Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. Saturday night. January 10, 2004.

When the kitchen timer beeped, Elizabeth Burke pulled the layers of an Italian cream cake out of the oven. She would let them cool overnight and make the icing tomorrow on Peter's birthday. She made sure the cakes were safely out of reach — it was amazing the places their puppy Satchmo could climb if they weren't careful about where they left chairs — and returned to the living room where Peter was frowning at the Agatha Christie mystery they'd paused when the timer went off.

Peter had a routine for his birthdays, including a morning run, lingering over the New York Times crossword, bagels from his favorite deli, and watching a mystery with frequent pauses to discuss the clues and the detective's approach.

Usually between the bagels and the movie, Peter went to work and applied his puzzle-solving brain to FBI cases, but with his birthday falling on Sunday this year, that wasn't going to be an option. When he'd declined El's offer to get tickets to a basketball game or a show, saying he "just wanted to kick back and relax" she'd decided to visit their local video rental store to pick out a bunch of mysteries to keep them occupied this weekend.

The choices had been limited. Thursday night's snowstorm had sent people to the store in droves, and most of the videos hadn't been returned yet when she stopped by this morning. She'd found a collection of films featuring detective Hercule Poirot, and they'd seemed like the perfect compromise. Peter would enjoy the mysteries, and she'd enjoy the period costumes and settings.

His frown had her second-guessing her selection. She sat down on the sofa beside him and picked up the remote, her finger hovering over the eject button. "We don't have to keep watching if you don't like it."

He blinked and focused on her. "Sorry, hon. I'm just distracted."

El leaned back into the sofa and studied him. "Usually you get this way when a case isn't coming together, but you're not working a case now. You wrapped up your last one Thursday and spent Friday on the paperwork."

Now a shadow of a smile emerged on Peter's face. "I'm that predictable?"

"We've been married four years. I like to think I'm an observant spouse. I just wish..." She shook her head.

"What?"

"I don't want to complain this weekend when we're supposed to be celebrating your birthday."

"Maybe my birthday wish is to learn what would make you happier," Peter suggested.

She chose her words carefully. "I wish you'd confide in me more. About things that bother you. Stuff at work, cases, anything. You don't have to shield me." Before he could protest she rushed to say, "Not the confidential parts. I understand there are things that can't be made public about your cases, but it's normal to complain about your colleagues and so forth. It seemed like we'd had a breakthrough over New Year's. You told me the story about Neal rescuing a cat while undercover..." She trailed off when Peter frowned again. "It's something about Neal, isn't it? He's what's distracting you tonight. Can you tell me about it?"

"This calls for a beer. Do you want one?" When El declined, Peter strode to the kitchen and returned with one bottle of beer, which he placed on a table beside the sofa. He remained standing, looking too wound up to sit. "All of that stuff Wednesday night... it got into my head on Thursday."

El nodded. On Wednesday night Neal Caffrey and his cousin Henry Winslow stayed over. Henry conducted some kind of psychological experiment. Peter and Neal had known he was doing it, but from what El could glean, the experiment wasn't exactly what Henry had led them to believe.

For a month now — ever since Peter had recruited Neal and gotten him immunity for his crimes in return for a confession — Neal had jokingly referred to Peter as Dad. It was clear from the start that it was more than a joke. Neal wanted and needed a father figure. Peter fit what the young man had been yearning for, and was flattered to be chosen for the role. Henry raised the question of whether Peter also thought of Neal as a son, and by the end of the experiment they all knew that he did. When they went to work Thursday morning, they'd all had a happy glow and El felt like both young men had joined the Burke family.

When Peter got home Thursday night it was late and he was exhausted. He'd explained that Henry had broken his arm, leading to a detour to a hospital. El accepted that explanation for the end of the happy glow, but now she wondered what else had happened. She watched Peter expectantly, hoping he'd finally confide in her.

He was pacing the room, his jeans and beige, long-sleeve knit shirt hugging his lean form. He wasn't an athlete anymore, but he took pride in staying in shape. At the center of the room he paused, hands on his hips, and El could imagine him standing in a conference room at work, ready to give his team an overview of a new case. She sat at attention, picturing herself as one of the agents at the table.

"Thursday afternoon we ran a sting to catch a crew of thieves who were selling pharmaceuticals on the black market. I took the role of an executive at the pharmaceutical company. We caught the thieves red-handed at the pick-up location. We had the crew, the goods, and the bank account they used. Agent Wiese and I had cuffed two suspects. Neal and his cousin were in another room, recording everything. They were supposed to stay put and observe. After our New Year's Eve case landed Neal in the hospital, I wanted to ease him into undercover work by showing him how it's supposed to be done."

El refrained from saying that it wasn't Neal's fault he'd been hospitalized. He was supposed to fake an asthma attack, and an agent had sabotaged the inhaler Neal used. When Peter got home after that incident he'd been so angry he hadn't been able to keep it to himself, and he'd told her that Agent Kimberly Rice put a substance in the inhaler that made Neal's throat swell shut, ensuring he gave a convincing performance of someone who couldn't breathe.

Now El nodded sympathetically. "What happened?"

"There was a third suspect I hadn't noticed. Neal ran onto the scene and jumped into the truck as the guy was making his getaway with the stolen goods." Finally Peter sat down beside her. "They were armed, El. Neal knew that both of the guys we arrested had guns on them, so it was a good bet the driver was armed, too. And sure enough, when we tracked them down, the guy grabbed Neal and held a gun to his head."

El gasped.

"Neal distracted him, and Henry and I disarmed him. Looking back, I can see it was great teamwork, but I couldn't appreciate it at the time. Once it was over, I lost it. I couldn't handle the thought of Neal continuing to put himself in that kind of situation, and I took Neal's badge and..." Peter exhaled shakily. "And I said he should be fired."

"Oh, no." She knew how much Peter wanted to turn Neal's life around. Would he really give up on him so easily? El frowned as she thought back. "But Friday morning, you drove to Riverside Drive to pick up Neal and take him to work. That wasn't just to pack up his desk, was it?"

Peter took a swig from his beer. "Did I tell you about Thomas Gardiner?" When El shook her head, he continued, "He's a legend at the FBI. I met him when I was first assigned to the Manhattan office, but less than a year later he..." He paused and looked away a moment. "He retired. He teaches law at Yale now."

Retired likely implied injured. It was one of her deepest fears about Peter's work, but she wouldn't dwell on it in the middle of the story he was sharing. "Did you talk to Thomas about what happened?"

"Yeah, he was there. He lives in the neighborhood where the sting happened, and we stashed the executive I was impersonating at the Gardiners' home during the op. Thomas convinced me that I'd overreacted." Peter met El's eyes. "He helped me understand what it's like for you, being an FBI spouse. If I've ever brushed off your concerns for my safety, I apologize. I promise you, hon, I take every precaution and I don't jump into a dangerous situation if there's an alternative that's safer. Thomas helped me realize that if I want to keep Neal safe, I need to keep him on my team and lead by example. I've reminded Neal that he has people who care about him who'd be devastated if he were seriously hurt, and I'll keep reminding him of it until it sinks in."

El placed a hand on Peter's arm. "I'm glad. I want you both thinking of the people who worry about you."

He hugged her. When he pulled away he said, "I'm still concerned about Neal, though. He's had some crappy father figures in the past who would have bailed on him when things got rough. With his flight instinct, I can picture him deciding that he should leave before I give up on him. How do I convince him to stay and put down roots, so he's less tempted to run each time we clash?"

"Hmmm." El leaned against her husband as she thought. There were more questions she wanted to cover, like how in all of Thursday's events had Henry broken his am, but she didn't want to distract her husband from this newfound openness. "Oh." She sat up straight and looked at Peter. "Henry has a masters in psychology, and he knows Neal better than anyone. Why don't you ask him for advice?"

Neal's loft, Saturday night. January 10, 2004.

Henry glanced at the number on his caller ID and made a point of grunting when he reached for the phone.

"I keep telling you to take a pain pill," Neal complained. "Where'd you leave them?"

"Downstairs," Henry answered, adding a brusqueness to his voice that could be mistaken for pain. "Hello," he said into the phone as Neal jogged downstairs. Since the pills were actually in Henry's suitcase here in the loft, Neal should be gone long enough for this conversation to be private.

He listened to Peter's concerns, smiling all the while. Peter's worries meant that Henry's conclusions about him were solid. Neal had finally found a worthy father figure. So worthy in fact, that Henry didn't even have to think up an excuse to call him, because he'd already figured out that he needed Henry's advice.

Wiping the smile from his face so his pleasure wouldn't be reflected in his voice, Henry said, "The best thing you can do is to remain a presence in Neal's life, and not just at work. Reinforce that your friendship is important and that it extends beyond the job. And I've got the perfect way to start. Are you free tomorrow morning?"

After he outlined his plan and ended the call, Henry opened his suitcase and pulled out the pill bottle. Then he stood at the top of the stairs and yelled, "Found 'em!"

He frowned at the bottle. This type of drug made him loopy, and he'd avoided taking it once he'd gotten back from the hospital, but it would be worth the sacrifice to take another dose in the morning. Tomorrow he'd be too out of it to drive, and Neal would be grateful for Peter's help.

What more could Peter ask for on his birthday, than a chance to save the day?