Disclaimer: I don't own anything…

Carl Hanratty glanced over at the sleeping kid slouched in the coach airplane seat. Yeah, even he had to admit that Frank Abagnale Jr. looked young and innocent when he slept. The kid honestly did not look like someone who could or even did steal more than one million dollars in checks.

The kid stirred and started to wake as the plane circled New York City.

"Morning, kid" Carl said quietly.

"What time is it?" Frank groaned softly.

"Morning. How're you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess" Frank replied, "Carl when do I get to call my dad?"

This question hit Hanratty and he almost felt sick. Slowly he unclipped his seat belt and shifted over, trying to avoid looking at Frank.

"Frank, your father's dead. He fell down some steps at Grand Central Terminal trying to catch a train and he broke his neck. I'm sorry Frank, I didn't want to be the one to tell you" Carl finally met Frank's pain-filled eyes.

"Why? Why'd you lie to me?" Frank demanded angrily, attracting the attention of Fox and Amdursky, who were sitting across the aisle.

"Carl, I think I'm gonna be sick."

Carl followed the kid, only to have the bathroom door violently slammed in his face. He stood outside patiently waiting, while the kid sobbed.

He knew it was stupid to lie to a conman.

Hours later, driving to Frank's mother's house, Carl sickeningly remembered how vulnerable and young Frank had looked. He was reminded of another time, not so long ago, when Frank had looked that vulnerable.

Carl slowly sank into the rickety chair in the Perpignan prison infirmary. He was honestly surprised this prison even had an infirmary. Looking around, it was obvious it hadn't been used in awhile. It had also taken awhile to convince the guards that a certain conman actually needed medical attention.

That certain conman was now tossing and turning feverishly on the narrow infirmary cot, tangling the thin blanket around his thrashing body. Carl winced inwardly at the condition of the kid. He knew French prisons were brutal, but this was just…

It must have been sometime around midnight when Frank finally woke up, somewhat lucid.

"Carl?" he mumbled, as his eyes flickered open.

"Yeah, kid?" Carl felt an unusual tightness in his throat as he realized that the first person Frank had asked for was him.

Frank turned towards Carl " 'm cold," he whimpered. His eyes were shiny with fever, and he struggled to pull the thin blanket higher up against his shoulder.

Carl sighed. He had already tried asking the guards for another blanket, but of course they had refused. He pulled off his coat and draped it over Frank. Frank smiled weakly and pulled the coat up to his shoulders.

"Thanks" he whispered. Carl swallowed hard, he knew Frank was so sick that he wouldn't remember this brief moment. For a second Carl almost wished he would.

"Just get some sleep," Carl said, trying (and failing) to be indifferent. As much as he tried to pretend he didn't care, he really did care about Frank.

"Don't go" Frank whispered exhaustedly, desperately trying to keep his eyes open.

"I'm not going anywhere kid" Carl reassured, but Frank was already asleep.

The Christmas after Frank was released from prison, Carl found a carefully folded and worn coat on his desk and a handwritten note tucked into a pocket.

Dear Carl,

Thanks so much. Too bad they threw it out.

Frank