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Neal didn’t speak at Ellen's funeral.
Peter was able to convince the powers that be to allow him to attend as long as he had an escort, but he didn’t speak.
He was listed as her next of kin. She was the closest thing to family he had. All through his childhood, she had been the one looking out for him when his mother couldn’t—or wouldn’t. She had been the one to finally tell him the truth. She had been the one who was always there for him, looking out for him as a child, willing to help as an adult, the line always open if he wanted it. She was the one who’d noticed when he was being neglected, when he was hurting, the one who did something about it.
And he didn’t even speak at her funeral.
But who was that for? Neal had spent his life constantly putting on an act for others, whether as part of a con or just to appease those around him, and as far as he could see, that was all speaking at the funeral would be. Another performance, put on for the benefit of the other attendees, when what he felt, what he had to say about her, was really none of their business. He was already dancing for the FBI, and he was not in the mood to add another task to his list.
But, though he might not owe it to the other attendees, he owed it to Ellen. He owed Ellen a lot, more than he could ever repay. This was one thing, one small thing, one debt he could fulfill.
And he couldn’t—no, didn’t—even bring himself to do that.
Later, alone in his apartment, he had his own memorial, and he gave a speech for the only person who mattered: Ellen, represented by a portrait Neal had drawn after she told him the Marshals would be moving her.
It was meant to be a parting gift.
He supposed it kind of was.
“I’m sorry, Ellen. I am so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I repaid you for everything you’ve done for me by dragging you into my mess, I’m sorry for exposing you, I’m sorry I didn’t keep in contact over the years like I should have, I‘m sorry for all the stress I’ve caused you throughout my life and especially lately.
“Thank you for being there. Thank you for noticing the things I tried to hide, thank you for caring enough to do something about them, thank you for never turning your back on me even when I gave you every reason to, even with all the trouble I caused. Thank you for telling me the truth. Thank you for always trying to do what was best for me, even when I couldn’t see it.
“I know it’s pointless to dwell on what is and isn’t fair, and for me, of all people, to talk about fairness, but it isn’t—we just—” He took a slow, deep breath, and the exhale came out shaky despite his best efforts at stability. When he continued speaking, his voice was quiet and tight, lacking the strength to keep his voice steady if he went any louder.
“We had just started connecting again. After all these years, after everything, we were just starting to get somewhere. And again, I know it’s pointless, I know it’s hypocritical, but damn it, it’s not fair.”
For a minute, he just stood there, staring at the drawing, letting “it’s not fair” spin around in his brain. And, just as pointless as dwelling on fairness was dwelling on “should haves,” but…
He should have been there.
It should have been him. He was the one dredging up the past, he was the one with his father’s blood in his veins, he was the one who’d followed in his footsteps.
He should have been there.
Finally, he concluded, “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
With that and too-full glass—a glass which would soon be abandoned in favor of drinking straight from the bottle, and a bottle which would soon be empty—he toasted the ghost of the woman who raised him and let the gaping void that was grief swallow him whole.