Waking on his own terms was by far the better option Neil realized as his eyes slid open peacefully. The brightly painted room was alive with scant rays of sunlight, making it all the easier to welcome the mid-day. Freeing a hand from the sheets to sweep a dense patch of wispy brown hair from his eyes. He looked to his left to see Kristoph wrapped in sheets, still in a deep sleep.

Blinking a few times, he stared up at the ceiling. His mind was close to empty, the only bouncing contents being items such as how long his hair had grown, wondering what the water felt like outside and why in God's name Matt and Juan would attack a police officer.

Part of him had hoped that was a bad dream, some sort of oddly amusing but equally perverse fantasy. He knew it wasn't. He wondered how long it would take for the press to start camping out on their front lawn or at the entrance of their office. He liked cameras just fine in a work setting, but seeing a group of eager-beaver entertainment reporters making a home for themselves in such personal distances was a little much.

Leaning up to make sure the curtains were still drawn, he sighed happily. He felt rested, a good feeling coming off a case in which he had kept a rather famous guitarist on a public indecency charge. He grinned as he ran a hand through his length mane. He had moved away from the slicked back, 1950's look, to a freer flowing, 1970's look. Jake playfully accused him of copying him and having "Farrah hair."

Whatever it was called, he liked it, Kristoph liked it, and it looked good on TV. A win all the way around. His gaze shifted to his cell phone, well aware it would be flooded with texts and voicemails. On a whim, he plucked it off the dresser and read the first text he saw. He laughed slightly at the name. It was from Adrian Andrews, the firm's Public Relations specialist.

French Toast or Waffles? Was the question. He cocked an eyebrow.

"You awake, Kris?" Neil asked. The blonde stirred a little.

"I suppose." He mumbled, sounding more interested in going back to sleep. "God… put your phone away." He deadpanned. Neil shrugged.

"I think Adrian is bringing breakfast over. French Toast or Waffles?" The Texan asked.

"…Pancakes." Kristoph replied, smiling slightly. Neil followed suit.

"Yeah, that does sound good." He drawled, sending the request for pancakes over his iPhone. "Reckon she'll charge us more for the inconvenience? You know those types." Kristoph looked at Neil a little curiously.

"Those types?" He repeated. "Do you mean Ivy League lawyers, women, women lawyers or lesbians?" The blonde inquired, smile a little devious.

"Hmm." Neil pondered. "The first one and…the third one." He decided. Kristoph rolled his eyes as he fished for his square-ish, thinly rimmed glasses. He plucked them off the dresser and gracefully slid them up his nose. "Turn the TV on. We might see stock footage of us." The blonde pointed out. Neil nodded.

Grabbing the remote, the large plasma screen flickered to life. It, of course, was showing footage of Matt and Juan attempting to wrestle Police Chief Gant to the floor. Since the footage could no longer be considered shocking, it was now rather amusing in a perverse sort of way. As he was about to open his mouth, Neil happily shut it when the screen cut to footage of himself and Kristoph during some previous encounter with the press.

"Oh, look how white our teeth are." Neil observed, pleased with his dentists work. "What case you think that was?"

"Umm… judging by the size of my briefcase, it was probably that Dee Vasquez incident." Kristoph guessed. Neil chuckled as he ruffled his blonde bedmate's hair as he rose from the bed. He nearly giggled as he plucked his discarded briefs from the floor. Kristoph rolled his eyes. "God, I'm afraid to even look at my phone." He complained. Indeed, he was afraid to even touch his phone.

"Leave it." Neil drawled. "Probably just a bunch of texts from Klavy." He pointed out. Kristoph shrugged in agreement. "Where's Vongole?" Neil asked, surprised the young puppy wasn't running circles about the room.

"He's staying with Klavier, remember?" Kristoph reminded. Neil nodded as he dropped himself back on the bed. Feeling brave, he began going through all the calls he had received.

"Let's see… Diego, Adrian, Lotta… regular League of Nations seems to be trying to get through to us." The Cowboy quipped.

"Isn't Diego in Rome with Miles?" Kristoph asked.

"Yeah, but he's probably just calling to laugh at us." Neil theorized.

"Miles is out of town…who do you think will prosecute?" Kristoph asked, cleaning his glasses of smudges. Neil shrugged.

"I don't really care to think about it." Neil laughed. Kristoph joined him.

"Thank God Manfred retired." The blonde said. "The man was a little… off."

"Nice term for batshit." Neil partially corrected. "Maybe we'll get lucky and pull Portsman."

"Hey, I like him." Kristoph laughed. "His smile is impeccable." Neil rolled his eyes as he pulled a robe from their closet and shrugged it on.

"Come on, let's see if Adrian has breakfast." Neil suggested, pulling another robe from the closet and tossing it in Kristoph's direction. The blonde stood from there low positioned bed and pulled it on.

Following Neil out of the bedroom, Kristoph yawned as he navigated the stairs.

"I told you having celebrities for clients wouldn't be worth it." The blonde teasingly sniped. Neil ran a hand through his hair.

"Those celebs got us a mansion on the beach, shut your mouth." He drawled. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Gift horse?" Kristoph repeated incredulously. "Most of them do nothing but invite one contretemps after another." He lamented, snapping his hands back for dramatic effect. "Besides, if I wanted to represent people who performed such tedious yes odious act as assaulting policemen, I'd go back to the Public Defender's Office." The platinum blonde further lamented. Neil chuckled a little, amused at the blonde's aversion to their more famous clientele.

Rounding off the staircase and making their way for the kitchen, Neil yawned, still tired.

"Even money Adrian ended up going to Denny's." He theorized out loud.

"Are you joking?" Kristoph replied. "I don't think her pedigree will allow her to go into any restaurant where the entrees cost under $75.00"

"He's right, you know." A higher-toned voice suddenly interjected, causing Neil to spin on his heels. "How did you get in?!" He exclaimed, incredulous. Adrian merely shrugged from her seat at the kitchen table, substituting the gesture as an answer. "And I didn't actually go inside of the Denny's. I got take out." She explained as she adjusted her glasses and giving a fingers only wave towards Kristoph. The blonde blushed and returned it. Neil groaned.

"Oh, for God's sake." He drawled, rolling his eyes. He made his way over to the waiting food on the table. His eyes suddenly lit up. "So, Adrian… how's that lovely Franziska doing?"

"She doesn't know who's going to be prosecuting." Adrian answered, buttering a biscuit.

"How dare you assume I'm trying to exploit your relationship for my gain. I'm insulted." Neil defended.

"Our gain." Kristoph corrected, ever aware. Adrian laughed. It quickly spread. Kristoph finally joined them at the table; partly afraid he might end up with one less finger if it got too close to the hungry Marshall. "You know, it's only a matter of time before Matt probably kills someone." Neil and Adrian shrugged in unison.

"Even if he does," Neil said. "We'll be on TV either way."