Mozzie practically lived at Neal's house from the moment he got back from Italy. Every minute that Neal wasn't at work or painting (and sometimes even when he was painting) they were discussing the risks of going back to New York. Mozzie wanted to delay it as long as possible—let the commotion that they caused with the robbery and then the death die down—while Neal wanted to go right away. He wanted to be there for the gallery opening, and he argued that the risk would be great either way but it would be more likely for someone to uncover the false death after more time had passed.

After one long dinner in which Mozzie, Neal, and Michele all contributed their opinions, it was decided that the trip to New York was worth the risk. Mozzie refused to accompany Neal and Michele, but promised to set everything up to look legitimate. Neal got in contact with June, who graciously offered for him and Michele to stay in his old apartment instead of a hotel.

Neal got in touch with the gallery owner next, and all the preparations were being made for a party when he got there. Apparently the gallery had a small opening already, but paintings were already getting offers.

The last adjustment Neal made before leaving was with the gallery in New York; he decided because it was New York, where he felt most like Neal Caffrey, that he would meet the patrons in a secluded section of the gallery. That way he could make stronger connections with those who admired his work, and he also planned to be sitting in a normal chair for that part. He wanted to be as close to Neal Caffrey as he could, and that meant ditching the wheelchair for at least as long as he met with the strangers who liked his art. He had to admit, it excited him to be going to New York again, but it equally excited him that he would meet new people who wouldn't look at him as disabled. It would be a refreshing experience, to say the least.

Staying under the radar was no longer an option, not when going through an airport in a wheelchair. So Mozzie did the opposite—got first class tickets, special treatment, everything he needed to stand out. No one would second guess his identity.

Before they left for the the airport, Neal took Mozzie aside for a moment.

"Moz, I want to thank you. You got me out of New York when I couldn't stay, and you made it possible to go back when I wanted to."

Mozzie adjusted his glasses before speaking. "It's always my pleasure, mon frére. I just hope I'll see you again."

Neal chuckled. "I'll steer clear of the FBI, don't worry. There's no reason for Peter to go to a gallery, I won't see him."

"And you won't be tempted?" Mozzie asked.

"I'm not Neal Caffrey anymore. I left for a reason, I don't want to know Peter to know why. He doesn't need to know who I am now."

Mozzie nodded. "Good luck, then. You deserve this."

They left it at that, both knowing what they other thought without saying it.

The trip to New York went smoothly. Neal, for one, found the experience far more pleasant than he had on the way to France. This time he was in control of his own actions, and he liked Michele's kisses much more than the impersonal movements of doctors and airport security.

They landed in New York, and per the previous arrangements made, June had a limousine pick them up and take them directly to her mansion.

When Neal saw her, they embraced immediately. Both of their eyes shone a little brighter than before.

"It's so good to see you, Neal," June said.

"You too, June. I didn't think I would ever get to see you again."

"There's always a next time."

Neal smiled. "Mozzie sends his best wishes."

"He should come visit some day. Tell him I have enough wine to satisfy us both."

Neal introduced Michele and June, and they spent the rest of the day reminiscing and enjoying each other's company. When Neal showed Michele where he used to live, taking her up in the small service elevator in the back of the house, she gasped audibly. "Daniel. Wow. This is where you used to live?"

"Fresh out of prison, too. June has been kinder to me than, well, everyone I've ever known. Without her, I don't think I would've lasted too long at the FBI. Probably would've ended back up in prison."

"She's an amazing person," Michele agreed.

"And I'm a lucky guy." He tugged her hand and she knelt down next to him, and they shared a long kiss. "I'm going to sit on the balcony for a bit," Neal decided. He rolled his way over to one of the chairs. "Would you do me a favor?" He quickly transferred to the chair on the deck, and unlocked the brakes on his chair. He pushed it towards her. "Could you put this inside for a minute please?"

Michele stared at him. He had always insisted on being in arm's reach of his chair—it was the only way to give him the independence he so desired. She'd never seen him want to distance himself from the chair. Even when he was frustrated with it, he realized it was his only form of mobility and he kept it close. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Neal said. "I need to be Neal Caffrey for a moment."

She nodded and took the chair, bringing it inside and sitting at the kitchen table. She needed to be close to him, as she knew he'd need it soon. But at the moment, he just seemed to be staring off into the beautiful skyline around him.

Michele turned her attention to the view. It was marvelous, truly one of the most gorgeous sights she'd ever seen. She recognized it from his painting at home—it was exactly like the four canvas spread he'd hung in the living room. The skyline mesmerized her for a moment, before she noticed his shoulders shaking quietly. She turned her attention to the man in the chair—the one she knew as Daniel, but who clearly felt more connected to Neal in New York—and saw that he was crying. She wasn't sure what to do. She'd never seen him cry before, not even when he fell out of his chair once when he was painting. It was a vulnerability he'd never before shown, and one she wasn't sure she should be seeing.

But that didn't stop the fact that it was happening in front of her eyes. It seemed, back in New York City, Daniel was reminded of everything he'd lost as Neal. Michele felt an intense wave of guilt; she pushed him into coming back in the first place, and she hated seeing him in so much pain. She heard a choked sob and she had to do everything she could not to run to him. But this was his moment, and she recognized this was something he had to do alone.

As Michele watched, his shoulders stopped shaking, the sounds of crying went away, and he wiped his hands over his face and through his hair. He gazed out at the skyline again, as if drinking it in, before turning his upper body around. Michele saw him wave her over, and she brought the chair with her to join him. He transferred in a smooth motion, and led her inside to the kitchen. The only sign of the man who had broken down a minute earlier was slightly red-rimmed eyes, which he dismissed with a wide smile.