Ellington mansion, Manhattan, NY. December 22, 2003. Monday evening.

The lights in the music room were on when Neal returned from work. After a day spent in online training and case files, he looked forward to some human interaction.

Byron sat in his wheelchair beside the Christmas tree. He touched various ornaments, sometimes removing one to hold for a moment before returning it to the tree.

"Anything you want me to reach for you?" Neal offered.

"The car," Byron pointed to a classic car in silver, with Santa at the wheel.

It was high enough that Neal had to stretch. "Here you go." He handed it to Byron.

"This was from an old friend. He'd been the wheelman for a few jobs. Great driver, terrible liar. You knew if he got caught, he'd spill everything, so we made sure not to tell him the full plan."

"Like where you hid the goods?"

Byron chuckled. "That's right. He realized soon enough he wasn't cut out for that life. Loved cars, though. He went to work for a dealership, and the customers appreciated how honest he was. Owns the place now; I bought my Jaguar from him." He handed the ornament back to Neal, who returned it to its spot. "I wanted to apologize for the other night."

Neal stepped away from the tree. "What for?"

"Getting all upset like that, about the trumpet."

"You're used to being strong for your family." Neal sat on a chair near Byron. "You don't have to be."

"Because you're not family?"

"Well, there's that. You don't need to impress me. But from everything I've heard, your family inherited your strength. The thing is..." He paused to find better words, and then decided just to go for it. "Your family and me, we have more time than you do. You're the one who needs to process things now. If that means railing at fate or whatever, then go for it. Don't worry about upsetting us. We can come to terms with everything later."

"I didn't take you for a philosopher."

"I'm not. My best friend has a masters degree in psychology. I talked to him yesterday and he helped me understand your point of view."

"Wish I could have met him," Byron said.

"You will," Neal predicted. "I'll catch up with him after Christmas, and he's curious to hear about my new place and landlords. He'll be fascinated by my stories, and he won't be able to resist visiting to see things for himself. If he holds out until mid-January I'll be surprised."

"Tell me about him."

"Are you sure?" Part of the deal with June and Byron was that Neal would listen to Byron, giving the man the pleasure of sharing his experiences with someone who hadn't heard the stories before.

"There are times I get tired of being in my own head. It'll be a relief to think about someone else."

Neal thought back, considering what would make the best story. "Henry told me his first car was an Alfa Romeo. A convertible, I think. Cute car, tiny trunk. He drove it through his third year of college, and then met someone in the music industry who was willing to give him a start. Henry's a fantastic guitarist and a decent singer, and he started doing gigs."

"Only music?"

"Let's just say he had a lot in common with you in your bachelor days."

Byron smiled.

"The Alfa wasn't practical, so he traded it in. He brought his guitar case to a used car lot, and kept opening trunks until he found one that could hold the case with space left over. It was a sedan. Beige, you know, the color dealers call champagne." Neal paused. "He didn't want to be hassled by salespeople, so he did this at night. Hot-wired the car to take it for a test drive. Then he returned the next day to buy it."

"I like him already," Byron said.

"That was a few months before we started working together, so I'm taking his word on the story. I'm inclined to believe him, though. It sounds exactly like something he'd do. Skipping forward to when I joined the picture, we became a team and ran a lot of cons claiming to be brothers. In fact, he's still like a big brother to me: bossy and protective. Since it was his car, most of the time he did the driving. Every once in a while, like if he was tired, he'd let me drive."

"A safe driver, then."

"Yeah, he didn't take a lot of risks, like driving when he was drowsy. If we needed to drive through the night to get someplace, we took turns behind the wheel. He also had an annoying eye for detail. Noticed I didn't like driving in slick conditions." Neal shrugged. He didn't want to go into how the car Ellen helped him buy ended up in a lake because he was driving too fast on a rainy night. "When I first learned to drive, we had a couple of mild winters and I'd never driven on ice. So of course Henry decided he should teach me."

Henry had been checking the weather reports incessantly, and on December 23 announced they needed to head north. They reached his destination around noon on Christmas Eve. They ate lunch, then stopped at a video store to load up on favorite movies and snacks. Their last stop was at a restaurant selling holiday meals with all the trimmings to go; it was enough food to last them three days, and all they had to do was heat it.

It was their first Christmas together since teaming up, and as usual, Henry had a plan that he wasn't going to share. All he'd said was that they wouldn't bother with wrapping packages. By now Neal knew that Henry preferred experiences to gifts, so the question was what kind of experience he had in mind now.

The road they took when they finished their shopping wasn't steep, but they were steadily gaining elevation during the two-hour drive, and the rain they'd experienced in town turned to snow. And sleet. Neal gritted his teeth but didn't say anything. He didn't want to distract Henry, who was showing a mastery of driving in winter conditions.

"Okay, close your eyes," Henry said.

Neal grumbled, but he did it.

A couple of minutes later the car stopped. Henry turned off the engine and said, "Take a look!"

They were parked in front of a log cabin draped in snow. Based on the footprints around them, the snow had to be more than six inches deep. "Are we staying here?" Neal asked.

"Sort of. We check in here, then they'll take us to our cabin on a snowmobile." Henry hopped out of the car. "C'mon, kiddo!"

There were a total of twelve cabins, but only four were occupied for the holidays. The manager helped Neal and Henry load their stuff into a trailer that was attached to a snowmobile, and then took them to a cabin tucked into the woods next to a small lake. The cabin rental included a loan of snow boots in their size, so they could explore without a snowmobile of their own.

A fire was already burning, and a stack of firewood was ready so they could keep the fire going for days. They put the food in the fridge and then Henry opened the curtains to reveal another perk of the cabin — an outdoor Christmas tree. One of the many fir trees growing around their cabin was decorated in holiday colors. A booklet in the cabin explained that the ornaments were either edible or covered with seeds. Therefore the tree would often be visited by wildlife, making it a truly living display.

Neal assumed they'd spend the entire holiday in a combination of hanging out in the cabin and walking the trails, but he learned the next afternoon that Henry had something else in mind. "Perfect," Henry said as they went outside for what Neal assumed was going to be another walk.

"Are you kidding?" Neal held on to the railing around the porch. The warm sunlight had melted the top layer of snow, giving them a slushy, slippery path.

"This is exactly what I wanted. I'm going to teach you how to drive in icy conditions."

They made their way cautiously back to the parking lot, sometimes grasping trees along the way to keep from falling down. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Neal asked when they finally reached the car.

"Flat parking lot, nearly empty. It doesn't get better than this," Henry insisted. He started out in the driver's seat, and that first part of the instruction went well. Neal watched and listened as Henry talked through how he pulled out of the parking spot and maneuvered to the far side of the lot.

Then they switched places. After spinning the tires a few times, Neal finally got the car moving, creeping forward in the direction he wanted.

As the car started to slide, Henry was calling out directions too fast for Neal to follow. He got the car back under control more by luck than by paying attention to a garble of instructions. He made it a few more feet before the car slid again.

Once more Henry was calling out instructions, some of which seemed contradictory, and finally said, "No, like this," and grabbed the wheel.

The car went into a spin, finally stopping when the front end slammed into a post at the edge of the parking lot. The airbags deployed, and Henry stopped yelling because the breath was knocked out of him. "You suck as a driving instructor," Neal gasped.

Henry took a shaky breath. "Maybe." He pushed away the airbag. "You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I think so." Henry opened the passenger door and staggered out.

Neal took a deep breath and exited the car, to see Henry staring at the tire tracks in the snow.

"I never want to do that again," Henry said. "But..." he gestured at the tracks. "I mean, I've never seen such perfect doughnuts. That was awesome."

"Not doing it again," Neal said.

"Right. One totaled car is enough."

Neal looked at the car, seeing the engine compartment crumpled against the post. "We'll need a tow truck."

"I wonder if I could use this to fake my death."

"You want your family to think you died on Christmas?"

"I couldn't do that to them," Henry agreed. "But we'll pay cash for the car we get to replace this. Dad won't know the VIN or license plate number. That'll make it easier to ditch the goon he has tracking us." He picked up a handful of snow and slapped it onto Neal's face.

"What?" Neal wiped most of it off. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

"You've got a couple of black eyes, kiddo. Need to ice 'em down."

The airbags, Neal realized, had bruised them both. He scooped up more snow. "Yeah, let me return the favor."

Henry ran back toward the cabin, and this time they did slip and fall a few times on their way. Finally they collapsed in front of the cabin's fireplace. "We should take off the boots," Henry said, still panting. "Before we're too stiff."

"We're going to be sore tomorrow, aren't we?"

"Yeah." Henry grunted as he reached toward his feet and slid off the first boot. "A soak in that hot tub on the back porch might help." He pulled off the second boot. "Gimme your feet."

Neal obliged and let Henry pull off his boots. "Hot tub sounds amazing," Neal agreed.

Retelling the story, Neal appreciated again how clever and sneaky Henry was. His goal all along was to get a different car, and letting Neal practice driving in icy conditions was a bonus. He'd watched the weather for someplace that would have snow and ice. He'd even picked their cabin with the hot tubs in mind, to help them recover if they destroyed the car. If Neal hadn't totaled it, Henry simply would have traded it in.

"Did he let you drive the replacement car?" Byron asked.

"Yeah, but not on icy roads."

El's parents' home, Illinois. Tuesday morning.

Peter sat up in the guest bed and stretched.

Elizabeth stirred beside him. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah. Odd dream, though. I was back in Albany, and Dad was teaching me how to drive. I haven't thought about that in ages."

El sat up and leaned against him. "Spend a day talking to a psychiatrist, and your psyche can go a little wild."

Peter chuckled. "You're right. I thought I had the perfect plan, distracting Alan with stories about Neal."

"Instead he decided you have an unfulfilled need to be a father."

He hugged El. "I can never thank your mother enough for interrupting before he could ask about our sex life."

She hugged him back. "I have a spa day planned with my mom and sister today."

"And your brother-in-law?"

"He's taking the kids to the mall to see Santa. You're welcome to join them."

Peter shuddered at the thought.

El laughed. "I thought so. That's why I didn't mention it last night."

"You know, I think I should catch up on how things are going at work. Answer some emails, make some calls."

"Avoid a one-on-one conversation with my dad?" El stepped out of bed. "Don't worry. I checked his calendar. He's going to his office for patient appointments. Holidays are a hard time for a lot of people, so he'll be busy today and tomorrow."

"It's not that I don't like Alan." Peter stepped out of bed.

El reached up and kissed him. "I understand."

Catching up on his email after breakfast did help restore Peter's equilibrium. He was glad he'd brought his laptop along. That made it easier to imagine himself back at the office or at home.

Alan Mitchell was a decent guy. Peter had to respect that, but it was always awkward visiting his in-laws. The constant scrutiny of the psychiatrist, the sense that Alan was analyzing and judging everything Peter said, it was hard to handle, and the week had barely started.

An uncomfortable thought wriggled forward in his mind. This was how Neal felt. Every day in the office, team members watched him, followed him, judged him. No wonder the kid was itching to work cases that would get him into the field.

He remembered his father's advice. Trust and respect. It wasn't enough to offer those things himself, although he'd certainly try to lead by example. He needed to ensure the whole team offered trust and respect to each other. Peter made a note to work those concepts into their goals for next year.

Then he picked up his phone and dialed Neal's number.

"Peter, how's the vacation?"

"El's having a blast catching up with her family. I'm along for the ride. Is this a good time to talk?"

"Absolutely. I need a break from CJIS compliance training. What's up?"

"The good part about going on vacation is the chance to get some perspective on things. This time one of those things is you. Not that you're a thing, I mean. Obviously you're a person. A team member."

"It must have been quite a perspective to get you this flustered. Have — " There was a sharp voice in the background. "Here. Tell Hitchum it's you."

"Hitchum, this is Peter Burke. What the hell are you doing?"

"He's on his cell phone," Hitchum said. "We're not supposed to take personal calls on the job."

That was utter nonsense. "The policy is against excessive personal calls. It's been less than two minutes, and you know we all use our cell phones for work. Stop harassing Neal."

"Someone has to watch him."

"Jones is keeping an eye on Neal for me. They both know that."

The line was silent a moment. Then Neal said, "Well, that was awkward."

"I'll have Hughes talk to him. Maybe that will make more of an impression than my repeated warnings to leave you alone."

"Thanks. What did you want to tell me?"

Peter gathered his thoughts. "Being with my in-laws, it reminds me what it's like not to be in the driver's seat. We're doing what they want, when they want, and I definitely feel like an outsider. I realized that's what it's been like for you so far on the White Collar team. I want to let you know it won't always be like that. And if it ever gets to be overwhelming, let me know, or Jones or Tricia. We want you to succeed."

"I didn't think you'd get it," Neal said. "I knew you meant well, but I honestly thought you couldn't understand what it's like for me."

"It's uncomfortable," Peter said.

"Big time."

"I appreciate you sticking around. Trust me, you'll enjoy the job once we find the right cases for you."

"I'm counting on it. Thanks, Peter. It means a lot that you'd take the time to call and tell me all this."

Peter grinned. "As long as we're having a moment, how about you fill in some more blanks about Henry Winslow?"

"What's that? I think we've got a bad connection."

"Hey, you're the one who believes in fate. What if you're fated to tell me about him?"

"I don't think that's how fate works," Neal protested.

"How will we know if you don't tell me? Maybe I'm fated to hire him, too."

Neal laughed. "Henry, working with the FBI? I can't wait to hear his reaction to that."

A/N: The cabins where Neal and Henry spent Christmas aren't based on a real place, but I hope I find someplace like that someday. I think it would make an excellent writing retreat.