henry walked across the room to sit at the piano bench. "Better?"

"Almost. Turn around and start playing."

"Mom!"

"You can stay in the room for the session as long as you play."

Laughing for the first time that day, Neal called out, "Give us some Liszt!" Apparently not willing to take requests, Henry started playing "Trouble" by Coldplay.

"Would you like anything, Neal?" Noelle asked. "Maybe some water?" He nodded, and she walked to the suite's bar to pour two glasses. When she sat down again, she asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like a freak show." Neal ran his hands through his hair. "For the last day and a half, family and doctors have been monitoring and staring at me. I get that's what happens when you're in a hospital, but even after we got here this morning I thought for a moment that I wasn't going to be allowed to take a shower alone. I feel like everyone's expecting me to explode or something."

"That sounds frustrating."

"But it's over, right? They gave me Flashback, and I didn't get stuck in a bunch of memories. I'm fine."

"Hmm. You did have some nightmares and brief flashbacks. At one point you thought you were in the trunk of Vance's car. As I recall from our last session, you didn't remember being in his car."

Neal shrugged. "So the memories are back. That's what you wanted, right? I know everything that happened, and it didn't overwhelm me."

"Then you can tell me what you've remembered since being drugged?"

"No!" Neal said without thinking. "I mean, I'm not ready to talk about it yet."

"I know it's uncomfortable, but hiding from the memories isn't going to help. You need to express them. Trust me, they'll find a way to express themselves if you try to hold them in for very long."

"They aren't..." Neal paused, trying to find the words to describe his mental landscape. "Before, I couldn't find those memories. I had no idea where to look. Now it's as if a light's been turned on, and I can see the door. Whenever I want, I can find my way back to that door, and I know it's unlocked. But I don't want to open it. Not yet."

"Why not?"

Neal drank some water while he considered that question. "Maybe I'm a coward."

"Tell me why you say that."

"When Vance abducted me, he wanted to hurt me. The physical injuries were obvious, but they healed and don't bother me now. But he also wanted to scare me. When I built the wall around those memories, I defeated him. I couldn't be scared of something I couldn't remember, right? If I let those memories in again, he wins. I'll always be scared of him."

"I can understand why you felt that way as a child, Neal. You needed to escape those memories at first, and it was natural to block them. But the fact that they still scare you doesn't mean you're a coward. You mentioned that the physical injuries healed. Because they were hidden, the emotional injuries didn't have a chance to heal. Dealing with them is painful, the same way that setting a broken arm can be painful, and it's perfectly understandable that you'd like to avoid it."

"But I can't."

"That's right. Those memories aren't going to stay behind that door. They'll ambush you if you don't deal with them. Wouldn't it be better to face them at a time of your choosing, when you have people with you who can help?"

"I don't know what to do. What happens after I open the door? Do I... Do I have to step inside?"

Noelle moved from her chair to sit beside him on the sofa, taking each of his hands in hers. "Start by standing in the doorway and looking around. Take stock of what's waiting for you beyond the door. Then close the door and describe it to me, to let me see how to help you."

He closed his eyes, squeezed her hands for a moment, and envisioned himself opening the door. There was a chaos of swirling images and sounds. Blinding light followed by darkness. The smell of blood. Pain. Fear.

"What else?" Noelle asked, making Neal realize he had been speaking those initial impressions.

He shuddered.

"Open your eyes, Neal. Look at me."

He followed her instructions, gradually focusing on her.

"Can you tell me what you saw?"

He shook his head. "I don't have the words."

"Can you draw it?" Henry's voice came as a surprise. Neal had forgotten his cousin was there. He nodded, and Henry brought him a sketch pad and pencils.

At first Neal drew a jumble, the lines jagged and random, like the chaos he had observed. But in the center of the page, an image appeared. A face.

"Vance?" Noelle asked.

"Yes." Neal put down the pencil he'd been holding, realizing his fingers were cramping. He must have been drawing longer than he realized. "I'd almost forgotten what he looked like." He stood and paced. "His face was one of the things I'd locked away behind that door."

"What do you want to do now, Neal?"

"Run," he said automatically. He'd been asleep or sitting down so much these last few days, he craved physical activity.

"The hotel has a gym," Henry suggested.

Neal nodded. A treadmill wasn't as good as a run through the park, but it would do.

###

By mid-afternoon, Peter had finished interrogating Bickerton. The man admitted that he had been blackmailed by someone who had discovered that he had ties to Vincent Adler. The blackmailer had somehow known that the FBI had called about permission to search Enscombe, and had suggested hiring Nick Halden to break into the suite to search for anything that might shed light on Adler's location.

Bickerton insisted that he didn't know where Adler was hiding, and hadn't been in contact with the billionaire since before his disappearance. He also claimed not to know the identity of the blackmailer. They had communicated only by telephone. The man referred to himself Mr. Hyde, and always called from the same phone number. It matched the number that Churchill had been called from, belonging to a conference room in Win-Win's Baltimore offices.

Meanwhile, Clinton Jones had been reviewing the logs of updates to the Adler case files, and confirmed Peter's suspicions. During the first weeks of the case, while most agents involved were adding data, Hitchum had deleted data. Gil Goddard's file, never very robust, had been edited down even further. Kate Moreau's name had been eliminated from the files altogether.

Hughes called OPR. Jones and Peter went to Hitchum's home. The house was locked, his car missing, and a canvass of neighbors told them that the agent had been seen carrying a lot of luggage to his car before driving away Friday night. No one knew where he had gone, and Peter was glad they had Henry guarding Neal.