She chuckles. "Wouldn't dream of serving anything before eleven. Breakfast is when you make it."

He knows she has no idea that it's been a couple of months for him, but he can't resist hugging her one more time before they go upstairs. She returns the embrace warmly, though there's a little worry on her face when she lets go.

When they get to Neal's apartment, it's very, very much like his space on the Barge. Almost identical, in fact, except that the veranda isn't backed by a painted cityscape. It's backed by the real thing.

Neal gestures at the space as he closes and then locks the door behind them. "Welcome to the original. Accept no substitutions. Or forgeries."