Wednesday evening. January 5, 2005.
After dinner, Neal told Peter he'd like to talk to him. "I was too sick to talk about it at first," Neal said, "but there's some stuff we should discuss, kind of related to the case."
It didn't take an FBI agent to figure out that the case was an excuse to cover what had been bothering Neal since before they left New York. Peter had been ready to remind him of his promise to come clean about whatever the problem was before this vacation ended. "How about I buy you one more banana smoothie?" Peter offered.
Neal shook his head. "I think I've overdosed on those. I need a break from banana. Maybe pineapple."
With smoothies in hand, they found a quiet spot on the beach.
Of course Neal couldn't simply start talking. Even when he requested the conversation, it seemed like you had to drag the words out of him sometimes. After a few minutes of silence, Peter decided it might help to start with a different topic. "Everything okay with Henry?"
Neal looked at him oddly. "Why do you ask?"
"He was quieter than usual." And there'd been that hug when they walked into the restaurant, as if Henry needed emotional support. El had elbowed Peter in the ribs to bring his attention to that.
Whatever it had been about, it didn't seem to have Neal worried. He flashed an enigmatic smile and said, "He's gonna be fine. Pretty soon he'll have a whole new lease on life." Then out of the blue he said, "This afternoon Henry reminded me of something we said when we first got here, about Hawaii being Oz. He was the lion, and I was the scarecrow."
"Odd choice for a college student who aced his first semester."
Neal waved that away impatiently. "Studying art's different. I wanted extra brain cells to figure out this whole one-year anniversary at the FBI."
"What about it?"
Neal made drawings in the sand as he spoke. "People keep talking about how much has changed in my life. And they're right, in one regard. All year long I'd kept looking at where I was, at what I was doing, and thinking how I never would have guessed... Even more than that, I wouldn't have believed it would be possible that I'd be working at the FBI, living in a mansion, accepted by my family, and going to grad school."
"That is a lot of change in one year," Peter agreed. He'd prepared for this. He was ready to assure Neal that the rate of change would slow now, and it wouldn't always be so overwhelming.
"The thing is, what changed are my circumstances. I haven't changed." He looked at Peter for a reaction.
"You haven't?" This was a curveball that had Peter revising his mental script.
Neal wiped out his doodles in the sand. "Everyone assumes I've changed a lot, too. But I haven't. I still think con instead of sting. I still hear crew and think of a group of criminals and not a construction team. I hear Tulane describe the Uffizi job and wish I could have been there. I visit the museum here and consider how I'd beat their security. I'm not reformed, Peter. I know that's what you hoped for a year ago. That was the deal, right? I joined your team and was supposed to stop being a criminal. I've put up a good act, and put a lot of impressive-sounding stuff in my year-end accomplishments, but the truth is I failed. I thought you should know. You can fire me, or tell me to quit, or whatever minimizes the impact to your career."
Peter stood up and put his hands on his hips. "Tell me, hardened criminal, how many museums have you broken into this last year?"
"Well, there was that time with Klaus –"
"That was an undercover op, to prevent a theft." Peter tossed the last of his smoothie in the trash. "Walk with me."
"Huh?"
"You've been worrying over this for weeks. I need a few minutes to think it over to make sure I've got my head fully wrapped around it before I give you an answer. If I were home, I'd do my thinking over a crossword puzzle or a hockey game. Or if that failed me, I'd take Satchmo for a walk."
"I'm your substitute for Satchmo?"
"A poor substitute. At least he usually follows orders." Peter strode down the beach and pondered this latest twist in the journey of being Neal's boss, father figure, and mentor. Neal called himself the scarecrow, but the refrain "If only I had a brain" kept running through Peter's mind. He wouldn't turn down a mental boost right now.
Neal followed along. "We could –"
"No."
"But what if I –"
"Hush." Peter picked up an abandoned beach ball.
Neal raised a brow. "I'm not playing fetch."
"No, but you'll play catch."
"I don't think that's the right sort of ball for –"
"It's all part of the process. Back up. A little more. Yeah, that's about right." They threw the ball back and forth. At first Peter made it easy, but after a few rounds he upped the challenge, making Neal leap or run to the side to make the catch. He adapted easily, using the speed and grace he usually attributed to being a cat burglar. But those skills applied to sports and other activities, too. The kid had been a decent dancer for that New Year's Eve performance.
Keeping in mind that Neal was still recovering from strep, Peter didn't make the game too physically challenging. Soon he caught the ball and held onto it. The answer was taking form, in two parts. "I think you're missing some stuff." He started walking back toward the hotel, and Neal fell in step.
"Like what?"
"Like how much you have changed. Back before your birthday, you didn't think you'd be comfortable around the Caffreys, especially all of them as a group. Now they don't intimidate you at all. And over the summer you had doubts you could handle grad school. Now you're Sherkov's favorite student, and you've got a bunch of college friends." Peter realized he was still carrying the beach ball and tossed it back over his shoulder, in the direction he'd found it. "And how about the way you've made a place for yourself in the team? You've got them playing hide-and-seek with you every Tuesday and calling it a training exercise in tailing suspects."
"That's more about them changing than me," Neal objected.
"I'm not so sure about that. I think you're slowly coming around to being a team player. Still got a lot of lone wolf tendencies, though. That's a sneak preview of your annual review, by the way."
It was getting dark, and Peter stopped in the pool of light under a lamppost. Neal stayed on the fringes of that light, as if undecided whether he was more comfortable in the light or the dark.
Peter took a deep breath and hoped he got the second part of the answer right. It was the trickiest, and the most important. "But honestly, I think you're right. The essence of who you are hasn't changed. You're still the same person I recruited a year ago."
Neal swallowed. His eyes darted toward the darkness.
Peter resisted the urge to lunge forward to grab Neal. Triggering his flight instinct wasn't going to help. "A year ago I saw a brilliant young man with a genius for undercover work. I saw someone who was mischievous, not evil. A criminal by circumstance, because other avenues appeared closed to him. An artist, a strategist, a loyal friend, someone who abhors violence. What I saw, when I got to know Neal Caffrey, was someone who is basically good, who needed a chance to realize that he could make a difference for good in the world. Someone who needed an invitation back into the light."
Peter stepped forward slowly and placed a hand on Neal's shoulder. "I'm not going to rescind that invitation because you still have all your old skills and vocabulary. You bring those to the table every day at work to help us catch bad guys. Why would I complain about that?"
Friday evening. January 7, 2005.
Neal was yawning as he walked inside the mansion. He'd managed to sleep on the twelve-hour flight home, but the seven-hour time difference meant it was nearly dawn when he got home this morning. He'd simply taken a shower, put on a suit, and gone to work. The only question now was whether he had enough energy to eat dinner before falling into bed.
"Happy New Year, Neal."
He hadn't even noticed June in the foyer. This was the first time he'd seen her since leaving for Hawaii, and he stepped forward to hug her. "Happy New Year." It had been her first Christmas and New Year's without Byron, and he studied her closely. No signs of crying recently. "Did Emil get the gift I left for him in the kitchen?
"See for yourself," June said. "Follow me."
Neal followed her to the kitchen, where he was surprised to see her chef. Usually Emil was gone by the time Neal got home from work, unless June was entertaining. "You remembered!" Emil said when he saw Neal.
"You told me Kona coffee was one of your favorites," Neal responded with a smile.
"And here's one of yours. Sit, sit." Emil started preparing sole almondine as Neal sat at the kitchen table. That in itself was a rare treat. Emil generally didn't approve of people eating their meals in his kitchen. Diners belong in the dining room seemed to be his motto. But tonight Neal ate in the kitchen, sitting with Emil and June, and shared stories about his time in Hawaii. Emil's primary interest was in the food, and while he had a flair for gourmet cuisine, he didn't turn his nose up at casual fare. Neal had no qualms about admitting his newfound love of banana smoothies.
Once the meal was over, Neal was yawning again. "I won't keep you," June said. "I know you're jet-lagged, but I have to thank you for the Christmas gift. Where did you manage to find a recording of Byron playing his trumpet? 'Old Devil Moon' was always a favorite of ours."
"Remember Cassie Blanca and Samantha Weston? They were so grateful for your help getting their musical careers back on track last summer that they wanted to do something for you. I sent them to the clubs where the two of you used to hang out, and they asked around to find out who would have recordings from those days. Eventually they hit the jackpot."
Monday morning. January 10, 2005.
Hughes joined the morning briefing. He shared news of the arrest of a Chinese magnate who had been commissioning crimes from Honolulu. "Apparently Caffrey and Agent Burke forgot they were on vacation, because they're mentioned prominently in the report. Peter, will you fill the team in on what happened?"
Peter summarized the case, leaving out the references to Viagra. This was the FBI, after all, not a bachelor party – although Neal seemed to be signaling Diana and Jones that there was more to the story. As Peter wrapped up his report, Hughes added that since both Peter and Neal had been working a case, he'd revised their timesheets for last week to show they had been working two days, which meant they got back two vacation days for use later in the year.
"A couple of more announcements," Peter said. "These are in the interest of full disclosure, to make sure I don't repeat some mistakes I made last year. First, many of you know that in 2004 we worked several cases with a private investigation and security firm called Winston-Winslow. It's a partnership that was encouraged by the upper ranks of the Bureau, and they want to see it continue. Some of you also know that over the holidays my brother married Noelle Winslow, who's on the board of directors of Win-Win. We don't want any appearance of a conflict of interest, and for that reason I'm turning over to Agent Jones the role of primary liaison with Win-Win."
Peter paused as Jones accepted congratulations from several team members. It was a high profile role and would be good for his career.
"Related to that announcement, last summer a few of you were concerned that I might be biased in my dealings with Neal. I hope I've alleviated those concerns. The wedding I mentioned may raise some new concerns, however, and I want to address those head-on. Noelle Winslow is related to Neal. Some of you have met her son, Henry Winslow, and know that he's one of Neal's best friends. They often say they're like brothers. The wedding means Henry is now my nephew, and you might say by extension that Neal is like a nephew, too. I'm sure you Harvard grads in the room are familiar with the term nepotism." He sighed. "No, don't raise your hands. My point is, if you have any reason to believe that I'm showing favoritism, or that I'm being too hard on Neal, I want you to let me know. I don't expect it to be an issue, but I do want you to know that you're allowed, and even encouraged, to speak up if you think there's a problem. Got it?" There were nods around the room, and Peter ended the meeting.
###
Neal, Diana, and Jones went to a nearby café for lunch, where he filled in the more risqué aspects of the case he'd helped solve in Hawaii, not to mention the way the entire wedding party had gotten involved. They were still laughing as they left the café to walk back to the office.
"Oh, look," Diana said. "It's snowing."
Normally Neal wasn't a fan of snow, but he was in a mellow mood. There was a beauty to the rapidly accumulating blanket of white covering the city.
"Big change from Hawaii," Jones said.
"I miss the beach," Neal admitted, "but there's no place like home."
A/N: Silbrith suggested the title of Neal's favorite movie, which is a variation on an actual movie: The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer.
Thanks for reading Caffrey Aloha. The next story in this AU is The Dreamer by Silbrith.