Winston-Winslow offices, Baltimore, MD. December 23, 2003. Tuesday afternoon.

Henry Winslow checked Win-Win's file on Neal Caffrey and noticed it had been updated today. Opening the file, Henry filtered for the latest updates: change of employment status, listing the FBI as Neal's employer and Peter Burke as his boss, and a change of address. There was even a link to the background check Henry had run on Agent Burke back in October.

He clicked on the audit trail, to confirm the new information was entered by Robert Winslow. It had only been a matter of time before Robert learned about Neal's new job and move, but there was something off about it happening this fast.

Could Robert have an informant in the FBI? Win-Win and the Feds didn't particularly get along, but maybe Robert was willing to make an exception in order to get dirt on Neal. It might be worth trying to get inside the Bureau himself, to see what was going on, and to confirm they were treating Neal fairly.

Neal's father had been a corrupt cop, and when James was caught, his wife and son went into WITSEC. From all accounts, it had been a miserable life for Neal.

Henry's father was corrupt, too, but Robert hadn't been caught and he made sure no one would believe it if Henry told the truth. Another miserable situation.

But Henry had a plan. Multiple plans, of course. Helping Neal and stopping Robert were at the top of the list, and those plans were somewhat intertwined.

First, though, he had a promise to keep. It was time to give his mom a ride to the airport. He left the office and headed over to her townhouse.

#

"Do you think this rain will turn into sleet?" Noelle asked as she pulled on her seatbelt.

"Not supposed to," Henry said. "The weather shouldn't affect your flight."

"Darn."

Henry glanced at her. "You want to stay in Baltimore and spend the holidays with the Winslows?"

"No, thanks." Noelle liked her in-laws, but not enough to endure Christmas with her ex-husband.

Henry would spend Christmas Eve with his Winslow grandparents, and catch a redeye flight the next morning to join his mother for Christmas with her side of the family. His maternal grandparents were awesome, and he'd never heard his mother express dread about spending the holidays with them. "Missing David?" he asked. This would be the first Christmas since Noelle's brother had died.

"That's part of it." She turned off the radio, which had been playing Christmas carols.

That was a shock. She loved music, and Henry had fully expected that they would spend most of the drive singing along to tunes they'd enjoyed since he was a child.

"Meredith called today," Noelle announced.

Meredith Caffrey Bennett — or Deirdre Brooks as she was known now — wasn't supposed to contact people from her pre-WITSEC life, but every year around Christmas she called Noelle to wish her a happy birthday.

In theory these should be happy calls, but in Henry's experience they usually made his mother sad. Instead of two old friends catching up, it seemed to him that the calls were more about Meredith seeking advice from someone who had both a PhD in psychology and a thorough knowledge of Meredith's pre-WITSEC life.

But Noelle didn't sound sad today. She had a determined air.

"What did she say?" Henry asked.

"The Marshals told her they've located Neal."

Henry kept his eyes on the road and his voice nonchalant. "It's been what, nearly seven years?"

"Seven years in March, yes. It seems Neal needed a birth certificate for a job he'd been offered, and he reached out to the Marshals for their assistance earlier this month. It's the first time they've heard from him since he ran away. They didn't provide any other details." Noelle took a deep breath. "I want you to find him."

This threatened to throw his careful plans into disarray. "Is that what his mom said? That she wants to know where he is?"

"Next year when Meredith calls, I want to tell her that Neal's okay. She doesn't need to know his location." Noelle paused. "But I want to know. I want to talk to him myself, so I can tell her with full confidence that he's doing well."

"Listen, Mom..." Henry shook his head rather than continue.

"You found him before. When he ran away."

"That was different. It had only been a few days. The trail's cold now. It's been years."

Noelle nodded. "Of course. I'll ask your father. He has more experience with this kind of thing."

Over my dead body. Henry relaxed his death grip on the steering wheel. "Robert doesn't do favors for anyone. We both know that. And you don't normally stoop to trying to manipulate me like this." They were both psychology experts. When they played mindgames with each other it was subtle, devious, and done with a sense of fun. The blunt hammer approach she'd just applied was none of the above.

"You're right. I'm sorry, sweetie. Let me start over." She sighed. "Meredith didn't sound well."

Obviously this was more than a case of the sniffles to make his mom so out of sorts. "Are we talking depressed?"

"Distant. Like... Like she's letting go of life, like she doesn't have anything left to live for."

"But she heard Neal's alive and starting a new job. That's good news, right?"

"Not good enough, apparently."

"Got it. She needs more and you want to provide it."

"There's so little I can do for her, and I'm afraid if I don't come through with something the next time she calls, she might stop calling altogether."

"I'll see what I can do." Henry checked the mirrors and switched lanes. "In return, can I get your advice for a friend of mine? He started a new job last week, and concurrent with that he's been dreaming about being a passenger in a car."

"He's having feelings of being out of control."

"Exactly. I'd like to help him feel more in control. You know, put him in the driver's seat."

"Is your friend's job in management?"

"No, just a junior member of a team in a major bureaucracy. He's never worked someplace that big before, so he's gotta be feeling like a cog in the wheel."

"In that case, putting him in the driver's seat could simply add to his pressure. He's in a supporting role, and he needs to become comfortable with that. His issue is likely learning to trust those who are in charge, or those who can help him adapt."

"Interesting."

"Did he mention anything other than the dreams?"

"Getting the job was kind of a fluke. He ran into the boss while they were both traveling, helped him out and made such a good impression that the boss made him a job offer on the spot. My friend said it felt like fate."

"Fate. Luck. Those can be terms people use because they don't feel they deserve something, whether it's good or bad."

It would be just like Neal to feel he didn't deserve this break. "That makes sense."

"There are things in life that we choose, and other things that happen to us. The trick is understanding your circumstances, and then deciding how to react. Did your friend accept this job because he wants it, or because he feels he owes a debt of gratitude to the boss for offering it to him?"

"Some of both, probably," Henry said. "So he needs to figure that out, first."

"Yes, and don't rush him." Noelle nodded when he shot a glance at her. "I know how impatient you can be. You make up your mind in an instant, but other people need more time. He probably felt rushed into accepting the offer, and then felt doubt over his decision, and then felt guilty for feeling doubt. It's common for people who make sudden life changes to feel a version of buyer's remorse."

"You're saying I have to give him time to figure out if he likes the job or not."

"That's right, sweetheart. And it's not something you can do for him." She patted his shoulder. "I know you don't like to hear that."

"We're making good time. Last chance if you want me to take a wrong exit so you'll miss your flight."

"No missed flights for me." She paused. "And you're not allowed to miss your flight, either."

"You know me too well," Henry joked.

He caught the look his mother gave him, the one that was tinged with sadness because she could tell he was keeping secrets.

Just a little longer, Mom.

Now Henry had to "find" Neal again, maybe even come clean about the fact he'd hadn't lost track of him seven years ago.

Neal's loft, Manhattan, NY. Tuesday evening.

When Neal got home from work, the lights were off in the music room. That was the sign that Byron was sleeping, and Neal headed upstairs to his loft.

June had hung a wreath on the door to the loft, and the scent of pine, cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, and preserved orange slices with cloves greeted him as he reached the top of the stairs. There was also a box on the floor with a note from her, explaining that the box held decorations for the terrace.

Feel free to use them if you like, the note read, but don't bother if they'll disturb you.

He opened the door and carried inside. It contained gold velveteen bows, two types of lights, and a photo that showed how they had been arranged in the past. The tall, cream-colored lights that resembled pillar candles had been placed at corners of the balustrade, adorned with the bows, with the twinkling fairy lights were strung between the faux candles. Undecided about whether he wanted to bother with the decorations, he turned his attention to making dinner. The spices on the wreath had whet his appetite, and he made spaghetti with a bolognese sauce that featured cloves and cinnamon.

The meal consumed, Neal was contemplating whether he should wash the dishes or refill his wine glass. The ring of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. "What's up?" he answered when he saw the caller was Henry.

"I've been thinking about your dreams," Henry said.

"Let me guess. You think I should take charge in my waking life so I'll stop dreaming of being a passenger."

"That was my first inclination, but I've reconsidered." Henry went on to explain his thinking.

Neal had to admit that Henry's take was logical: get comfortable with the new job and new home, and learn to trust the people around him to help carry his burdens. In fact, it wasn't all that different from Mozzie's take on the turtle Billy mentioned. It made sense.

That didn't make it easy. He felt pressure to justify Peter's decision to trust him enough to hire him, and that was on top of the pressure to live up to the Ellingtons' expectations that he'd help Byron.

He knew he'd make mistakes along the way, and hoped he wouldn't let down the people who were counting on him, who were giving him these chances. He hadn't conned his way into these chances, but he hadn't really earned them, either. He was trying to earn them as he went, proving that he could eventually be worthy.

Returning his attention to the phone call, he said, "If I'm the passenger, I guess that makes Peter the driver."

"Yeah." Henry paused. "Are you sure you can trust him?"

"He's one of the good guys," Neal promised.

"We'll see. I'm going to keep an eye on him, just in case."

"Be careful. You're starting to sound like your dad. Are you sure going to work for Win-Win was a good idea?"

"Gotta fight fire with fire. Don't worry. I have a plan."

Henry always had a plan. And he was always reluctant to share it. Tonight was no exception.

After the call ended, Neal felt restless. He turned on the overhead lights on the terrace and carried the decorations outside. He found the outlets to plug in the strings of lights, and started arranging them.

As he worked, he thought back to the day Peter offered him the chance of a job at the FBI. Neal had been skittish, worried that Peter would have the majority of the power in their working relationship. It's not that Neal thought Peter intended to abuse his power... the worry was that Peter simply wouldn't understand the position Neal was in, or how difficult it would be for a confessed criminal to fit into Peter's world. Their phone call this afternoon had alleviated that fear a bit. Peter's empathy for Neal's position in the passenger seat was a good sign.

Neal untangled a string of lights, and thought back to another time he'd been in the passenger seat, nearly seven years ago.

The last time Neal had looked outside, there was snow on the ground and he'd been chilled, but now it felt like a heat wave. Someone had put a blanket over him, but he'd tossed it aside. He was huddled in a room in an old, abandoned warehouse. There were other teens there, too — runaways like him who weren't willing to agree to the rules of the shelter near the bus station. That shelter only took kids who wanted to be reunited with their families. One of the staff had followed him outside and told him about the warehouse. "You should see a doctor," she'd advised, and given him directions to a nearby clinic.

He'd gone to the clinic, but they had a zillion forms and needed proof of insurance. He couldn't provide that without telling them who his mom was, and that would lead the Marshals straight to him. So he left and climbed through the broken window in the warehouse. He was pretty sure that had been yesterday.

Now he leaned against a wall and tried to sleep. He couldn't sleep lying down because he was too congested. Sitting up, the cough wasn't as awful.

It was still bad, though. He was coughing so hard he didn't hear the guy who walked up to him. He was taken by surprise when the guy crouched beside him and got in Neal's face to take a good look at him.

"You're Neal," the guy said. Not a question. He said it like he knew, even though Neal didn't recognize him. The guy looked too young to be a Marshal, but how else could he know Neal's name?

"Go 'way," Neal said, and started coughing again.

"C'mon, kiddo," the guy said. "Let's get you out of here." He grabbed Neal's arm.

Neal wrenched away. He rolled toward the door and panted at the exertion.

The stranger held still and said, "It's okay. No one's going to hurt you. Just calm down and let me help."

Neal's eyes darted toward the door, but he didn't move.

The guy kept his voice low and soothing. "I'm a friend. All I'm gonna do is take you to a doctor. I promise, that's all."

"Can't. Insurance..." That's all Neal could say before another coughing fit wracked his body.

"I get it. Don't worry. I'll tell them you're my brother. My mom'll cover everything."

The ride to the hospital and the emergency room visit were a blur. Someone said he had pneumonia, and the stranger — he called himself Henry — said Neal had drowned and the doctor said something about lake water in Neal's lungs.

A couple of days later, Neal was released from the hospital and Henry drove him to a hotel. Neal pretty much collapsed on the bed in the hotel room and slept for hours. When he woke up, it was the middle of the night. The room was dark, but street lights provided enough of a glow through the curtains that Neal could see the outline of furniture. A lump on the floor was Henry, sound asleep and snoring softly under a couple of blankets.

Neal slid off the bed slowly, trying to avoid creaky springs. He made his way to the window and parted the curtains to let in more light. Then he reached into Henry's duffel bag until he found a wallet.

Three IDs: Henry Winslow, Shawn Hunter, and Shawn Legend. The first two looked legit.

A lamp flooded the room with light, and Neal had to shut his eyes against the brightness. He chastised himself for not paying attention. He should have noticed that the snoring had stopped.

He held up the Shawn Legend driver's license. "You should get your money back for this one. It's trash. I could make a better ID with my eyes closed."

"Good to know." Henry sat on the floor, leaning against the bed. "You okay?"

"I guess. Confused, though. I know you explained stuff when I was in the hospital..." Neal shrugged. "It didn't all stick."

Henry nodded. "I'm not surprised. You had a hell of a fever, and they pumped a lot of drugs into you. I can go through it again. What do you want to know?"

Neal shivered. The window wasn't well-insulated, and the wind was howling outside.

"Why don't you get back on the bed?" Henry suggested. "Looks like you could use a blanket."

Neal didn't recognize the sweatpants and shirt he was wearing. He guessed they were Henry's. They were cozy, but he was still cold. He nodded at the suggestion and climbed back into the bed, pulling the blankets around him.

Henry dragged a chair over, and sat with his bare feet propped up on the bed.

Neal started with, "How'd you find me?"

"Your mom calls my mom every year at Christmas. When my dad found out about it, he searched the phone records and found all of those calls to us came from St. Louis."

"Does he work for the phone company?"

"Nah. Win-Win. That's short for Winston-Winslow. It's a company my great-grandfather co-founded. Dad wants to run it someday." Henry frowned at the thought.

"What does Win-Win do?"

"Controls people," Henry muttered. He waved a hand vaguely. "They know stuff, and learn stuff, and use it. It's complicated. Back then I thought it was cool. I hung out at the Win-Win office as a kid and used their resources to figure out the names you and your mom were going by. I'd check up on you. Like... I don't know. Like a guardian angel or something." He shrugged. "Not like I could do anything for you, though. And I stopped hanging out at Win-Win after my parents got divorced."

Neal felt his blood run cold. "So you saw the reports about... about the trial?" He couldn't bring himself to mention the abduction.

Henry busied himself pulling up a corner of the bedspread to cover his feet. "For your mom's ex-boyfriend? Yeah. I was glad to see he got the maximum sentence."

"Yeah." Neal waited. He suspected he'd said something about the abduction when he'd been in the hospital, and thought Henry would ask about it. When he remained silent, Neal said, "I guess if Win-Win can find protected witnesses, it's no surprise you could track me down."

"It started with your mom calling mine. That was a big surprise — a call in March. Your mom knows about Win-Win, and she thought they could find you after the Marshals gave up."

"Really? They gave up?"

"They underestimated you. I guess they didn't know about the fake ID."

Neal had made the ID a couple of years ago, and had learned from a master of the art. His teacher had moved to Chicago recently and said Neal would be welcome to join him. At the time Neal turned him down, but had planned to take him up on the offer now. Unfortunately, guy had been nowhere to be found — Neal wondered if he'd been arrested — and without acquaintances or resources, Neal had gone to the runaway shelter for help. "So you knew I came to Chicago."

"Win-Win knew. But after that they couldn't find any trace of you. I don't want anything to do with Win-Win, but when they asked... Well, you know, Mom was anxious to find you, and I didn't mind showing Win-Win that I can do something they can't. And I wanted to help you. All that thinking of myself as a guardian angel, without being able to do anything... I liked the idea of coming to the rescue."

"You're twenty-one?" Neal thought Henry had said that in the hospital.

"Nah, I just told the doctors that so they wouldn't hassle me. I'm twenty." He grinned. "And you're seventeen."

Neal started to protest, and then remembered that the birthday he'd celebrated every year was a lie — part of the made-up Danny Brooks identity. In fact, he remembered they'd already had an argument about this at the hospital. Neal had insisted he was eighteen and able to make his own decisions, and Henry had delighted in revealing the truth and calling him a minor. "Not for long," Neal said. His real birthday was just over a week away. He didn't want to rehash their argument and instead pushed forward. "Win-Win sent a twenty-year-old to find me? What could you do that they couldn't?"

"I could pass for a teenage runaway. Literally trace your steps and experience what you did. I could... I could be you. Think like you."

"Right." Neal scoffed. "Other than being near my age, you've got nothing in common with me."

"You felt hurt and betrayed. Believe me, I've been there."

Henry's expression convinced Neal it was the truth. Did that mean he could trust this wanna-be guardian angel? "So now what? You tell Win-Win where I am, and they tell the Marshals?"

Henry chuckled. "Hell, no. Admit they can find someone who's in WITSEC? Not gonna happen. The Marshals are totally out of the loop on this one. I told my parents I found you. Even sent them a photo of us in your hospital room."

"They'll take that as proof?"

"You have an uncle. He's an Air Force pilot. I've seen pictures of him from when he was in college, and you look almost exactly like him. Trust me, they'll believe it's you."

Neal decided to stop asking questions and cut to the chase. "I'm not going back to St. Louis."

"Of course not."

The agreement was so matter-of-fact and unexpected that Neal stared at Henry, scrambling to decide what to say next. "But isn't that what you're supposed to do? Find me and send me home?"

"That's what everyone expected, but all I agreed to do was find you. You're found, and I made sure you got medical attention. I kept my part of the bargain."

"So that's it? You'll turn me loose tomorrow, and then what? You'll head back home with no repercussions?"

"Not exactly," Henry said.

With a combination of logic, charm, and psychology, Henry argued that he had an obligation to watch out for Neal a little longer, because Neal was technically still a minor. As a result, Neal joined Henry in a road trip, full of cons and petty thefts and adventures. And by the time Neal really turned eighteen, he realized that hanging out with Henry was better than anything he could manage on his own, and they became partners in crime.

As far as Henry's parents and Win-Win knew, Henry had let Neal go his own way after the hospital had released him, and that was technically true. He let Neal decide what he wanted to do. He'd also used all of his skills to persuade Neal that what he wanted was to hang out with a big brother. And now Peter had come along to fulfill a similar role, although Neal had been calling him a father figure.

Neal plugged in the lights on the terrace, and nodded in satisfaction. Then he went inside to admire his handiwork from the warmth of his loft with a glass of wine.

He had to admit that being Henry's sidekick had worked out well, for the most part.

When he fell asleep that night, he dreamed of being a passenger in a car again, but it wasn't scary this time. He was nineteen, in the car he'd helped Henry pick out to replace the one they'd totaled. Henry was driving, of course. Neal was tired, and fell asleep in the passenger seat. In the dream he woke up and asked, "Are we there yet?"

The dream Henry said, "We're almost where you need to be. It's close now."

"Then I get to drive," Neal said.

"We'll take turns," Henry promised.

And in the way of dreams, the driver turned into Peter at some point.

"I want to drive," Neal said.

"When you're ready," Peter agreed. "Nearly there."

In the dream, Neal fell asleep again, confident in his friends.

#

When he woke on Christmas Eve, he felt different, and he wasn't quite sure why. It was like he was still dreaming. He drank a cup of Italian roast coffee on the terrace, and hoped the chill in the air would wake him up for the last day of work before his vacation. He'd packed a bag that he'd take to the office with him, so he could head straight to the airport from the Federal Building.

"Can I tempt you with breakfast?" June asked as Neal jogged down the last flight of stairs with his bag.

He'd turned down the offer the last two mornings, worried about all of the team members who checked their watches when he walked in the door.

This time he saw Byron at the dining table, and wanted to make the most of one of the man's good days. Neal set his luggage down by the door and said, "Sure. I've got time."

"I'm so glad," June said.

Neal didn't linger over the meal, but he relished the food and the conversation. About twenty minutes after he sat down, he said, "I should head out. If I wait much longer I'll be late for the morning briefing."

"You've turned a corner," Byron said.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been wound up since you moved in. Stressed. I thought maybe it was me." Byron waved a hand toward himself. "It can be difficult being around someone who's dying. But you're relaxed now."

That's what had been different this morning, Neal realized. It had been... weeks, even months, since he'd felt this calm. He couldn't say exactly what had worked this magic, but instead of stressing about letting people down, he was ready to go along for the ride and see what happened. He'd probably make mistakes, and he'd deal with them, learn from them, and move on. No one could expect more than that.

He thought about the cosmic turtle Billy had mentioned. Mozzie was right about the turtle having support from a team of elephants, but there was another aspect that was clear to Neal now. Turtles swam, and the Great A'Tuin probably went with the flow rather than struggling against the tide.

"I've got a good thing going," Neal said. "A great place to live, and a job that resembles what I dreamed of as a kid. I'm ready to slow down and enjoy the moment."

A/N: Thanks for reading!

If you want to the try the next story in the series, it's By the Book; that story reveals what Win-Win does and how Neal and Henry's mothers knew each other. If you want more details about Neal's interactions with the Marshals and asking them for a birth certificate, see Caffrey Conversation and Choirboy Caffrey. The character of Robert comes into his own as a bad guy in upcoming stories Caffrey Flashback and Caffrey Disclosure.

I'll start posting By the Book and the following stories on this platform soon.

For insight about the process of writing this story, see "Who's in charge here?" on our blog:  PennaSilbrithConversation