St. Louis hotel room. Sunday afternoon, December 7, 2003

When the email arrived from the FBI at 2pm, Neal was on a coffee run. Peter called Michael Darling to let him know they had information to discuss with him. And as soon as Neal returned, Peter shared what the techs had found.

"I told you so," said Neal. "I knew it was Michael's wife pretending to be Ty."

"No, you didn't know it," Peter countered. "You deduced it. Our FBI tech team proved it. They found the evidence that the threatening emails came from her, meaning they get the credit."

"But that's not fair. We solved it."

"Welcome to the Bureau, where evidence is our currency. Everyone has a very low credit rating when they start, and you'll have to provide overwhelming evidence to get credit for a win, especially the first time. Otherwise, you just get mentioned for an assist. But there's no shame in being part of a team effort. We're in this to stop bad guys, not for personal glory."

"Tara Darling doesn't seem like a bad guy. I almost wish we hadn't solved it. Do we have to arrest her?"

"There doesn't have to be an arrest to close a case. In something like this, it depends on whether Michael wants to press charges. Let's go. I arranged to meet at his house." Peter picked up his badge and gun.

"Wait, you're taking your gun? But they have a three-year-old child."

"Michael said she's with her grandparents this afternoon. Anyway, I take my gun virtually everywhere."

"Will you expect me to carry one? As a consultant?"

"I hadn't really thought about it. Do you want one?"

"God, no."

"You may want to think that over. I get the impression you'll want to spend more time in the field than in the office. Sometimes you may want to carry a weapon to protect yourself."

"I'm really not a gun guy."

Not wanting to be late, Peter led the way out to the car, but he couldn't let the subject drop. Once they were on the highway he said, "Often when someone is that adamant about disliking guns, they've had an experience with someone being shot."

"You learn that at Quantico?"

"Yeah, I did. But it's common sense. You spend enough time around crimes and criminals, chances are you'll witness some violence. Less so in white collar crimes, but it still happens. I've been shot at, and had to shoot a suspect once before he could kill an agent. What about you?"

"Are you asking for a preview to my confession?"

"That's one of the things I'm asking. If you've killed someone, even accidentally, that could be deal breaker for immunity."

"That's not going to be an issue."

"Good."

Peter waited for Neal's curiosity to get the best of him. Finally Neal asked, "What's the other reason you were asking?"

Peter maintained a poker face, but he would smile over this later. He deserved to bask in the pride of learning how to anticipate Neal. "When an agent is shot or shoots someone, there are mandated sessions with a therapist. I'm wondering if you need to talk to a someone before we place you on active duty."

"That won't be necessary."

"So you haven't witnessed a shooting or other violent acts?"

"I'm fine, Peter. I don't need a therapist."

Peter took the exit to the Darlings' neighborhood. "Well, if you ever need one, they're available. There's no charge."

"I'll keep that in mind." Neal closed his eyes and clutched the arm rest as Peter took a particularly sharp right turn. "Did Mario Andretti teach that driving course at Quantico?"

"My driving aggressively seems to make you nervous. I wonder if that's because you lost control of your car as a teen and drowned in that lake."

"Don't try to psychoanalyze me, Peter."

"I wouldn't dream of it." But Peter made a mental note of an idea for dealing with his father-in-law, the psychiatrist. If he could distract him with analyzing the FBI's new consultant, it wouldn't feel like Alan was constantly trying to peer into Peter's brain. Maybe Christmas with the Mitchells wouldn't be full of painful, awkward silences this year.

"I think Michael knows it's Tara," Neal said as Peter parked in front of the house. "He doesn't want to believe it, and he wants a third party to make the accusation. But he's a smart guy, and it's the obvious answer."

Something similar had crossed Peter's mind, but he had to say, "People can be oblivious to the faults of the ones we love." He stopped the engine and reached to open his car door, but then paused. Neal was curiously still, staring out through the windshield but seeming lost in his head.

"Yeah," Neal said after a minute. Then he got out of the car.

Peter was itching to ask if Neal had experienced a revelation, or even a moment of doubt, about Kate Moreau, who was believed to be Neal's girlfriend. His gut told him this woman could jeopardize the deal he was setting up between Neal and the Bureau. How was Neal going to stay on the straight-and-narrow if he kept dating another criminal?

Later, Peter promised himself as he followed Neal to the front door. He needed to think this through, and tread carefully where Kate was concerned. Keeping Ellen's advice in mind, Peter guessed that Neal wasn't going to react well to criticism of someone he loved.

Michael led them to the kitchen and introduced them to Tara. Peter had barely started talking when she interrupted him. "It's me. I did it. I'm so sorry, Michael, I never meant for it to turn into this. It was just going to be a few messages to see if you regretted giving up that old life. But your responses were all focused on advising Ty and telling him how great his solo career would be and you never answered the question of what you wanted. And –"

Michael took her hands. "I was afraid of this. I knew it could have been you, but I was afraid of what that meant, so I kept convincing myself it had to be an obsessed stranger. I thought you were happy with our life here. Or I wanted to believe that you were happy. Are you tired of it? I can't reunite Local Devastation. That's over. But if you want me to try a solo career of my own, that's still possible. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you happy."

"You always said you couldn't go back to performing. That you had to stay away or be sucked back into the whole lifestyle. I thought you were fine with that, and then suddenly you're agreeing to perform again. First the benefit concert, but that was at least months in the future. Then next thing I knew you were dragged into this choir thing. If that's where you're going, then I want to know. I'm happy here, but not if it means holding you back from what you love doing."

"No, Tara it isn't like that at all. I wanted to prove to you that I'm recovered, that you don't have to worry about me relapsing. If I'd had any idea you were worried like this, I'd never have agreed to the benefit concert in the first place."

It wasn't easy to interrupt the couple, who were practically talking over each other to express all of their fears and reassurances. Peter finally managed to get a confirmation from Michael that he didn't want to press charges, and then escaped before the overwhelming sweetness of it all became unbearable.

"That's it," he told Neal when they were in the car. "When we're back at the hotel I'll show you the report we file to wrap this up, and then it's done. We've closed our first case together, and you don't even work for the FBI yet. How does it feel?"

"Surprisingly good," Neal said. "It's like the Gift of the Magi. I always loved that story."

"Are you kidding?" Peter asked as he navigated back to the highway. "I hate that story. Two love-sick idiots give each other useless gifts because they're busy showing off who can make the biggest sacrifice."

"It's beautiful, Peter. Giving up what you prize most for someone, that's love in its purest form. It's like... You love your job, right? Being an FBI agent is what gets you out of bed in the morning and racing out the door into New York traffic each day."

"Have you been following me?"

"Peter, I'm hypothesizing here. You treasure your job, don't you? It's part of your identity, even. It's difficult to picture you as anything other than an FBI agent, it's that core to who you are."

"Yes, fine. My job is important to me. So what?"

"So, if you had to pick between the job and Elizabeth, which would you pick?"

"El, of course."

"And how is that different from the Gift of the Magi?"

"It's different because I'd talk to her about it, first. And I'd try to find another option. Some way to keep both, and I'd do it with El's help, because she's smart and knows how much my job means to me."

"So you don't want to give up your job for her."

"Of course I don't. The whole point is that it's something I want to keep, or it wasn't really a sacrifice. Listen, I know what love is. I love my wife."

"I never said you didn't."

"Damn it, what I'm trying to say is ... I hate these conversations, I really do, but I want to make sure you don't decide to make some stupid grand gesture like turning down the FBI's offer because someone demands it as proof of your love or friendship. Love is more than a willingness to sacrifice for someone. If it's healthy, love is a partnership, where you talk to each other, and share your issues and work them out together. You don't rush into something alone and say 'Look what I did for your sake' when you're done. You face things together and ask 'What can we do?' and then if there are sacrifices that need to be made, you make those together and they make sense, and your partnership grows stronger through the experience."

"You make it sound like it's all black-or-white. It's not always that easy."

"It is if you don't overcomplicate things." They had reached the hotel and were moments away from the valet opening Peter's door. "Just think about it."

###

Neal realized he seemed subdued as they filed the report, got dinner, and then went to the Christmas concert. He couldn't stop thinking about what Peter had said. He understood it in theory, but it didn't really fit with Neal's experience. Playing the piano for the Concordia choir was a relief, because it forced him to concentrate on something else.

Ellen had left the pager as promised, wrapped up like a Christmas gift. The long, wide arms of Neal's choir robe made it child's play to lift the box and pocket it. No one suspected a thing. In the crush of people departing and saying goodbyes, it was easy to sweep in and hug Ellen, but there wasn't a chance to talk. Too many people here would notice if someone who looked exactly like her dead nephew hung around talking to her. But he had seen her chatting with Peter again before the concert and hoped Peter would tell him what she'd said.

Carrying a stack of choir robes back to Michael's car, Neal let his mind wander back to Kate. He loved her. He was sure of it. Although romantic love was different from parental love, there was an unconditional aspect that should be part of any category of love. He felt that for both Kate and Ellen.

Talking to Ellen yesterday reminded him what it felt like to be the recipient of unconditional love. It was a rare thing in his experience. And it made him wonder if maybe what Kate felt for him wasn't as unconditional as what he felt for her. Was it possible that she loved what he could give her or do for her, more than she loved him? He didn't want to go there, hated that he'd even opened the door to such a question. He slammed it shut, although he acknowledged he would have to open it again eventually to resolve that doubt.

Neal placed the robes in the trunk and was already turning back to the building when Michael grabbed his arm and asked, "Will you be returning to Concordia?"

"No, I got what I came here for. I'll catch the red-eye back to New York in the morning."

"I didn't get a chance to thank you this afternoon. Tara's been calling you Clarence, our Christmas angel."

"Like It's a Wonderful Life?"

"Right. You helped us agree to appreciate what we have instead of dwelling on what might have been. That's a great gift."

"I'm not an angel, Michael."

"Well, the original word for angel means messenger. You did a fine job of making sure we received the message we needed to hear today. And now I have a message for you. I'm staying here, in my current job, but I'm branching out a little to give my daughter a college fund. I've been composing in my spare time and never did anything with the songs. I've talked it over with Tara and Ty, and I've agreed to write some songs for Ty's second album." He pulled a manila envelope out of the trunk of his car and handed it to Neal. "This is one I'd already written that I think will suit his voice. I'll be back in New York in two months. I'd like to get in touch, hear what you think of the song, where it needs work. If I can get you to stop by Theo's studio, we could even play through it together with Ty to see how it works."

Neal stared at the envelope in disbelief.

"Maybe it's the teacher in me, but I'd really like to make sure you stay in practice. Are you interested?"

"Yeah. But I'm worried I'm hallucinating. This is like something I would have fantasized when I was seventeen."

"Think of it as getting a matched set of dreams. First a chance at your dream job, and with it a shot at a dream hobby. Now I need to find Tara and go pick up our daughter before my parents spoil her. Have a Merry Christmas, Neal."

"Merry Christmas."