Neal had one of the most wonderful mornings of his life. He stood, still in his pajama pants, making breakfast for a beautiful, intelligent woman who had ended up in his bed the night before.

He turned his head as he heard Sara move.

"Morning." He placed the two plates with bread and egg on the table. She got out of bed and pulled one of his shirts on. "Aren't you a little underdressed?" he asked and put one of his hats on her head. "Oh, here we go."

"Is that better?" she giggled as he corrected the brim to get the right look.

"Perfect." They kissed. "You know, one of the perks of living in New York City is the casual exhibitionism." He gestured to the view and the many windows that faced them far away.

"Oh, are the neighbors complaining?"

"Not yet, but the sale of binoculars has gone up since you started coming over."

"Yeah? Perhaps after we eat, we can raise a few window shades."

"All right."

They kissed again.

Then there was a knock on the door.

"Mozzie?" Sara asked.

"Oh, lately, he's been knocking in iambic pentameter."

"Or not at all."

"Neal!"

"Peter," Neal concluded.

"Really glad I dressed for company." Sara wriggled out of his arms.

"Yeah." She took her things and disappeared into the back room.

Neal opened the door.

"Yeah?"

"Locked door?" Peter asked, pointing at the note by the handle. As there was no lock and both of them had wanted some sort of safe privacy, that had been Neal's solution.

"There's a lot of crime in this city."

"So I've heard. You're gonna love this," Peter said, passing him and walking inside without a thought about what that note might mean. Neal took the note down. "There's this con man running around New York who…" Peter paused, staring at the table. "You made breakfast."

"Am I not allowed?" Neal answered, arms crossed, disturbed by his handler's constant clumsiness on these matters.

"Breakfast for two. Assuming that second plate isn't for me."

"Brilliant. You want to impress me with any more of your detective skill?"

Peter smiled. He must have heard the irony but excepting the challenge nevertheless.

"All right."

"Why did I ask?" Neal mumbled.

"Ooh. Two fresh head imprints on the pillows. Champagne ice bucket at the foot of the bed. Romance is in the air." Peter was grinning like a teenager. Then Peter took a step forward and hit something with his foot. He stared at it.

"That's…"

"Yeah," Neal agreed. Maybe not something he wanted to connect with romance.

"Ooh. And this detective has decided to stop detecting. Let's see." Peter brought out a pen and picked up a pair of handcuffs. "Department issue?"

"Um, I'm s- those are mine," Sara said, now dressed, "I'm so..." She grabbed them from Peter's pen. "Uh... Neal's teaching me how to pick them. It's our version of sudoku in the afternoon."

"Yeah," Neal nodded.

"Uh-huh," Peter nodded. "Morning, Sara."

"Good morning. And before you ask, I do not have a drawer here or a toothbrush."

"Did I ask?"

"We're in that awkward, undefined stage where, yes, we've been on a few dates, but, really, what's that mean?"

"What does it all mean?" Of course, Peter must ask.

"It means we're taking things one day at a time," Neal said.

"That's what I said," Sara added.

"More or less."

"Mostly more," Peter said. His phone pinged. He took it out. "Ah. Our next case awaits."

It was Sunday, but Neal knew that meant nothing in his situation.

"Well, you two have fun," Sara said, moving to leave.

"No, no," Neal tried to stop her. He had made her breakfast!

"Oh, no, no, no, no! You don't have to—" Peter said as well, but she was already through the door.

"It's... bye."

"Bye."

"Bye, Sara!"

Neal glared at Peter, to no avail. And he did not want to say something, giving Peter even more material to tease him with. He knew he was a prison inmate, a convicted felon, and all that. No need to get it rubbed into his face. Again.

"You should get dressed," his handler said. Then his eyes fell on the plate. "I'm gonna eat."

"Yeah, please."

"Hurry up!"

"You can have both."

Peter had tried to call Neal. He had done so already last night without getting an answer. Now, the kid's anklet was where it was supposed to be, and then it was likely Neal was at the same place. He had just wanted to warn the kid that it would be working the next day, but hence the kid did not answer, he had to go there without a heads-up.

He stared at the sign on the door. It said 'Locked'. Probably a note to Mozzie, who had a habit of not respecting people's home boundaries.

He knocked.

There was silence on the other side. Peter checked the app on his phone. Neal should be on the other side of that door. He knocked again.

"Neal!"

Now he heard movement and the kid opened the door, as he so often did, trying to hide what was behind his back.

"Yeah?"

"Locked door?" He pointed at the sign.

"There's a lot of crime in this city."

"So I've heard." He ignored the kid's pose to keep him out. It was so predictable that he did so, not to make it obvious when he had something to hide. "You're gonna love this. There's this con man running around New York who…" Peter paused, staring at something he had not expected. "You made breakfast."

"Am I not allowed?" Neal's pose, arms crossed, the irony in his voice.

"Breakfast for two," he clarified. So the kid had wanted to keep him out this time. "Assuming that second plate isn't for me."

"Brilliant. You want to impress me with any more of your detective skill?"

He did not blame Neal for being upset with him bargain in, but that slip of a challenge package in irony, he could not let it go.

"All right."

"Why did I ask?"

Too late. Peter looked towards the bed.

"Ooh. Two fresh head imprints on the pillows. Champagne ice bucket at the foot of the bed. Romance is in the air." That meant that Kate's ghost was finally leaving the kid, at last. That the kid was getting into a normal, settled life even, maybe. His foot hit something. He looked down. 'Normal' was probably never a word that would fit Neal Caffrey.

"That's…" he started.

"Yeah."

Peter took out a pen.

"And this detective has decided to stop detecting. Let's see." He bent down and fished up the cuffs as if they were evidence. "Department issue?"

"Um, I'm s—" A woman's voice. Peter's eyes trailed to find Sara in the doorway to the back room. "Those are mine. I'm so..." She was so embarrassed when she grabbed them from Peter's pen. "Uh... Neal's teaching me how to pick them. It's our version of sudoku in the afternoon."

"Yeah," Neal said, still keeping his pose.

Considering how easy cuffs were to pick, it must have been a very short foreplay, Peter thought and pushed that thought aside.

"Uh-huh," Peter nodded. "Morning, Sara."

"Good morning. And before you ask, I do not have a drawer here, or a toothbrush."

"Did I ask?" Peter asked. It was none of his business.

"We're in that awkward, undefined stage where, yes, we've been on a few dates, but, really, what's that mean?" Sara blurted to Peter, who could feel nothing but amused and relieved about the whole situation. Sara was still in Neal's life!

"What does it all mean?" Peter wanted to know.

"It means we're taking things one day at a time," the kid answered.

"That's what I said," Sara said.

"More or less."

"Mostly more," Peter added. Though, in his experience, those type of explanations come when you were afraid that someone would draw a conclusion that you were not ready too draw yourself just yet, but wanted to.

His phone pinged, and he read the message.

"Ah. Our next case awaits."

"Well, you two have fun," Sara said. Peter

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" Peter did not want to rob her of the kid's efforts. "You don't have to—"

"It's..." she said in the doorway. "Bye."

"Bye."

"Bye, Sara!"

They were alone. He could see that the kid was not happy. But she would return. In the long run, this would not matter. If it lasted, Neal and Sara would have many breakfasts together. And as it were, his pet convict was not in a situation where he could choose his working hours.

He looked at the kid's pajama pants and A-shirt.

"You should get dressed," he said. The kid nodded. "I'm gonna eat." A pity to let it be wasted. And from what he had heard, Neal knew how to cook.

"Yeah, please."

"Hurry up!"

"You can have both."

"You should eat," Peter said, sounding like a father.

"No offense, it's not your face I wanted across the table a Sunday morning."

Peter could accept that.

"At least I don't take the toy from the cereals."

The kid returned, putting his tie on.

"Don't tell me you're still crossed at me for that one."

"No," Peter chuckled. "I'm glad the toy came to some use for once. And I must admit, this tastes better than cereals."

"You said we were in a hurry?"