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“Let me see it.”
Neal smirked and lifted his pant leg to reveal the government-issued GPS tracking anklet that would live there for the next four years.
“You understand how this works?”
Neal began a slow, steady walk to Peter’s car. “Yeah, I’m being released into the custody of the FBI under your supervision. I let this thing chafe my leg. Anything I’m missing?”
Peter was relaxed coolly against the hood of his car, but his no-nonsense demeanor was visible in the stern look in his eyes. “Yeah. If you run and I catch you, which you know I will, you’re not back here for four years. You’re back here for good.”
The anxious look in Neal’s eyes when he nodded made Peter feel like he was truly listening, and would comply. Neal Caffrey was as untrustworthy as they come, but something in his current demeanor made Peter feel like Neal would do anything to stay out of prison, even follow the rules, which was apparently a strenuous task for a guy like Caffrey.
◈
Neal’s work-release, albeit chaotic, seemed to be going off without a hitch. In the last two months, Peter’s closure rate had risen to the low nineties and they were even becoming good friends. There was still a mutual cautiousness between Neal and Peter, but they were able to breathe easier as time went on and revealed that they actually liked each other’s company. Of course, this didn’t mean Peter wasn’t constantly on high alert for even an inkling of suspicious behavior.
It was nearing the end of the day, and the office buzzed with the quiet energy of agents pretending to finish reports they’d barely started. Peter sat at his desk, flipping through a case file, when a familiar voice floated through the doorway.
Neal stood there, flashing his usual half-smirk. He’d grown comfortable in the office, too comfortable by Peter’s standards—but even he had to admit, it was… nice.
“I’m going on a coffee run. Want anything?”
Peter didn’t look up. “Black.”
Neal sighed dramatically. “Thrilling, Peter. I’ll be back.”
Neal returned fifteen minutes later, balancing two coffees and a napkin scrawled with a phone number and a winking face.
Peter took his cup and raised an eyebrow. “Tell me you didn’t flirt with the barista again.”
Neal shrugged. “She liked my anklet. Said it made me look dangerous.”
Peter shook his head, hiding the laugh behind a sip. “You’re unbelievable.”
As the sun dipped low behind the skyline, casting long shadows across the office floor, Peter caught himself thinking about how different things had become. Two months ago, he’d been sure Neal would bolt at the first opportunity. With each passing week, and each outstanding performance from Neal, he was proven wrong. Something felt off, though. If he knew Neal, and he did, better than anyone, he knew that Caffrey would never be strapped down, and especially not by the Feds.
Peter had spent countless hours looking for any evidence of some long-con that required Neal to be so… amenable. So cooperative. And yet, nothing. No unexplained phone calls, no missing art, no sketchy meetings in forgotten alleys. From an outside perspective, Neal Caffrey was a changed man who was ungrudgingly serving out his time with the FBI. Peter wanted to accept it for what it was, especially because he’d come to like Neal, but the voice in the back of his head got louder every day, telling him that Neal was hiding something.
◈
It was a Thursday, one month later, when the rhythm broke.
Neal was late.
Peter checked his watch once, then again, his gut tightening by the second. Still no Neal.
By 9:10am, Peter was suspicious. “Jones, pull up Caffrey’s tracking data.”
Jones was quick to meet the request. “His anklet is still pinging from his apartment.”
Peter didn’t respond. He was already grabbing his coat.
Due to the rainy weather and rush-hour traffic, it took Peter forty-five minutes to arrive at Riverside Drive. In those forty-five minutes, there was still no communication from Neal, which made Peter’s stomach churn.
Even though Peter and Neal had become quite close and Peter had picked him up from June’s house often in the last three months, Peter had yet to actually go inside Neal’s apartment. However, with the complete lack of communication from his CI, he figured he had no choice but to head up the multiple flights of stairs to Neal’s door.
Peter knocked once. No answer. He knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.
“Neal!” he called, voice echoing through the hallway. “You’ve got ten seconds before I let myself in.”
No response.
Nine and a half seconds later, Peter jimmied the lock—ironically, using a trick Neal had taught him—and stepped inside.
What he saw stopped him cold.
Neal sat in the middle of the room—barefoot, disheveled, wearing a wrinkled white shirt half-buttoned and lopsided, like he’d dressed in a hurry or with one hand. He was crouched on the floor, holding a small boy in his lap—three, maybe four years old—with a mop of chestnut curls and sleepy eyes that blinked up at Peter curiously over the rim of a sippy cup.
Both of them froze.
The boy leaned closer to Neal, weary of the new stranger in the apartment.
Peter just stood in the doorway, dripping rain and disbelief.
Neal stood slowly, cradling the boy close as if shielding him from Peter’s judgment, or maybe just the truth.
“I can explain,” Neal said, his voice low, careful.
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You better.”
The boy tightened his grip around Neal’s neck, and Neal instinctively shifted his weight to sway gently, comfortingly. “His name’s Leo,” he murmured, then added, “He’s mine.”
Peter took a step forward, rain pooling on the hardwood beneath him. “Since when?”
“Since the day he was born.” Neal met Peter’s eyes, not flinching.
The new information made Peter feel unsteady on his feet, and he went to sit down at the dining room table. He rested his head in his hands, trying to wrap his head around how he could have missed something of this magnitude. Where the hell was this baby while I was chasing Neal all over the world? Where was he while Neal was in prison? Where is his mother? Why is there absolutely no record of Neal Caffrey having a child?
He lifted his head slowly, watching as Neal gently placed Leo on the couch, tucking a blanket around him. The boy leaned into the cushions, still gripping his sippy cup, a thumb making its way to his mouth. He didn’t seem afraid anymore—just tired. Trusting.
“Mozzie helped me while I was in prison,” Neal said quietly, like he’d read Peter’s thoughts.
“This is why you begged me for your deal.”
Neal sat across from Peter at the table, looking directly into his eyes, wanting to make sure his next words were fully comprehended. “You have to understand, Peter. I couldn’t miss four years of his life. It would’ve killed me.”
Peter sighed and waited a moment before speaking again.
“You are going to fill me in on every detail that I’m missing. Right now.”
Neal nodded slowly, his fingers threading together on the table like he needed something to hold onto. “He was born in a cabin in Kentucky,” Neal continued. “Middle of winter. We had a midwife named Gretchen. Mozzie found her through some weird underground network of birth doulas and anti-vaxxers.”
Peter blinked. “That sentence gave me a headache.”
“Yeah, well. Welcome to my life,” Neal said with a half-hearted chuckle. “After he was born, we moved constantly. You were on my trail and we couldn’t sit still anywhere for too long. Leo never had a birth certificate. No social. No records. To the world, he doesn’t exist.”
Peter’s brows knit. “So you just… what? Raised him off-grid?”
“Yes.” Neal stared down at the grain of the table, fingers tracing invisible lines. “There was no way I could go to any government building and file for a birth certificate with the Feds so close.”
Peter didn’t speak. There was one question left unanswered. His silence and expectant look told Neal that he needed that part of the story, now.
Neal swallowed, mentally preparing himself. “You remember Kate Moreau?”
“Your old girlfriend before prison?” Peter said, arching an eyebrow. “I’m familiar.”
Neal gave a sad smile, one that barely made it to his eyes. “She’s Leo’s mother.”
Peter’s face didn’t change much, but Neal could see the shift in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, of pieces clicking together. “You and Kate had a kid while you were on the run?”
Neal nodded. “She told me on a rooftop in Italy,” Neal said quietly. “I asked her why she wasn’t drinking the wine I’d poured her, and she just looked at me with this expression. She said, ‘I think I’m pregnant.’ And then just… smiled, like she’d already decided everything would be okay.”
He glanced over at Leo, his voice softening more. “She was radiant after that. Like the news rewired her, lit her up from the inside.”
Peter stayed silent, watching him closely.
“Kate didn’t panic. Not once. She mapped out escape routes and baby names with the same calm certainty,” Neal went on. “She read every pregnancy book. She learned how to deliver a baby just in case we couldn’t get help in time. And when he finally came, I’d never seen her so happy. So in her element.”
Peter felt something twist behind his ribs.
“She was a natural, Peter. Gentle, patient—God, she was the best. I remember she would sing to him in French, wrap him in scarves she stitched by hand. Even when we were exhausted, constantly moving—she had this way of turning every safehouse into a home.”
Peter’s eyes softened. “What happened to her?”
Neal leaned back slightly, but there was no ease in it—just the quiet recoil of someone revisiting a wound too old to bleed, but too deep to heal.
“We were trying to leave the country,” he said slowly, carefully. “FBI was closing in. Mozzie had secured a private jet—it was a last-ditch effort.”
He paused, breathing through his nose like the memory hurt him physically.
“Kate boarded first. I was ten feet behind her.” His voice thinned. “The second her foot hit the stairs… the whole plane went up. Like it had been waiting for her.”
Peter sat frozen, his hands now clenched together. “It was rigged?”
Neal nodded. “Yeah. Someone wanted her dead. Or maybe me. Maybe both of us. I still don’t know. Could’ve been someone from one of the cons we ran overseas. Could’ve been someone with a grudge in the States, or even an old friend turned foe. All I know is… she was gone in seconds.”
The room fell painfully quiet.
“I tried to run into the fire, but Mozzie held me back. I fought him until I couldn’t stand. Until I couldn’t breathe.” Neal’s hands were shaking now, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. “You were going to start a new life.”
“We were so close,” Neal whispered, eyes glistening. “One more day and she would’ve made it out. We had names picked, plans to build a life somewhere where no one knew our faces.”
He looked toward the couch again, where Leo slept.
“I’ve made a lot of bad choices. Lied more times than I can count. But Leo? He is the one thing I’ve done right. Everything in my life has been smoke and mirrors, Peter. Every win came with a lie. Except Leo. He’s the only thing that’s real.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I look at him, and I see her. Her eyes, her laugh—God, he has her laugh,” Neal sniffles wetly. “And every time I hear it, it feels like she’s still here, like I get one more second.”
Peter didn’t speak—he just sat there, watching Neal come apart in front of him. It wasn’t like him. Neal Caffrey didn’t unravel—he smoothed over, he deflected, he charmed. But now? He was stripped down to something vulnerable and honest, and it hit Peter like a punch to the chest.
“I thought I was going to die that day, too,” Neal said, haunted. “Not from the blast. From the fact that I still had to keep moving. I couldn’t even grieve. I had a baby strapped to my chest and the FBI breathing down my neck.”
Peter’s gut twisted. “And Mozzie?”
“Mozzie took us underground. Built us a new life. He helped make sure Leo had clothes, food, stories at bedtime. He’s been the best godfather a kid could have.”
“Let me guess, Haversham watches little buddy while you solve crimes with me?” Peter smirked.
Neal laughed, a real laugh. “Yeah. Mozzie calls it ‘imparting the great truths of the universe’ on him, but really, it’s juice boxes and cartoon reruns.”
Peter chuckled softly, then spared another glance at the sleeping boy on the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me, Neal?”
Neal’s smile faded. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes settling on the floor like the answer might be hidden in the floorboards.
“Because I didn’t know if I could trust you with him,” he said finally, the words low and cautious. “Not just because you’re FBI, but because you’re you. You follow rules. You believe in them. And Leo’s whole existence is the opposite of that.”
Peter didn’t respond right away. His jaw tightened, but not in anger—just in consideration of what Neal had said.
“I get it,” he said quietly. “You thought I’d turn him in. File reports.”
Neal nodded. “You would’ve done your job. And your job… would’ve destroyed the only good thing I’ve ever had.”
Silence settled again. Leo turned in his sleep and let out a soft sigh, the kind kids make when they know they’re safe.
Peter crossed his arms and looked at Neal. “I would’ve protected him.”
Neal met his gaze. “I see that now.”
“There’s more we need to discuss, but I’m going to let this be enough for now,” Peter said, his gaze lingering on Neal. “So, why were you late today anyway?”
“Moz has the flu and couldn’t watch Leo today. I was going to text you but this morning was… hectic.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Hectic, huh? You look like you got dressed in the dark.”
Neal sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Leo likes his routines, and when Mozzie didn’t show, the whole morning went sideways. Took a while to calm him down.”
Peter opened his mouth to reply, but a soft rustling on the couch drew both their eyes.
Leo stirred beneath the blanket, his curls sticking up at odd angles. He blinked groggily, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand, the sippy cup still clutched in the other like a prized possession.
“Daddy?” he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.
Neal was at his side in an instant. “Hey, bud,” he said gently, crouching down. “You’re okay. Just fell asleep for a bit.”
Leo’s eyes drifted past Neal and landed on Peter. He tensed slightly, squinting in curiosity. “Who’s that?”
Peter got up and stepped forward, offering a small wave. “Hi, Leo. I’m Peter. I work with your dad.”
Leo didn’t say anything at first. He leaned in toward Neal, whispering, “Is he one of the good guys?”
Neal smiled, caught somewhere between pride and heartbreak. “Yeah, baby. He’s one of the best.”
Leo nodded slowly, rubbing his eyes again as he leaned into Neal’s side. “Are you gonna stay today, Daddy?”
Neal sat down on the couch and pulled his son into his lap. “Yeah, bud. No work for me today. Just us.”
Neal gently brushed his hand over Leo’s curls as the little boy settled more comfortably against his chest. Leo’s sleepy gaze flickered back toward Peter, who was standing a few feet away, watching the scene with a soft expression. Leo’s eyes stayed on Peter for a moment longer, staring in that unashamed way kids do. Then, he held out his sippy cup.
Peter blinked. “Is that for me?”
Leo nodded. “You can have a sip. It’s apple juice. But only a little. There’s not a lot left.”
Neal chuckled. With mock seriousness, Peter stepped forward and accepted the cup with both hands, like it was a sacred object. “I’ll treat it with the respect it deserves.”
He pretended to sip, made a satisfied “ahh” sound, then handed it back. Leo beamed.
Neal watched the exchange with something soft in his eyes. “He likes you.”
“Yeah? That makes one of you,” Peter joked.
Neal grinned, the tension between them easing into something more lived-in.
“He’s a good kid,” Peter said quietly, almost to himself.
Neal nodded, brushing a hand over Leo’s back in slow, soothing circles. “Are you… going to report this?”
Peter sighed. “He needs to exist on paper, Neal. For his own benefit. But… I’m not going to do anything about it right now. But if you ever lie to me again—”
Neal couldn’t hold his response. “I won’t. I swear to you, Peter.”
Maybe it was foolish, but Peter believed him. “Good. I won’t report it, Neal, but we will have to revisit this and find a way to get him some documents.”
Neal let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His hand stilled for a moment on Leo’s back, then resumed its rhythm, gentler now. “Thank you,” he said, and it wasn’t slick or charming—it was raw, earnest.
Peter nodded once. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still going to be a pain in your ass about this. Legal name. School. Healthcare. There’s a lot to figure out.”
“I know,” Neal said, glancing down at Leo with a soft smile. “But I’ve got help now, right?”
Peter tilted his head, lips curving just slightly. “Yeah. You do.”
They sat quietly for a moment. The heavy rain outside had passed, leaving only the patter of a soft drizzle against the windows. Leo shifted, murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep, and Peter gave one last look at the boy who had unraveled so many of Neal’s secrets in a single morning.
“Take the day,” he said, turning toward the door. “Hell, take tomorrow. We’ll figure out the rest Monday.”
Neal looked up, surprised by the softness in Peter’s tone. “You sure?”
“Just don’t make me regret it.”
“You won’t,” Neal said, voice steady.
Peter gave a short nod, then slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind him with a quiet click.
Inside, Neal leaned back into the couch, Leo warm and breathing softly against him. For once, there were no alarms in his head, no backup plans waiting in the wings. Just the steady, unfamiliar sense that maybe he didn’t have to run anymore.
◈
It took no time at all for Peter and Elizabeth to fall in love with Leo. Neal would bring him over to the Burkes’ multiple times a week, sometimes because he and Peter were working on a case, but sometimes just because Leo liked to visit.
Leo was also adored at the Bureau. Every Friday, if their current case wasn’t too intense, Neal would bring Leo to work with him. Fridays were usually pretty slow in the office, and all the agents loved having Leo around to brighten up the atmosphere. The agents, who normally spent their days buried in paperwork and high-stakes investigations, found themselves eagerly taking turns showing Leo the ropes.
It was on one of those Fridays, four months later, that Neal found himself walking up the familiar steps to Peter’s house, Leo trotting happily behind him.
Elizabeth opened the door before Neal could knock, like she’d been waiting. Her smile was warm, easy—like someone who knew she was about to change a life.
“Hey, you two,” she said, stepping aside to let them in. “Dinner’s just about ready.”
Leo took off like a shot toward Satchmo, who greeted him like a long-lost pack member. Neal followed more slowly, pausing only when Peter emerged from the kitchen, looking a little too excited.
“Neal, can we sit for a second?”
Neal tilted his head, instinctively wary. “That’s never a comforting question coming from an FBI agent, Peter.”
Peter gave a tight-lipped smile. “C’mon, sit.”
Neal obliged, taking his usual seat on the Burkes’ couch while Peter sat across from him, elbows on his knees. Elizabeth hovered nearby, not anxious—just ready.
“It took me longer than I expected, but I was able to get something for you.” Peter pulled out an envelope from behind him and handed it to Neal.
Reluctantly, Neal opened the envelope and pulled out the sheet inside. When he laid his eyes on the document, his breath caught in his throat.
Certificate of Live Birth
Child’s Name: Leo James Caffrey
Mother: Katherine Jane Moreau
Father: Neal George Caffrey
Birthplace: Pikeville, Kentucky
Date of Birth: January 12th, 2006
“Is this—?” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, eyes flicking up to Peter and Elizabeth. “How?”
“I pulled some strings. Leo is now officially documented, and his Social Security card will be mailed to you within thirty days.”
“I’m not… in trouble? What about my work-release?” Neal had to exhaust every possible negative scenario before he could let himself feel excited.
“You’re not in trouble, Neal. It’s technically illegal to not register a child’s birth in the state of Kentucky, but I’ve called in a few favors, and they’re willing to let it slide due to your… predicament at the time. Your work-release is still intact, and I made sure that you were able to have custody of Leo while serving out your sentence with me. I triple checked every box, Neal. This is good news.”
Neal stared down at the paper in his hands, and felt tears well up in his eyes with relief. He blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears back before they could fall, but one slipped down anyway. He didn’t bother brushing it away.
“Thank you, Peter. You have no idea what this means to me.”
“I think I do, buddy.” He gave Neal’s shoulder a squeeze, his eyes filled with a soft understanding.
Suddenly, Leo came strolling into the living room and headed towards Neal, quickly noticing the stray tears on his father’s cheeks. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, baby. These are happy tears; Peter just gave me a gift that reminded me of the day you were born.” Neal softly caressed Leo’s right cheek. “Want to see it?”
Leo nodded as Neal showed him the birth certificate. “This paper tells the government when and where you were born and who your mommy and daddy are,” Neal explained gently. “See? Here’s Daddy’s name,” he said, pointing to his own with a small smile. Then, his fingers hovered for a moment before landing on the next line. “And here’s Mommy’s name,” he added softly, his voice catching slightly as he traced the letters of Kate’s name with trembling hands.
“The one who used to sing to me?” Leo asked curiously.
Neal smiled, a little surprised, a little heartbroken. “Yeah, bud. She had the most beautiful voice. You always quieted down when she sang. Even Uncle Mozzie couldn’t believe it.”
Leo leaned his head against Neal’s shoulder, thoughtful. “I think I remember her songs in my dreams sometimes.”
Neal swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the top of Leo’s head. “That’s because love like that doesn’t disappear. It stays with you, even when you’re too little to remember everything.”
A few feet away, Peter and Elizabeth exchanged a glance—one of those silent, soft ones that said everything without words.
The paper in Neal’s hands was just ink and fibers, but in that moment, it felt like a promise—one that had been long overdue.