St. Louis church. Saturday afternoon. Early December, 2003.

Peter had dropped Neal off for the Christmas concert rehearsal, and returned to the hotel room to continue working the Michael Darling case. Having heard Neal's conclusions and read his notes, Peter agreed that Michael's wife Tara was the most likely culprit, but he needed to be certain before taking any action.

At 3pm Peter returned to the church parking lot. Members of several choirs were streaming out of the building and into their cars, but there was no sign of Neal. After ten minutes of waiting, Peter went inside the church to find his missing consultant.

The choirs had exited through a side door, which led to a series of classrooms and a choir rehearsal room, all empty. Next Peter found an office, a kitchen and reception hall, where a few church members were tidying up. It looked like they had served coffee and cookies to the choirs. At last he came upon what looked like a nursery, but equipped with a monitor. This was the cry room, where parents took fussy children so their crying wouldn't disturb the congregation. The monitor let parents follow the church service while quieting their children.

Focused on the front of the worship area, the monitor showed Neal sitting at a piano and Michael standing next to him saying, "Slow it down. Think less Local Devastation and more Frank Sinatra. Picture a peaceful Christmas Day, when you have all the time in the world and you want the song to last. It's not always a race to the finish line."

Neal gave a passage a leisurely run through. "Sinatra, huh?"

"That's right. Remember, rock will get your blood racing, but a smooth crooner will win the listeners' hearts. Old Blue Eyes knew what he was doing. Now for the bridge, try this." Michael demonstrated what he wanted and Neal repeated it. "That's right. Take it back from the last bars of the verse and let me hear the transition." Neal played enough of the song now that Peter could recognize it, but he wasn't interested in the music. There was a woman in the cry room, wearing those gloves people use for serious household cleaning. She held a disinfectant and rags, and it looked like she had cleaned about half the room but was currently transfixed by the monitor.

A woman in her mid-to-late forties, blonde hair with a hint of gray. Probably too old to be Michael Darling's wife or a groupie. Remembering the photo the Marshals had given Neal of a blonde woman they described as "functioning as your mother," Peter thought he'd solved the mystery of why Neal was infiltrating a Christmas concert in St. Louis. This had to be the woman Neal had called Wednesday night, taking the risk that the U.S. Marshals would track him down, which in fact they had, showing up at their hotel room the next morning.

"A fan of Local Devastation?" Peter asked.

The woman spun around. "I'm sorry?"

"You're watching Michael Darling. He was the creative genius behind the group Local Devastation. And now he's leading the Concordia choir for their performance here."

"That must be why he seemed familiar. My nephew loved that group. He played their songs so many times I could probably sing them myself." She removed her gloves and shook Peter's hand. "Ellen Parker. I'm a member here. Can I help you?"

"It's that obvious I don't belong?"

Indicating Peter's suit, Ellen said, "You're not exactly dressed for the clean-up crew."

"True. I'm here for Neal Caffrey. But it looks like he's still busy with Michael."

"I've been listening to Neal. He's talented."

"Probably all those years of piano lessons he took," Peter said, taking a guess.

"Yes. At least, that was the case with my nephew."

"So when you say he played their songs, you mean actually playing them on the piano, rather than the radio."

"Both. He even started learning the guitar so he could play that part. His mother and I were grateful he didn't try drums, too."

"I can imagine. Sounds like he was a bright kid."

"Very. But I suppose I'm biased. The thing to remember about a bright kid is, he can be a handful when he's bored. You have to keep challenging him, or he'll start challenging you."

"I take it you were very close. For an aunt."

Ellen studied him carefully, and Peter could definitely picture her as a cop assessing a suspect. Or a mom protecting her child. "I don't think I caught your name. Why don't you start with who you are and why you're so interested in my nephew?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke, FBI." Peter showed his badge. "I'm asking because your nephew reminds me of Neal, and Neal is... I don't even know how to describe him. He'll be working for me at the Bureau, but he's more than an employee. A few days ago he introduced me as his stepfather. It was sort of a joke, sort of not. I've come to realize he doesn't remember his actual dad, and I'm honored that at some level he thinks of me as a substitute father figure." Hoping to win Ellen over, he held his breath a moment before diving deep into his concerns about what the future might bring. This was delving into a world of feelings he didn't normally like to express. He thought El would be proud. "It's a tricky relationship to navigate. I'm starting to feel some of the responsibilities of a father, but at the same time, I'm supposed to be a boss. I suppose it's something like a close aunt would experience – feeling like a mother but having to stay in other roles. How did you manage that? With your nephew, I mean."

"I can't say I was a role model. My nephew drowned when he was barely eighteen, and I've always felt somewhat to blame for what happened. Maybe if I'd handled things better, handled him better, he would have stayed home instead of being out, driving too fast on a stormy night. He went out that night to be alone because he felt betrayed, hurt by the people he loved best, and that hurt bypassed all reason. He was bright, but reckless when driven by that kind of emotion." Ellen turned to the monitor. "It looks like they're done."

Peter saw they were putting away the sheet music. He was about to head into the sanctuary to get Neal when he heard Michael say, "You're better than you think. If you kept working at it, you could make a living as a musician."

"I'm flattered," Neal answered. "But I don't think I'm ever going to be the next Ty Merchant."

"No, but I could see Ty hiring you. Especially if I gave you a recommendation."

"You're serious. Wow." Neal seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Thanks, but I can't."

"Why not? I can tell you love music."

"I do, but it's an escape, not a permanent destination."

"Not your calling. I get it," Michael said. "Keep it in mind, though, just in case you need a fallback plan someday. But I have to ask, since you've been so mysterious about why you crashed my choir practice, what is your calling?"

"As a kid, I thought it was being a cop. I was going to solve the mystery of the week like they do on TV and bring down the bad guys. When I got older, the line between good guys and bad guys blurred, and I went into more of a gray area. Dark gray, and I could easily imagine it getting darker. This week one of the good guys offered me a new version of my old dreams. You don't get a second chance like that very often. It might be a long shot, but I have to try it."

"That's why you could call on the FBI to help me?"

"Yeah, that's where Peter comes in. He's trying to drag me across that line, back from the dark side into the light."

"Well, if it means you'll be helping other people the way you're helping me, I'll volunteer to help drag you into the light."

Neal laughed. "He might need that help. Because I have to confess, I have always wanted to play with one of those," he gestured toward the pipe organ. "As a kid I tried once, and barely got started before someone literally did drag me away. I'll bet you know how to work one of these."

"I do. How badly did it go that first time?"

"You know how they say, 'make a joyful noise'? Well, this was a sad, awful noise. I never did figure out what I did wrong."

Ellen moaned. "Please, stop him. Some things should never be repeated."

"Right." Peter strode into the sanctuary, calling out, "Neal! It's time to go." As he started hustling Neal back down the aisle, the kid protested there was a shortcut in a different direction, but Peter said, "Trust me," and paused at the entrance of the cry room. "Neal Caffrey, I'd like you to meet Ellen Parker. She's a member here and was kind enough to chat with me while you were wrapping up. Since you grew up around here, I thought you might have known her nephew. I'm sorry, Ellen, I don't think I caught his name."

"Danny," she breathed. "Danny Brooks." She held out her hands to Neal, who took them.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Ellen. I remember Danny. He thought the world of you." He slowly let go of her hands.

"Not so much at the end," she said.

"Don't say that. He was grateful. I... I never heard what happened to him."

"After they found his car in the lake, they looked but never found a body. But it was obvious what had happened. We held the funeral here."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

After watching them stare poignantly at each other for a minute, Peter stepped in. "We'll be back tomorrow, for the concert."

"Right." Ellen stepped back. "Speaking of which, I should finish cleaning up around here." She picked up her gloves and gave every appearance of being absorbed in pulling them on. But as the men reached the doorway she said, "Neal. I remember your mother. I probably remember the Caffreys better than you do."

"I don't want –" Neal started to protest.

"About once a month she would invite more family and friends than you would think could possibly fit in that place your parents rented. She'd make a gourmet feast, singing the whole time, usually in the language that went with the cuisine. She had a lovely singing voice."

Neal looked surprised. "I think I remember her singing in the kitchen."

"I'm glad. Music was a big deal on her side of the family. I don't think any of them could pass up a piano without playing a song, or listen to the radio without singing. And your friend in there is right about Sinatra. Your grandmother adored Old Blue Eyes. Whenever she heard one of his songs, she'd insist on dancing with someone. I'll bet she twirled you around to Rat Pack tunes before you could even walk."

"Thanks for telling me."

There may have been a glistening of tears in everyone's eyes, which was more than Peter could handle. "C'mon. We have work to do."

"In case I don't see you before I leave town, Merry Christmas," Neal said.

"Merry Christmas, Neal."

###

When Neal was gone, Ellen reached up to stop the recording. The monitoring equipment wasn't only used for broadcasting services into the cry room. It was also used to record services, with copies made for members who were home-bound or in care facilities. Ellen had activated the recording mechanism as soon as she noticed Neal at the piano.

The company Ellen worked for had installed the church's security, plus this system. She wouldn't need any help making a copy of the recording to take home with her. This was the best Christmas present she had gotten in six years.