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Chapter Text

Gotham City… Seven years ago…

"Really, Grandfather? Ninja?" The distaste in Robin's voice was so thick you could cut it with a knife. "I'm insulted." If the ten-year old boy said anything more over the radio, Batman didn't hear it. As soon as the last assassin had been put down, he'd taken a running leap off the rooftop and was flying through the cityscape as fast as was humanly possible. He wasn't worried about his partner. The man behind the mask knew all too well that the boy could look after himself. No, Batman was worried about another young man; someone who was quite possibly in well over his head.

He was right to be worried.

On the other side of the business district, Red Robin may have won the deadly serious, real life chess game between himself and Ra's Al Ghul, but he had no time to savor his victory. He was currently locked in sword-to-staff combat with the practically immortal man, and in this contest of physical prowess, there was no contest. Red Robin was losing, and losing badly. As he leaned against the glass window of the high rise building they were fighting in, the young man took a quick mental stock of his situation.

"Fractured cheekbone… Dislocated shoulder… Mid-grade concussion… Gash across my abdomen that would be more serious if it weren't for the Kevlar lining that took the brunt of the attack…"

He swallowed hard as he struggled to stay upright, forcing a smug grin onto his lips, trying to buy himself a little more time. Just another minute or two and Batman was sure to be there. His eldest brother would always be there for him.

"Even if you kill me now," Red Robin said with as much confidence as he had the strength to exude. "I've made sure you've lost, Ra's. I saved the people he loved. I saved everything he worked so hard to build. No compromises."

Ra's glared at his young opponent with all the venom of an angry cobra. "Well done, Detective," he finally spat out, the rare praise sounding like a vile curse on his lips. "Although, technically speaking, you have not saved everyone he loved." The corners of his mouth pulled into a grim sneer.

Before he could come back with any sort of retort, Red Robin felt a sudden sharp pain his neck. A blinding panic rose up as he felt his body going numb, but his mind remained acutely aware. He tried lunge for Ra's, but the old man just casually stepped out of the way, letting his defeated opponent fall limply to the floor. Ra's loomed over Red Robin with confidence.

"Timothy, Timothy, Timothy," he chided as he sheathed his sword. "You may have saved his other loved ones, but you, more than most, know how deeply it wounds your father whenever he loses one of his sons."

Less than a minute later, a bat-like form shattered the window that Red Robin had been leaning against earlier.

"Robin!" Batman shouted, looking around the room and expecting an attack from every shadow it possessed. However, no assault came. His instincts told him no one was there, but that knowledge was no comfort. "Robin? Robin, where are you?" He quickly took in the appearance of the room. All signs pointed to the fact that a violent duel involving bladed weapons had just taken place here. There was so much blood on the floor. Too much blood, and Batman had a sinking suspicion that it all belonged to just one person.

He quickly noticed a distinct trail leading to a pitch black corner of the otherwise barren room. Dread roiled in the pit of his stomach as he rushed into the shadows, silent prayers flooding his thoughts. Time seemed to freeze when his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he clearly saw what the shadows had been hiding. Above a stack of explosives set to go off in less than twenty seconds, Red Robin's cape, cowl, and bandoliers were impaled to the wall with Ra's Al Ghul's blood-stained scimitar.

Gritting his teeth against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, Batman hesitated just long enough to grab the sword and uniform. Then he escaped the doomed building scant seconds before it imploded within itself.

Author Notes: After re-watching last season's finale of White Collar, and after seeing all the Catlad!Tim images and stories out there of him as a thief alongside Catwoman, I ended up with an idea for crossing these two fandoms together. This story essentially re-writes the ending of Red Robin #12 and takes place right after the end of season 1 of White Collar.

This is an experimental story. I have no clear direction for it at this point in time. It's one of those pieces where I'm letting the characters do what they want to do and we'll see where they end up.

To those of you brave enough to enjoy the ride on this unconventional crossover, thank you for reading.

Chapter Text

New York City… Seven years later…

"Count me out."

Peter Burke looked at Neal Caffery incredulously. "Are you serious?" Briefly Peter wondered if the man sitting in front of him hadn't been replaced by a body snatcher. "You're honestly telling me you're not the least bit interested in being part of an assignment involving the private art collection of one of the wealthiest, most powerful billionaires in the world?"

Neal was silent for as he gave off the general impression that he was deep in thought. "Yeah, I'm not the least bit interested," he quipped nonchalantly.

A quick glance around the office confirmed Peter's suspicions that the rest of his team was as baffled as he was by Neal's abnormal disinterest in a case that was seemingly right up his alley. "May I ask why the uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm? This is usually the kind of case that has you chomping at the bit, and has me worrying about all the extra paperwork I'll have to file just to keep you out of prison afterwards."

The former con artist sighed and leaned back in his chair before he started ticking off his reasons on his fingers. "One, anything of value attached to Wayne Enterprises has top of the line WayneTech security covering it. It's practically impenetrable for normal, run-of-the-mill criminal elements. You'd have a better chance of breaking into Fort Knox with one hand tied behind your back. Two, if someone is targeting the Wayne collection they're going to be coming in hot and heavy. There will be big guns, perhaps a meta or two, and maybe even a small army if they have the budget for it. The organized crime rackets from Gotham City aren't especially known for their subtlety. A few federal agents flashing their badges won't be intimidating anybody."

"And three?"

Neal looked pointedly at Peter. "And three, Bruce Wayne funds Batman Incorporated. Have you forgotten about that little detail? It was only earth-shattering news a few years ago. With the value of this collection, there's a pretty good chance that Mr. Wayne's called in a favor from the cape and cowl set to look after his investments." Neal leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms across his chest, and shook his head. "Frankly… I don't even see why the FBI is even bothering with this. Isn't this an example of that whole wasteful spending thing the government is supposed to be cracking down on?"

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Regardless of your professional opinion, Neal, the FBI is on the case. There are several pieces in the collection that are being actively targeted by criminals on our watch list and Bruce Wayne himself has personally requested that we have one of our best operatives test his security for weaknesses."

"So send in your best operative."

"I'm looking at him."

From the expression on Neal's face, one would have thought that Peter had just asked him to have a root canal without anesthesia. Finally, the younger man capitulated. "Alright, alright, I'll do it. However, I want it on the record that I'm doing this under protest."

"Duly noted. Now get out of here. You've got a week to figure out how to steal something priceless out from under Bruce Wayne's nose."

Normally a quip like that would've rewarded Peter with one of Neal's cheeky, confident, kid-in-a-candy-store grins. Not today, though. Neal looked practically grim as he put his hat onto his head and stormed out of his office. Special Agents Diana Barrigan and Clinton Jones watched him as he left, then turned their attentions to Peter.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Peter?" Jones asked with undisguised concern. "Clearly Neal is still out of sorts after Kate's death. I've never seen him like this."

"I understand your concern, Jones," Diana said. "But this assignment will be good for him. If he's left to brood with nothing else to occupy his mind, he'll just start focusing on finding on Kate's murderer, and you know what'll happen then. We don't need him running off half-cocked and looking for revenge."

"You've both got your points," Peter said somberly. "Neal is clearly not being himself, so it might affect his work with us, but to just force him to take time off to grieve Kate's death gives him too much time on his own to get himself into trouble. I personally requested this specific assignment for Neal because it is something he can work on that's well within his comfort zone, but it's still a controlled environment where we can keep our eyes on him."

Peter rose up from his seat, pulled out a set of folders from his desk drawer, and handed one each to the two agents before him. "In the mean time, you two know your tasks regarding the investigation into Kate's death. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go meet a Mr. Grayson about the security surrounding the display of Bruce Wayne's art collection."

Author Notes: Welcome to Chapter 1. Whereas the Prologue (set seven years in the past) rewrote the ending of Red Robin #12, this chapter starts off where the end of Season 1 of White Collar left off. So essentially this is a rewrite of Season 2.

Chapter Text

New York City… One hour later…

When Peter showed up at the uptown gallery where the new art exhibit from Bruce Wayne's private collection was going to be shown, he had to pause in appreciation at what he saw. Perhaps Neal had a point earlier, if the amount of private security he could see crawling around the building was any indication. From the sidewalk, he counted no less than six different cameras covering just the main entrance, the alleys on either side of the building, and the street that passed in front of it going in both directions. There were a pair of obvious security guards in crisp black suits standing at the main entrance, but Peter's trained eye spotted at least two more guards in plain clothes patrolling around the general area.

"I'm sorry, sir," one of the posted guards said as he automatically blocked Peter's path into the building. "But this gallery is currently closed to the public."

"I'm not the public," Peter said as he flashed his badge. "I'm Special Agent Peter Burke from the FBI. I've got an appointment with Mr. Richard Grayson."

The guard took a close look at the badge. "One moment, please." He turned his head and pulled his collar up to his lips. It was only then that Peter noticed that what he thought was just a small round pin was actually some sort of communication device. It seemed to work in conjunction with the earpiece the guard was wearing. "Mr. Grayson? We have a Special Agent Peter Burke from the FBI at the front entrance to see you." There was a pause as he got his instructions. Then he turned back to Peter. "Mr. Grayson is expecting you. He'll meet you in the foyer. Please step inside."

Inside, the security was no less impressive. The foyer had cameras covering every conceivable angle, and the ornate, elegant display cases being set up had more high tech hardware filling their hollow marble bases than Peter would've imagined possible in such small spaces.

"Do you like what you see, Agent Burke?"

Peter turned his head to see a dark haired man casually sauntering down a spiral staircase towards him. "Richard Grayson, I presume?"

He was rewarded with a charming grin and an open hand as soon as they were within reach of each other. "You presume correctly."

As they shook hands, the federal agent in Peter couldn't help but make several observations about the man in front of him. Richard Grayson was a tall man in his mid-thirties with an athletic build. He had black hair, blue eyes, and had a very polished, clean cut appearance. At first glance, he looked every bit the wealthy man of privilege that most would assume upon seeing the eldest adopted son of Bruce Wayne. However, there were a few traits that Peter found slightly out of character. For one, when he shook Grayson's hand he was a little curious to find it was not the well-manicured, soft-skinned grip he was used to shaking whenever he first met men with more money than they knew what to do with. The skin of Grayson's hand was thick and callused and his nails were cut to a short, practical length. Peter was certain he caught a glimpse of faint scar lines as well. These were the hands of a man who worked for hard for a living, even though he didn't give the obvious public appearance of it.

There was also the matter of Grayson's tone of voice and general body language towards him. Most of the wealthy men he dealt with in the past tended to look down upon him, seeing as how he was several rungs down the social ladder from them. Of course they never said so outright, but he could read it in their body language and tone of voice. Peter didn't get that vibe at all from the man in front of him as they spoke. If he was observing everything correctly, then Richard Grayson was respectfully treating him as someone akin to an equal and not someone beneath him. Peter decided that it was a nice change of pace.

"I must say, Mr. Grayson," Peter started as he glanced around the foyer. "I am impressed by what I've seen so far. A colleague of mind had said that this event would be more locked down than Fort Knox. I thought he was just exaggerating, but now I'm starting to see his point."

Grayson chuckled. "Well, while this level of security may seem like overkill, it's fairly standard procedure for anything involving Wayne Enterprises. Better safe than sorry." He then motioned for Peter to follow him out of the foyer and into the main gallery.

Inside the main gallery, though it was still incomplete, Peter could see that the collection being showcased was an impressive one. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not bringing Neal with him today. Peter was certain that having the chance to bask in a collection of rare and exquisite art like this would have lifted Neal's spirit considerably. Still, he eased his conscious by reminding himself that Neal would be trying to break into this place in a few days time.

"So what do you think, Agent Burke? Do you think the agent you've got testing our security is up to the task?"

"Honestly? As good as our guy is I don't think he's got a snowball's chance in hell of getting anything out of this building." Then Peter smirked. "However, he has surprised me in the past, so I can't count him completely out yet." Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. "I do have a favor to ask you regarding him, though."

"And that is?"

"After this test is concluded, is it possible to get him an invite to the gallery's opening night event?"

Grayson shook his head with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, but the official opening night gala is restricted to a very specific guest list. However, I could get him an invite to the following event, which will be open to the press and social elite of New York. "

Peter nodded. "I'm sure that'll work out just fine."

As they crossed the gallery, a flurry of activity and a familiar voice drew Peter's immediate attention.

"No, no, no… These drapes will not work at all. The color is all wrong and the pattern screams 19th century dusty old museum. Go find me some swatches of something in a neutral color, but with a modern design. And hurry. We've got just two weeks before the opening."

Peter's eyes lit up. "Elle?"

The dark-haired woman at the center of the whirlwind of activity turned in surprise. "Peter!" A big smile brightened her face as she immediately closed the distance between the two of them and placed a kiss on his cheek. "What are you doing here, hun?"

Realization dawned on Grayson's face as he put two and two together. "Ah... Burke Premiere Events. Am I safe to assume that our lovely event coordinator is your wife?"

Peter nodded before turning back to his wife. "So this is the huge secret high profile event you've been working on for the better part of this month?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I really wanted to tell you, but I had to sign an iron-clad confidentiality agreement. I'm pretty sure the fine print on the contract said that my soul would be forfeit if I spilled the beans before opening night. So what are you doing here?"

"Oh, Wayne Enterprises has requested that the FBI arrange a test of the gallery's security before the big event. I'm in charge of coordinating it."

Some kind of realization dawned on her face, and she looked to Grayson with barely contained excitement. "Mr. Grayson! Since my husband knows what I'm working on now, and since he's going to be involved with the gallery security, can I please show him the special collection?"

"Special collection?"

Grayson nodded. "I was just about to head that way with him. Why don't you come with us. You can update me on what you've been working on with Mr. Pennyworth along the way.

As the three of them made their way to another stairwell, Peter studied the rest of the gallery and the security protecting it along the way while his wife and Grayson talked about details regarding the two opening night galas. When they finally arrived at the top floor, they came to a stop at a huge vault-like metal door. Peter's curiosity was immediately piqued.

"So what's behind door number one?"

Author Notes: Welcome to Chapter 2. Enter Dick Grayson and Elizabeth Burke. Personally, next to Tim Drake and Neal Caffery, these two are my second favorite characters in their respective fandoms.

Chapter Text

New York City… Seven days later…

"Neal, if by some miracle you manage to pull this stunt off, my hat will be eternally off to you," Mozzie said as he lounged on the comfortable sofa in Neal's studio apartment with a glass of wine in one hand.

"Really Moz?" Neal said with a raised eyebrow as he stood before a mirror, trying to decide which tie to wear. "Even knowing this is an FBI sanctioned assignment?"

Mozzie took a thoughtful sip from his glass. "The fact that you, a mere mortal, are attempting to outmaneuver the goliath that is the latest and greatest in WayneTech security is enough to make even me overlook the blemish that is the suits' involvement."

The younger con artist managed a weak smile as he straightened his tie. "Well at least one of us is looking forward to the slight chance that I might succeed." When Neal studied his reflection in the mirror, he sighed. Ever since Kate's death, he just didn't feel like himself. She was his whole world for so long, and now with her gone…

"Neal," Mozzie said with a concerned tone. "I know you haven't been feeling up to working with the feds since… y'know. But this kind of opportunity doesn't come along every day. If you're not gonna give it a hundred percent for yourself, then at least give it a hundred percent for me." He inclined his glass at his friend. "I really want to know if my new source is the real deal. Do you know how hard it is to locate a quality mole in Wayne Enterprises Tech Division?"

"They're as rare as blue roses, Moz," Neal remarked with chuckle. He gave himself one final glance over in the mirror. "I guess it's showtime. Wish me luck?"

Mozzie raised his glass. "If luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity, then you should have plenty of it today."

Neal looked at Mozzie curiously. "Seneca the Elder?" he asked, referring to the quote his friend had paraphrased.

Moz smirked. "The Younger."

Several hours later, by some insane amount of good fortune coupled with the fact that Mozzie's source had been genuine, Neal found himself feeling like a kid in a candy store as he leisurely browsed through the Wayne art collection. He was dressed in a borrowed uniform for the gallery's cleaning agency and was making his way through the building with a security card he'd subtly purloined from a guard who had been leaving the building at the end of his shift. The artwork on display was extremely rare, exquisite in quality, and obscenely expensive.

Neal was in heaven.

Well… a locked down heaven…

There was the rub.

Getting into the gallery really wasn't that hard, all things considered. He'd even managed to lift a few of the more portable pieces of the collection using a device Mozzie had gotten from his WayneTech source. The tiny remote was supposed to temporarily disable the security devices attached to the display cases, and he was extremely careful in choosing those displays that were in rare security camera blind spots. Considering the guards didn't come down on him like a ton of bricks when he swiped the first set of jewels, Neal figured his plans were working like a charm.

Now, though, the real challenge was getting out of the building without getting caught. While he was planning the heist with Mozzie, the Plan A escape route was to head out through the service entrance he'd come in through. However, a quick look told him that he'd have to nix that plan. Neal's good luck was starting to run low as he spotted the guard he'd lifted the card from earlier talking to the one who'd taken his place. The man looked extremely upset and Neal overheard something about losing his job if he couldn't find his missing security card. So Plan A was officially out the window.

Plan B was a riskier, but still doable. It involved taking a private stairwell up to the roof and then taking a flying leap across the narrow alleyway to the rooftop of the other building. Mozzie had measured the distance himself, and assured Neal that he could clear it easily. It didn't matter if he was caught by the people who worked in the clothing shop that owned the building. All Peter tasked him to do was to get out of the gallery with the stolen pieces. Unfortunately, there was just one problem with this escape route…

…And that was a huge metal vault door.

"What the-?" Neal muttered under his breath as he lurked in one of the security camera blind spots on the second floor of the gallery. From the blueprints he'd memorized of the building, there was supposed to be an open parlor here, with the entrance to the stairwell on the opposite end of the room. Clearly the door had been added after the fact just for this occasion.

Now Neal had a conundrum. On one hand, there was Plan C. It involved making his way down into the basement of the gallery and escaping through a secret tunnel to the other adjacent store that had been a part of the building since the days of Prohibition, when the gallery used to be a speakeasy. The reason this escape route was Plan C, though, was because the route to the tunnel involved the riskiest maneuver of sneaking right by the command center for the security team.

On the other hand, there was the shiny metal vault door staring right back at Neal Caffery, taunting him with its unexpected existence. Vault doors were meant to protect things that were extremely valuable. Neal wondered if his security hacking remote would work on the lock. He didn't think it actually would, so when it did and the locks were released on the door, the treasure hunter in him got huge spike of adrenaline. Without a moment of hesitation, he slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.

The vault was nearly pitch dark once the door was shut, cutting off the light from the hallway. It took a minute, but once his eyes adjusted to the dim security lighting that was available, Neal froze. Instead of art or jewels tucked away inside the cold spacious room, there were masks, capes, weapons, and other artifacts all associated with those special people the rest of the world called superheroes.

Neal silently walked between the rows of display cases, but instead of the excitement he'd felt earlier when he'd been lifting the jewels from the main gallery, the ex-con artist now felt nothing except for a growing sense of dread. Strangely enough, the emotion wasn't out of guilt or fear for being an accomplished criminal surrounded by the personal symbols of those who fought crime for a living. No… For some strange reason, when Neal Caffery walked through this room, he felt as if he were walking through a morgue. His skin was especially crawling as he came to a series of clear display cases which held an assortment of iconic, familiar costumes.

No… Not costumes…Uniforms…

Red…

Green…

Yellow…

Black…

Neal stopped in front of one case in particular and just stared at it, transfixed. It was an incomplete uniform. The only pieces within the display were a black cape and cowl and a set of bandoliers. They were badly beaten up, and no one had bothered to repair the damage before they were put into the case. He moved a little closer, his blue eyes squinting in the dim light. Where the bandoliers crossed was what looked like a round insignia. However, he couldn't tell what it symbolized. The disk had been damaged beyond recognition. It looked as if it had been stabbed by something.

He was so focused on trying to figure out what he was looking at that he almost didn't hear the sound of someone creeping up behind him.

Almost.

Neal felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, and turned around just in time to see a closed fist come flying towards his head.

Then everything went black with an explosion of pain.

Author Notes: Chapter 3 takes place a week after the events of Chapter 2. Mozzie enters the picture, and it is from following Neal's perspective that we finally see what was behind "door number 1" as Peter so eloquently put it. But who is it that put out Neal's lights at the end?

Chapter Text

New York City… Five minutes later…

Neal wondered how long it had been since someone had beaten him up while he was handcuffed to a chair in a small private room. As a new familiar fist connected with his jaw again, he figured it really hadn't been long enough.

"Well kid, props to whoever taught you how to throw a punch," Neal said in a cocky tone. "I think you knocked one of my fillings loose." Lifting his gaze, he smirked at dark haired teen glaring balefully at him, enjoying it immensely when the boy's eyes narrowed with growing anger.

"I'm asking you for the last time. How did you get into the vault?," he snarled.

"That was the last time?"

"Yes!"

"Good." Neal was impudently silent and relaxed in his chair as the teen's rage smoldered impatiently.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"How did you get into the vault?"

Neal tsked. "You just said you were done asking questions. Kids today. Their little brains just aren't what they used to be. I blame the internet." That got him another blow to the head. "Ow… Ok… I think that one actually knocked the hamster off the wheel." He chuckled. For whatever reason, baiting this kid was really entertaining, even if it meant he'd be stumbling out of this place with a concussion and a few loose teeth. He spat out a bit of blood from the brand new cut on the inside of his mouth onto the floor.

"Tell me what you're doing here!" The kid ordered. "And I want the truth!"

Neal laughed outright at that. "Y'know, I'd love to tell you the truth, but I don't think you'd believe me. You'd just hit me again."

"Try me."

"Alright." Neal took a measured breath and said in a perfect deadpan voice, "I was ordered by the FBI to break into this gallery for the purpose of stealing as many pieces from it as I could." He grinned, unable to resist jabbing at the angry kid one more time. "I'm your daddy's tax dollars at work."

He was steeling himself for the furious teen's drawn back fist when the door to the security room slammed open and a commanding angry voice cut through the air.

"Damian! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The boy froze and turned to look at the newcomer. "Richard! I caught this thief in the—"

"I don't care! This is not Gitmo! We do not handcuff suspicious people and beat the tar out of them before calling the authorities!"

"Oh, I'm sure he's not handcuffed anymore, are you Neal?"

Neal grinned as he noticed the other man who'd come into the security room with the stranger. "Ah Peter. You know me so well." He raised a hand to wave in greeting, revealing that the cuffs that had been restraining him were completely undone and dangling harmlessly from his thumb. "How are you?"

"Just fine thanks. You seem to be in good spirits."

The con artist snickered. "The kid's got a nuclear temper, a practically non-existent fuse, and he baits easy."

"I noticed. Couldn't resist pushing his buttons?"

"They were red and flashing."

Peter rolled his eyes and offered Neal his hat. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Damian was getting a severe lecture at the hands of Richard Grayson.

"You mean he was telling the truth?" Damian exclaimed incredulously.

The older man nodded, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the teen. "Yes. Bruce personally requested that the FBI arrange a test of the security here. Obviously, it was a test that sorely needed. There's just one more week before the gallery opens, and we need security to be absolutely air tight." He sighed raked his fingers through his hair in frustration before he started to turn away from the boy and back to Peter and Neal. "I'm really, really sorry about that, Agent Burke. My younger brother can be impulsive to fault, and he's got a hair-trigger temper to boot. I wasn't expecting him to be here till tomorrow, so I hadn't told him about the test. I hope your partner's alright."

Neal answered for Peter. "Oh don't worry about it. This has been the most fun I've had in several months, although I think I really did lose a filling." He looked at Peter. "I do have dental coverage, right?"

If Dick Grayson was going to say anything more in apology, the words died as he got his first decent look at Neal Caffery since entering the room. He studied Neal intensely before his blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Tim?"

"Hmm?" Neal and Peter both glanced behind them at the still open door to see if someone had just come in or passed by.

"Tim! Tim it's you!"

Suddenly Neal found himself pulled off balance. He was so stunned that for a moment he couldn't do anything but just stand there stock still while Dick hugged him.

"Ummm… Peter? What's going on?" he asked uncertainly.

Before Peter could say anything, Dick pulled back a little so that he could look Neal eye to eye. "It's me, Tim. It's Dick. Oh God, I can't believe it's really you! Where have you been—"

"I'm sorry," Neal said uncomfortably as he tried to worm himself out of the other man's grasp. "But my name is Neal. Neal Caffery, and we have never met before."

"Neal," Peter's voice had a suspicious edge to it. "You don't have an alias named Tim, do you?"

"I assure you, Peter, I don't-"

Dick looked stricken as he shook his head. "No. It's not an alias. Your name is Tim. Timothy Drake—"

"Dick," Damian interrupted his elder brother with what seemed like an uncharacteristic gentle tone. "It's not him. He may look a bit like Drake, but he isn't." The teenager turned a critical eye to Neal. "I think you'd better leave. Whatever report you have to make on the gallery's security flaws can be delivered to my brother tomorrow."

Neal gingerly slipped out of Dick's grasp, a heavy feeling settling in his chest at the expression in the older man's face. It was an expression akin to one he'd been seeing a lot in the mirror ever since Kate's death. "I'm sorry, I'm not who you think I am."

Dick swallowed hard and tried to recompose himself. "The name Tim Drake really means nothing to you?"

Neal wished he could've said yes. The expression Dick wore was so downhearted. It seemed such a wrong expression for him to wear. "I'm sorry."

The older man sighed heavily. "I'm sorry too. I just… You look just like him, if he were..."

Peter touched Neal's arm. "C'mon Neal. We need to head back to the bureau." He then looked at Grayson. "I'll be back tomorrow with the security report and we'll go over the details of everything then. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Grayson." He inclined his head to Damian. "Mr. Wayne."

After the Neal and Peter had left the room, Dick sat down on one of the chairs and buried his face in his hands. Damian placed his own hand on his brother's back in a comforting gesture. "Are you alright?"

Dick shook his head. "I could've sworn it was him, Dami. In my dreams, when I see Tim older, as the age he'd be now if he were… here, he'd look just like that man."

"It's been seven years. We all searched for him, and no one looked harder for him than you. Not even father."

"I was the one who lost him."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was!" Dick's head jerked up and he gave Damian a pained look. Then his sighed, got to his feet, and started heading towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," Dick said simply. "Don't forget to lock up when you leave."

Damian didn't say another word. He just watched as his brother left as quickly as his feet could take him without breaking into a dead run. The seventeen year old teenager sighed.

The sudden loss of Tim Drake seven years ago had been hard on everyone in their network of family and friends. It had been especially devastating on Dick and his father, Bruce, who were each tortured in their own ways by the lack of knowledge about Drake's ultimate fate. Without a body, though, there was no way to confirm that the Red Robin was actually dead. Because of that, there was always a sliver hope that maybe, just maybe, he had survived his lone confrontation with Ra's Al Ghul and lived on even today. Damian never let himself believe in such fairy tales, though. He knew his grandfather's methods and he always figured the chances were better that Drake was dead and had been left to rot in some obscure corner of the world where no one would ever find him.

At least, that was the most merciful fate Damian could imagine happening to his least favorite brother, had he been captured by the League of Assassins.

Still, even though he was nearly completely certain that the man he'd caught in the vault earlier was NOT Timothy Drake, Damian couldn't help suspiciously eyeing some of Neal Caffery's blood that had been spat out on the floor during the beating he'd given him.

Author Notes: Chapter 4 has now come and gone. Damian discovered the intruder in the vault and took prompt action to both subdue and interrogate him. Unfortunately for him, Neal is an adept evasive button pusher. Then finally we have the recognition mentioned in this story's preview that will ultimately shake up the worlds of everyone close to both Tim Drake and Neal Caffery. This is only the beginning. There is definitely more to come.

Chapter Text

New York City… late evening same day…

It was close to nine pm when Peter Burke finally dragged himself through the front door of the home he shared with his wife, Elizabeth. He was exhausted, and it showed clearly both in his posture and on his face. Of course his wife picked up on it almost immediately as she watched him pet the family dog, Satchmo.

"Looks like you had a long day," she observed as she dog-eared a page in the book she was reading before getting up from the sofa.

"You don't know the half of it," Peter said as he shrugged his jacket off and draped it over the back of the sofa. By then, Elizabeth had made her way around the large piece of furniture and wrapped her arms around her husband as soon as he was within reach. He held her close and sighed as he relaxed in her embrace.

"OK. What happened?" she asked after they separated, her eyes studying him with mild concern.

Peter made his way into the kitchen, placed his suitcase on an end table along the way, and started fishing around in the fridge for a beer. "Neal got handcuffed and beat up by a seventeen-year old this afternoon."

"Huh?"

"He has to see a dentist tomorrow to get some fillings replaced because of him." Peter popped the cap off his bottle and took a quick sip. "I'm pretty sure he's got a concussion too, but he refused to go see a doctor about it."

Elizabeth shook her head in confusion and disbelief. "Wait a minute. Back the truck up a little. What happened to Neal?"

So Peter explained to his wife what happened during the security test at the Wayne art gallery. He didn't know all the details surrounding how Neal got ambushed by Damian, the youngest son of Bruce Wayne. The guards at the gallery didn't even realize Neal was there until the kid half dragged the semi-unconscious ex-con-artist through the building and down into the security command center, where he ordered everyone out so he could be alone to interrogate Neal. The guards called Grayson, who in turn contacted Peter, and they both stormed into gallery to rescue him.

"Neal, Neal, Neal," Elizabeth said with a chuckle. "You just had to keep pushing those buttons." By this time, the loving couple had both reclaimed the sofa together.

Peter shrugged. "But you know, hun, as unusual as that was, that wasn't the oddest thing that happened over there."

"Really?"

"Well, this was the first time Richard Grayson had ever seen Neal, but as soon as he did, he mistook him for someone else. He was really adamant about it and even hugged Neal out of the blue."

"Who did Dick think Neal was? Had Neal met him before under one of his other aliases?"

Peter shook his head. "No. Neal swore up and down he'd never seen the man before in his life. But, I did find out who Grayson mistook him for." His expression grim, Peter reached over to the end table where his suitcase was, flipped it open, and pulled out a folder. He handed it to his wife.

"A missing person file?"

"A seven year old cold case," Peter explained. "I kicked myself for not recalling this sooner. It was huge news back then."

Elizabeth scanned the pages within the folder. Realization dawned in her eyes, and her own expression mirrored her husband's. "Oh, now I remember. The missing Wayne heir." She read over the details softly. "Name… Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne… Age… Seventeen…"

"This boy's file reads like a Greek tragedy," Peter said. "First his mother murdered and his father paralyzed during a kidnapping overseas. Then his father was murdered in their own home a couple of years later and he was the one to find the body. Things started looking up when he was adopted by Bruce Wayne. For a while there he seemed to flourish. And then, one day, he just disappeared without a trace." He sighed and shook his head. "That kid had such a bright future ahead of him."

Elizabeth glanced up at her husband. "Were there any clues as to what happened to him?"

Peter shrugged. "Not that I can read from the file. I wasn't on this case back then. But I do remember that Bruce Wayne spared no expense trying to find him. That family was so desperate. They did everything they could. They blitzed the media, hired the best PIs while enlisting the FBI and I think even the CIA and Interpol for help. But no one could find anything. There was no ransom. No clues. No threats. All the leads the bureau followed led to dead ends. It was as if the kid had just fallen off the face of the earth."

"Oh," Elizabeth murmured sadly. She turned her attention back to the file, flipped a page, and gasped a little. "Oh!" She lifted up the photograph that had been placed in the folder, so she could see it with better light. "Is this a picture of him?"

Peter nodded. "You see it too, don't you?"

Elizabeth nodded, her voice awestruck when she spoke. "This kid… He really does look a lot like a younger version of Neal." She paused as she remembered something. "Wait… Didn't you say that the FBI doesn't have any history of Neal prior to his eighteenth birthday? Is it possible…?"

Her husband gave her a wan smile. "That's part of why I'm late. I called in a favor and had Neal's DNA compared with the sample of Timothy Wayne's we had on file."

"And?"

Peter shook his head.

Elizabeth gave her husband a compassionate look. "You were really hoping that the test would come back positive, weren't you?"

"I really was."

She leaned over and gave Peter a kiss on the cheek. "The DNA might not match, but the resemblance is still so uncanny. It's really kinda spooky."

"I know, which is why as soon as I get back to the office, I'm putting this back in the cold case files. We don't need Neal seeing this and getting any ideas."

Elizabeth gave Peter a scolding look. "Do you honestly think he'd stoop so low as to try to con Bruce Wayne into thinking he was his long lost son?"

Peter didn't respond to his wife out loud, but the expression he wore said enough for her. She closed the folder and slapped it against his chest before getting off the sofa and heading towards the stairs.

"I'm going to bed. I've got to be at the gallery early tomorrow. If you're hungry there's some chicken in the fridge."

Peter watched her ascend the stairs. Then as he drained the last of his beer, he flipped through the missing person file for the umpteenth time that evening, always coming to a stop at that photograph. Every fiber of his instincts was screaming at him that the teenager in the photograph was Neal.

However, unlike Neal, DNA didn't lie.

Author Notes: With Chapter 5 we receive the revelation that while there is a scary uncanny resemblance between Tim Drake and Neal Caffery, the DNA the FBI has for the two just doesn't match up. Peter really, truly did want the test to come out positive.

But then again… What kind of story would this be if happy endings came so easily?

Chapter Text

New York City… late evening same day…

It had been a long time since Dick Grayson patrolled the streets of New York City. It was close to midnight, and the red striped Nightwing had just helped the local fire department rescue several children from a burning apartment building. Their panic-stricken parents thanked the masked vigilante many times over as they crushed their children in their tight embrace. As he made his way back up to the rooftop of a nearby skyscraper, an annoyed voice caught his attention.

"You didn't have to go and do that alone," Damian said, glaring at his older brother from behind the mask he wore as Robin.

Nightwing tried to smile at his younger brother reassuringly. "You were already busy chasing down the arsonists who started the fire. Besides, it wasn't anything I couldn't handle."

Robin was not reassured, and his frown deepened to emphasize that point. "Don't give me that. You're still upset about what happened this afternoon with that thief-"

"FBI agent."

"Tch! Whatever! Doesn't matter. What matters is that whenever you're upset about him, you go rushing into the night alone and start taking stupid risks in the field!"

"I don't-"

"Madrid?" Robin reminded Nightwing curtly. "How about New Orleans? Hong Kong? Metropolis? Baghdad? Do you want me to go through the whole list, or only the ones where you nearly got yourself killed?"

What Nightwing really wanted to do was just tell Robin to drop it, that it wasn't something he had to worry about because he was just a kid. However, it was near impossible to think of his former partner as "just a kid" anymore. He'd long since stopped being shorter than Dick when he turned fifteen. At seventeen now, he was the same height as him, with signs that he'd probably acquire another couple of inches before he finally stopped growing. Damian had gained his father's genes in height, though not his bulk in muscle. His mother's genes worked on that and gave him a leaner body than the original Batman. He sighed. "No. You don't have to go on," he told Robin. "Let's... Just patrol for a few more hours, then head back to the hotel."

"Good," Robin said as he started pulling out his grappling gun. "I can't wait till this gallery thing is done, and we can go back to Gotham. I'm so sick of this city."

Nightwing smirked a little. "You just want to get back to work on your flight suit at home."

Robin scowled. "Yes. Yes I do! The wings are almost done! I can't wait till I can go on a Titans mission and NOT have to rely on the metas to fly me back and forth."

"Awww... Don't you like getting picked up by Supergirl anymore?"

The unmasked portions of Robin's face started to redden. "Shut up, Nightwing." The grappling line flew out from the gun, and the younger vigilante quickly followed after it.

Bantering with Robin lifted Nightwing's spirits a little. When he lost Tim, he made it a point to stay as close to Damian as he could, to the point where he was overprotective to a fault. Dick vowed he wouldn't lose another brother. However, when his hyper-protective nature kept hindering Damian in the field, Bruce had to make the judgment call to separate the two, under the excuse that it was time for him to partner with his youngest son, and for Dick to be Batman Inc.'s representative in the Justice League. When that happened, Dick decided to hang up his version of the cape and cowl once and for all, and returned to his Nightwing persona full time. However, as a tribute to his missing brother, he changed the stripes from blue to red. The intention was to return them to their original color once they finally brought Tim home.

They've been red ever since.

For the next couple of hours, it was a pretty standard night in New York City. A car jacking stopped here, a meth lab busted there. A few breaking and entering jobs were nipped in the bud in between. It was almost three am when the pair decided to take a break and split a small pizza on the roof of the Empire State Building.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Nightwing insisted with a smile after finishing the second to last slice of the pie.

Robin frowned and finally gave in. "Alright. I admit it. The pizza here is better than any I've had anywhere else. Are you happy now?"

"Quite."

"Good, cause the last piece is mine."

"Hey!"

Before Nightwing could go in and swipe that last piece back for himself, the communicators from both of them started to go off. It was Oracle, and even though they both flipped the com units on their masks on, Nightwing was the only one who could answer, since his was the only mouth not full of pepperoni and cheese.

"Evening beautiful. What's up?"

"I can't believe it! I just can't believe it!" Barbara Gordon's voice was thick with emotion as her words tumbled into the boys' ears. It sounded as if she'd been crying. "I ran the tests five times just to be sure I wasn't dreaming, but it's real! It's really real!"

Nightwing's brows furrowed with concern and confusion. Robin looked decidedly less confused, but concern and surprise were both there in his young face. The rest of his pizza was placed back in the box and promptly forgotten. "Babs?" the elder brother said. "What are you talking about? What tests?"

"The blood samples," she said between sniffles. "The ones Dami sent me this afternoon. I ran the DNA against my database and it's a match! It's a match! A hundred percent! Oh god... You found him. Oh my god! You really, truly found him!" Barbara was sobbing openly now.

Robin had paled, his face a picture of shock. Nightwing felt a dawning realization about who she might be talking about, and his own voice thickened with barely restrained emotion when he spoke once more. "Who? Who did we find, Babs?"

There was a long moment of sniffling before Barbara finally answered him. "Tim," she said softly. "You finally found Tim!"

If Babs said anything more, Dick didn't hear it. His mind was whirling as the events of the earlier afternoon replayed themselves in his head. He didn't even realize he'd been stumbling backwards until his back met a wall and he slid down it, his legs suddenly turned to jelly.

"It was him," he said, his hands trembling as he brought them up to his eyes; hands that just a few hours ago had held his long lost brother. His voice shook just as bad, caught between laughter and sobbing as he tried unsuccessfully to scrub the tears away from his mask. "It was him! We found Tim! He's alive! Oh god, he's alive!"

For the first time in years, Dick Grayson felt lighter than air. A mercilessly crushing weight of guilt and grief finally lifted itself off of his shoulders. Eventually, the sobs faded it was only his joyous relieved laughter which filled the crisp New York night air.

DNA didn't lie, after all.

Author Notes: DNA doesn't lie?

Chapter Text

New York City… fifteen minutes later…

Robin had forgotten how fast Nightwing could move when gravity had absolutely no hold on his oldest brother. Damian's youth of body and spirit meant absolutely nothing tonight as he struggled to keep pace with the former circus acrobat as they dashed across rooftops and swung between buildings towards a very specific address. Ten minutes earlier, after learning they had actually found their missing brother, the long lost Timothy Drake-Wayne, once Dick had recovered his composure he had immediately demanded a home address from Barbara, which she was all too glad to locate.

"87 Riverside Drive," Oracle informed them, and Nightwing was off like a shot, with Damian trailing behind.

Still, despite his initial annoyance with having to play catch up with Nightwing, Robin couldn't help but enjoy the view in front of him. The man he saw ahead of him was someone he hadn't seen in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, Dick Grayson was truly defying gravity. There were flourishes and flash in his leaps and flips. From head to toe, he was the personification of sheer jubilation. Despite the uncertainty of his own feelings towards his formerly lost brother, Damian couldn't help but smile as he chased Nightwing down. Now that Dick, his favorite beloved brother, was truly happy, for the moment all seemed to be right with their world.

They finally came to a stop on the rooftop of a building that overlooked an old, but well kept white townhouse in Manhattan, just a few blocks away from Central Park. Despite being completely out of breath, Nightwing moved to the edge of the roof and peered down at the townhouse.

"Is this it?" Damian asked about thirty seconds later when he finally caught up with his brother. His lungs burned and his muscles ached as he leaned against the railing, trying to catch his breath.

Nightwing didn't answer immediately. He was too busy scanning the darkened building. Searching for something… And then he froze when he found it.

"There!" he said as he shifted his position a few yards to the left. When Robin followed his brother's gaze, he saw several illuminated windows and an open balcony door on the top floor of the townhouse. A smile lit up Dick's face as he zeroed in on movement through the windows. "He's still a night owl."

"Send me a video feed!" Barbara said through the com link. "I want to see him too!" Of course the man she loves obliged as he activated that component of his mask. She sees what he sees, and what she saw made her breath catch in her throat.

Unaware of the late night audience he's just acquired, Neal Caffery was dealing with a bout of insomnia the only way he knows how. Dressed only in a pair of dark pajama bottoms and sporting several bruises from his earlier encounter with Damian, the lean, dark haired man was hard at work on his latest oil painting. He turned his focus from his art only long enough to refill his glass of wine and to readjust a nearby wall mirror, which seemed to be just a little too crooked for his tastes.

"He looks so grown up now," Barbara remarked quietly. Dick and Damian could hear the smile and the tears in her voice. "Definitely not seventeen anymore, but definitely our Tim."

Dick silently agreed with her as he leaned against the railing on the roof. He couldn't take his eyes off his younger brother. It all felt like a dream, seeing him alive and well and very much an adult. He watched with contentment as the man in the townhouse apartment decided to pull out a fresh canvas and start a new painting with quick broad strokes.

While his brother kept his eyes on Tim, Damian lingered in the shadows, occasionally casting glances towards the townhouse. Part of it was from discomfort. Of everyone in their family, he was the only one who hadn't believed that Tim could possibly be alive after his encounter with Ra's Al Ghul, his grandfather. He'd held no hope when he was ten year old, and that's the way it had been with him until just this evening. To be proven so thoroughly wrong after all this time was a shock, to say the very least.

The other part that made it hard to look at Tim were the bruises.

It wasn't that Damian still hated his other adopted brother. Over the years, he'd realized how much of a arrogant little bastard he'd been when he first came into his father's house to try and stake his claim as the heir to both Bruce Wayne's and Batman's legacies based on bloodlines alone. When he was ten, he'd wrongly assumed that his father had taken the usurper under his wing out of a sense of pity or sentimentality because he was an orphan. It wasn't until he was older that he was able to understand everything Tim had lived through, lost, and survived to get where he was in the family. Nothing had been handed to him. Everything Drake had, he'd earned through blood, sweat, tears, and multiple trials by fire. At age seventeen now, Damian Wayne did not hate Timothy Drake. In fact, he had developed a quiet respect for his lost sibling. Alfred had explained the unfamiliar emotion to him once.

"There's a old saying," the aged butler had said back when Damian was fourteen and had been driving himself crazy with some of Tim's old encrypted files. "You never really know what you've got, until it's gone." Damian had stumbled upon several dusty forgotten hard drives in one of the old safe houses the Red Robin used to frequent, back when he'd gone rogue. Inside them was a veritable treasure trove of incomplete projects that Drake had never had a chance to bring to life. There were planned upgrades to his motorcycle and to the equipment for his uniform. He had a wing design in the works that would allow him to actually fly for short distances, instead of just gliding with the capes. Tim also had a theoretical concept for linking the capture of one criminal directly to the next one. Something he called the "hit list". To Damian, the discovery of this wealth of knowledge was inspiring.

At least, it was until he started to wonder how much more he could've learned from Tim if he'd actually survived... or even if he'd actually been nicer to him when they first met.

In the end, Damian began work trying to complete some of his brother's projects, as a quiet tribute to his memory. The uniform he wore as Robin today was his first. The hit list concept was one he finally perfected last year. This year, his pet project was the flight suit.

And so, after all that, it actually made Damian feel a little ashamed that, once again, the first meeting between him and his brother resulted in bruises and bloodshed, although the more sensible side of him kept repeating that if he hadn't punched Tim in the head a few times, he'd never have gotten that blood sample for Barbara.

Still, Robin stood back.

He couldn't look at the bruises.

"Damian? Do you hear me?"

Robin looked about. Nightwing hadn't budged from his spot, so he knew Barbara was only talking to him. "Yeah," he whispered as he silently shifted further away from his brother. "What's up?"

Oracle's voice was guarded now. "There's... something I don't understand. You did say Tim's current alias is Neal Caffery, right?"

"Of course. That's how we found his address. Why?"

"Something else came up with his name when I ran it through the system. Sending you the files now. Make sure Nightwing doesn't see them."

After taking a second glance to make sure his brother's attention was firmly occupied elsewhere, Robin flipped on his virtual palm top computer, which consisted of a holographic projection of a small computer screen from a micro emitter on his gauntlet. The files Oracle sent him popped up immediately on the screen, and he furrowed his brow as he scanned them. "I think you sent me the wrong files," he said. "This looks like one of Selina's old rap sheets."

"They aren't the wrong files," Barbara insisted. "Take a closer look. Those are documents from the FBI and Interpol on Neal Caffery."

Robin took a closer look at the files, and his eyes widened in surprise. "What the hell is this, Oracle? Money laundering? Embezzlement? Art forgery?"

"I don't know all the details," Barbara said solemnly, clearly the wind taken out of her sails from earlier. "All I know is that as far as the FBI and Interpol are concerned, Neal Caffery is one of the world's most notorious white collar criminals."

"Um... Guys," Nightwing's voice caught Robin's attention. "I think I've just been made."

"What makes you say that?" Robin asked.

Nightwing looked down at the townhouse once more. Still cloaked in shadows, he followed his brother's gaze again, this time using his own mask's telescopic lenses to get a closer view of what he was seeing.

Down in the townhouse apartment, Neal Caffery was working rapidly on his new painting. It was a hastily painted picture of the wall mirror he adjusted a few minutes earlier... And the reflection in that mirror was the building the two vigilantes were currently perched upon. The last stroke of paint Neal put on the canvas was a small, but obvious, crimson V on the rooftop.

Nightwing sheepishly glanced back at Robin. "Just a hunch?"

Author Notes: Here in Chapter 7, after the emotional revelations of the previous chapter, here we get a small look at the how Damian feels towards Tim Drake. The boy has grown up quite a bit in the last seven years. He's not quite the blood-thirsty, short-tempered, arrogant kid with an entitlement complex he used to be. Well, he's still short tempered, but at least Neal didn't require a hospital visit.

Chapter Text

New York City… a moment later…

Dick had never felt more nervous about anything in his life. After instructing Damian to remain on the rooftop, which the teen oddly had no argument against, he took out his grappling gun and made his way to the balcony where his brother was waiting. He could feel his heart thudding in his ears as he silently landed just a couple of yards away from Tim.

Observing his brother from the distant rooftop through telescopic lenses was nothing compared to standing within arms reach of him. This close up he could see how much Tim had grown over the years. Though he obviously gained in height and was now maybe two or three inches shorter than Dick, he was still obviously the shortest of all of Bruce Wayne's sons, adopted or otherwise. Despite not being a vigilante any more, it looked like Tim still took good care of himself. There was one curious observation that Dick filed away for contemplation later.

His scars were all missing.

Over his years of work as Robin, Tim Drake had collected a generous amount of battle scars, like everyone else in their family who fought crime. Gunshot wounds, stitched up blade injuries, burn scars, etc. However, as Dick stood there looking his brother over, he could see nothing but clear, unmarred skin across his upper body.

"Took you long enough," Tim said after taking a moment to drain the last of his wine. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up."

Dick raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "You were expecting me?"

The man before his shrugged. "Of course. I know what you're here for." He motioned for his brother to follow him into his home.

Dick was at a loss for words. Tim was expecting him? Did his memory return between the incident at the gallery and now? Wordlessly, he stepped into the well-lit apartment and absorbed all he saw. Though this was clearly a studio apartment, what it lacked in size it made up for in style. It looked like Tim had developed a taste for good art, antique furniture, classic novels bound in leather, and fine wines. The only sign of his former addiction to all things hi-tech was a small unassuming laptop on his dining table next to the kitchen.

It definitely wasn't the typical bachelor pad he kept when he was the same age as Tim, and Dick was certain Alfred would be praising the Lord almighty that at least ONE of his boys developed a sense of good taste.

"Here. Catch."

"Huh?" Dick was distracted from his observation by a small black remote tumbling through the air at him. His quick reflexes allowed him to snag the object before it had a chance to rebound off his chest. "What's this?"

Tim shrugged. "That is how I got into the vault in the Wayne art exhibit this afternoon."

Dick stared at the device with confusion. "You think I'm here for this?"

"Of course. Why else would you be here?" Tim poured himself another glass of wine. "I tried to tell Peter that Bruce Wayne would have someone from the cape and cowl set watching over the gallery. Must be nice having the Batman in your back pocket."

The derisive tone of voice coming out of the man who looked like his brother stung, and Dick had to resist the urge to wince. The dreamlike quality of the evening had come to a screeching halt. Quickly, he was reminded that while yes, this man was Tim Drake, he didn't know that. His brother was calling himself Neal Caffery, and Neal Caffery had never met Dick Grayson or Nightwing. In fact, Dick came to the late realization that he had next to no clue who Neal Caffery was. "It doesn't sound like you care too much for folks like me," he remarked casually as he made a show of looking over the device. He honestly couldn't make heads or tails of things like this. This kind of object was the sort of thing he'd give to Damian or Barbara to puzzle out.

Neal smirked. "Well, in my previous line of work, avoiding you and your comrades was kind of the point."

"And what was that work?" Dick's curiosity was piqued.

A surprised look crossed Neal's face, before melting into amusement. "Wow... And here I thought my reputation preceded me with nearly every law enforcement agency in the world." He shook his head and meandered over the mirror. "Although, I suppose never having visited Gotham did do a lot to keep me off the Bat's radar."

Dick frowned. "You're not going to tell me?"

"Of course not." Neal said with a charming, yet extremely sly grin. "You people have a reputation for being detectives to uphold. I can't just give you the answer. That, would be an insult to your competence."

If Dick didn't know better, he'd have sworn up and down he was bantering with Selina Kyle back during the height of her Catwoman days. It was an uncomfortable comparison, to say the very least, and triggered more questions than he knew what to do with. He tumbled the device in between his fingers.

"I suppose that would be the same answer if I asked you exactly where you got this thing?"

Neal flashed him another thousand-watt smile.

"Well then," Dick said as he pocketed the device in an empty pocket on his utility belt. "I suppose we're done here. It's been an enlightening visit."

"Oh we must do it again sometime," Neal said as he followed Dick to the balcony. "It's been fun. Although, next time, call ahead first. We can do tapas. I know this great little Spanish place just down the road."

He was mocking him! Tim—no Neal- was mocking Nightwing! He obviously held no great fondness for masked vigilantes, but he wasn't at all intimidated by one in his home. If Dick didn't know that this was really Tim, he'd have thought he just spent the last few minutes with Selina Kyle's non-existent cocky little brother. The realization made Dick's head spin. He pulled out his grappling gun and aimed it for the nearby rooftop. Before he let the line fly, he glanced over his shoulder at Neal. "It was nice to meet you, Neal."

"Pleasure was all mine."

Dick was quickly back on the rooftop where Damian had been waiting. The teen had a stoic expression on his face, as he normally did to the untrained observer. However, Dick was an expert in reading his youngest brother's subtle facial cues. As soon as he saw Robin, he could tell the teen knew more than he was letting on. Dick frowned as he turned opened up the com link with Barbara once more and spoke with both of them at once.

"Alright you two. I want everything you have on Neal Caffery, and I want it now."

Author Notes: The dream-like state has ended for Dick Grayson, and now the reality of the situation has settled into place. Neal Caffery does not like costumed vigilantes. Neal Caffery was once in a profession where avoiding them was a high priority. Neal Caffery's silver tongue reminds him too much of Selina Kyle's. And tomorrow morning, Dick Grayson has an appointment with Peter Burke.

Chapter Text

New York City… the next morning…

Rather than wait for Special Agent Peter Burke to show up at the art gallery, Richard Grayson made it a point to head on down to the FBI's offices there in New York City first thing in the morning. It was around nine am when he exited the elevator on the floor where Burke's office was.

"Mr. Grayson," Peter said with surprise when Jones showed Dick to his office. He rose up from his seat to offer his hand. "I wasn't expecting you to come looking for me this early in the day. I was just reviewing the security report for the gallery. Please have a seat."

Dick shook Peter's hand warmly and offered him a friendly smile. "Well, the security report was only part of why I decided to stop in today." He glanced over at the still open door that Jones was standing in front of. "Could we speak in private for a moment?"

Peter nodded and inclined his head to Jones, who left the office, closing the door securely behind him. Then he turned his full attention to the man sitting on the other side of his desk. "So what can I help you with, Mr. Grayson?"

"Well, it's about what happened yesterday," the younger man said with an uncomfortable expression. "About... my behavior with your agent after my brother's altercation with him." It wasn't hard for Dick to slip back into the role of a heartsick man desperate for any chance of finding his long lost brother. "I know it must have been very unexpected, but..."

"It's quite alright," Peter reassured him. "I may not have been on the case back then, but I do know about your missing younger brother. I'm just sorry that no one has been able to find him yet."

"Are you sure about that?" Dick took a more desperate tone as he spoke, half-rising out of his chair. "That agent of yours yesterday-"

"Consultant."

"Excuse me?"

Peter shook his head. "Neal is not officially an agent of the FBI. He's more of an independent consultant with a specialty on white collar crimes."

Dick filed this bit of information away and moved on with his act. He sat back down heavily in his seat. "Agent, consultant... It doesn't matter. I know who I saw, Agent Burke! That man could be Tim's twin! Is there any chance at all that this Neal Caffery could be my brother?"

As Peter and Dick spoke behind closed doors, the man they were talking about finally stepped into the FBI offices.

"There you are, Neal. Where have you been?" Jones asked as the former con artist took off his hat.

"Dentist," Neal said simply. Then he looked up and noticed a closed door that normally wasn't. "What's going on with Peter? Did a new case walk through the door while I was out?"

"Not sure. Peter said something about a security report for a gallery?"

Recognition dawned on Neal's face. "Ah. That would be Richard Grayson." He raised an eyebrow at the man's body language. "He seems pretty upset about something."

Jones gave Neal a sidelong look. However, before he could say a word, Diana chimed in from her desk with her two cents. "You didn't actually make it out with anything when you broke into that gallery, did you, Neal?"

"Please, give me a little credit, Diana," Neal said. At the knowing look she shot him, he shrugged. "I didn't even make it outside the building before I was busted, alright? I told Peter the security was tight on the place." He poured himself a cup of coffee and gingerly sipped at the hot liquid when he got back to his desk where a stack of paperwork waited for him. Neal picked up a file and opened it up, pretending to read its contents. However, his attention was squarely focused on Peter and the increasingly agitated man sitting in his office.

Meanwhile, Peter was trying to settle down his guest. He really hated being forced to snatch away a slim thread of hope from Grayson, but he needed to know the truth. "I kind of anticipated this," Peter explained as he pulled out folder from his desk. "When I saw the records the bureau had on your brother's cold case, even I had to wonder if Neal wasn't Tim or not. So I had a friend in forensics compare a record we have of Neal's DNA with your brother's last night."

Dick took the offered folder and flipped it open quickly. His eyes widened in surprise. "The DNA doesn't match?" he said softly.

"I am sorry," Peter consoled. "I know the two of them look very similar, but their physical appearance is all they share."

Dick Grayson closed the folder as well as his own eyes. "I understand," he said after a long moment, seemingly needing it to recompose himself. "I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble, Agent Burke."

"Please, it wasn't any trouble, Mr. Grayson," Peter reassured him. "I am only sorry that I couldn't be of more help to you." He took the file back from Dick and placed it on his desk, alongside the security report folder.

"It's alright," Dick said as he rose to his feet. "I should be going though. I need to look over the security report and figure out what changes need to be made before the gallery opens next week." He picked up the security report and subtly slid the DNA file into it while Peter had gotten up to get the door for him.

From the other side of the etched glass door, Neal Caffery's sharp blue eyes zeroed in on that folder.

"Oh. I almost forgot," Dick said as he started making his way out the door, he turned back to look at Peter. "I've got a set of tickets to the gallery's opening reserved for Neal as well as you and your wife. I do hope I'll get to see all three of you there next we—oof!"

"Oh! I'm sorry!"

Dick's retreat from Peter's office was cut short as he and another man collided with one another. The file he was carrying slipped to the floor along with the other three the man he'd run into had been holding. That person was kneeling now, quickly picking up the folders and putting their spilled contents back into their proper order. Dick froze when he saw the face of the man who offered him his folder back.

"I believe this belongs to you, Mr. Grayson? I hope the report helps you fix the gaps in the gallery's security." Neal said with an apologetic smile.

"Ah... Yes... Thank you. I'm sure it will," Dick said with a forced nonchalant air. To Peter it seemed he was trying to keep his emotions in check in the face of someone who resembled his long missing sibling. "Till next week, Agent Burke," Dick said as he made his way out of the FBI offices and into the elevator.

Once he was out of the building and safely in his car, Dick opened up the folder, flipped through all the pages, and swore under his breath. Then he pulled out his cell phone. "Babs? It's me. Do you still have that backdoor into the FBI mainframe?"

"Are you new here? Of course I do. Why?"

"I need you to locate the DNA records they have for Tim and Neal Caffery and compare it with the sample you got from Damian. I swear to God, Babs, if the reason we didn't find Tim earlier is due to some federal clerical error, heads will roll."

"Did you at least get the bug into Burke's office?"

Dick smirked. "Are you new here?"

"Are you sure it's really necessary to spy on the FBI?"

"We can only gather so much information about Neal Caffery from the records you've collected from your sources. He and Agent Burke seem to work together on many assignments. I think we can learn more about Tim's current state of mind by keeping an ear on the two of them."

He could hear Barbara sigh on the other end of the line. "Are you still dead set against calling Bruce in on this?"

Dick's smile faded. "I don't want to bring him in until we have as much intel gathered on Tim as we can. I... don't want to have a repeat of Jason's return."

"Tim is not Jason, and from what I've gathered so far, even Neal is not Jason."

"...So far. There are still a lot of unknowns about Neal Caffery, and I don't want any surprises when we're ready to let Bruce know we've finally found Tim."

"Whatever you say, pixie-boots."

Meanwhile, back in the FBI offices, Neal was seemingly reading up on an insurance fraud case file at his desk. In actuality though, he was closely studying a very curious DNA comparison report that had happened to accidentally slip into his folders just a few minutes earlier.

Author Notes: The story is starting to take a definite direction in my head. I have a general idea of where the characters are going, who else they will be running into along the way, and how it might end. I honestly have no idea how many chapters it will be before this tale is done, still. In this chapter, though, it becomes a little clearer that Tim/Neal is to Dick what Jason Todd is to Bruce. They are both the Robins that the Batmen "failed" and lost. Both were seemingly felled by a dangerous mortal enemy to the Batman. And both have returned to the existences of their Bat-family with tarnished reputations in tow. Jason remained a vigilante, but with no hesitation about using deadly force whenever necessary (and even when it wasn't necessary). Tim/Neal may not murder anyone, but he's still clearly a criminal who is one of the best at what he does.

Chapter Text

New York City… that afternoon…

Neal had wondered if telling Mozzie about his late night visitor was a wise idea. As he watched his best friend going over every nook and cranny of his apartment with a bug-detecting device with a frantic obsessive-compulsive fervor, he was starting to wish he hadn't.

"I'm pretty sure that Nightwing guy didn't have a chance to bug my closet," Neal said as he worked on his computer, which had already been Mozzie-approved. "He didn't even make it past the living room."

"Oh ye of little faith," Mozzie said as he finally satisfied himself with the confirmation that none of Neal's suits were covertly wired. "The bats are so much worst than the suits. It's not the one you see you have to worry about. It's the three in the shadows that you don't." The short bald guy whipped his head around, looking for some corner he hadn't thoroughly investigated yet. Then he made a beeline for the nearest window, opened it wide, and leaned halfway out it, continuing his sweep for bugs on the outside of the building.

"Hey! Will you cut that out? I don't want you falling out a third story window because of your paranoia." Neal got up from the table to try and drag Mozzie back into the building. However, before he could lay a hand on him, an insistent pinging began to come out of his friend's bug-detecting device, and Moz chuckled triumphantly.

"Aha! I knew it!" Mozzie leaned a little bit further out the window so he could reach for something that was just barely within his reach. "If I've told you once, Neal, I've told you a thousand times. It's not paranoia-"

"-if they really are out to get you," Neal finished as he helped Mozzie back into the apartment. Moz then smugly dropped the nickle-sized listening device into the palm of his friend's hand.

Over in the secret command center tucked within the penthouse suite of New York City's Wayne Tower luxury hotel, Damian Wayne was listening to the goings on in Neal Caffery's home in stunned silence. "He found one of the bugs," the teenager said in disbelief. "How does that Mozzie guy have the tech necessary to sniff them out? Who is he, Barbara?"

"I couldn't tell you, little D," Barbara said over the live video chat on Damian's computer. "There is no record online anywhere of this 'Mozzie' character. Not even the FBI or CIA have anything on him. Whoever he is, he's somehow managing to live in New York City without leaving any kind of digital trail to follow. He's like a ghost."

"Alright Moz. You convinced me," Neal's voice chimed in over the speakers. Damian turned his attention back to the screen. "Before you indulge in saying 'I told you so' let's find the rest of the bugs."

Back in his apartment, Neal was rolling up his sleeves and had moved into the center of the living room, examining the layout critically.

"What do you think?" Moz asked. "I know the bats had to have used more than one, but how many?"

Neal looked back to where Mozzie had found the first bug. He closed his eyes and thought for a long moment. "I think we'll find six—no, seven. We already know the bedroom and bathroom are clean. Besides, if there's anything of note that they want to listen to, it'll be in this area." He made a motion with his arms encompassing the living room, dining room, and kitchen."

"How many bugs did you plant this morning, D?" Barbara asked curiously.

Damian grimaced. "Seven."

For the next half hour, Neal and Mozzie thoroughly combed the apartment, both inside and out. By the time they were done, they had all seven tiny listening devices gathered together in the center of Neal's dining table. The two men were sitting at that table, contemplating them over a bottle of wine while on the other side of the city Damian was shaking his head in disbelief.

"They really are quite a marvel of high technology," Mozzie said as he picked up one of the bugs and examined it with a jeweler's eye loupe he had in his pocket.

"Yes, they are," Neal added.

"Whoever you bats are listening on the other end, I send my props to their architect. He or she is a technological virtuoso of the highest standards." He sighed, then turned to Neal. "They certainly are works of art. I almost feel bad about what I'm going to do to them now."

"Almost?"

"Almost. Hammer please."

Neal handed him a regular, everyday claw hammer. Then he silently watched as Mozzie methodically and thoroughly smashed each bug into scrap.

Once Moz was certain that the listening devices were, indeed, all dead, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"Do you feel better now?" Neal asked.

"Much." He wiped his brow. "I knew there was a chance that doing the Wayne security test job was attract the attention of the bats, but to go to all this?" Mozzie waved at the collection of scrap now cluttering the table. "You really didn't get away with anything yesterday, did you?"

"For all this trouble, I'm wishing I had," Neal remarked then shook his head. "But no... I don't think they're looking at me so close just because I got through their security." He reached over to his laptop and pulled out a piece of paper that had been tucked underneath it. Then he gave it to Mozzie, who scanned it quickly.

"Okay..." Moz said. "Why are the suits comparing your DNA with some guy named Timothy Drake-Wayne? Do they think you're some long lost Wayne heir?"

Neal turned the laptop around so that Mozzie could see what he was researching before he got up to help him with the bug hunt. His eyes widened when he saw the old Gotham Gazette news articles Neal had found from seven years ago.

"I had a run in at the gallery yesterday with Wayne's oldest and youngest sons," Neal explained. "The older one seemed to think I looked just like his missing younger brother, so much so that he asked the FBI to check if I was or wasn't."

"Wow... The resemblance is uncanny," Moz said. "But why sic the bats on you?"

Neal shrugged. "Maybe Grayson just didn't want his little brother to vanish without a trace again before he got confirmation of who he was? He was pretty emotional this morning when Peter gave him these results."

"Then how did you get this? Did the suit give you a copy?"

"Of course not. This is the copy Grayson tried to slip out of Peter's office when he wasn't looking. I'll put it back tomorrow."

Mozzie gave the page another look-over, as well as the newspaper article on the laptop. "You know, Neal-"

"No."

"But-"

Neal sighed. "Moz, you know I have no problem with a little identity theft now and then. But this-" He tapped the computer screen. "-would be crossing a line." He got up from his chair and walked over to window, which was still open from their bug hunt. Neal sat on the windowsill and looked out over the neighborhood. "It's one thing to take the identity of someone alive and well, or someone who is dead and buried. Timothy Wayne is a missing person. He's probably dead, but there are members of his family still clinging to the hope that he'll one day be found alive. Even if I had the freedom to go to Gotham City and try to pull off this level of con, I couldn't take advantage of a grieving family like that, no matter how wealthy they are."

Moz gave a mildly disappointed smile. "I suppose we all have our limits as to how far we'll go for the next big score. It's too bad that your line is there, but I can respect that."

Neal leaned against the window frame. "Besides... I don't have time to be distracted by people like Wayne or bats like Nightwing. I have bigger fish to fry."

"You're talking about Fowler, aren't you?" Mozzie said, all traces of his smile fading.

"I need to find him, Moz," Neal said grimly. "If I find him, I can find out why Kate died, and who is really responsible for everything that's happened."

"And for that, we need the music box."

Neal nodded. "Diana's got it. I know Peter wouldn't trust anyone else with it at this point."

"I'll see what I can dig up concerning her and the music box. If we can get a hold of it, we can use it as bait to draw Fowler out-"

"-and then I'll get some answers, one way or another."

When Mozzie looked at Neal, he noted the dark expression on the younger man's face as he brooded over the too recent death of the woman he loved. It made him uneasy. He knew that seeing Kate die right in front of his eyes had changed Neal. Exactly how much it changed him still remained to be seen.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Dick Grayson had finally returned to the hotel where his brother was examining the device Neal had given Nightwing.

"Wait? He found all the bugs?" Dick asked in surprised after Damian updated him on the lack of surveillance. "Every one?"

"Found them. Chatted to us through them. Then smashed them." Damian sounded frustrated as he pulled out a small circuitboard from the device and put it under his microscope.

Dick shook his head and massaged his temples. He was still happy that they had finally found their brother, but all the questions and mystery surrounding his current identity over the last seven years were absolutely maddening.

From the FBI and Interpol records, Neal Caffrey was allegedly a brilliant criminal mastermind suspected of over fifty different white collar crimes across the United States and Europe. However, only one charge was ever successfully pinned on him, and that was a bond forgery here in New York. The only man to ever capture Caffrey was Special Agent Peter Burke. And for some insane reason that Dick still could not wrap his head around, Neal broke out of prison with just four months left on his sentence only to be recaptured by Burke yet again a few weeks later. However, instead of being sent directly to jail (do not pass GO... do not collect $200), he was offered a job as a consultant for the FBI. Things seemed to be going well for awhile there. He helped the FBI solve quite a few cases. He seemed to be on track to staying on the straight and narrow.

Then things happened. Things that involved an amber music box, a corrupt FBI agent, an exploding plane, and unfortunately a dead woman who happened to also be Neal Caffrey's long-time girlfriend.

As Dick began to wonder where the aspirin was in the hotel room, the com link to Oracle began to ping. "I really hope you have some good news for me, Babs," he said after opening up the web chat.

"I wish I did, Dick," Barbara apologized. "I just got the info you wanted. You're not gonna like this."

"I already don't like this. Just, please, give it to me quick. Like ripping off a band-aid."

"Alright." A new window popped up on the computer screen. "I ran the DNA the FBI and Interpol have for both Neal Caffrey and Timothy Wayne. The DNA for Neal Caffrey for both of them matches my DNA records for our Tim." Barbara frowned. "Their DNA for Timothy Wayne ended up matching someone completely different in my records. This wasn't just a glitch or a clerical error. Someone hacked those agencies and changed Tim's DNA record on purpose."

Dick felt that migraine strengthening behind his eyes. "So who's DNA is listed as Tim's at the FBI?"

"Damian."

At the sound of his name, the teenager lifted his head from his research. "Yes, Barbara?"

Babs shook her head. "No. I mean it's Damian's DNA they have on record."

"Wait, what?" Damian's eyes went wide. "You don't think—You can't think that I'd-"

"Don't worry, I'm not accusing you, little D," Babs said in a reassuring tone. "These records were hacked back when Tim first went missing. At that age, there was no way you could've hacked either of those agencies."

Dick felt his expression darken. "No... There's only one person I know with both the resources to successfully hack those agencies and the access to Damian's DNA." He slammed his clenched fist down hard on the table and glared balefully at the computer screen. "This is no coincidence. This is a god damn calling card!"

Author Notes: And the plot thickens. In the first part we have Neal and Mozzie having a pleasant afternoon of bug exterminating. Though it was interesting for Neal to learn that he was being mistaken for the lost Wayne heir, it's a development that pales in comparison to his quest to find Kate's murderer. On the other side of things, Dick gets his first solid lead into who could've turned Tim Drake into Neal Caffrey.

Chapter Text

Cairo, Egypt… five years ago…

It had taken two years to track down Ra's Al Ghul. This was because one of Tim's last acts as Red Robin, the act that brought the fury of the demon's head down upon him, had been too successful. Immediately after Tim's kidnapping, Dick, Damian, and many other members of their extended network of friends and family had searched the world over for any sign of the League of Assassins, the organization Ra's headed. Only then did Dick realize the full extent of what Tim had done.

While reluctantly working with Ra's and the League in order to locate clues to find the missing Bruce Wayne, Tim had used the opportunity within the shadowy organization to bring it down from the inside out. The League's computer network had been completely dismantled, many of their bases worldwide had been destroyed, and its members were sent into disarray. Tim's plan had been a spectacular success, but it also made it near impossible for Dick and the others to track down Ra's through the usual channels when the Red Robin went missing.

Only after Bruce Wayne returned and joined the search was some semblance of progress finally made in tracking down Tim's kidnapper. The League had been quietly rebuilt, and over several weeks had been starting to take assignments, working even more covertly than they did in the past. Despite their caution, though, rumors concerning their rebirth made their way to Bruce Wayne's ears. These rumors were the reason Batman and Nightwing were cutting a vicious path through ancient, nearly forgotten catacombs beneath the city of Cairo.

"Where's Ra's?" Nightwing growled as he had one of his escrima sticks pressed hard against the adam's apple of one of the Demon's Head's most trusted assistants. "Talk Ubu! Where the hell is your master?" In the dim lighting, the red lenses of his mask, and the new red accents of his uniform gave the enraged vigilante a more menacing, almost demonic expression. When the muscular bald assistant stubbornly refused to answer his questions, Nightwing pulled back his other arm and brought his other escrima stick crashing against his skull. "Where the hell is my brother?"

Batman had to grab Nightwing's arm on the younger man's upswing to prevent him from pummeling Ubu into unconsciousness or worse.

"Stop!" he ordered as he held his eldest son's wrist with a vice-like grip. He tightened it when Nightwing tried to pull it free.

"Let me go!"

Batman's eyes narrowed. "There's no need. Ra's is here, and he's going to invite us to whatever inner sanctum he's got himself holed up in-" He looked up and around. "-aren't you?"

From the communicator hooked to his assistant's belt, a grim elderly voice with an Arabian accent spoke forth. "Bring the Detective and his son to me, Ubu."

Ubu stifled a groan as he eased himself gingerly to his feet. "Yes, master." Though he shot Nightwing a steely glare, he turned on his heel and obediently led the two vigilantes through the maze of halls to a secret doorway.

Before they entered the room, Batman traded a silent look with Nightwing. The younger man felt his jaw tighten as he ground his teeth in frustration. The look he got from his father spoke volumes to him. Batman was going to take the lead in speaking with Ra's, and Nightwing was going to restrain himself.

"Welcome, Detective," Ra's greeted coldly as the two masked men silently walked into his sanctum. The immortal leader of the League of Assassins was standing before a massive fire pit, its blazing flames a virtual barrier between them.

"Cut the formalities," Batman growled. "Where's my son?"

"To the point as always," Ra's said, the corners of his lips twitching upward almost imperceptibly.

"Where is Timothy?" Nightwing shouted as he tried to storm forward. The flames from the fire pit flared high, preventing him from getting any closer to Ra's than his father. "What did you do to him?"

Ra's face hardened. "What makes you think, after all he did to my organization, that he's even still alive after all this time?" The old man's eyes narrowed. "I promised Timothy there would be consequences to his actions."

Nightwing's heart clenched. "No... He can't be," Despite himself, despair etched itself on his face.

"Your brother, your son, is dead," Ra's said stoically. "Your family should be no stranger to loss. If you wish to take your revenge, then you are welcome to try at a later date. But leave this place now, or else your family will have two more lost members to grieve."

The younger vigilante's vision was blurring from his tears. His tightened fists were trembling. Nightwing wanted nothing more than to leap across the flames and pummel the Demon's Head into oblivion, his oath to never kill be damned. The only thing that stopped him, that angered him more than Ra's own words, was the lack of reaction from the man at his side. "Why aren't you saying anything?" he asked Batman, his voice hoarse from his barely restrained grief. "How can you be so god damned calm? Tim-"

"He's lying."

Until this point, Batman had been as still as a statue, his eyes watching ever movement of his most dangerous opponent, his ears catching every nuance of his voice. If anyone knew Ra's Al Ghul well, beyond his own children, it was the Dark Knight. Ra's eyes glared daggers at Batman as Nightwing looked at his father in surprise.

"What?"

Batman's eyes never left Ra's. "If he had really killed Tim, after everything your brother accomplished in thwarting his plans, do you honestly think Ra's would have waited almost a full two years to reveal his fate to us? No. For Tim's perceived hubris against him, Ra's would have made it a point to make an example of him, to reassure those who seek the League's favors that they aren't so weak that a single, teenage, masked vigilante can dismantle them so utterly from the inside out."

Nightwing's attention shifted to Ra's as his father spoke, and he noted how the immortal man's face darkened with every word out of Batman's mouth. Every word spoken struck true, and with every strike a glimmer of hope began to reveal itself.

"He escaped, didn't he?" Nightwing said quietly, that glimmer brightening as Ra's scowl deepened.

Batman almost smiled... Almost. "You blinked, and Tim slipped through your grasp somehow, and even you don't know where to find him."

"Get out, Detective," Ra's snarled, his own rage at being outwitted one last time by the Red Robin clearly evident now. "Go looking for your wayward, impudent child! Let's see if you can't find him before my assassins can end him once and for all! Rest assured, though, if I find him first, I won't keep it to myself." He glared balefully at the pair of them. "I'll make sure he's sent back to you in pieces."

Later that evening, after making their way back to their hotel in Cairo, Bruce grimly nursed a generous glass of scotch as Dick was taking a lengthy shower in his own room. "Master Bruce," Alfred said with a concerned tone. "I would've thought that learning Timothy is still alive and not within Ra's Al Ghul's clutches would have made the two of you happier."

Bruce sighed. "This... is almost worse," he admitted darkly while staring deep into his glass.

"Sir?"

The man who was as much a son to Alfred as any living blood relation looked up at him with a tortured expression. "We have wasted two years hunting down the League, chasing down shadows, and now we know they haven't had Tim for God only knows how long. Where do we start looking for him now?"

Author Notes: Flashback time. Before Tim disappeared, he did successfully manage to gut a good portion of the League of Shadows. If you want to read up more on this storyline, take a look at the Red Robin comic book, issues 5 through 12. Tim's success spurred Ra's into going after Bruce Wayne's family, friends, and legacy, which Tim still ultimately thwarted. Back to the present in the next chapter.

Chapter Text

New York City… back to the present... evening…

Dick didn't like it, but once Damian got an idea in his head about what he was going to do, it was hard to get him to shift off course. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked his younger brother as the teenager suited up. "I don't like the idea of you going out there alone."

"I'm not going alone," Damian reassured him. "I've already called Stephanie. She's flying in from Gotham as we speak in one of the jets.

"Steph? Why her? Wouldn't Cass be better since you'll be in her neck of the woods?"

"Perhaps, but she's on an important mission with the Great Ten right now. She doesn't need the distraction. If we end up needing a third set of eyes, I'll give Cassandra a call, but not unless it's absolutely necessary."

Dick nodded. He felt a little reassured, but was still uneasy. "I want you to be careful out there in Hong Kong. That woman is not a person to be trifled with."

Damian tried to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "You're preaching to the choir again, Dick. Besides-" The teenager's lips twitched into a small, dark smirk. "-I'm not a person to be trifled with either." He brought his hood up over his head, then turned to walk towards the elevator to the roof of the hotel. "She made me that way, after all."

Meanwhile, it was just a little bit past sunset as Mozzie covertly tailed Diana, the woman he affectionately nicknamed the lady-suit. He was working hard to figure out exactly where Peter Burke's most trusted agent had possibly hidden the key artifact that he and Neal would need to figure out who was at the center of the conspiracy surrounding them all.

A music box.

It wasn't just any music box, though. This was a rare, antique music box believed to have been once possessed by Catherine the Great as part of her widely fabled lost treasure, the Amber Room. This was a treasure that had, time and again, slipped through Neal's grasp in the past. It was for this treasure that the woman Neal loved, Kate Moreau, had died.

Following Diana covertly was not an easy thing to accomplish, Mozzie quickly learned. The lady-suit was a formidable agent and as such was constantly aware of her surroundings. It wasn't until she met up with her girlfriend for dinner that evening that she finally dropped her guard, making it easier for the small bald man to keep tabs on her. The pair of women went to a nice bistro with an outdoor patio and live jazz musicians playing in the background. Since it was dinner time, it was easy for Moz to get a table on the side of the patio opposite Diana, so that he could keep his eyes on her, but she couldn't see him.

Still, he nearly jumped out his skin when he felt an unexpected familiar touch on his shoulder.

"Oh my god, Alex!" he exclaimed once he saw who tapped him. "Don't sneak up on a person like that." Moz glanced over at the Diana's table and was relieved to see that she still hadn't noticed him. He motioned for the woman to sit down across from him.

"I'm sorry Moz," Alexandra Hunter said as she took a seat, an amused smile gracing her face. "I saw you come in here and couldn't resist joining you."

"What are you doing here?" Moz asked with surprise. "Last I'd heard, you had a one-way ticket to Italy, flying on Air Fed."

The slender brunette gave him an uncomfortable look. "Yeah... In the end I wasn't really able to capitalize on their offer." She sighed. "Turns out that certain people there at the Italian Consulate had some high level connections with the Cosa Nostra. I think it will be a very long time before I'm able to set foot on Italian soil again."

Moz nodded knowingly. Just a few months ago the three of them (Alex, Neal, and him) had worked together to finally accomplish the previously impossible. They actually managed to get their hands on Catherine the Great's amber music box. However, because of some heat she'd acquired recently stateside, Alex had traded possession of the music box to the FBI in exchange for a ticket out of the country. When he spoke again, he kept his voice discrete. "So what are you doing now?"

"Well," she started, just as discretely. "I still need to get out of the country somehow, but I don't have the funds for it. Because of the heat I was already under before the Italian job, and now the additional heat after it, I'm having a hell of a time finding work. It's all I can do just to lay low right now."

The frustration was clear in her voice, and Mozzie felt badly for his old friend, although it was technically because of Neal that she'd gotten tangled up in the music box theft in the first place and not him.

"Well... How about this. You can crash at one of my places for the time being. I've got a contact in Detroit with some Krugerrands that need unloading. This should be a nice quiet job that should net you more than enough to get you out of the country."

Alex smiled brightly. She reached across the table to grasp Mozzie's hand gratefully. "You are the best, Moz! I knew I could count on you!"

Mozzie smiled back at her.

Then the woman's expression sobered a little bit. "So how's Neal doing? I heard about what happened to Kate. How's he holding up?"

The bald man's face similarly sobered. "Well, of course he's dead set on finding out who killed her. In order to do that, we need to find that Agent Fowler, and in order to find him we need..."

Alex made a face. "Don't tell me."

Moz nodded.

"Good grief," she muttered. "Small favor, Moz... If you guys need a third person to get a hold of that thing again, lose my number."

"I'll keep that in mind. Anyways, aside from that, Neal's doing about as well as can be expected, all things considered. Things are better when he's kept busy by the suits." Mozzie chuckled. "He just got done with a fed-sanctioned break-in at a new art gallery that's about to open up."

Her eyes lit up with interest at that. "Really? What for?"

"The exhibition of artwork is from Bruce Wayne's private collection," he told her. "The Waynes themselves asked the feds to test their security measures, so they sent Neal, lucky bastard."

Alex's expression was both curious and guarded. "Did Neal actually... y'know... Do it?"

Moz shook his head. "He got nailed before he could get out of the building. Funny thing, though. He wasn't nailed by security. He was actually caught by Wayne's seventeen year old kid."

"Wow..." Alex murmured. "So Neal got face to face with one of the Waynes. Did he meet anyone else in the family? Perhaps Mr. Jet-Setting Patriarch himself?"

"No... I dunno where Bruce Wayne is, but I know Neal met his oldest son. That Grayson fellow is the one overseeing the gallery set up."

Alex nodded, then noticed something out of the corner of her eyes. "Um... Moz? Were you tailing those two ladies over there in the corner?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Cause it looks like they're not going to be staying in that corner very long."

When Mozzie turned his full attention to Diana and her girlfriend, it was clear that the two of them were not at all happy. They were having some sort of heated argument and the woman who was not the lady-suit was preparing to storm off.

"Oh crap!" He tucked his head behind his menu to hide is face in case Diana turned towards them. But as soon as the frustrated pair left the patio, Mozzie was scrambling for his own exit. "I am so sorry to leave you like this, but I have to keep an eye on them. I'll meet you at the Saturday home tomorrow morning."

Alex smiled. "Bring muffins and all will be forgiven." She then shooed him off. Once Mozzie had left the bistro, her expression became somber as she reached into her handbag and pulled out a cell phone. She herself left the bistro and wandered to a secluded alleyway where she could talk in relative privacy. The phone only had one number on speed dial, and she called it as soon as she could.

"It's been a long time, Promise," a female voice answered.

"We have a problem," Alex said. "Neal has met Grayson and Damian here in New York."

There is a pregnant silence on the other end of the line. Alex bit her bottom lip nervously as she awaited the coming response.

"Do you know if there has been recognition by either side?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know. I heard about the reunion through a third party. I haven't seen Neal in person since Kate's death."

The voice in her ear is not happy. "You're to remain in New York City for the time being."

Alex is not happy either. "But what about the League?" she says with a trace of desperation. "They're close to finding me. I need to leave the country as soon as possible!"

"You will not set one foot off the island of Manhattan!" the voice ordered sternly. "You owe your freedom from the League to me, or have you forgotten your debt?"

The brunette's head bows, even though she knows the person she's talking to cannot see it. "I haven't forgotten. Please accept my apologies. What would you have me do?"

There is another brief moment of silence as the woman on the other end of the line ponders the next course of action. "Get in contact with Neal and see if any of his memory has returned. Find out why the brothers are in the city in the first place. Allow your current alias to meet Richard if you must, but under no circumstances do you let yourself be seen by Damian. He can identify you and will blow your cover. When you have the information I need, contact me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes."

"Oh, and if there are any sightings of Batman or any of his brood working in the city, call me immediately."

"I understand."

The other line disconnected, and Alex turned off her cell. Her expression was troubled as she stood there in the alley, trying to recompose herself. A life she though she'd left behind years ago was closing back in on her, and she honestly wasn't sure if she'd be able to survive another encounter with it.

Author Notes: This chapter actually makes references to details found in an episode of White Collar (Season 2) called "Copycat Caffrey". That episode is Alex Hunter's official re-entry into the season, though some of the facts surrounding why she was in New York City instead of taking the one-way ticket to Italy after the Season 1 finale episode were relatively vague. So I built upon those details to help craft this chapter.

However, there is a twist.

In this story, just like Tim Drake/Neal Caffrey, Alex Hunter has a DC Universe alternate identity. In the Red Robin series, there are several brief encounters with a mercenary of vague alliances named Promise. Though she plays a relatively minor character in the comic book (although that may change from issue 24+), in this story she will play an integral role in the plot regarding how Tim Drake become Neal Caffrey. My inspiration for this character is when I saw how similar Promise and Alex they looked to one another. (http:/ /media. tumblr. com /tumblr_lmlpvoAKl11qi6ons .jpg)(remove spaces for link)

Chapter Text

Hong Kong… fifteen hours later…

"Robin... Much as I love our private missions together, just the two of us, can you just clarify one itty bitty little thing for me?"

"Hmm?"

Stephanie Brown, the current Batgirl, eyed the two well known assassins on either side of them as they walked down a long hallway in the high rise building they'd landed on just a few minutes earlier. "What the hell are we doing here?"

"I told you in the jet," Robin said crisply. "I need to speak to the leader of the Council of Spiders, and I need someone I trust to watch my back."

"How do you even know who the leader of the Council of Spiders is?" Batgirl asked. "Ever since the Wanderer was found dead in Saudi Arabia several years back, no one's been able to figure out who took her place. All anyone knows is that they go by the name Sicarius."

"I know who it is."

Batgirl looked at Robin with surprise. "And how do you know?"

"I make it my business to know."

She glared up at him. "I hate it when you play cryptic with me. It wasn't cute when you were ten, and it's not cute now."

Robin and Batgirl had arrived in Hong Kong a handful of hours earlier, the trip from New York significantly shortened by the super sonic jet Stephanie had borrowed from his father's collection. Over the course of the entire trip, though, Damian said absolutely nothing about his reasons for going to Hong Kong on such short notice, despite Stephanie's burning curiosity. He talked about New York, the gallery, and the pizza. He didn't reveal anything about Tim Drake or Neal Caffrey.

He convinced himself, through logic of course, that if she knew the truth, she'd be compromised emotionally and wouldn't work to the best of her ability. She and Drake were very close, once upon a time after all.

However, when logic was set aside, what was left was the fact that here he was, finally at a point where Stephanie didn't look at him as just a kid or jail bait anymore, and a ghost from her past had just returned to life. All the training in the world couldn't prepare him at all for the complexities of dealing with being in love in this kind of abnormal situation.

But then again... When has being in love with a costumed vigilante while being another costumed vigilante yourself ever not been an abnormal situation?

Batgirl looked to the front of them at the assassin named Wolf who was leading the way, then shifted her focus to the rear where the hulking form of the tarantula-like Goliath was following close behind. "Do you honestly trust these guys to take us straight to their leader, just like that, without trying to stab us in the backs beforehand?"

"Oh I know they have all sorts of death dealing devices aimed at our backs," Robin said. "But I trust that fear of getting on their leader's bad side far outstrips their desire to see either of us dead or maimed. If she didn't want us here, they'd have already made the attempt." He glanced back at Goliath, the mutated human who sported a spider like face and several extra sets of arms. "Am I right?"

All four of Goliath's pupiless eyes narrowed dangerously. However, he didn't make any other threatening moves towards them. The older assassin in front of them wouldn't allow it.

"Calm yourself, Goliath," Wolf ordered sternly, not even bothering to glance back at his companion.

When she felt the menacing aura behind them dissipate, Batgirl was both impressed and uneasy. "Your leader sounds scary," she said conversationally.

Wolf of course, didn't answer. He just kept on walking, but not for long. They'd finally reached their destination. The four of them stood before a set of closed double doors, like the entrance to a boardroom.

"Sicarius will see you now," Wolf said. Robin moved forward, but when Batgirl tried to follow, two of Goliath's massive harry arms blocked her path. "Not you," Wolf insisted. "You will wait out here."

Stephanie frowned behind her mask. "Excuse me?"

"Sicarius will see only him."

"It's alright, Batgirl," Robin said as he grasped Stephanie's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Just wait here for me, please."

"Great," she said with a roll of her eyes, snatching her hand away from his. "So while you get to talk to the mysterious queen of the spider people, I get to be baby-sat by the hired help?"

Goliath growled something barely intelligible, but Wolf shook his head. "We have other duties to attend to. You can entertain yourself just fine on your own." And with that, the pair of them turned to head back to the elevators.

Batgirl glanced around herself, noting the hidden cameras around the hallways and entrance. "Are you sure you want to go in alone?" she whispered as she casually fiddled with her hair, using the movement to also put the listening device Robin had slipped her just then against her ear. It was a small black disk the same color as her cowl.

"No matter what you hear," Robin whispered back just as softly, "Keep your composure and record everything that comes out of her mouth. This information is vitally important. We can't leave without it."

Batgirl frowned. "What did you and Nightwing find in New York that's so important that it requires all this?"

Robin turned to face the door. Behind his mask, he closed his eyes. "I promise I'll explain everything on the flight home. Just... please trust me?"

Stephanie blinked at him. It wasn't often that Damian made a request like that so sincerely. "Alright. Just be careful, okay? If you need me to bust in there, fists a-blazing, just say the word." She smiled at him. "I've got your back after all."

He nodded, then opened the doors just enough to slip inside. What had once been an executive board room had been converted to an exotic throne room in an Arabian style. It was illuminated by multiple oil lanterns that gave off an all too familiar aroma to the teenage hooded vigilante. Standing at the far end of the room, he caught sight of a lone female figure who was gazing through the massive windows that overlooked the cityscape of Hong Kong below. Damian reached up to remove his mask, but kept his hood in place.

"It's been a long time since you've darkened my doorway, Damian."

"Not long enough, Mother."

Author Notes: A relatively short chapter, compared to the others, but a major player in this tangled web has finally been revealed.

For those of you White Collar fans who aren't too familiar with the Batman universe, Damian's mother is a woman by the name of Talia Al Ghul. She is one of the daughters of Ra's Al Ghul, was a former lover of Bruce Wayne, and has a complicated relationship with all the men in her life.

In this story, over the past seven years, Talia has been a busy woman. She broke ranks with her father some time ago and forcibly took leadership of a group of assassins named the Council of Spiders. This is a group that has been at odds with the League of Assassins for a number of years. Red Robin even fought against them before his disappearance.

Her alias within the group, "Sicarius," is inspired the full scientific name of the six-eyed sand spider "sicarius hahni." It's a spider which lives in the deserts of Africa, is a relative of the recluses, and is said to be one of the deadliest spiders in the world, with a venom so potent that even today no anti-venom exists for it. The genus name "sicarius" also means "murderer" in Latin.

Chapter Text

New York City… while Damian is in Hong Kong…

After a relatively drab day of seemingly endless paperwork, Neal was more than happy to be at home, enjoying the company of both Mozzie and a visitor he hadn't been expecting to see.

"Sorry to hear that heading to Italy didn't work out for you, Alex," he said as he poured out a glass of wine for her. "I know you'll miss Rome."

"Oh don't worry about it," Alex said as she watched the crimson liquid flow. "Mozzie's got me covered. I'll be right as rain after working on the job he's got lined up for me."

Mozzie inclined his head towards Alex. "It's not so much our friends' help that helps us as much as the confidence of their help."

"Well said," Neal remarked as he topped off Mozzie's glass before doing the same to his own. "I only wish I could offer a helping hand of my own."

"From what I hear, you've been pretty busy lately. I wouldn't want to intrude on your hectic workload with the Feds."

Neal shrugged. "It's calmed down a bit. The last couple of days it's been mostly pencil pushing and insurance fraud. Nothing very interesting."

Alex smiled. "I heard the Wayne job was pretty interesting."

"That was pretty fun, I have to admit," Neal said with a chuckle. "At least it was until I got ambushed. The way that demon brat throws a punch, I'm sure he must've been trained in some form of martial arts."

Alex took a sip from her glass. "Demon brat?"

Mozzie laughed. "It's his nickname for the Wayne kid."

"Where'd that come from?"

Neal shrugged. "It's the first thing that pops into my head when I think of Damian Wayne. He reminds me a lot of that devil kid from the Omen movies. They share the same name too, now that I think about it."

The trio in Neal's apartment relaxed and chatted while their host was cooking dinner in the kitchen. It was a very pleasant atmosphere. The conversation was leading into talk about the music box and speculations on where Diana was hiding it when a knocking at the front door interrupted them.

"Could you get that, Moz?" Neal asked. "I'm kind of tied up with this risotto."

The short bald man got up from the sofa and went to see who was calling. "Oh hi June!" Moz exclaimed. "What brings you up to the den of thieves this evening? Has the aroma from Neal's kitchen made its way downstairs again?"

From his kitchen, Neal called out, "I'm making plenty if you want to join us for dinner. I know how much you love my risotto."

The elderly dark skinned woman smiled warmly. "It is tempting, but that's not why I'm here right now. You have another guest, Neal, and I wanted to see if you were up for additional company."

Neal looked over his shoulder as he continued stirring the rice that was on the stove. "Peter?"

"Ah, no," a different, but familiar voice said. "I'm definitely not Agent Burke." The tall figure of Richard Grayson stepped out of the shadows behind June and into the light. He smiled apologetically at Neal and his other guests, who were gaping wide eyed at the newcomer. "Sorry to interrupt your evening, but I was hoping to get some advice on the new security measures at the gallery." He held up the folder he'd gotten from Peter a couple of days ago. "Your report was very thorough and helped us greatly, but I just wanted to double check with you to make sure we have all our bases covered. However, if you need me to come back at another time..."

Normally, Neal would have suggested precisely that. Grayson was a relative stranger, and he never made it a habit of welcoming unfamiliar people into his home. However, there was something about him in general that made it hard for Neal to even consider kicking him out. "Where's your younger brother?" he asked warily.

"He had to take a last minute trip out of town," Dick said. "He won't be returning till the gallery opening."

Well, there went the strongest excuse Neal could think of for showing Grayson the door. He looked at his other guests. "Would either of you mind it if Mr. Grayson-"

"Please, call me Dick."

"Ah... Okay... Would either of you mind if Dick stuck around for dinner?"

Alex looked Grayson over and shrugged. "I don't mind. It's not every day I get to dine with charming heirs to multi-billion dollar corporations." She smiled coyly at the newcomer while both Neal and Mozzie wisely bit their tongues.

Mozzie likewise seemed equally unfazed. "Sure. Why not? All the world's a stage, after all, and who am I to deny the entrance of a new actor into the scene?"

At the rather perplexed look Dick gave Mozzie, Neal chuckled. It did take a bit to get used to Mozzie's unique way of speaking. With his risotto cooked to perfection, he felt safe about leaving the kitchen for a few moments. "Let me make with the introductions. June, you've already met. This-" he motioned to Alex. "-is Alexandra Hunter."

"Alex for short." She offered her hand and Grayson took it with a debonair smile.

Neal took two more wine glasses from his shelves. "And this is-" he said as he began motioning to Mozzie.

"Ivan Bliminse," Mozzie finished. Neal had to repress a snicker as his old friend gave the unsuspecting Grayson one of his favorite clever aliases.

Dick smiled brightly. "It's a pleasure to meet all of you."

Dinner itself went exceptionally well. It certainly went better than anyone had thought it might. Despite never having met anyone else besides Neal before this evening, Dick Grayson seemed to have this aura about him that made everyone feel relaxed and comfortable in his presence. June joined them for dinner as well, and the five of them shared in good food, fine wine, and intriguing conversation.

"I remember my first date with my dear husband Byron, God rest his soul, was at a performance of Haley's Circus back in the old days," June recalled after dinner was over and coffee was being poured. "I had no clue, though, that you were one of the Flying Graysons. Back then, the Flying Graysons were still a duet. Your parents were wonderful performers. I'm so sorry about what happened to them."

"Thank you," Dick said with a nod. "It was hard, losing them the way I did, but if it wasn't for Bruce, I really don't know life would've turned out for me. I was fortunate."

"Do you ever miss it?" Alex asked curiously. "The circus and performing and traveling and all that?"

A rather mysterious smile flashed across Dick's face. "Sometimes," he admitted. "Sometimes I miss it, but then there are other times in the dead of night, it feels as though I've never left."

"Ah, dreams," Mozzie quipped as he passed a cup of coffee to Alex. While he was handling the java, Neal was at the recently cleared dining table, going over the new security plans for the gallery.

"Hey, Dick," he said as he made a few marks on a diagram of the gallery layout. "Could you come over here?"

Grayson got up from the sofa and went to stand next to Neal. "What is it? Did you spot something?"

"Yeah. Everything overall looks good, but you've still got a couple of spots here and here that need some extra attention."

As the pair of them stood together at the table, pouring over schematics and security plans, Dick couldn't help the sensation of nostalgia washing over him. The original plans for the evening were to just use the gallery's security plans as an excuse to try and get to know Neal better, to try and gauge the kind of person he was now, outside of everything the FBI and Interpol files said he was. He never expected that he'd enjoy a meal with several of his closest friends, and be welcomed so warmly in the process.

He knew Alex Hunter by reputation from the files he had on Neal. She was a well known black market fence and thief. Neal and her had worked together often in the past before a falling out in Copenhagen when a job they were on went south.

The man calling himself Ivan, who Dick knew was really called Mozzie, was still a mystery. Despite his obvious tech skills, from how well his home made bug detecting device worked earlier in the week, the man of short stature and receding hairline seemed to have quite an eccentric personality and loved to share quotations.

June had been a total surprise. She was the very kindly old woman who owned the building and was technically Neal's landlord. Dick thought that, if given the chance, she and Alfred would probably get along beautifully.

And then there was Neal himself. Dick had to force himself time and again to call his brother "Neal" even in his head as he conducted this covert investigation. There was none of the hostility from when he'd last been in this house, dressed as Nightwing. Instead, there was this charming, debonair, confident man that seemed to be everything his brother hadn't been when he was a teenager. Tim had been relatively shy around newcomers, extremely awkward around beautiful women, and was so clumsy in social situations that it was almost painful to watch him crash and burn sometimes. Dick wondered if this current persona of his brother's was a result of whatever caused his amnesia over the years, or if it was something that would've happened naturally if Tim had been given a chance to grow out of it as he got further into adulthood naturally.

"Um... Dick? Are you alright?"

"Oh? What?" Dick looked over at Neal, who was studying him curiously.

"You kind of spaced out there. Was I boring you with all this technical jargon?"

Dick shook his head. "Oh no... It's just... You remind me a lot of my younger brother... Not Damian, but another one I haven't seen for a very long time."

"Ah..." A strange expression crossed Neal's face. He went to take a sip from his coffee, only to discover that his mug was empty. "Hey Ivan? Is there any coffee left in the pot?"

"There should be enough for two more cups in there."

"Thanks." Neal grabbed his mug, then offered to take Dick's. "Would you like some more?"

"I would, thanks."

Neal took the ceramic mugs and started making his way to the kitchen. Midway there, though, a small flash of red darted across his vision, blinding him briefly and giving him pause. "What the-?" He rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand.

At that moment, Dick looked at Neal and paled when he saw a tiny, bright red laser dot lining itself up with his brother's head.

"Everyone get down!" Grayson yelled with alarm as he bolted for the kitchen. "Tim! Look out!"

Before Neal could voice a question to Dick, the older, taller, and significantly stronger man tackled him to the floor. A fraction of a second later, the glass door leading to the balcony shattered, and the mirror that had been directly behind Neal exploded into a million pieces by the high powered sniper bullet that had been fired at the place where Neal's head used to be.

Author Notes: Welcome to Chapter 14. Now serving wine, risotto, coffee, and snipers.

Chapter Text

New York City… an hour later…

"Neal! I know you're irritated, but you need to calm down!"

"Irritated? Irritated!" Neal glared at Peter as they stood alone in the special agent's office. "No. Irritated is what happens when a five star restaurant loses your reservation and you have to wait an hour for a table. Irritated is what happens when your favorite sports team loses the championships because of a referee's bad call. Irritated is NOT what happens when a sniper tries to put a bullet between your eyes! Damn it, Peter! Nearly everyone who means anything in my life were in my home tonight! They could've been hurt or killed! Calming down is not an option! Not when Fowler is still running around out there a free man! You know he's behind this!"

Even with the door closed, everyone else in the office suite could hear Neal yelling at near the top of his lungs, followed closely with Peter's calmer, but just as loud responses as he tried to talk his infuriated friend down from the murderous rage he'd worked himself into. The agents who were present at this late hour tried to ignore it and continue with their work, since they had to try and find the shooter before the trail went completely cold. Dick wasn't an agent, though. As much as he wanted to be out of this office, in his uniform, and hunting down the shooter himself, he couldn't tear his eyes away from his brother. This... This image of him was all too familiar. Dick knew that the man pacing like a caged tiger in Peter Burke's office wasn't this upset because someone had targeted him. No. He knew his brother was upset because of everyone else who had been put at risk.

This cemented Dick's conclusion about his brother. Despite the obvious changes in his outward persona and his memory loss, there were deeper, core aspects of Tim still present. Neal Caffrey may have been a criminal, a thief, a con man, but that was as far as the moral corruption went. Neal... Tim... still cared about people, especially those he let get close to him. How many times had he seen Tim this mad when anyone tried to hurt someone he cared about?

"Thank you," a woman's voice came up behind Dick. He turned to see Peter's associate, Diana, offering him a cup of water. In the background, he could still catch bits and pieces of the now more subdued conversation Peter was having with Neal. Agent Burke seemed to know Neal better than anyone there, and was finally having some success with calming him down. "If you hadn't spotted that laser sight..."

"How could I do any less?" Dick said as he took the cup. "I'm just glad that the shooter decided to take only a few shots." He looked at Diana. "Have your people found any leads on who it was?"

"We're working on a few things," she admitted, purposefully keeping details vague. "I'm glad that you guys called Peter first instead of the local police. While I don't mind working with NYPD, it makes it easier when we don't have to wrestle them for access to the crime scene and any evidence they might have."

Dick frowned. "Is there anything you can tell me about what's going on? Why would someone want to kill Neal in the first place?"

The lady agent shook her head. "I really can't say any-"

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a metal trash can crashing violently against the wall of Peter's office, the sound so loud and startling it brought everyone in the office suite to a screeching halt. The next thing anyone knew, Neal burst out of Peter's office, just as angry as he'd been when he first went in, and stormed over to the conference room where, once inside, he slammed the door and promptly locked himself in. There was about a solid minute of uneasy silence and uncomfortable glances in the office. Dick could see a very weary-looking Peter through the glass office door pinching the bridge of his nose as he recomposed himself. Then he stuck his head out and motioned for Diana.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grayson. There's nothing more I can tell you. We've already got your statement, so the best thing you can do is just head back to your hotel and let us take care of things. Do you need me to call you a cab?"

"No. That's quite alright. I've got a ride. Thank you, Agent Barrigan." As Diana left to go to Peter's office and closed the door behind her, Dick pulled out his cell and quickly dialed up Barbara on his way to the elevator.

As the world moved on outside the conference room, Neal sat alone in the darkness, his back wedged against a corner as he tried to make sense of everything that had just happened. Up until that last hour, everything had been fine. Better than fine really. Then it all went to hell in a hand basket.

Back in his home, Neal had been futilely trying to rub the distracting red spots from his eyes caused by the laser sight shining into them when he was tackled. Then, as he was suddenly forced to the floor by the far stronger man, all he could hear was a cacophony of shattering glass and frightened cries from his friends. He didn't think it strange at the time, but rather than keep his head down and try to stay safe himself, Neal's instinctive reaction to all this was to try and get up to make sure everyone else was alright. In fact, he tried several times to get to his feet, but Grayson prevented it.

"Stay down!" he ordered in a tone that expected no argument.

There was plenty of argument in Neal, though. He struggled to move. "Let me go! I need to make sure everyone's safe!" He managed to slip from Grayson's grasp with an elbow to the diaphragm and tried to crawl out of the kitchen. However, that attempt was aborted when, the moment he tried to move from the kitchen to the living room, the sniper fired another shot. Neal felt the heat from the bullet as it sliced the air in front of his face, just inches from his nose as he was pulled back hard behind the dining table that had been kicked over moments before by Grayson.

He reflexively threw his arms over his head and neck to shield himself from more falling glass as a third bullet quickly followed and tore through his cabinets right overhead, shattering the glass panels of the doors and all the ceramic dishes inside. Very little of the sharp, broken debris actually fell on Neal. Dick made sure of that as he shielded Neal's body with his own. "For Christ's sake, Tim! Just stay put!" Then, Dick turned his attention to the others. "Is everyone else alright? June? Alex? Ivan?"

From the living room, Alex's voice called out. "We're fine! We've called Peter! He's on his way!"

"Just stay where you are!" Dick ordered. Then he turned his attention to Neal. "Are you alright?"

For his part, though he was certain he was not alright, Neal didn't immediately voice how he was doing. There was something very unnerving about the entire situation that had nothing to do with the fact that someone was trying to shoot him.

It was the fact that everything felt like deja vu.

Narrowly avoiding being shot at felt... familiar?

How could he feel so safe with Grayson watching his back? For that matter, how could the man be so calm and in control like he was in a situation like this?

Why, despite the evidence he knew Dick had to the contrary, did he call Neal by his missing brother's name?

And finally... Why didn't it sound wrongwhen Dick called him Tim?

"Fowler..."

"What?"

Neal needed to focus on something that made sense. Something that wasn't the weird feelings of familiarity that shouldn't have been there. Something real. "The shooter has to be Fowler!" Neal growled. As he focused on the man that was his strongest link to Kate's murder, he felt that now comfortable sensation of churning anger well up inside him. He clenched his hand into a tight fist and slammed it into the floor, heedless of the broken shards of plates and glass that littered it. "The bastard's trying to finish what he started with Kate!"

"What he started?"

It was about that time that Peter showed up. He quickly took charge and it gave Neal a decent excuse to put some distance between him and Grayson. June was sent to stay with her daughter in Albany, and after taking their unofficial statements, Peter let Alex and Mozzie slip away before the actually NYPD could show up. It didn't take much to convince Grayson to leave their presences out of anything he told the cops when they arrived. Peter brought both Neal and Dick to the safety of the FBI offices, and then took the former into his own office where the former con man was allowed to go nuclear.

Alone in the darkened conference room, Neal was tired, angry, and confused as hell now that the adrenaline rush from earlier was starting to fade. He tried to keep his focus on Fowler and the assassination attempt. He tried to put all thoughts about Dick Grayson out of his head. That was the only way things that seemed to make sense in his head.

In the quiet foyer of the FBI building, Dick lingered as he waited for Alfred to drive up in the car. He didn't mind the wait at all, though. He was busy listening to the audio feed Barbara was sending him through his cell phone from the bug that was still active in Peter Burke's office.

"Neal is convinced that Fowler is behind this," Peter was saying to Diana.

"You don't sound convinced yourself, Peter."

There was a pause, where Dick assumed Agent Burke was shaking his head. "It doesn't make sense. Why would Fowler try to kill Neal now, when his ultimate goal has always been the music box? It's still safe, right?"

"Yes. I double checked before I came here."

"Good." There was something that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a groan. "Something doesn't feel right about all of this. I can't place my finger on it, but this feels all wrong."

"How so?"

Peter's chair creaked as he sat back down in it. "If the goal of tonight's shooting was to kill Neal, well of course it was a spectacular disaster. But given what we know about how things went down, was that really the goal?"

There was another short pause. "You do have a point. As far as assassination attempts go, this one was pretty inept. Professional hitmen usually don't need to use laser sights on their sniper rifles, and when they do they certainly don't let their mark notice or do it when there's witnesses around who could see it. Also, from the building the sniper was shooting from, at that relative close range even a semi-decent shot should've managed to kill Neal even when Grayson noticed the laser sight."

Dick listened with growing interest. Agent Burke had a quick, logical mind that reminded him a lot of Tim's back when his brother was working on solving mysterious cases back in his days as Robin. He was starting to understand how it was that Peter had managed to catch Neal Caffrey when the elusive con man had slipped through the fingers of other law enforcement agents around the world.

"So let's take assassination completely off the table," Peter continued. "What if the goal of tonight's fiasco wasn't to kill Neal, but to provoke him?"

"Provoke him? Well if that was the goal, then it was clearly a success. I've never seen Neal so worked up before."

"I have."

"When?"

"The day Kate was murdered." Peter sighed. "Back then, it was more grief than rage. However just like tonight, when Neal's emotions are running rampant, he doesn't think clearly about logic or consequences. He becomes more instinctive and reactive, and that's where he tends to slip up. The fact that he's tied this attempt on his life with Kate only makes it worse. It makes him easier to manipulate."

"That's how you caught him the first time, right?"

"Yeah. Kate's always been his weak spot. Back then, we were able to use her as bait to trap Neal and bring him to justice."

Diana's voice took on a more concerned tone. "So you think someone is trying to provoke Neal? For what purpose?"

"I'm not sure. The only thing I can think of is that they want to get Neal so mad, so completely blind with rage, that he'll charge into anything head first without considering that he might be running right into a trap."

"Like waving a red flag in front of a bull."

"Exactly." Peter sighed. "I'm considering sending him back to prison."

"What?" Diana's response was startled. It mirrored Dick's own reaction to the news.

"In his present state of mind, and with the threat of someone out there trying to manipulate him, I think it might be the safest place for Neal to be until we figure out what exactly is going on."

"Is that what made him storm out of your office earlier?"

"Yeah." Peter sighed. "I just don't know what else to do with him right now. He can't go back home. It's a crime scene now. We could try to put him in a safe house under protective custody, but I don't know if I trust him not to try and slip away when no one's looking to go hunting down Fowler himself."

"But to send him back to prison?"

"I know, I know... I don't like it either. A part of me is tempted to take him home with me so that I can keep an eye on him myself..."

"...But?"

"But if there's someone out there willing to take potshots at him, regardless of who's with him, I don't want to put Elle in the line of fire. The shooter might not have been willing to take aim at Neal's guests earlier tonight, but that's not to say he won't change his mind if it means a better chance at completely unhinging Neal."

"So what do we do with him?"

"For now, just keep him here. I'll be staying with him tonight. Then tomorrow... we'll see what happens."

From the foyer, Dick Grayson frowned as he absorbed all the information he'd just heard. "Did you get all that, Babs?"

"Every word." From her computers at the Batcave back in Gotham City, Barbara Gordon was hard at work. "Pulling up every bit of information I can find about this Fowler, Kate, and this mysterious music box we've heard so much, yet so little, about. Also checking our backdoor into the Unternet to see if there are any known hit orders on Neal Caffrey."

"Have you gotten a hold of Damian?"

"Sorry. When he entered the building we suspect is the HQ of the Council of Spiders, we lost both his and Steph's transmission signals. It's as he predicted. The building must have some sort of wireless jamming technology preventing unauthorized communication with the outside world."

Dick nodded despite himself as he noticed Alfred pull up in the car. "Keep trying. The moment he gets out of there, I need him back here ASAP, along with whatever information he might have." He stepped out of the building and made his way into the waiting open door of the car. Despite maintaining his calm demeanor outside, once the old man was back in the car, he turned to look at Dick with a concerned expression.

"Master Richard? What in the world is going on? You and Master Damian have both been acting very strangely the past week. Are you on a case involving the FBI?"

"Please, Alfie," Dick said with a shake of his head. "I promise I'll explain everything later. Right now, I need to get back to the hotel and suited up. There's some things I need to do tonight."

Before they were able to drive off, though, a woman quickly stepped out of an alley beside the FBI building and sprinted over to the car. She tapped on the tinted passenger window urgently.

"Alex?" Dick said after rolling the window down. "What're you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," Alex Hunter said as she glanced around herself nervously. "I need your help."

Dick frowned. "I don't know what I can help you with. If you need some assistance, Agent Burke is still in there with Neal."

She shook her head. "No. The feds can't help me. They tried, but they don't have the resources to keep me safe. I know you do."

"Honestly, miss. I don't know what I could offer you that the FBI can't."

Alex leaned against the door and put her face closer to the open window. "I know who you really are," she whispered. "I know who your father and brother really are. I know how your family usually spends their evenings. And I know why you really came to see Neal tonight."

Dick noticed Alfred stiffen out of the corner of his eyes. He felt his own expression harden at the brunette's knowing tone. "What do you want? Are you trying to blackmail me?"

She shook her head. "No. I want to make a trade. Information for protection."

"What sort of information do you have that would be worth my family's time and effort spent to protect you?"

Alex took one more uneasy glance around herself before turning back to Dick. "I can tell you how Timothy Drake became Neal Caffrey."

Author Notes: Longer chapter is long. This one took a bit more time to flesh out because I wanted to make sure that things turned out the way I wanted because this is going to set up for a couple of really important couple of upcoming chapters. Damian is in Hong Kong getting information from his mother. Dick is in New York about to get information from Alex. The first clear pictures of how Tim Drake became Neal Caffrey are about to be revealed.

Chapter Text

Seven years ago...

The water with the ethereal green glow has been called many things by many people in many languages.

Soma.

Panacea.

Ambrosia.

Elixir of Life.

Fountain of Youth.

Lazarus Pit.

No matter the name, it's almost certain that the men and women who first used the pools of life-gifting waters never thought to turn them into instruments of torture. To them, the waters were a blessing from their gods. Something holy. Something to be revered, respected, cherished, and protected.

However, nothing is sacred in the hands of a motivated sadist.

He'd lost track of how long he'd been there. It was so hard to keep track of days and nights when one couldn't see the sky. Back when his mind was only fractured, he tried to keep some semblance of the time by counting lives. It was a morbid method, to be certain, but it was the only thing that took place with any clockwork-like regularity. At least it was until the demon realized what his captive was doing and threw the schedule into chaos. By the time that happened, though, keeping track of the days didn't really matter anymore. With every passing life, his mind had fractured a little more, until where once was brilliance was nothing but fragments.

Dying was never what caused the most damage. The captive's first death had been the most traumatic, the demon made certain of that. However, the suffering he had endured at the end of his life paled in comparison to the agony and madness he experienced in his rebirth in the pool of glowing green liquid. The poor young man had been so confused when his sanity returned that inaugural time. Why would the demon murder him, just to return the gift of life back to him? Was this some semblance of mercy on his captor's part?

He soon realized that mercy was no motivation for the demon's seeming generosity. The truth was violently learned as he felt the blade of a curved dagger suddenly plunge into his body, ending his second life and thrusting him into the path of his third.

With every subsequent life he lost, his body was afterward made whole by the mystical restorative waters. However, the repetitive traumatic process had the reverse effect on his mind. Every life lost took something with it when it was ended.

The fifth life stole the memory of his mother and father's smile...

With the eighth vanished the names of his brothers...

Life thirteen took an important circus photograph...

As the twenty-first was ended, a silhouette of a bat in the night sky flickered out of existence...

The thirty-fourth life was different, though. It was the first life that gave something back, instead of stealing something away. It was during the thirty-fourth that he realized he wasn't alone.

"It doesn't stop hurting, does it?" a stranger's voice asked gently in the near pitch darkness. "Even though your body is mended, the pain still lingers inside."

The captive's eyes snapped open. "Who's there?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper so that the guards beyond the locked door of his cell wouldn't hear him speaking. He gingerly rose up on his arms to look for the source, but when he did, he saw he was still very much alone. As he laid back down and tried to rest, his heart ached. When was the last time anyone spoke to him with any kindness?

During life thirty-seven, the mysterious voice returned. This time, the captive kept his eyes closed, and they were able to talk for longer.

"Do you have a name?"

"Sorry. I can't seem to recall one." the unseen one answered honestly.

The captive almost chuckled. "S'alright. Names are overrated." He tried to swallow to ease the discomfort he felt in his throat. The thirty-sixth life had been ended by a blade drawn across his neck. Despite being healed, it still hurt to speak.

"You don't have to talk," the stranger said. "Rest. I'll keep watch and let you know when the demon returns."

For the first time in many lifetimes, the captive slept without nightmares, without dreams of any sort. The nameless stranger did exactly as he promised, and woke him only when the demon or his minions arrived to take steal more of his lives away.

The fortieth life was a return to prolonged agony. Something toxic burned through his veins, and for over a week the walls of his cell reverberated with his screams. He begged and pleaded for an end to the pain, but every word that left his lips fell on deaf ears. Toward the end of that week, he was so relieved when he realized his body was failing him. He hoped and prayed that this was finally the end.

The stranger, now his sentinel, comforted him as best he could as anguished, hopeless sobs racked his body throughout the entirety of life forty-one.

With every passing life, as the captive's mind and spirit became more shattered and despondent, the sentinel's voice became stronger and more focused. Somehow, the demon didn't see him, never realized his captive had acquired a guardian. The sentinel hid when the demon and his minions were around, and came out only when they were both alone. He was the only comfort the captive had, the only thing that kept him from falling completely to pieces despite all the abuse he'd been forced to endure.

"I'll get you out of this. You will be free from this hell one day. I'll make sure of it."

The captive cared nothing for freedom anymore. "All I want," he whispered back. "is to be left alone. No more living or dying. Just peace."

"Nothing more?"

There was a moment of silence from the straw mat that the captive lay motionless on. "Well, I do miss seeing the sky."

Life fifty-four was the turning point. It was the only other life that gave something back instead of taking something away. The sentinel kept watch as the captive slept, as he always did. Then he heard the footsteps. He almost woke his charge, but stopped short. Something was different. The footsteps were too soft, too light to be the demon or any of his minions.

When the door to the cell was unlocked, it was done by a hand that was trying very hard to be as quiet as possible. The turn of the key was slow and tentative. Similarly, the latch was lifted gingerly. As the door swung open with barely a whisper from its rusty hinges, a feminine silhouette was revealed by the torchlight from the hallway.

Author Notes: ... This was a difficult chapter to write. I nearly deleted it several times as I was typing it up, but the muses were adamant about leaving it in.

Chapter Text

Seven years ago (continued)...

The captive sat motionless in the corner of his cell, his back wedged against the wall and head bowed so that his now too long hair fell into his face. The masked woman crept into the tiny dark room and made a silent beeline straight for its only occupant. As she got closer, her movements became more cautious. Bright eyes watched him closely, searching for any signs of life. She brought up a gloved hand and gently tried to brush some of the hair from his face.

To her credit, the sentinel was impressed when she remained silent when the captive's hand shot up to grab hers. She did gasp in surprise, though, he noted with grim satisfaction. "Who are you?" the sentinel asked in the captive's borrowed voice.

She tried to pull her hand away, to no avail. He held her tight with an iron grip. Though the captive's body still ached from the phantom pains of his most recent death and rebirth, the Lazarus Pit had healed all the injuries, as it always did, and made him physically whole. The sentinel knew with this body he could handle one girl.

"I'm a friend," she whispered. "I've been sent to get you out of here, Timothy."

The sentinel frowned and raised his head to look at his would-be savior. "Who?"

"Aren't you—?"

"Names are overrated."

The masked teenage girl was clearly a little confused, but she wasn't about to let that dissuade her from her mission. She rose up to her full height. "Whatever. We need to leave now." She placed her free hand over his, which still held her other wrist, and tried to pull him to his feet, but he stubbornly stayed in place.

"Is this another cruel trick?"

She stopped pulling. "What?"

The woman wasn't expecting him to move as quickly as he did. The sentinel didn't expect to be able to move as quickly either. He never took so much control before. Before the woman could blink, he'd risen up and had slammed her against the wall, a strong hand wrapped firmly around her neck.

"Another one of the demon's games!" he growled through clenched teeth. "A glimmer of hope that always turns into death!" His grip on her tightened, and somehow he knew that she'd have bruises from it, but he's too angry to care. "There's nothing left to break! The demon's taken everything from him! All that's left is shards and splinters!" His eyes, his too-blue borrowed eyes, narrowed in their rage. "I won't let him be murdered again! Not again! Not ever!"

"I swear I'm not working for Ra's Al Ghul!" she gasped desperately. Her face showed the pain from his grip. "I hate that monster as much as you do, and I'm working for one who hates him even more than either of us!" The woman struggled to free herself. "Please! She sent me to rescue someone named Timothy Wayne! We don't have much time! The guards will be here soon!"

The sentinel finally released her. He didn't trust her, but the alternative to leaving was staying in the cell to wait for the fifty-fourth death. "Go."

As the two of them ran the labyrinth of the underground compound, the sentinel sensed the captive stirring in the back of his mind. Even in his unconsciousness, he could feel something was happening, though he was not in control of his own body. With grim satisfaction, the sentinel noted the number of fallen guards on the path the woman lead him on. He doesn't care if they're dead or just unconscious. It just strengthened the previously weak hope that maybe, just maybe, this was really what the woman had promised.

After what seemed like forever, the pair of them burst through one final door and the sentinel was stunned to find himself looking at a world without walls. The masked woman paused when she noticed that her companion had stopped the moment they cleared the secret entrance they'd used to make their escape. "Hey! Are you ok?"

The sentinel didn't answer. He was too busy taking in the environment. His persona had been born in the darkness from torture and captivity. The identity he possessed had been cobbled together by Timothy Drake's subconscious as a last ditch effort to preserve some semblance of his sanity. The sentinel possessed Tim's strength of spirit, his endurance, his focus, and will to live.

He didn't possess Tim's memories of the clear night sky, though. The sentinel had never felt the winds of the Australian outback pull at his hair.

Tim's rescuer tried to say something to him, but her words don't reach his ears. The sentinel had closed his eyes and reached deep into his mind.

"Wake up," the sentinel wordlessly urged his unconscious counterpart gently. "Open your eyes."

When Tim's blue eyes open once more, the furious, focused demeanor is gone, replaced by first confusion, then awe.

"We're... outside?" he murmured softly as he stared up at the star-laden night sky. "Is this real? Is it over?" Tears of relief begin to trail down his cheeks, but Tim makes no move to brush them away.

The sentinel's voice responded inside his head. "For now."

He smiled weakly. "I'm so tired," he whispered as his eyes started to slide closed. The two of them barely registered the fact that their shared body was falling into someone's arms.

"Then go back to sleep," the now weary sentinel said. "I'll take care of everything until you wake up."

Author Notes: Yes, I know it's another short chapter, but in a way, it's a continuation of the previous. Maybe later on I'll go back and combine the two into one, but this works for now.

Chapter Text

Present Day...

"So you were the one who rescued Tim from Ra's Al Ghul?"

Dick sat directly across from Alex in the study of his hotel suite. There was no smile on his face. There was no friendliness in his voice. Despite the fact that he wasn't in uniform, there was no mistaking that at this moment he was all business.

He was Nightwing.

He was a Bat.

And he was dead f-ing serious.

Alex nodded, her hands gripping the glass of water between them tightly. "Back then, I went by the name of Promise. I was once a member of the League of Assassins."

Dick's eyes narrowed. "I've been memorizing the roster of the League of Assassins backwards and forwards since the day Tim disappeared. I've never seen your name crop up."

"That's because I was never an assassin," Alex clarified. "I was a bodyguard for my half-sister, Ra's Al Ghul's youngest daughter. Also, shortly after I rescued your brother, Talia and I faked my death so I wouldn't be on the League's radar. I haven't been a card-carrying member since I became Alexandra Hunter."

"There's something I don't understand," Alfred said. Though the grandfatherly old man was all business as well for the moment, Dick knew he had to be just as confused, delighted, and conflicted as he'd been when he learned that Tim was alive but in a complicated situation. "Why would Talia Al Ghul want to help free Timothy from her father's grasp?"

"It was all about the family business," Talia told her son crisply in her high rise headquarters in Hong Kong when Damian posed a similar question to her.

"Really? What was Grandfather planning to do with Drake? Turn him into the heir Father always refused to be?"

Damian's seemingly ageless mother chuckled humorlessly. "After all the damage and embarrassment Timothy caused your grandfather? Of course not. You know your grandfather better than that."

"Then why is Drake still alive? Why didn't Grandfather kill him?"

"Who says he didn't?"

The teenager had come into the room with a script, with a list of questions to pose to his mother in order to find out the truth about what happened to the lost brother he barely knew. Those last four words out of his mother's mouth derailed the train of thought he'd been riding as effectively as a slap in the face.

"Explain, Mother."

"Your grandfather was really, really upset with Timothy," Talia said as she took a seat behind an ornate antique table of Italian design. "But he was still impressed with what he accomplished. That young man single-handedly crippled the League and set them back for years. His mind showed a brilliance that could potentially outshine even your father's. Your grandfather thought that here was an opportunity to acquire the heir he always wanted to have."

Damian noticed how his mother's expression darkened. "But you just said that Grandfather didn't want to make Drake his heir."

"My sister told me that Ra's had chosen a mate for her," Alex said. The disgust she felt at the memory was written all over her face. "Stupid, deluded girl was so proud, so happy to finally get the chance to be daddy's favorite broodmare." Unable to sit still any longer, the brunette got up and started pacing.

"I take it you didn't agree?"

"She was only fourteen!" Alex snapped. "And when I told her didn't agree with Ra's plans for her, she persuaded him to eject me from her side and from the League. Her last act of kindness towards me was that I was only cast out, not killed. Talia took me in not long after that."

Dick leaned forward slightly. "What was her angle in all of this?"

"From what I was told, Talia and Ra's had a huge falling out shortly before your brother dismantled the League. Because Damian chose to betray the family, and she was unable to produce another suitable heir through cloning, Ra's decided to skip over her bloodline entirely and seek an heir from our shared baby sister." Alex wrapped her arms around herself as she stopped pacing to look at Dick. "Talia was unhappy with that decision."

Things were starting to become a little clearer to Dick. "So rescuing Tim from Ra's wasn't some random act of kindness from Talia. It was a strategic power play for future control of her father's empire."

"Mother. I have absolutely no intention of ever returning to the League," Damian said with a stern glare. "I've told you this time and time again, and frankly I'm tired of repeating myself."

"You say this now, but one day, sometime in the future, you will return. Mark my words, child." Talia had pulled a sheet of parchment from her desk and was using a white peacock quill to write upon it. "And there was no way then, as there is no chance now, that I will ever let anyone sabotage your birthright." She turned her dark eyes to meet her son's gaze unflinching. "Not even your grandfather."

"So what happened to Drake? There was no way he was going to just perform for Grandfather and produce heirs for him."

Talia's expression became even colder than before. "You asked earlier why your grandfather didn't kill Timothy. The truth of the matter is that he did. Over and over and over again."

Dick and Alfred both paled as a more somber and subdued Alex described what happened to Tim. "We're not sure how long it went on for. It took us several weeks to find the right Lazarus Pit. It was in an underground compound in the middle of the Australian outback that hadn't been used for about two centuries. Once I brought him to her, once she saw the state he was in, Talia knew exactly how Ra's broke him. I'm not sure how, but she just did."

Dick immediately rose to his feet and without a single word went into his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Once inside, alone in the dark, he pressed a trembling hand hard against his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. The mental images of the suffering his younger brother had been forced to endure, for weeks on end, were too much. The very idea that Tim... after having endured so much pain and loss up to that point... had been tortured by being murdered and reborn over and over again nearly triggered an anxiety attack.

If Ra's Al Ghul had appeared before him at that precise moment, Dick would not have hesitated at all to kill the vile bastard with his own bare hands.

Damian had to swallow down the bile that rose up in his throat as his mother described what she believed happened to Timothy Drake while he'd been trapped in his grandfather's clutches. He also worried for how Stephanie was handling the revelations just outside the locked doors. If he had known back in New York what he knew now, Damian would've never let her come.

"So, that's what caused Drake's memory loss," he said once he felt certain he could speak without losing the contents of his stomach. "But why does he believe himself to be this Neal Caffrey?"

At this, Talia laughed softly. "Your grandfather sought to break Timothy and mold him into the perfect docile breeding stock for his future descendents. A thoroughly broken mind is so malleable, after all. When I saw the state Timothy was in when Promise brought him to me, oh the possibility that presented itself..."

"When I brought him to Talia, I thought she'd just kill him," Alex admitted. "That was the original plan. She wanted to do it both in revenge towards the Batman for corrupting her son and Ra's for casting her aside."

Dick had returned to Alex in the common room after downing two straight shots of bourbon to calm his rattled nerves. He listened intently to the rest of her tale. "What changed her mind about sparing his life? We all know it wasn't mercy."

Alex shook her head. "Talia saw an opportunity, she said. She figured a living, but missing, Tim Drake would serve her purposes better than a dead one."

"What purposes?"

"When Timothy vanished from his clutches, your grandfather honestly believed he'd been outwitted by the child one final time," Talia laughed. "Timothy's reputation for narrow escapes preceded him, it seemed. Your grandfather became as obsessed with finding him as your father and Richard. So I decided not to kill Timothy when a more intriguing option presented itself."

Damian frowned. "What did you do?"

"Talia set it all up to look like an art theft that had gone horribly wrong in Prague," Alex explained. "She invented the identity of Neal Caffrey, a young up and coming con artist who was working with partner named Alexandra Hunter. We were planted in a gallery that had been set on fire, and when Neal woke up, of course he had no idea who he was or where he was at. All he had in the world was me, and the history Talia told me to feed him."

Author Notes: It goes back and forth between Talia and Alex, but we start to see where Tim Drake ended and Neal Caffrey began. One more flashback in the next chapter as we explore Neal Caffrey's actual birth.

Chapter Text

Seven years ago...

When the sentinel woke up, after what felt like forever, he found himself lying on a comfortable bed in what looked like an old, but well kept apartment. It was a stark change from the cold, dark underground prison he and his charge previously lived in. Slowly, he swung his legs off the edge of the bed and walked to the open balcony doors. After his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the cloudless, blue sky day, he found himself looking out over man-made riverways being navigated by boats where streets and cars ought to have been.

"I wonder when Timothy last visited Venice, if he ever visited Venice before," a woman's rich voice said from behind him. The sentinel turned around to see a beautiful dark-haired woman of Arabian descent leaning against the balcony doorway.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said as he leaned back against the railing.

"Do you even remember where Venice is located?"

He blinked. He tried to dredge up a memory, a single, solitary fact from the depths of the captive's former wide storehouse of knowledge, but found himself coming up empty. His frustration must have shown on his face, because the woman's expression softened.

"Ra's must have hurt you very badly," she murmured. "If you can't even recall a city as well known as the Queen of the Adriatic."

The sentinel stiffened and gripped the metal railing he was leaning against tighter. "How do you know of the demon?" he asked, suspicion laced in his tone. "How do you know what that monster did?"

"I know enough," she said gently. "I know his methods. I know his cruelty. I am, after all, the one who arranged your rescue."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Talia Al Ghul," the woman revealed. "I was once the demon's daughter in name and blood, but not anymore." She wrapped her arms about herself and looked almost... vulnerable? It was that appearance and her tone of voice which kept the sentinel from recoiling completely at the revelation of the woman's identity.

"Not anymore?"

Her dark brown eyes misted over as she glanced away, looking instead to the waterways beyond instead of at her guest. "I gave up everything for my father. My love... My child... My life... And in return he betrayed me, stripped me of everything I worked so hard to achieve, and cast me aside like garbage! It is now my life's mission to return him that same kindness and generosity he showed me and my own." Talia's voice wavered with restrained emotion, grief tangled with anger borne from betrayal and suffering. It was something the sentinel could understand.

"So where do I fit into all of this?" he asked cautiously.

Talia gave him a reassuring, almost maternal smile. "It would take a while to explain, and I imagine it has been a long time since you've eaten a decent meal. Would you like to share breakfast with me?"

It had been a long time since the sentinel's borrowed body physically ate anything. Though the captive had never been fed while he was being imprisoned and tortured, starving to death had been impossible when he was being killed and revived nearly every day. Hunger pains had never been an issue because there were other stronger pains to cope with that took priority. Still, he followed Talia cautiously as she led the way back into the interior of the apartment.

About an hour later, the sentinel had practically forgotten about his wariness towards Talia. Though he didn't remember the old adage, the incredible food he'd just eaten did do quite a bit to endear his heart to the woman was also responsible for his rescue. Had fresh fruit, muffins, eggs, and sausage ever tasted so good before?

"How was everything?" Talia asked as she poured a small cup of coffee and handed it to him on a saucer.

"Delicious," he admitted as he accepted the cup and took a small sip. Then, with a frown, he sighed.

"Is something wrong?"

"This feels like a dream," he said. "I'm afraid that at any point now I'm going to wake up and be back in that awful place again."

Talia set down her own cup of coffee and folded her hands in her lap. "When I spoke to Promise, your rescuer, she said you didn't recognize your own name. She also said you spoke of protecting another person from being murdered. Would you explain what you meant by that?"

The sentinel stared into the pitch black coffee. "It's... hard..."

She reached over to place a soft hand reassuringly over his. "What is your first memory?"

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly as he closed his eyes. "Darkness and pain," he recalled. "Someone... close to me was hurting. He needed me." Unconsciously he wrapped his fingers around Talia's. "So I was there."

"Who was that person?"

The young man frowned a little. "He was the one the demon murdered."

Comprehension dawned on Talia's face. "I think I understand what happened. I think I know who you are." She smiled gently. "You're Timothy's guardian. You're the one holding him together right now, when by all rights he should be in a million pieces."

"I suppose... I am."

"Such a remarkable young man. No wonder my father has such a strong interest in you."

There was silence for a little moment as he drank his coffee. "The demon won't stop hunting him, will he?"

Talia shook her head. "I'm afraid not. However, that's why I'm here." She got to her feet and walked over him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"What if I offered you a chance to live a life free from my father's clutches?" she asked in a silken tone.

He tilted his head to look up at Talia. "I'm listening."

"Timothy Drake was a young man who lived his life with a strong moral fiber," she purred into his ear. "Trained by one of the world's greatest detective. A born leader. Loved and respected by many in the extended community of crime fighters."

The sentinel furrowed his brow in confusion. "What are you getting at?"

Talia gave him a sly smile. "Right now, my father is spending all the resources he has looking for a broken hero. What better place to hide a hero, then in a career criminal?"

He looked at her in shock. "I don't know about that," he said. He might not have had any of Tim Drake's memories, but the idea of actually becoming a criminal still repulsed him on a visceral level. "What about his... my family? Friends? Aren't they looking at hi—me?"

Talia frowned. "If they had the power to protect the one they loved from the demon, would Timothy have died at all?"

The sentinel's throat went dry as Talia's words seemed to strike a chord deep inside him. At his silence, the daughter of the demon continued. "Would he have even been captured? How many weeks passed before Promise found you? How many months? How many lives did Timothy lose waiting for a rescue from them that never came? How much suffering did he have to endure before his broken heart and mind created you to save himself?" She squeezed his shoulders in a comforting gesture. "If Timothy did return to them, could you really trust that they'd be able to protect him? That's what you're here for now, isn't it? To protect him? To keep him safe? To make sure he isn't murdered again?"

"If I did this? If he—I became a criminal..." He closed his eyes. "I wouldn't be able to see my family again, would I?" He sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Can I have some time to think about this?"

"Of course." Talia said gently as she patted his shoulder. "Take whatever time you need. If you need me, I'll be in room down the hall."

After leaving her guest's room, Talia found Promise sitting her own, reading a document on her laptop. "Have you got it all memorized yet?"

"I'm getting there," Promise said as she twirled a lock of hair between two fingers. "It's a lot to take in. Miss Alexandra Hunter seems to have lived quite an interesting life with Mr. Neal Caffrey."

"Make sure you know Neal's Gotham history inside and out," Talia instructed sternly. "That will be the key to how successful this is."

Promise looked up from the laptop screen. "Is this really necessary? Letting him have bits of his actual history from Gotham City?"

"The most believable lies always have at least a grain of truth in them," Talia clarified. "Linking fiction with fact will make his subconscious less inclined to reject it outright."

"Wouldn't it be easier just to kill him? That was your original plan, right?"

Talia smiled slyly at Promise. "Easier does not equal better. Trust me, Promise. In the long run, this plan will yield far, far better results."

"That's if he agrees to go along with it," Promise reminded her. "How can you be certain he will agree to any of this?"

"Oh he will," Talia said with unwavering certainty. "Because, in the end, this guardian persona's main priority is to protect him from further harm at the hands of my father. I've already planted the seeds of doubt regarding the reliability of his allies and family from his old life. I'm certain that the guardian doesn't even knows who they are anymore. If the memories were intact, there would've been no questions regarding their abilities." She had a look of self-satisfied contentment on her face as she relaxed on a chaise lounge.

"Right now, we are the only people in the world who that young man feels he can trust. And besides, after everything is said and done, once Timothy Drake has become Neal Caffrey, the torture he suffered at my father's hands, the guardian persona, his rescue by you, and his time here with us in Venice will be just another set of lost memories."

Author Notes: After being rescued by Promise, Tim was transported to Venice where he "meets" Talia for the first time. The manipulative witch then starts to weave her web around the unsuspecting survivor. Talia is a schemer, just like her father. Even back then, she's trying to plan things at least ten steps ahead.

Chapter Text

Seven years ago (continued)...

Of course, the next morning, Talia received the the confirmation that she'd been expecting. The following months were spent traveling across Europe by train, as Promise immersed the newly christened Neal in the skills he would need for his future life as the criminal.

"I won't kill anyone," Neal said flatly as he glared distastefully at the gun in his hand. "Especially not with this. I told her I'd become a criminal. I won't become a murderer!"

Alexandra shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me one way or the other if you learn how to shoot or not. I really don't like to kill either. But Talia wants you to know how, just in case."

"Just in case what?"

She made a gun's shape with her thumb and forefinger and pointed it straight at him. "Just in case there's ever a situation where it's shoot or be shot."

With a sigh, he took careful aim at one of several soda cans lined up on a stone fence in a small rural area just outside of Barcelona. At the end of the day, he hated it, but turned out he had a pretty decent eye.

The week they spent in Paris was interesting, to say the very least.

The challenge Alex gave the two of them their first day in the city was to put together a new wardrobe each without spending a single coin of their own money in the Galeries Lafayette. Neal eased his conscience by constantly reminding himself that the people they were stealing from would consider the cost of a new suit in the designer laden department store mere pocket change.

After collecting enough euros, Alex made it entirely too easy to ignore the guilty twinges he felt afterward.

"Armani looks good on you," she said with an appreciative grin as she forced him to model his new suit for her.

"It feels good," Neal admitted reluctantly as he glanced at his reflection in the full length mirrors, adjusting first his tie and then his cufflinks.

She tilted her head as she studied at him. "It's missing something."

Neal looked himself over critically. If something was missing, he didn't know what it could be. As he tried to figure out what was wrong, Alex had gotten up and started moving around the department.

"Aha! Found it!" she said triumphantly.

"Found what?" He turned to look at her and promptly had a black fedora placed on top of his head.

Alex smiled brightly at him. "Now, the look is complete."

The young man slowly turned back to his reflection in the mirror. Neal stood there for a moment with a contemplative expression before reaching up and tilting the hat at a slightly off-kilter angle. A small smile dared to creep up on his lips.

It was close to midnight when Alex and Neal stumbled into their shared hotel suite in Brussels. Talia glanced at them from her seat by the fireplace, her interest in the book she was reading momentarily forgotten.

"You two were out drinking?"

Alex and Neal glanced at each other before dissolving into snickers. They were both giddy from a combination of amusement, adrenaline, and alcohol.

"Celebrating," Alex clarified. "Neal's plan worked like a dream," she laughed as she held up a long cylindrical black tube.

"I still can't believe they didn't notice," Neal said with abject disbelief, though his smile never faded.

Talia smiled. "You've always had a good eye for details," she said. "Never thought it would translate so well to art."

The young man rubbed the back of his neck. "It was just one painting," he said modestly.

"It was an Erte, and the gallery still thinks they have the original," Alex emphasized with a smirk, tapping Neal on the head with the tube. "It'll be weeks, maybe even months before they realize it."

"And by the time that happens, you'll be long gone and the trail will have gone very cold," Talia said. "Good work."

Alex handed her the tube, then squeaked with surprise when Neal wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her in close. The effects of the drinks they'd celebrated with earlier after their successful heist were still strong and they both stumbled off balance, laughing as they managed somehow not to fall completely over. "It wouldn't have worked without you," he said as he nuzzled the side of her neck.

"You-" she observed as she twisted in his embrace, swiped his hat, and placed it on her own head. "-are drunk."

"Am not," he muttered as he closed his eyes and touched his forehead lightly against hers.

"Are too," she whispered as she tilted her lips closer to his.

Talia chuckled and gathered up her book along with the tube. "Good night, children," she said with a shake of her head as she made her way towards her room. Once inside, with the door firmly shut, she took out the painting and studied it appreciatively.

"Why does it have to be like this?"

Talia stared down Alex coldly as the younger woman yelled at her with a desperate, pained expression. They'd finally reached the end of their travels, a secluded chalet in the Czech Republic, in the forests outside of Prague. The last leg had been exhausting, and Neal had decided to go to sleep in his room as soon as they'd arrived.

Alex never suspected that he was being slowly drugged over the course of the last twelve hours.

She didn't find out until she found herself being dismissed by Talia, ordered sternly to head into the city.

"You knew that this was going to happen," Talia reminded her. "Everything, from the moment you rescued him from my father and all the training across Europe, was leading up to this point."

Tears were welling up in Alex's eyes. "I know, but-"

"Promise..."

"He's really good at what he's learned!" the younger woman tried to argue. "He's got his new personal history memorized. He's already mastered the basic skills. With a little more time, he'll be absolutely perfect. Even better than Catwoman. Tim can act like Neal Caffrey no problem!"

"And that precisely is the problem," Talia said. "Acting like Neal is not enough. Timothy has to believe he is Neal, and there is only one way to accomplish that."

"I won't let you-!" Alex had thrown down her duffel bag and was about to try moving past Talia towards Neal's room when the Arabian woman pulled out a pistol.

"It is not your decision," Talia said sternly.

"It's alright, Alex." Neal's voice, thick with weariness, startled both women. They turned to see him leaning heavily against the door frame of his room. He was clearly exhausted and struggling to stay upright, but his blue eyes were focused on her. "It's... alright. I want this."

Alex went immediately to his side, but this time Talia didn't try to stop her, choosing instead to holster her weapon. "You don't know what you're saying," she said. "You don't know what she's planning to do!"

"She's going to kill me."

The young woman stared at him in shocked silence for a long moment. "You knew?" she asked in a small voice.

He nodded calmly. "For a few weeks now." Neal reached out and stroked Alex's face in a comforting way, his expression gentle and reassuring as he brushed away some of her tears with his thumb. "In order for this all to work, I need to be Neal Caffrey completely. Talia has explained how everything will work, and I trust her."

"Aren't you good enough as you are?"

He shook his head. "The person he is and person I am are incompatible. I may not remember who I was before the demon got to me, but I know deep down that being a criminal goes against everything I ever was. I may enjoy some parts of the jobs and the cons, but afterward I still feel guilty about it. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about doing the right thing and trying to either return the things we've stolen or turning myself in."

Impulsively, Alex wrapped her arms around Neal. If he weren't leaning against the door frame, he might've fallen over in surprise. She had her face buried against his neck. "How can you be so calm about dying like this?"

Neal closed his eyes and held her close. "I've been murdered over fifty times in cruel, terrible ways. If Talia's experiment works, and I'm revived again, then all's well. If it doesn't, and I don't come back, well at least I'll have drifted away peacefully in my sleep without any pain to chase me into the afterlife. Either way-" He pulled Alex back a little so that he could look at her face to face. "-the memories of all those other deaths won't haunt me anymore."

In the end, Alex wouldn't allow herself to be sent away. She stayed by his side through the entire process, though her heart ached and the tears never stopped falling.

"Is he alright?" she asked as Neal's unconscious body was removed from the Lazarus Pit beneath the chalet by Talia's servants. Talia herself was checking his vital signs and nodded.

"He's fine," she said simply. It was an experimental technique she'd used on Neal, one that she'd theorized would negate the customary madness that usually overtook a person when they were revived by the pit. Talia hadn't been sure it would succeed, but things were looking positive.

"Will this really work?" Alex murmured as she brushed Neal's damp hair from his peacefully sleeping face. "When he wakes up, will he really not remember anything of his real identity?"

"When my father possessed Timothy and was trying to break his spirit by killing him over and over again, he didn't realize that his personality had split. He couldn't break the guardian because he didn't know the persona existed. This last death and revival was to remove the shield of the guardian on his mind. With this protection removed, Timothy will finally be susceptible to actual reprogramming."

"Will he believe that he truly is Neal Caffrey?"

"He will if you do your part well," Talia said.

When the young man finally woke up, everything was a mess, both inside and out. His head pounded, his vision blurred, his stomach was churning, and for some reason he was surrounded by burning paintings.

"Neal?" a desperate woman's voice called out through the choking thick smoke. "Neal! Where are you?"

That name and voice sounded familiar. It sounded right. That was his name, wasn't it? "Here!" he yelled, coughing as he tried to crawl towards the sound of the woman's voice, doing his best to stay below the smoke filling the room. As he got to a narrow hallway, a woman's hand grabbed his arm.

"Oh God! There you are!" The woman who spoke to him looked so familiar. "We gotta get out of here, Neal! We were set up!"

He shook his head. "Who are you?"

Her eyes widened with disbelief. "We're about to be roasted alive, and you're worried about my name?" She grabbed his arm hard and started to pull him down the hallway. "There's a window with a fire escape at the end of the hall!"

After a quick glance to his right, wincing at the heat radiating from the flames and the glowing red cinders that floated towards his face, Neal followed quickly after the woman. When he caught up to her, she was struggling with the window.

"It's stuck!" she cried with alarm as she stopped jerking on the latch and was pounding on the thick glass with her fist.

Looking around frantically, Neal saw a bronze statue of a human figure on a nearby pedestal, next to a wall that was being licked by flames. It looked far too large and heavy for his companion to wield, but perhaps not for him. He pulled off his jacket and used it to shield his hands from the burning hot metal. The blasted thing was so heavy that as soon as it was off the marble pedestal it jerked his arms nearly clean out of their sockets when it fell to the floor. Still, these were desperate times, and he used every ounce of strength he had to hoist the statue up

"Get down!" he yelled. With a gasp of alarm, the woman saw what he was about to do and threw herself to the floor. Neal swung the statue like a baseball bat, sending a wide pattern of spiderweb-like cracks across the glass window. It took two more blows to finally break through the glass completely, and the pair of them narrowly escaped from the flame engulfed building.

Of course, their luck being what it was that night, a downpour broke out five minutes after they escaped the fire, as they were trudging through the side streets and alleyways of Prague.

"My name is Alex," the woman explained as they took shelter in an abandoned building. "You honestly don't remember?"

Neal followed her through the previously boarded up window he'd ripped off, then readjusted the wood panels to make it less obvious that they'd just broken in. "Alex... Alex..." he muttered to himself. It sounded so familiar. Then something clicked. "Alexandra!"

She smiled at him. "Yeah. Wow... Those bastards must have really done a number on you when they knocked you out."

"Bastards?"

Alex nodded. "It was supposed to be just a snatch and grab, remember?" she explained. "Get a few pieces and get out." She scowled. "I think we were set up."

"We were there to steal art?"

At his confused question, Alex's face became even more concerned. "You don't remember much of anything right now, do you?" She picked as comfortable a spot as she could find in the empty, broken down room and motioned for him to take a seat next to her. "C'mon. Maybe I can jog your memory."

They talked for several hours there in the dark, the room only occasionally illuminated by flashes of lightning from the storm outside. They talked about the past.

He grew up in Gotham City...

She was from Chicago...

His parents had been murdered a few years earlier...

She was a foster kid nearly all her life...

After his father died, he had no reason left to stay...

She just wanted to see the world...

They met in Paris, grifting people in the same shopping district for spending money...

He had an eye for detail and a talent for counterfeiting paintings...

She had a talent for distracting marks and an eye for finding willing buyers...

By the time the storm started to weaken, Neal and Alex were leaning against next one another, sharing warmth, comfort, and memories.

"I think I'm starting to remember things a little more clearly now," Neal admitted. "I remember our shopping spree in Paris." He frowned. "My hat got lost in that fire, didn't it?"

"'Fraid so."

"Damn it," he cursed. "I really liked that hat."

Alex smiled at him. "We'll get you another one as soon as we get out of Prague." She sighed. "We should probably consider getting out of Europe for a little while, but we'll need some fast cash for that."

Neal sighed. "Do we still have that Erte we picked up in Brussels?"

She looked at him oddly before nodding. "He remembers the Erte?" she thought to herself. "I didn't mention it at all tonight."

"Oh don't give me that look," he said, misreading her expression. "I know you wanted to keep it, but our choices are kind of limited."

"You remember?"

Neal nodded. "I remember how much you like the Erte. I promise, when we get back on our feet, I'll get you another one." He smirked. "Maybe we'll even get that one back from whoever we sell it to later."

Alex laughed softly and curled up closer to him. They didn't remain in the abandoned building for much longer. As soon as the rain had completely stopped, they slipped out and quietly returned to the hotel they'd been staying at. While Neal was in the shower, Alex pulled out her cell phone.

"Status?" Talia asked.

"It's just as you said would happen," Alex confirmed as she spoke softly on the balcony, far from the bathroom door. "Neal doesn't remember anything about his real past or identity. He doesn't remember anything about you or your father. He does remember the training trips we took around Europe, though not your involvement. To him, they were just jobs we did for ourselves."

"Good. Everything is going according to plan. You remember what your role in this is, correct?"

"Of course." Alex sighed. "Keep him away from cities where vigilantes often work. If we go to one of those cities, keep low profiles. Stay away from cities that are known League strongholds. Especially stay away from Gotham City. Avoid anything involving Wayne Enterprises like the plague."

"I'll keep you updated on where the League rebuilds itself," Talia said. "Other than that, there will be no contact between us unless either of your covers are blown. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Talia."

"Good." Alex could hear Talia's sigh softly on the other end of the line. "You are Timothy's guardian now. Protect him from anyone who might try to harm him. Hide him from the family who is still looking for him. I know it will not be an easy task, but I know you can handle it."

"I understand."

A few minutes after the call ended, Neal offered Alex the shower. Once she was done, she stepped out to find him unconscious on the bed. Her heart lodged itself in her throat until she crept close enough to see that he was, in fact, still breathing. She breathed a sigh of relief and settled in beside him. Only then did she finally allow herself to relax enough to sleep.

Author Notes: This is, I think, the longest chapter I've written to date. Originally, I was going to split this into two, but decided instead to make it all one, because I wanted to return to the present day in chapter 21. In this story, Alex and Neal became very close in these early days. She taught him how to enjoy being a con. Talia also was ultimately the one responsible for completely burying Tim's original personality because there was no way even his broken personality could truly abide being a criminal in the long-term.

Also, I wanted to send my love to everyone who has taken the time from Chapter 1 to write reviews for my story, to track its updates, and to mark it as one of their favorites. I truly appreciate each and every one of you. It's because of people like you who make writing such a great joy for me.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Chapter Text

Present Day... New York City...

"May I have a word with you in private?" Alfred said calmly as he placed a hand on Dick's shoulder.

Dick nodded and got to his feet. "We're not done here," he told Alex. "Don't leave this room."

She shrugged. "Not planning on it."

It took only a minute for the two men to make their way to the secret command center where they conducted all their covert operations when visiting the Big Apple. Once the soundproof door was closed, Dick turned around just in time to get a hard slap across the face. It wasn't the strongest slap he'd ever received. He doubted the stinging blow would even bruise. Knowing whose hand was behind the slap, though, made it hurt far more than any he'd gotten in the past.

"How long?" Alfred growled in a low tone. The grandfatherly figure of their family had this way about himself where the angrier he was, the quieter his voice got. As he confronted the eldest of Bruce Wayne's sons, his voice never rose above a whisper. "How long have you known that Timothy is alive? Does Damian know? Is this why the two of you have been acting so peculiar the last few days?" The wounded tone in the old man's voice cut Dick to the quick.

"I'm sorry," the younger man said remorsefully. "It's just... I was just..."

"Just what? Jesus Christ, Richard! Why haven't you told your father? Why didn't you tell me?"

Dick swallowed hard, then quickly explained how things had unfolded, first with meeting Neal Caffrey at the security test at the gallery, then discovering his real identity with Damian and Barbara's help. Alfred's eyes narrowed as he listened to the long laundry list of Neal's suspected crimes over the years. Finally, Dick wrapped up the summary with what happened earlier that night with the sniper attack at Neal's apartment.

"So you were afraid that Tim had become another Jason," Alfred observed. Dick hadn't voiced his fears as directly as that in his summation, but the old man knew how to read between the lines.

He nodded. "I was."

"But is he?"

Dick shook his head. "No. He may be a con man and a thief. But he is nothing like Jason." He looked at the aged butler remorsefully. "I really am sorry for keeping you and Bruce in the dark, Alfred."

The old man drew in a deep, measured breath, then released it slowly. "I understand, Richard. I'm still not happy about it, but I understand why you did what you did." Alfred crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. "What are you going to do now?"

The younger man turned his gaze towards the closet where his uniform was waiting. "I need to suit up and find out who the hell was taking pot shots at Tim. We still need to take record of what Alex knows. She has more history with him to reveal, including an incident in Copenhagen I'm curious about."

"Copenhagen?"

"Something happened in Copenhagen. Official story is that a job they were both on went south. She ended up in the hospital. He ended up back in New York. My gut's telling me there's more to the story than just that."

Alfred nodded. "I can continue interviewing the young lady. Barbara's been monitoring it and fact checking. If something of interest is discovered, you'll be the first to know." He looked pointedly at Dick. "What about Tim's safety?"

Dick shook his head a little. "For tonight, I'm pretty sure he'll be fine. He's going to be holed up in the FBI offices with the Agent Burke. Tomorrow, I'm not certain. Burke was talking about sending him back to prison earlier this evening, for Tim's own safety." Dick reflexively winced as he said this, knowing full well that Alfred would not like that.

"I should say not!" the old man exclaimed angrily, the distaste clearly written all over his face. "Memory loss or no, Timothy belongs with his family! He'll be better protected with us than in the New York version of Blackgate!"

A light bulb went off in Dick's mind. "Better protected," he echoed, then repeated. "Better protected with us... With us..." He clapped Alfred on the shoulder. "That gives me an idea!" He opened up a web chat with Oracle. "Babs! How hard would it be to get the FBI to transfer custody of Tim-" He grimaced and shook his head a little. "-Neal Caffrey over to the Justice League?"

Barbara's green eyes lit up. "Ah... I don't think it'd be too hard. It's just a matter of pushing the paperwork with the right people with the right amount of urgency. The only sticking point I can see is the reason why the League would need to take custody of Neal. He hasn't committed any crimes that would even show up as a blip on the radar of Justice League jurisdiction."

Alfred shook his head. "You're going about it wrong, Barbara. You're looking at the situation only from the view that Neal Caffrey is a criminal. Tonight, he was a target."

Dick saw clearly where Alfred was aiming. "Half-truths. The Justice League needs to take custody of Neal Caffrey for his own protection, because he's an active target of the League of Assassins."

"But we don't know that the League of Assassins were the ones responsible for the attack tonight."

"But Ra's Al Ghul is still hunting for Tim, and Tim is Neal, so..."

Barbara thought about it, clearly mulling over the possible wording of the paperwork that would need to be filed. "This could work... We wouldn't have to explain why the Assassins are gunning for Neal, just that we know that they are... They're definitely out of the FBI's league, and even the CIA is reluctant to work cases involving them without our back up." She looked at the two men through the computer screen. "This could work."

"Alright then," Dick said as he made a beeline for his uniform. "We know what we need to do. I'll go out and run my own investigation. See what the FBI might've missed. Probably spend the rest of the night afterward keeping an eye on Tim from a distance. Alfred will continue talking with Alex, find out more about what happened to him over the years. Babs will convince the FBI to give Neal Caffrey to us, and keep an ear open for when Damian and Steph are on their way back from Hong Kong."

"There is one more thing that you need to- No... You will do tonight, Richard."

Dick looked at Alfred.

Alfred looked at Dick, sternly.

"I understand," Dick said, his head bowed. "I'll call him tonight and let him know everything."

"Not everything."

Dick looked at Alfred curiously.

"Do not let your father know what Ra's put Timothy through."

Dick swallowed hard the lump that rose up in his throat and nodded. He then started suiting up while Barbara and Alfred went to take care of their tasks.

Author Notes: A return to shorter chapters, but the plot moves along in the present and in New York City. Alfred knows and understandably, he's upset at being kept out of the loop, especially considering he's been in NYC as long as Dick has for the gallery preparations. Plans are set in motion by the Bat-family to force Neal into their custody. Time to circle the wagons, so to speak. Additionally, Dick has to make a long overdue phone call. Alfred has ordered it so. It's not often that he pulls rank on his boys, but under the circumstances he feels very justified.

Onto Chapter 22...

Chapter Text

Present Day... New York...

Nightwing had to say this about Agent Burke's people. They were very thorough. There wasn't much left uninvestigated at Neal's apartment or on the roof where the shooter had been perched. Whatever evidence they'd gathered, he was certain between Babs and himself, they could get the information on what the FBI collected, if anything.

For now, though, Nightwing found himself settled in on the rooftop of the FBI headquarters in New York City. Barbara was also keeping tabs on any video feeds from security and traffic cams in the area as well. If a pigeon sneezed the wrong way within a three block radius of the building, they'd know about it.

It was a good thing Babs was helping to keep an eye on the area. Dick was about to be real distracted in about a minute as he waited for a response on his com link.

For the public, the official story was that Bruce Wayne had been been bitten by the wanderlust bug again and was touring the Mediterranean in one of his yachts with his long-time girlfriend, Selina Kyle. He'd given up the shallow playboy routine several years earlier and was making a good show of playing up the gossip mill tale of how Miss Kyle was "making an honest man out of him."

Selina had laughed herself absolutely breathless when she saw the society page article in an e-mail Clark Kent had sent to Bruce.

So while the press thought that billionaire CEO of Wayne Enterprises was in Europe, in reality, Bruce was actually tens of thousands of miles above. In the Justice League orbital space station called the Watchtower, he was standing alongside Superman, stoically regarding a line of five young teenagers who had just been admitted into the Teen Titans. Since taking a more active role in leadership of the Justice League years ago, Nightwing had made it a point to strengthen relationships between the younger generation and the older one. Whenever a new class of Titans was pulled together, two active senior members of the Justice League would be assigned as their mentors.

Though he would never admit it aloud, Bruce looked forward to these first meetings with the youngsters, especially if he was going to be working alongside Superman as their mentor. He enjoyed playing up the dark, intimidating Bat against Clark's eternal super boy scout.

"And this room-" Superman said to the Titans as he gestured to the expansively wide open space around them, "-is what we here affectionately call The Kitchen. Do any of you know what The Kitchen is used for?"

Iris West, this generation's new Kid Flash, shot her hand upward, though started speaking before she was called. "It's a simulation room for training and exercises and can mimic any sort of environmental or situational scenario. Oh, and it has absolutely nothing to do with food."

Superman smiled. Iris beamed. "Correct. The training facility here is far more advanced than any we have on Earth. So, during down times you'll be invited up here for exercises. In fact, you'll be having one here today."

Cerdian, the newest Aqualad and youngest of the five, punched the air with excitement. "This is awesome! We get to be trained by Superman!" The others chattered excitedly in agreement.

Batman almost chuckled as Superman's welcoming expression faltered and became more... sympathetic. "Ah... No. I'm afraid I'm not the one in charge of administering your training exercises here in The Kitchen." It was a struggle not to show the least little bit of amusement as five pairs of uneasy eyes turned their focus simultaneously on him.

"Today, the five of you will be working together in a simulation I've developed specifically to test how well you all interact as a team in a hostile environment. Just a little something to give me some benchmarks on how I should prepare future scenarios."

Superman knew Batman well enough to be immediately suspicious of the Dark Knight's declaration. "What simulation will the kids be running?" he asked hesitantly.

Batman finally allowed himself a small smirk. The kids would soon learn to fear that smirk. "Kobayashi Maru #7."

The boy scout's eyes went wide with surprise. "You can't be serious!"

"As a heart attack."

"Oh, come on! It's their first day here!"

"So?"

"You know this kind of stuff is the reason why you haven't been asked to mentor anyone for the last three years."

Batman smirked again.

Superman turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh for the love of Rao," he muttered under his breath.

"Um, Superman?" Iris spoke up again, though this time it was far more timidly than before. "What's a koh-bye-ah-shee mah-roo?"

The Man of Steel looked at his now nervous charges. "Yeah... Have any of you seen Star Trek?"

They five teenagers looked at each other and collectively shook their heads. "Does Star Wars count?" Cerdian asked.

Batman couldn't help himself. At the small Aqualad's question, he started chuckling darkly. He then turned without another word and began making his way out of The Kitchen. Superman lingered behind for a moment, trying futilely to reassure the kids with a forced smile.

"Then don't worry about it. It's not as bad as it seems. It could be worse. It could've been number four or number two. Number seven's really not that bad in comparison to the ones ahead of it. It's actually pretty tame comparatively. So go on back to your rooms, suit up, and meet back here in thirty. Batman will run the scenario from the command center, and I'll be watching every step of the way. Don't worry." He began to follow his partner out of the training room.

At the exit, though, he stopped and turned back to the kids. "Good luck, you guys... and..." He stared at them and their innocent little faces and sighed. "...I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry, and I promise I'll make it up to you all after it's done. Just remember, it's only a simulation."

In the command center, Batman was pouring two cups of coffee when Superman came in, a less than pleased expression on his face. "You do know it's not kosher to play Good Cop, Bad Cop with the kids we're supposed to be role models for, right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Clark," Bruce said innocently as he offered one of his oldest friends a mug.

Despite his irritation, Superman wasn't about to refuse the coffee. "Bullshit," he stated matter-of-factly. "I still can't believe Dick volunteered you to mentor again, especially after what happened last time."

"He didn't." In the security of the command center, with the doors locked with just him and with only Superman for company, Bruce was relaxed enough to push his cowl back to reveal his face.

"What?"

Bruce shook his head. "Because Dick's been tied up in New York the last few weeks handling the new gallery opening, the choice of mentors this year fell to his second-in-command, Donna Troy."

Clark's face fell into his palm. "And the last year you mentored was the year all our Wonder Women were stuck in Themyscira, and so she didn't get the memo that you were NEVER to mentor EVER again." He looked at Bruce. "Wasn't there a note to that effect on your file?"

"She thought I entered that in myself to get out of future mentoring assignments."

"Wonderful." Clark's voice was saturated with sarcasm as he leaned against the console Bruce was now working on and took a long sip from his mug.

There was a long moment of silence in the command center, save for the clicks from the keyboard and the miscellaneous computer noises from the machines that filled the room.

"Should I hand over my platinum card now or later?"

"Now. There's a therapy trip to Disney World that needs to be bought."

Bruce he reached into a hidden compartment in his gauntlet and pulled out a credit card, which Clark promptly snatched up.

"I'll be back. DO NOT start the simulation without me, or else YOU'LL be joining me as I escort the kids to Florida."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

"I'll stick you on the It's a Small World ride with Iris myself."

Once Clark left the command center, Bruce secured the doors, sat back, and relaxed in the peace and quiet. It had been a long time since he visited the Watchtower. He'd almost forgotten how nice the view was from up here. The peace and quiet wasn't to last,though. A small light blinked on his gauntlet. He had an incoming call via his com unit. Rather than put his hood back on, Bruce patched the call through the computer he was working on.

"Batman here."

There was a brief pause. "It's me," Nightwing said. "Are you able to speak in private?"

"We can talk right now. I'm alone in the Watchtower command center." Bruce took a moment to double check the locks on the doors. If anyone wanted to enter, they'd have to knock. "What's this about? How are things in New York?"

"Things are... complicated, Bruce."

Bruce frowned. Dick never spoke their real names when they were in uniform unless something serious was going on involving the family. "What's wrong, Dick?"

On the other end of the line, Nightwing drew in a deep breath. A part of him wished that he could deliver this news to his father in person. Another part was glad that he couldn't. Still, it didn't make it any easier to speak aloud the words to Bruce, especially in light of Alfred's scolding earlier that evening.

He could tell something wasn't right. The length of silence Bruce was getting from his normally chatty eldest was more than a little unusual. The last time he got this feeling from Dick was the time he told him that Tim had gone missing. A too familiar sensation of dread began to pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Dick-?"

"We found Tim."

Three words, spoken so softly that Bruce almost didn't catch them. He stared at the computer screen, at the com link window with its now calm audio waveform. His mind just couldn't comprehend what he'd just heard. He was imagining it, right? Or perhaps he was dreaming? That had to be it... He'd dozed off waiting for Clark to get back and was just dreaming... Imagining things...

"Sorry, Dick," he said. "I think I misheard you-"

When his son interrupted him, his voice was clearer, forced a little louder, but was still thick with emotion. "Tim's alive, Bruce. He's here in New York. We finally found him."

Everything stopped for Bruce in that one moment. His heart, his breathing, his thoughts. The only chatter in his head were Dick's words circling his mind. He felt an unfamiliar sensation in his eyes and he rubbed them irritably to try and clear his suddenly blurring vision while he attempted to find his voice. It took several tries. The words just wouldn't come out at first.

"How?" Bruce asked in a tense voice. "When? Where?" He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to make his thoughts more clear. "No, no. Start from the beginning."

As Dick retold the story he'd shared with Alfred just hours earlier, Bruce turned up the speaker volume and muted the microphone on the computer. He didn't want Dick to hear any hint of the quiet, reserved sobs of relief he was muffling with his own gloved hand.

Timothy, his missing son, presumed dead by many others over the last seven years, was alive.

Even the Batman couldn't possibly maintain his composure in the face of that.

"I asked Barbara to send you some files," Dick said once his initial story of how he and Damian discovered Tim was completed. "They're of the DNA test, and a video Babs recorded from the camera on my mask. You should be getting them now."

Bruce's fingers immediately dashed across the keyboard with a speed to that would do any Flash proud as he accessed his secured personal link up with Oracle. He refreshed the window several times before the info packet from Barbara finally showed up. As soon as he was able, he opened up the video file and filled the large computer screen with the moving images from Dick's eyes to his.

"Tim," Bruce murmured in wonder as he stared at the grown man painting on the video in front of him. Though his son was older now, Bruce immediately recognized him. To be told that his long lost son had been found, to hear those words, was one thing. However, seeing him moving and painting and just living... It really drove home the fact that Tim was, in fact, alive and well. He unconsciously rose to his feet and reached out to touch the screen, pausing the video as Tim had just happened to turn to face Dick's line of sight.

"Bruce? Are you still there?"

He flipped the microphone back on and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I'm here. Just... a little overwhelmed right now."

Dick's tone became more guarded and serious. "There's more, Bruce, and none of it good."

Red flag waved, Bruce forcibly brought his emotions back under control and turned his full attention back to his eldest's words. "What do you mean?"

It was then that Dick explained Tim's memory loss to Bruce, and how he'd been rescued from Ra's Al Ghul by Talia, and how she turned him into a criminal named Neal Caffrey, who had been arrested by the FBI. Dick's explanation of exactly how Tim lost his memory had very large, very obvious gaps, and Bruce would've pressed him hard on the matter if he hadn't been successfully distracted by the description of events that had occurred during the last eight hours.

"A sniper?" Bruce growled.

"Perhaps," Dick said. "Agent Burke has a theory that the attack tonight wasn't to kill Tim, but to provoke him. I'm not sure why. We're still trying to figure that out."

Bruce's hands tightened into fists. The fear that they could possibly lose Tim again, this time permanently, just as they finally found him, chilled him to the bone.

"I'm coming to New York," he told his son. "And we are going to bring Tim home."

"He's in FBI custody, Bruce," Dick tried to reason with his father. "The feds aren't going to like it if you just storm in there and take him without going through the proper channels."

"I'd like to see them try and stop me."

"Bruce! I've got Babs working an angle to get him released into Justice League custody. As much as I would love to just storm into that building myself and take him back on my own, as leader of the Justice League I can't risk straining the relationship between the federal government and the us."

Bruce glared at the computer screen. He hated admitting it, but Dick had a point. While Batman had a certain amount of leeway to do as he pleased in Gotham City, regardless of the local and federal law enforcement agencies based in the city, that didn't translate on a national level. That was why Dick was leader of the Justice League right now, and not him. Dick had a knack for playing well with the other agencies and keeping everyone relatively happy with one another.

He sighed. "Fine. But I'm still coming to New York. Fair warning, if getting Tim back by-the-book fails then I'm doing things my way."

"Understood."

"Do we have any intel on the status of the League of Assassins right now?"

"Nothing recent. Aside from a couple of high profile hits done the last few years, Ra's has been flying mostly under the radar. Damian is hoping to get information on them from his mother."

Bruce's skin crawled at the thought of his youngest son being anywhere near the woman partially responsible for Tim's current situation. However, he knew that Damian could hold his own against his mother and her machinations, especially if Stephanie was with him and Cassandra was just a call away.

"Keep me posted if there are any changes in the situation on the ground," Bruce instructed. "I"ll be there as soon as I can."

"Yes sir."

Bruce almost disconnected the call there, but stopped himself. "Dick?"

"Yes?"

The older man voice took on a more reassuring, fatherly tone. "You've done a good job," he said. "I just wish you would've told me about all this sooner."

"I know, and I really am sorry about that. I just-"

"It's alright. You don't have to explain anything. I understand. Just keep your focus right now on keeping Tim safe."

"Will do."

With that, Bruce finally disconnected the call. He wanted to head out of the Watchtower and return to Earth as soon as possible, but instead he stood there for few minutes in the command center, leaning against the computer console for support. The full gravity of Dick's revelations were starting to sink in, and he was completely overwhelmed. His hands were trembling and the room felt like it was spinning.

There was an insistent pinging from the door behind him. Then a voice chimed in over the intercom. "Batman? What's going on? Why's the door locked?" After Bruce pressed a button on the console, Clark walked in, looking a little confused at his old friend's obvious distress. "Bruce?" he said with concern. "Is everything alright?" The Man of Steel stopped in front of the computer and glanced up at the screen. "What's this-" His words failed him as he took a good hard look at the man in the stilled video. "Whoa," he said softly. "Is that who I think it is?"

Bruce nodded numbly. "Tim's alive," he murmured.

Clark was completely floored. "After all these years..." A small smile crept up on his face. "This is wonderful news, Bruce!" The smile faded, though, as he regarded his friend. "But shouldn't you be thrilled?"

"It's... complicated."

The Kryptonian sighed. "When is it ever not?" He placed a comforting hand on Bruce's back. "Here. You really don't look fit to fly right now. I'll call Donna and have her handle the Teen Titans. Then I'll pilot your shuttle back down to Gotham and you can explain what's going on along the way."

"Not Gotham. New York," Bruce clarified as closed all the videos and documents regarding Tim. Then he took a deep breath, put his cowl back on, and stoically exited the command center.

To all the rest of the people in the Watchtower, it seemed that the Batman was in one of his usual antisocial, brooding moods as he stalked silently towards the shuttle docks. Only Superman understood how deeply shaken and not like himself the patriarch of the Bat clan was. That Bruce hadn't even attempted to refuse his offer to help fly him back to Earth was a sign of how unnerved he really was.

Author Notes: I couldn't help myself. Once I got started writing to introduce Superman and Batman, I couldn't help but give them one of my longest chapters to date. How could I not?

The length was not the only thing that made his chapter take longer to write than many of the others. I struggled for a few days to figure out exactly how to write this scene. Where was Bruce during all the earlier events of the story? How would he react to Dick's revelations?

Once I started writing, especially when I hit the banter between Clark and Bruce while they're introducing the next generation of Teen Titans to The Kitchen, I couldn't stop. After all the drama and angst of the recent previous chapters, I needed to add a little bit of humor back into the story.

I really hope everyone enjoys reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Present Day... New York...

It was was nearly 9pm and there was still a light on in the FBI offices. A haggard Peter Burke was still hard at work in the conference room, pouring over video feeds and paperwork scattered all across the long table. Despite sending Diana and Jones home an hour ago, and promising to do the same himself, he was unable to tear himself away.

"Neal," he murmured to himself as he stared at traffic cam footage, catching a glimpse of what he suspected was his target on a motorcycle, heading through an intersection. "What in the world has gotten into you?" With a groan, he straightened himself up, massaging his lower back before heading to a map of the city. He placed a red tack symbolizing the brief Neal sighting and then stood back. It was clear to Peter that Neal was obviously heading out of town, making a beeline for one of the major highways, I-95 heading south toward New Jersey.

As he turned back to the table, he cast a long, troubled look at a black folder bearing not the seal of the FBI, but the crest of the Justice League International.

The transfer request from the high powered, multi-national superhero organization had arrived just two hours after Neal vanished, hand delivered by a liaison named Megan Morse. The woman had been less than pleased to learn the person she was to take custody of had slipped through the FBI's grasp. In fact, she had been completely alarmed and had immediately set about making phone calls as soon as she was informed of the current situation. It wasn't until Peter took a look at the transfer orders that he understood the reasons for her heightened sense of urgency.

Neal was being targeted by the League of Assassins.

As unbelievable as it initially appeared, somehow Neal had been placed in the crosshairs for one of the most deadly murder-for-hire groups in the world. His life was in imminent danger, for reasons neither the orders nor Miss Morse would clarify on, and the JLI was stepping forward to put him into protective custody until the situation could be resolved.

Peter didn't like it.

Nothing about the situation before him made any sense. As far as he knew, Neal had done nothing to warrant being the target of an organization like the League of Assassins. Far as he knew, Neal's death wouldn't benefit anyone with the deep pockets required to buy one of the deadly League's favors. Additionally, why was the JLI taking particular interest in protecting Neal themselves, to the extent that they wanted to remove him from FBI custody entirely?

Peter's cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and suppressed a sigh of disappointment. "Hi Elle."

He could practically envision the small, understanding smile on his wife's face as she spoke. "You were hoping I was Neal, weren't you?"

"Maybe a little, but I'm always glad to hear from you, hun."

"Have there been any new developments?"

"Not really. Following him on traffic cam feeds from this morning got me as far as the highway before we lost him in rush hour traffic, so he's definitely not in the city anymore. Security footage from last night showed he got what looks like a pretty important phone call at 3:30am. Tried tracing the call, but no dice yet. When that call ended, Neal ended up making another call of his own to an unknown number, probably a burn phone, and my gut says it was probably Mozzie."

"Did you call the number Moz gave you awhile back?"

"Already tried it. No answer. I have a feeling he's gone to ground, which means it'll be next to impossible to find him."

"Are you planning on staying at the office any later tonight, or should I stop by in the morning before work and drop off some breakfast for you?"

When Peter turned his head so that he could catch a glimpse of the wall clock beyond the glass walls of the conference room, something else caught his attention in the shadows beyond the glass. He immediately, but slowly, straightened up. "I'm going to have to call you back, Elle."

"Is something wrong, Peter?"

"No... I just have a visitor I need to attend to."

"Visitor? Who visits the FBI unexpectedly at this hour of night?"

Peter turned so that he could fully face the imposing masked vigilante who'd silently materialized beside Neal's desk. "Bats apparently. I'll tell you all about it later."

"Alright, love. Be careful."

His phone was tucked into the pocket of his suit as Peter exited the conference room and, as calmly as he could, made his way to Neal's desk. "Nightwing, I presume?"

The man clad entirely in black, save for the red that emblazoned his chest and gave his masked eyes an ominous glow, turned his attention from his examination of the desk in front of him to the FBI agent. "You presume correctly," Nightwing responded crisply.

Peter got the strangest sense of deja vu, but filed the thought away for later. "I'm assuming this isn't a social call."

Nightwing went straight to the point. "Where's Neal Caffrey?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

"Do you have any leads?"

Peter frowned. "What's your interest in him?"

The vigilante seemed almost taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Humor me," Peter said simply. "I'm trying to do my job. Twelve hours ago, an official order came down the pipeline stating that Neal Caffrey was an active target of the League of Assassins, and was to be placed into the custody of the JLI as soon as possible. 'As soon as possible' translating into 'immediately' if he had actually be here in the first place. Two hours before that, Caffrey took it upon himself to cut and run for parts unknown, for reasons currently unknown. And about ten hours prior to that, someone decided to take potshots at Caffrey in his own home from a nearby rooftop. But of course, you already knew all that, right."

"Of course," Nightwing admitted. "So why bring it up."

Peter looked Nightwing squarely in the eyes, refusing to flinch, refusing to be cowed by his first experience standing toe to toe with one of the larger than life costumed crime-fighters who handled dangerous people and situations that were well above his pay grade. He respected men like Nightwing, but that didn't mean he was in awe of any of them. They had their jobs to do, and he had his.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Peter stated simply. "And I trust my instincts, especially when it involves Neal. That it's you who personally came from the JLI to find out what happened to him and not any other member of your organization means something. I don't know what, yet, but I will."

Nightwing regarded Peter calmly. The man behind the mask was impressed with Agent Burke's general reaction and demeanor to this unexpected visit. He was also taken slightly off guard by how quickly the federal officer had come to the conclusion that there was more to his personal involvement regarding Neal than meets the eye. Nightwing could literally feel Peter dissecting him under his gaze, attempting to piece together a mental image of who the man in front of him really was, figure out what his motivations were, decide if there were any ulterior motives in the works, and then trying to fit all those separated pieces into the puzzle he was currently working on.

Dick wondered if perhaps this was what his father felt during the early days of working with Commissioner Jim Gordon back in Gotham.

"Regardless of my own motivations for seeking custody of Neal Caffrey," Nightwing said. "Everything stated within the transfer orders is correct. He needs to be quickly located if he's to have any chance of protection from the League of Assassins. I need whatever information you have regarding where he might be heading to."

Peter mulled the request over. "Quid pro quo," he offered in return. "I'll share our information with you, but in return I need to be there when Neal is found."

"I'm not certain if that's a good idea, Agent-"

"This is not up for debate," Peter interrupted. "Neal is a career criminal who has been extremely successful at his trade in the past because he made it a point to avoid crossing paths with people like you. Depending on his motivations for running off the way he did, if he found out you and your people were after him, he'd most likely go to ground and then you'd never be able to find him."

"You found him... Twice."

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. So the masked man knew his record. "True, but the ace I had up my sleeve for locating him sadly isn't something that can be played anymore." He sighed. "If we find him, and I can get a chance to speak with him, I think I can talk him into going with you willingly."

Nightwing looked pointedly at Peter. "Do you honestly think you can talk him out of running?"

The agent thought back to the day Kate died, and what Neal had told him as he hesitated in going towards the doomed plane.

"You said goodbye to everyone except me," Peter had said to Neal there on the tarmac. "Why?"

Neal had tried to dismiss the question. "I don't know."

Peter knew that was a lie and demanded an answer. "Yeah you do. Tell me."

He could see the frustration starting to bloom in Caffrey's face. "I don't know, Peter."

"Why?"

"You know why!"

"Tell me!"

"Because!" the younger man finally relented. "You're the only one who could change my mind!"

Peter sighed as he returned his attention back to Nightwing. "Despite being on opposites sides of the law for most of time we've known one another, I've been a constant, stable presence in his life for the last several years. I'm not saying I'm some father-figure to him or anything of the sort. What you need to understand is that, on some level, Neal respects me enough to at least listen to things I have to say to him. He may not always take my advice to heart. In fact, if he doesn't like what I'm saying he'll either tell me straight up or he'll smile and nod and do the exact opposite later. However, that is definitely more than he'd give you or any other member of the Justice League."

"And what would he give to one of us?"

The agent thought for a moment. "He'd probably flash you one of his disarmingly charming grins, talk evasive circles around you, all the while planning six different ways to slip away when a moment presented itself."

Nightwing was reminded of his first meeting with Neal Caffrey, back on the night he first discovered that the con man was really his brother. He glanced over Peter's shoulder, a subtle gesture that was thankfully masked by his pupilless red lenses, and looked to the nearly imperceptible tall broad shadow in the corner of the conference room. The shadow moved slightly.

"Alright," Nightwing said. "When we track down Neal and find him, you'll be along with us." He walked towards the conference room and held the door open for Peter.

"Good... Wait-" Peter paused midway through the doorway. "Did you just say us?"

From a shadow directly in front of Peter, there was movement. A large, imposing, iconic figure melted out of the darkness. The agent tried hard not to show too much visible reaction at the unexpected sight, but he couldn't prevent the way his face paled, the sharp intake of breath, and the way his eyes widened in their shock and awe. Meeting Nightwing, the leader of the Justice League, in person was one thing. Meeting this man, though...

"Agent Burke."

"Batman."

Author Notes: Peter finally meets Nightwing and Batman, and the DC/White Collar worlds blend even further together.

I know this last update was long in the writing. The next several chapters will likely take at least a few days to maybe a week to update from here on out. This is partially because I am in the process of preparing to move my family cross country at the end of July, and I'll be starting a brand new job during the second week of August. I'm still writing, though, and I already have plans marked out for chapter 25 and beyond.

So please be patient with me. I will not leave you guys hanging... for too long. Just a little bit, because I do enjoy leaving you all with little cliffhangers to chew on till the next chapter.

Chapter Text

Present Day... New York...

Batman had watched and listened to the exchange between Agent Burke and Nightwing with a measure of both curiosity and respect. This was the man who had spent years of his career chasing down and eventually capturing his lost son, who had eluded so many other pursuers. Many in the agency would've just put another notch in their belt, saw their quarry sent to prison, and then moved on to the next case to build their careers on. Not Burke. Rather than just write him off as a lost cause, the agent seemed to have taken a personal interest in Neal and had been working hard to turn him away from the life of crime that had, unfortunately, come so easy to him.

Peter Burke cared about Neal, and for that Bruce Wayne would be eternally grateful. He didn't want to think too hard on what might've happened to Tim if he'd been simply sent to prison, alone and forgotten.

Still, despite being thankful that Tim had fallen into Burke's hands, Batman was wary of the agent. This was clearly a very intelligent, clever man who had the skills that could easily take him up the chain of command in the FBI if he were given the opportunities. His mind was quick, and his deductive skills were razor sharp. For the first time in years, Bruce was not entirely certain they would be able to keep their identities a secret from a specific individual.

Inside the conference room, after brief initial introductions, the focus of the three men turned squarely upon locating Neal Caffrey.

"Security footage here," Peter said, bringing up the video on the large display screen at the head of the room. "Shows Neal receiving a call late last night. Unfortunately, there's no audio, so there's no easy way to know what's being said, but clearly the caller tells him something to spark his interest in a major way. His expressions go from skeptical, confused, suspicious, surprised, and then finally to determined."

"Have you attempted tracing the call?" Nightwing asked?

Peter shook his head. "We've tried, but no dice. Whatever phone this person used was heavily encrypted, and the incoming call itself was bounced through so many towers around the country that we can't get a bead on where it originated."

"If you give me the records, I know Oracle track the call back to its source."

"I've heard of Oracle. Is he as good as they say?"

Nightwing smirked with a touch of pride. "Your tech support is good. Our tech supportis the best."

Peter noticed that as he and Nightwing were speaking, Batman was staring intently at the security cam footage on the screen. He gave the younger man the files he requested before moving to stand next to the elder. "What do you see?"

"Can you zoom in on this quadrant?" Batman drew a square on the screen, focusing on Neal's head and upper torso. After Peter complied, he started the video over from the beginning and watched the man on the screen speak. "I know what he's saying."

"Lip reading?" Nightwing said as he was waiting for the file transfer to Oracle to complete. Batman nodded.

"What's he saying?" Peter asked, turning his attention to the video as Batman began speaking.

"Hello," the dark knight started, pausing as Neal listened to the caller's voice. "Who is this?... No... No, you can't be Kate. Kate's dead. Who is-"

"Wait!" Peter exclaimed, interrupting Batman. Not used to being cut off like that, he glared warningly, but the look glanced off the agent without effect. "Are you sure that Neal said 'Kate'? Is that the name that came out of his mouth?"

"Positive," Batman said grimly. "Who is she?"

Clearly Agent Burke was not happy at all with this revelation. "Neal's girlfriend, but she was murdered several months ago." He stared at the screen with concern and suspicion.

Batman felt his hackles rise. He did not like the direction this situation was taking. Rather than say anything more, he turned his own attention back to the screen and continued voicing Neal's words.

"Who is this? Who the hell are you?"

Behind the two older men, Nightwing grimaced at the expression on his brother's face. If that look was any indication, Tim had loved this woman, and was still grieving his loss.

"Stop lying. The plane exploded right in front of me."

Batman watched Neal's lips as they formed around another word, then paused the video himself. "Who is Fowler?"

Peter's expression darkened. "Garret Fowler was an FBI agent from the Office of Professional Responsibility. He came into these offices under the covert pretense of recruiting Neal into a program called Operation Mentor. Supposedly, the program would work as one part witness protection, one part covert ops. Fowler promised Neal the chance to run away with Kate and with new identities, so long as he worked for him. The price Neal had to pay to get into the program was to steal a rare amber music box that was rumored to have once belonged to Catherine the Great."

"Where is he now?"

"He went into hiding after Kate's death. OPR of course denies the existence of any Operation Mentor. The agency has been searching high and low for him."

"He was working for someone outside the agency?"

"That's my theory, but I have no leads on who that could be."

Batman had a potential lead in mind already, but he kept it to himself and shifted focus. "What's so special about this music box?"

"Not certain, aside from its rarity and history."

The dark knight nodded to himself, then returned his gaze to the video.

"If you really are my Kate, you need to prove it to me. I need to hear something only she and I would know. Something personal." There was a long moment of silence as the three men studied Neal's expression. It was painful to watch his face as a desperate hope began to take shape. There was so much grief, love, and skepticism warring with one another in his expression. "If you could've answered?"

With a stoic tone, Batman voiced the rest of Neal's words. The others just listened, lost in their own thoughts and observations until the video ended. It was Batman who finally broke the silence.

"Agent Burke," he said. "Do you believe Kate could have survived whatever killed her?"

"I saw her on the plane that blew up," Peter said. "Nothing could have survived it."

"Her body?"

"It was recovered from the wreckage, but had been damaged beyond recognition. It was only from dental records that her identity could be confirmed."

Nightwing frowned thoughtfully. "In our line of work, deaths are frequently faked in similar manners. Dental records are not a foolproof method of determining identity. Far from it, in fact."

Peter regarded Nightwing's observation thoughtfully. Could it really be possible that Kate was alive?

Batman tapped the computer screen. "When he leaves this room, is there footage of where he goes from here?"

"Yes." Peter pulled up the file. They watched the security feed of Neal leaving the conference room, heading straight towards the closed door of Peter's office, but hesitating just shy of touching the doorknob. The agent noticed Neal's lips moving slightly. "Can you tell what he's saying?"

Batman peered at the enlarged area of video. "He says, 'I'm sorry, Peter.'."

Peter took a step back, running his fingers through his hair as he sighed with frustration.

Nightwing kept his eyes on the video, watching as Neal turned away from Peter's office and made his way out of the camera's line of sight. "In this video, he's using a different phone than the one in the conference room."

"It's probably a burn phone," Peter said. "There are no outgoing calls on his personal cell in the records from last night."

"Is there video of the conversation?"

The agent shook his head. "Neal knows where all of the cameras are in this building, and all the blind spots. I'm certain when he decided to make plans to run off, he became very conscious of the fact that I'd be going through these videos with a fine-toothed comb." He shrugged though. "I have a pretty good idea of who he might be calling."

"Do you?"

"Fortunately for us, the list of close associates he is in regular contact with is extremely short. To pull off his disappearing act, there's only one person who he'd trust to help him. He's a local con artist-slash-information broker known by the name of Mozzie."

Batman frowned. "So why isn't he in custody now?"

"Because he's an extremely intelligent man who is suspicious of anything related to any government, and he fully believes Big Brother is always watching. He's figured out a way to live off the grid in this city of all places, and leave behind no digital trail of any sort. We haven't even been able to discover any of his current aliases, so there's no way to find him."

Nightwing gave Peter a sidelong glance. "What if I had a possible name for you to trace?"

Peter looked at him with undisguised surprise and skepticism. "You have an actual name... For Mozzie?"

"First and last."

"From where?"

"A source."

The agent looked at Nightwing skeptically. "What's the name?"

"Ivan Bliminse."

Peter pulled up a search engine for the FBI database and typed up the name as it sounded. He hesitated on actually sending it through the system, staring at the two words long and hard before an amused expression crept up on his face.

"What's so funny?" Nightwing asked.

"I think your source got played," Peter said with a chuckle.

Considering who Nightwing's "source" was, the masked man did not find the statement very amusing. "Why do you say that?"

Peter turned the laptop screen to the two vigilantes. "It's an anagram," he said simply.

Nightwing puzzled over the name, but he was never strong at that type of word play. Batman was, though. Years of dealing with The Riddler made deciphering those a piece of cake. After a minute, when he realized what the name was an anagram of, it took a great deal of self control not to snicker himself. Instead, he indulged only in shaking his head.

"What?" Nightwing asked as he stared at Batman's reaction.

The dark knight looked pointedly at his son, the barest quirk of a corner of his lips visible only to the younger man. "Invisible Man."

Nightwing blinked. "Invisible- Oh for the love of-" His face fell into his gloved palm. "How did you catch that so quickly, Agent Burke?"

Peter smiled. "The Daily Jumble is an addiction in my house," he said. "My wife hides it from me if she gets to the paper first, just so she can figure it out before me and taunt me with the answers." Suddenly, Peter got an idea. His smile brightened. "I think I know how we can get a hold of Mozzie."

When Peter got to Neal's apartment and slipped beneath the crime scene tape, Batman and Nightwing were already there and waiting for him.

"So you think Neal has extra burn phones for Mozzie hidden here?" Nightwing asked.

"I'd honestly be surprised if he didn't," Peter said as he started making moving along the perimeter of the apartment. "One phone per call, because as soon as their conversation was over, I'm certain Mozzie's paranoia about leaving a digital trail would force him to ditch the phone he used, thereby making the phone and number Neal used obsolete for contacting him." He paused at a small painting on the wall next to a full length mirror and moved it aside, revealing a hidden wall safe. "Neal only thinks I don't know about half of the secrets in this place."

"Secrets?" Batman said.

"This building used to be a speakeasy back in the Prohibition days." The wall safe was already unlocked and empty, so he glanced around for the next place to check. "There are some hollow books on those shelves," Peter said as he walked towards a closet that was in the dining room. Once inside, he felt around the back of it carefully, searching for the latch that would open the false panel. He smiled with a measure of self-satisfaction as he found it and slipped into the hidden room behind the fireplace, which sported a two way mirror over the mantle. It was here that the FBI agent found the extra burn phones he'd been looking for. Turning on one revealed that the only name on the contact list belonged to Mozzie... or at least belonged to a Count Y. Ginogi. His prize in hand, Peter looked through the mirror to the living room beyond to see if the two vigilantes were still searching.

To his great curiosity, neither of the masked men were actually searching very hard. Nightwing had located a photograph of Neal and Kate on the bookshelf and had taken it down. He was looking at it very intensely. Even though his domino mask hid his eyes, it couldn't mask all the emotions on his face. There was worry and longing radiating from his features.

Peter watched as Batman came up behind him and placed a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder in what appeared to be an almost uncharacteristic show of genuine comfort and concern. Oblivious to the fact that they had an audience, Batman seemed to break character completely and spoke in a paternal tone. "We'll find him," he reassured Nightwing quietly.

The younger masked man shook his head and whispered back. "We were so close. Just a few hours earlier, and he would be home now. Safe."

"We can't help him worrying about the past. Focus on the present. Working with Agent Burke is going better than I'd initially anticipated."

"He's going to figure things out."

"I know."

"You don't sound too worried."

"If it's the price that needs to be paid to get him back-" Batman said as he took the photograph from Nightwing's hand and placed it back on the shelf. "-then so be it. Besides, I think he can be trusted, if worse comes to worst."

"You think?"

"He reminds me of Jim."

Nightwing smiled a little. "You got that vibe too?"

Peter was sorely tempted to stay longer in the hidden room and listen to more of their conversation. Everything that they said was intriguing and started wheels turning in his mind. However, he knew if he lingered any longer in the closet, they'd wonder about him. Also, time was of the essence in finding Neal. He did make it a point to be a little noisier in leaving the closet.

"I found a phone," he announced as he closed the closet door behind him. "I'm putting it on speaker, but I request that neither of you say anything while I'm talking to Mozzie, if we get a hold of him. He has a hard enough time dealing with 'suits', as he likes to call people like me. I'm not sure how well he'd handle being in the virtual presence of 'capes' or 'bats' or whatever diminutive nickname he'd give you."

After dialing the number and putting the phone on the table between the three of them, they listened to it ring three times before a connection was made and a voice familiar to two of them spoke up.

"Neal?"

"No, but I'm looking for him."

"Suit?"

"Please tell me you're not surprised, Count Ginogi. Might I ask what the 'Y' stands for?"

"Yannis. I take it Neal's anklet hasn't come back online yet?"

Peter frowned. "What do you mean by that? He cut his anklet."

"Ah. But he hasn't."

"Mozzie," Peter said impatiently. "If you are any friend to Neal, you will start explaining things right now."

"I don't know," Moz responded hesitantly.

"Do you know who the League of Assassins are?"

Peter could hear the catch in Mozzie's voice. "Of course, which is why I still breathe today. People like me give people like them a wide berth."

"Well Neal doesn't have that luxury. He's in their crosshairs and he doesn't know it yet."

"The League is after Neal?" Mozzie's voice got quiet, and the three of them could hear him softly cursing under his breath. "Shit... This could really be a trap..."

"Tell me what I need to know, Moz. Time is of the essence."

There was a moment of hesitation. "Neal didn't cut his tracker. He didn't want to. Right now he's using a device I created to jam the signal. He thought that if he came to you first about Kate, you either wouldn't believe him or you'd ground him behind bars for his own protection while checking things out yourself."

Peter had nothing to say to that. Neal was probably right.

"So," Moz continued. "He's jamming the signal until he finds Kate. When he does, he said he'll turn off the device so that you can track his signal again and find where the two of them are."

"So where is he now?" Peter asked. "Where did he go? Even if I don't know his exact location, I want to be in the area when his signal comes back online."

"He went to Gotham City. That's where he says Kate is."

Something clicked inside of Peter's head. "Thanks Moz," he said as he turned off the phone. "That's it..." he murmured thoughtfully. "The commonality. Neal is being lured to Gotham City... The two of you personally on this case to take him into protective custody... The shooting last night while Grayson was visiting him... Grayson..?" Peter's eyes widened as a startling realization came to mind. Mental comparisons between Grayson and Nightwing flashed through his thoughts. Their similar statures and facial features. The hair colors matched as well. The concern he saw the masked man exhibiting while in the secret room. Pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and the picture it revealed was one he hadn't been expecting at all.

Peter looked up, turning to speak to Nightwing, only to find that he wasn't there at the table anymore. Neither of the masked men were. While he'd been lost in thought, they'd slipped away without a sound. It didn't even look like the balcony doors had been disturbed.

"How the hell did they do that?"

The moment of being impressed with their stealth skills passed quickly. Peter was annoyed that the two vigilantes decided to return Gotham without him. However, he wasn't about to let that stop him from going to the city himself. He'd be there one way or another.

Author Notes: Things are starting to come together. Chapters from here on out will probably be at least this long, if not longer. A lot will be happening, as next chapter migrates the story over to Gotham City. Batman-verse has spent enough time in NYC. Time for the pendulum to swing the other way.

Oh... and Peter knows...

Chapter Text

Present Day... Gotham City...

Neal felt as if he were walking around in a dream.

Though being shot at and hearing Kate's voice the night before had done a lot to unnerve his general state of mind, at least while he was in New York City things still felt like they had some basis in reality. Ever since he rolled into Gotham, things felt significantly less real.

It was disorienting being in this dark, dangerous city. Neal knew that this town used to be home, once upon a time. He was born here. He grew up here. His parents lived and died here. He remembered telling Alex a long time ago that he left Gotham City because of all the painful memories this place held for him.

An eerie realization struck him while he was having lunch in a small mom and pop diner near uptown.

"You're a new face," the kindly waitress with silver streaked brown hair said as she poured Neal a cup of coffee and offered him a menu.

He smiled back at her. "Is it that obvious?"

"I know my regulars," she smiled back. "And they're not half as cute as you. So are you in town for business or pleasure?"

"Ah," Neal's expression faltered a little. "Well, neither. I suppose you can say I'm here for love."

"Really? In love with a Gothamite?"

"Actually no. She's not from around here. I was, a long time ago."

"Grew up here, huh? Whereabouts are you from?"

Neal opened his mouth automatically, reflexively prepared to share an answer that he should have known like the back of his hand. However, nothing came out.

"Is something wrong, hun?"

His expression became pained and his massaged his temples. "Forgive me. Migraine's been plaguing me most of the morning. Happens whenever I skip breakfast."

The waitress gave him a sympathetic look. "I've got some aspirin in the back. Would that help?"

"Yes, please. Thank you."

As the waitress disappeared into the back, the pained expression vanished as well, only to be replaced by a look of confusion. For the life of him, Neal could not remember the part of the city where he grew up. He wracked his brain for that one important detail of his past until the moment the waitress returned with the aspirin.

Though Neal indulged in idle chatter with the friendly waitress whenever she came to refill his coffee or just check on how he was doing, the majority of the time he was lost in thought. He picked at the food he was served, drank a two cups of coffee, left a generous tip, and returned to the ramshackle hotel he'd settled in when he arrived in the city. Once inside the privacy of his room, Neal fished a blank pad of paper out of a nightstand drawer beside his bed, pulled out a pen, and started writing.

The sun had been set for hours when the ringing of his cell phone finally tore Neal's attention away from the scattered remains of the notepad that now littered his bed. He gave the offending pieces of paper one last parting glance before turning his back on them and putting his focus squarely out the window.

"Kate?"

"Not exactly," a familiar male voice said on the other end of the line.

Neal growled into his phone. "Fowler!"

"I have a lead on Tim," Barbara said over the com link in the jet as Batman and Nightwing were making their way back to Gotham City. "I can't trace the source of the incoming call, and the encryption on the transmission will take at least several hours to crack, so I can't tell you guys what's being said. However, I can triangulate Tim's position from the signal of his phone."

"That's great, Babs," Nightwing said.

"We're still at least twenty minutes out," Batman stated. "Who's on patrol tonight, and who is closest to Tim's location?"

There was a moment of pause. "Damn it."

"What?

"There are only two guys on patrol tonight. Batwoman's on one end of the city, and Red Hood's covering the the other." Barbara sighed. "Guess who's closest to Tim's location."

"Crap," Nightwing muttered irritably.

Batman sighed. "Jason only tried to kill Tim twice, right?"

"Three times."

The dark knight shook his head. This evening was going to aggravate his ulcer. He just knew it. "Our choices are limited."

Nightwing bristled. "If he hurts Tim in any way, I reserve the right to break every bone in his body, then blow up every weapon cache he has hidden in the city while he's stuck in traction."

"Duly noted," Barbara said over the com link. "Sending him in now. Hood should arrive at Tim's position in five."

"Normally I'm not sorry to disappoint either of you," the Red Hood said sardonically over the com link, "But considering the threat Dickie-bird made towards my toys, I'm not sure I should be the bearer of bad news." The helmeted black sheep of their clan of vigilantes normally wouldn't even bother with personal requests from the big, bad Bat or the perfect son. However, he was curious and it was a slow night. What could be so important to the original dynamic duo that they would be desperate enough to turn to him, of all people, for assistance?

"No one's there?"

"No one's here except yours truly. Whoever this Neal Caffrey is, he's already long gone." Red Hood said as he picked up a sheet of paper from the dozens littered on the bed. "Does this guy have amnesia or something?"

Nightwing glanced over at Batman. They were still a good fifteen minutes away from Gotham. "Why ask?"

"Cause this guy seems to be having some sort of identity crisis here. The room looks like a notepad exploded. There's just one personal question scribbled on each sheet of paper and no answers far as I can see." He flipped the paper over to make sure nothing was on the back and nodded to himself when he was correct in his assumption.

It was Batman himself who spoke up next. "What is the question?"

Jason resisted the reflexive urge to snap at his former mentor. "Multiple questions," he clarified stiffly. "One per page." He snatched several more pieces of paper and started reading their contents off. "What's my mother's name? What's my father's name? Where'd I go to school? Do I have brothers? Do I have sisters? What neighborhood did I grow up in? Blah. Blah. Blah." Each sheet went floating over his shoulder as he finished. When he had no papers left, he went out to the fire escape and straddled himself on the windowsill, one leg in the hotel room and one leg out. "You know, if you guys send me a picture of the guy you're looking for, I can probably track him down for you. He probably hasn't gotten far."

As the Red Hood sat there, halfway in, halfway out of the hotel room, listening to the radio silence that had to be the Bats conversing amongst themselves, an unexpected sound caught his attention from above. He tilted his gaze upward and listened more closely. It sounded like the gravel which covered the rooftop was being walked upon.

"Hmm... Hold whatever thoughts you guys might be having," Jason said to anyone who might be listening. Then he quietly made his way up to the roof via the fire escape ladder.

Neal had gone to the roof as soon as he'd gotten off the phone with Fowler. Mostly, he wanted to get away from the room, from all the unanswered questions that had been plaguing him since lunch. He needed to clear his head so that he could return his focus back to the reason why he came to Gotham City in the first place. Being on the rooftop, with its constant crosswinds and unique view of the urban cityscape, was calming. It also had an unexpected benefit. As he stood there looking out over the city, he realized with surprising clarity that it all looked mostly familiar. He pulled out the address he'd jotted down earlier, then moved from one side of the rooftop to the other, until he found what he'd been looking for.

"There," he murmured to himself as he tipped the brim of his black fedora up a little. "That's the building." Even though the towering skyscraper looked like it was still under construction, only about halfway completed, it was in the precise spot Fowler told him Kate would be. The bastard had given him one hour to get to Kate. Now that he knew where she was, it would take less than half that to get there.

"Well, what do we have here? Why is it that all the interesting, mysterious people in Gotham City gravitate to rooftops? You wouldn't happen to be a Mr. Neal Caffrey, would you?"

Neal froze. The unfamiliar voice sent a chill down his spine, and it took a great deal of self control to keep from bolting outright. He could hear the cocky smirk in the man's words, and it made his skin crawl. Neal didn't have to see the man's face to know he was wearing a crocodile's smile. Then he slowly turned to look at the newcomer, tucking the address back into his pocket. A small curse echoed in his head as he was greeted by the faceless red helmet. "I suppose it depends on who's asking."

Though he couldn't see the Red Hood's expression, the man's voice gave a lot away. Like right now, he was very surprised. "Wow," he murmured. "OK. Now I see why you guys didn't want me to meet Neal face to face." Jason laughed hollowly. "Oh man! It's been a long time since I've been caught this off guard. Bravo, Daddy Bat. Bravo."

"Jason!" Batman growled in a warning tone into Jason's earpiece.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the Red Hood taunted. "You guys seem to be breaking up. Must be a bad connection."

"We're on wireless 6G com links, you ass!" Nightwing snarled. "The connection can't break-"

"Click!" Jason said as he touched a button on the side of his helmet, muting the sound of his family's voices.

As the Red Hood was distracted by his own amusement, Neal took a quick glance around his surroundings, trying to figure out the best way out of this increasingly bad situation. He turned his attention back to the masked vigilante just as the man turned his own attention back to him. "Who are you?" Neal asked suspiciously.

Jason sneered behind his mask. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?"

Neal put on his second best poker face. "Don't know and don't care really. You're just one masked man in a city full of masked men," he said dismissively. "Besides, I'm just passing through." He tried to walk past the Red Hood toward the exit, but his path was immediately barred.

"I'm hurt, little bird!" Jason exclaimed with obvious theatrical bravado. "To think you could forget me after everything we've been through!"

Neal's desire to escape the rooftop was quelled, for the moment, by his curiosity. "You know me?"

Though his prey couldn't see it, the Red Hood was grinning maliciously behind his mask. "Perhaps," he said cryptically. "But you know, Mr. Caffrey, Gotham City can be a dangerous place for guys like you."

"What do you mean, guys like me?" Neal asked, backing up as Jason started moving towards him.

Red Hood chuckled. "Guys who don't know who they really are, of course." He approached Neal slowly, deliberately, as he continued speaking with a casual, conversational tone. "Folks who don't have a strong sense of self tend to be chewed up and spat out by a place like this, especially at night."

Neal's subconscious retreat was cut off when his back hit the ledge of the roof. "Who am I to you?" he demanded, trying to mask his unease.

"Oh, I don't know," Jason taunted with a shrug of his shoulders. "I could be just about anyone." The masked man took a step forward. "I could be a friend." He took another deliberate step. "I could be a brother." The dark vigilante reached out with one gloved hand to stroke the side of Neal's face in an affectionate gesture. "I could be a lover," he purred before his voice took on a more sinister undertone as he finally got close enough to put his helmeted face right next to Neal's ear, "I could even be a mortal enemy."

The closer the Red Hood got to Neal, the more anxious the former con artist became. He was acutely aware of the way the stench of sweat, gunpowder, old leather, and stale blood clung to the menacing man. It was a strange, yet familiar odor that repulsed him on a visceral level. The sound of his voice grated on his nerves, setting his teeth on edge. Every word that came out of the Red Hood's unseen mouth instinctively rang false in Neal's mind, save for two.

"...mortal enemy..."

"Get the hell off of me!" Neal growled as he grabbed Jason by the lapels of the masked man's open leather jacket.

Laughing, Jason allowed Neal to shove him away, easily dancing out of reach of the tightly clenched fist that came flying at his face. He could tell that the man was in no condition to be any sort of threat to him. Oh Neal might be fit, and he obviously took very good care of himself over the years, but he was no Robin. He just didn't have the strength or the agility he had in his youth. Jason almost felt sorry for him. There was just one problem with that notion...

Jason never felt sorry for anyone.

Neal's hat had fallen off in the scuffle. It laid there on the ground between the two men. The younger man's jaw was set visibly tight as he slowly knelt down to retrieve it, never once taking his eyes off of the Red Hood. With a slow, deliberate flourish, Neal flipped his hat end over end in one hand before settling it on his head. It rested there, cocked at an impudent angle, as he backed himself up to the edge of the roof again. Neal and Jason stood there, eying one another for a long moment. Clearly, the masked man was not impressed.

"What? Have you traded the Bat Pack for the Rat Pack now?"

Neal didn't know what the Red Hood meant by that, and frankly he didn't care. He simply hopped up onto the ledge and took one last parting glance over his shoulder. "Thank you," he said unexpectedly.

"For what?" Behind his mask, Jason raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Neal grinned humorlessly as he rose to his full height. "For reminding me of why I never visit this city." Then, with a hand atop his hat to keep it from flying off his head, he took a confidence step off the rooftop.

"The hell?" Jason gasped in surprise. He rushed to the ledge and leaned over the short concrete wall, expecting to see the remains of the former boy wonder splattered all over the pavement. A litany of curses tumbled out of his mouth when he saw, a survivable length down, an empty balcony and an open sliding glass door that led into the hotel room right beneath his feet. As the Red Hood tossed himself over the ledge and onto the balcony, he heard the startled exclamation of the room's current occupant as Neal Caffrey ran past her and slammed open the door leading into the hallway.

Though Jason was slightly irritated that Neal had decided to run, mostly he was just amused. The idea that this guy honestly thought he could run from him was absolutely laughable. It also appealed to his darker nature that he would get the chance to chase down the former imposter Robin again. While seven years had quelled the hostile feelings Damian had once held for Timothy Drake, the same could not be said for Jason Todd. If there was anything Jason knew how to do, it was how to hold a long-lasting grudge. He thought it would be a simple matter to catch up to Neal, rough him up a little, and leave him tied up like a present for Batman and Nightwing on the curb.

Neal, however, had other ideas. The moment his feet touched down on the balcony, he was off like a shot, his mind racing a mile a minute to put his plan into action. While on the rooftop, letting the Red Hood run his mouth, he'd been furiously working on a plan to escape him. Though he had been very intrigued by how the masked vigilante seemed to know him, every cell of his being had been screaming at him that this was a dangerous man and that he needed to get away from him as quickly as possible.

While he was dashing through the hotel room, Neal did two things before Jason had a chance to land on the balcony behind him. First, he grabbed the nearest large amount of paper he could see, which just happened to be the newspaper the current room's occupant had just bought. Then he dropped it into a small metal trashcan that was the standard in all the hotel rooms and snatched that as well.

His adrenaline racing, Neal darted out of the room and into the narrow hallway, making a beeline for the stairwell entrance, which was right next to the elevators. After taking a quick glance back to make sure that the Red Hood was still hung up in the room, he both pressed the button for the elevators and loudly kicked the nearest stairwell door open. The sound of the metal door crashing against the wall and rattling on its hinges echoed down the hallway. Instead of going into the stairwell, however, Neal quickly and quietly darted around the corner, hiding in the hallway that ran parallel to the one he'd just escaped from. Silently he stood there, his back pressed against the wall, heart thudding in his chest as he listened for any sign of his pursuer.

Fortunately, Lady Luck decided to smile on Neal at that precise moment. The Red Hood was not at all subtle as he burst out of the hotel room and ran down the hallway. His attention immediately focused on the still swinging stairwell door and he dove right through it. In his haste to catch his quarry, Jason didn't even check to see where his prey was when he decided to cut corners and leapt down several flights of stairs. Only afterward did he notice that there were no signs of anyone running down them. Only then did he hear the sound of the something being shoved through the handle of the stairwell door several flights above him.

Neal listened with satisfaction at the sound of the Red Hood struggling to open the door. He'd taken a broom from a nearby cleaning cart and shoved the wooden handle through the u-shaped door knob, making it impossible to be opened from the stairwell. It wouldn't hold forever, but it would hold long enough. As Jason kicked repeatedly against the door, Neal took out the silver Zippo lighter he always carried and flicked it into life. Though he didn't smoke, it had been a habit that Mozzie had encouraged him to develop. The little man had told him that you never really knew when a lighter would come in handy. He made a mental note to thank Moz if he ever saw him again as he ignited a corner of the newspaper and dropped it into the metal trash can he'd placed in the middle of the waiting elevator. The flames eagerly licked at the paper and the dry towels Neal had also pilfered from the cleaning cart. Plumes of gray smoke quickly rose up from the can as Neal lit up every floor button in the elevator car before stepping out of it himself. Once the elevator was on its way down, he casually walked over to a nearby fire alarm and pulled it before heading for another stairwell entrance on the opposite end of the hallway.

Jason was startled by the ear-piercingly loud fire alarm siren going off right above his head. He futilely tried to cover his ears through his crimson helmet. As he backed away from the stubbornly barred door, he noticed the rest of the stairwell below him was filling up with frightened and confused people. Many weren't sure what was going on. Some of the people mentioned the smell of smoke in the hallway. One or two said something about seeing a fire in one of the elevators, but that conversation was quickly swallowed up by the growing crowd trying to escape down the stairs.

With a muttered string of obscenities, the Red Hood tore down the stairwell, heedless of the men and women he startled along the way. By the time he got to the ground level, there were swarms of people milling about everywhere. His eyes darted around feverishly, scanning for any signs of his prey. He grinned triumphantly when he spotted a familiar black fedora weaving towards the rear of the crowd. Jason shoved people out of his way as he dashed for his target. Soon as he had a clear shot, he pulled out a batarang attached to a line and flung it with spot on accuracy at the retreating man. The bat-shaped boomerang wound itself tightly around the man's ankles and down he went hard to the pavement.

Triumphant feelings turned to something far more sour as the Red Hood reached his captive and flipped him over.

"I didn't do anything man!" the college-aged stranger cried with alarm as he stared at the ominous red masked vigilante.

"Where did you get that hat?" Jason growled.

"Some dude gave it to me in the lobby! Asked me if I wanted a free hat!"

"Fuck!" Cursing, Jason turned his gaze skyward. His bad mood only worsened when he noticed a familiar set of silhouettes gliding down to the rooftop of the hotel.

"All you had to do was keep an eye on him! He was right in front of you! How could you lose him?"

"Well excuse me, but I didn't think the imposter would ever have the balls to go take a walk off the roof and then set an elevator on fire just to lose me!"

"Maybe if you'd just left him alone and kept your mouth shut for once, you wouldn't have given him a reason to run from you in the first place!"

"Oh, fuck you, golden boy!"

"Go to hell!"

Batman ignored the two former Robins as they snarled and snapped at one another. They were inside the hotel room that had once been Neal Caffrey's, looking for clues to where he might have gone. As irritated as he was with Jason's actions, he couldn't honestly say that he was surprised. It had been a calculated risk sending the Red Hood to keep an eye on Tim, knowing the history the two had with one another. Now it was time to regroup and refocus. Where was Tim headed to now?

"Father?"

Three pairs of eyes turned toward the balcony. The current Robin, Damian Wayne, was now making his way into the hotel room.

"Wonderful. Now we can really make this an official disfunctional Bat-family reunion," Jason muttered as he passed Damian on his way to the window. He removed his helmet, revealing he still wore a red domino mask beneath it, and placed an unlit cigarette between his lips.

Damian ignored the Red Hood as he went straight to where his father and eldest brother stood. "Oracle informed me of what was going on as soon as we returned to Gotham City airspace."

"Where's Batgirl?" Dick asked?

"She's trying to pick up Tim's trail. Oracle has been scanning traffic and security camera feeds in the area, looking for signs of him, and sending Batgirl in that general direction. At last report, it looks like he's making his way towards the business district."

While he listened to his youngest son's report, Bruce noticed the remains of the notepad that Tim had been writing on earlier. Most of the pages had been ripped out, leaving behind only six or seven blank sheets on the cardboard-backed pad. He picked it up and studied it for a moment.

"Did you find something, Batman?" Dick asked.

"Perhaps."

"Are you going to scan it for Oracle?" Robin asked.

Batman picked up a pencil that was sitting on the desk. "That might not be necessary." With a bit of old school ingenuity, he ran the side of the pencil lead over the blank sheet of paper. As he shaded the yellow sheet, the impression left by the last thing Tim had written began to reveal itself. When he was done, an address was clearly visible on the paper. He couldn't help but frown as he read it.

"Recognize the address?" Bruce said as he showed the note to Nightwing.

Dick took a look at the paper and paled. He nodded.

"Son of a bitch!"

All eyes turned toward Jason. The cigarette he'd been trying to light had been thrown to the floor in frustration. "That little shit!"

"What's wrong?" Batman asked, eyes narrowed.

"He stole one of my guns!" Jason exclaimed.

Everyone stared at the Red Hood in shock. "What?"

Jason pulled aside his leather jacket to reveal the holsters tucked beneath his arms. Just as he'd said, the pistol that should've been underneath his right arm was missing. The Red Hood had only just realized its absence as he'd searched his jacket for his lighter.

Dick was absolutely flabbergasted. "What? When? How?"

"It must've been when we were on the roof," Jason muttered as he ran over his memories of the last half hour. He remembered how he'd been taunting Neal, and had seemed to push the younger man to become angry enough to grab him and try to strike him. It was the only time during their entire encounter that he was close enough to lift his firearm. "Damn it!"

"This is bad," Damian whispered anxiously. "This is really, really bad!" He turned to Nightwing. "Dick! Does Drake have a reason kill anyone? Is there anyone here he'd want to see dead?"

"Possibly. Why?"

"Because of something my mother told me she did! Damn that woman!" Damian threw a clenched fist into the nearby wall in frustration.

"What did Talia do?" Batman asked.

Damian took a measured breath. "Before Drake was sent to Prague to become Neal, she had a mental trigger implanted into his subconscious. She said it was to prevent him from becoming another Jason, but I think it she did it out of sheer spite."

"What's the trigger? What does it do?"

"The trigger was created so that if Drake ever kills anyone with his own hands, all the memories of his past that he'd lost would come back to him at once." Damian shared a pained, knowing look with Dick. "All his memories. She said that getting the rush of memories at once, especially those ones, would essentially overload his mind and throw him into a coma if..."

Dick paled. "If?"

"If it doesn't kill him outright."

Bruce was already disturbed by the description of the trigger and what it would do to his son. Though he wanted nothing more than for Tim to have all his memories of the past and his family back, he didn't want it to happen because of someone else's death. However, his concerns increased when he saw the deeply troubled expressions shared by his eldest and youngest children. He suddenly remembered that there had been a large gaping hole in Dick's earlier story of how Tim had become Neal.

"Dick," Bruce said quietly. "How exactly did Tim lose his memories?"

Nightwing closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He clearly did not want to reveal this information to his father, but at this point he had no choice. Tim's very life was at stake. "Ra's... Ra's repeatedly tortured Tim to death, while reviving him with a Lazarus Pit."

There was nothing, literally nothing, that could've prepared Bruce for the truth. Dick's reluctant revelation shook the man behind the Batman's mask to his very core. Grief was etched on his face for a moment before Bruce forced himself to rein in his emotions. He could indulge in his personal emotional torment later. There wasn't time for it now! Tim was in greater danger than he'd originally thought, and they needed to find him before something bad happened!

"Robin," Batman ordered. "Get the address to Oracle and have her send Batgirl to scout the perimeter immediately! If she can intercept Tim before he gets into the building, then for Christ's sake, do it! The rest of us will get there by the rooftop." He turned to look at Jason, but when he looked toward the window the Red Hood was nowhere to be found. Bruce resisted the urge to sigh. He'd understood if Jason wanted nothing to do with rescuing Tim. A small part of him wondered if Jason had heard about Tim's fate, and how he was taking it. Once upon a time, Talia had saved his life, after all. He set the thought aside, though, and turned to his other sons.

"We're getting Tim back tonight. Let's go!"

Author's Note:

After a couple of weeks of hiatus due to me moving my family across state lines, the story is finally updated with one of the longest chapters to date. Nearly the entire Bat-clan is back in Gotham City now, with the exception of Alfred who is still in New York. We also have an unexpected reunion between Neal/Tim and Jason Todd.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Batman mythos, here's a quick breakdown of the history of Jason Todd:

Dick Grayson was the first Robin. When he got older and decided to work solo under the alias of Nightwing, Jason Todd entered the picture to become the second Robin.

Unfortunately, Jason's tenure as Robin would end tragically when he was murdered by the hands of Batman's arch-enemy, the Joker. The Joker beat Jason to within an inch of his life with a crowbar, then locked him in a building rigged with explosives. Batman was literally seconds too late to save Jason.

Unknowing to Batman, Jason would return to life and end up in the hands of Talia al Ghul. She nursed him back to health. However, when he regained his senses, Jason would become enraged by two revelations.

The first revelation that infuriated him was the fact that, after murdering him, the Joker was still alive. Batman could never bring himself to cross the line and kill the monster responsible for the death of Jason (though in actuality he came pretty damn close).

The second revelation that added fuel to Jason's fire was that a third Robin (Tim Drake) was working at Batman's side. To Jason, Tim was an imposter, a usurper, a replacement. Jason despised Tim almost as much as the Joker.

Because of all that, Jason Todd returned to Gotham City using the identity of the Red Hood. He became a vigilante on his own terms, one who had no qualms about using lethal force to exact his brand of justice on criminal scum. He has attempted to kill the Joker, though was foiled by Batman himself. He has also attempted to kill Tim Drake on several occasions, but succeeded in only seriously wounding him to the point of near death most of the time.

In this story's timeline, over the past seven years prior to this tale, Jason has a grudgingly civil relationship with the Bat-clan, so long as he's only associating with members other than Batman and Nightwing. He's curbed his use of lethal force considerably over the years, but will not hesitate to shoot anyone if he feels they deserve it.

It'll be about a week or so before the next chapter is released. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this one.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Present Day... Gotham City...

That solitary word was the only warning Ra's had. The old man barely had time to move as Neal pulled the trigger of the gun hard and sent a bullet flying towards his head without any hesitation. If he hasn't moved, the bullet would've gone straight between his eyes. Because he did move, the bullet only narrowly grazed his temple but clipped off the top of his left ear. Ra's stumbled to the floor, head ringing and blood pouring down the side of his head from beneath the hand that clutched his wounds.

"Master!" Fowler yelled, shoving Kate aside when he realized that threatening her would have no effect on Neal. He pulled out his own gun and trained it on the his master's attacker, who was preoccupied with lining up his next shot.

Before either of them could pull their respective triggers, a large section of the thick glass window shattered inward, destroyed by a explosive charge set from the outside, and two dark figures swooped into the room.

Immediately, the taller and more menacing of the two men zeroed in on Fowler, eyes narrowing as he spied the gun aimed at his son's back. Fowler tried in vain to redirect his aim at Batman, but he fired the gun too soon and the shot went wide. It also only served to make the Dark Knight angrier, which the doomed former FBI agent felt first hand when the elder vigilante's armored fist went crashing into the side of his face.

While his father subdued the more immediate threat, Nightwing went to put himself between Ra's and his brother. He stepped in front of Neal protectively and kept him at his back while he stared down the old man that had been the cause of his family's greatest misery over the last seven years. However, raw anger turned into confusion as he noticed Ra's injuries, the way his blood ran down the side of his head, and the way he was moving, attempting to make his way to the darkest shadows at the rear corner of the room while he himself kept the vigilante between him and his brother.

"Damn it! Out of my way!"

It was only by the barest of margins that the masked man turned back to see Neal dashing around him, gun arm outstretched, finger in the process of tightening around the trigger.

"NO!" Moving faster than even Dick thought himself possible, Nightwing intercepted Neal almost purely by instinct. He struck his brother's forearm sharply with one of his escrima sticks, wincing at the yelp of pain from the younger man. The gun still went off, but its deadly slug embedded itself in the ceiling instead.

Stumbling backwards by the force of the blow, Neal managed somehow to stay on his feet all the same. Pain was etched on his face, mingling with obvious frustration and growing desperation at the second failed attempt to kill the demon in front of him. Despite the fact that his gun arm had been fractured by Nightwing's strike, he still refused to release the weapon. Neal grit his teeth tightly against the pain as he quickly, but unsteadily attempted to aim at Ra's retreating figure again. Even though the pistol trembled badly in his wounded grasp, a sensation of panic rose in his chest as the woman's voice echoed in his mind.

"If he lives, you will die!"

"If he lives, you will die!"

"If he lives, you will die!"

"Tim! Stop it!" Dick yelled, panic starting to tinge his own voice. "You can't kill him!" The warning didn't even register as Neal desperately tried to get around the taller, stronger man once more, trying to end the demon's life before the monster vanished back into the shadows he came from. "I'm sorry, Tim," Dick whispered with a grimace. The masked man had no choice but to strike him again, this time much harder, simultaneously disarming him and sending his brother crashing into the wall. Neal cried out as he clutched his now broken arm, and the gun went clattering harmlessly across the floor. However, the pain was momentarily forgotten as he saw a door hidden within the shadows open up. Ra's al Ghul gave him a parting glare full of deadly promises before vanishing into the darkness.

"No," Neal murmured as the demon escaped before his eyes. "No!" He struggled to his feet, shouldered his way past Nightwing, and ran for the now locked door, beating on it several times with his good hand before stepping back slowly. Dick watched him with deepening concern. The costumed man expected Neal to whirl on him in anger for preventing him from killing Ra's. He braced himself to become the target of his brother's fury. It was almost expected because that was what had happened when Bruce had prevented Jason from killing the Joker nearly a decade ago.

What Dick hadn't expected, though, was the expression of bone-chilling dread that bloomed on his injured brother's paling face. Unlike past, near-deadly events involving Jason, Neal hadn't been trying to kill Ra's out of rage or revenge, it seemed. An unhappy realization dawned slowly on Dick.

His brother had been trying to kill Ra's out of fear.

A sickening feeling settled itself in the pit of Dick's stomach as he realized that Neal... Tim... remembered Ra's al Ghul and what that monster had done to him.

"No," Neal whispered, the terror starting to creep up into his voice as he shook his head. "No, no, no, no, no..." He clutched his injured arm close to his body and backed further away from the door.

"Tim," Dick said hesitantly as he started to take a step towards the increasingly distressed man. Before he could get too close to him a smaller, slender, feminine figure dashed past him.

"Neal!" Kate ran past Nightwing and closed the distance quickly between herself and the man she loved. Mindful of his broken arm, the dark haired woman with eyes that seemed almost too blue to be natural gently caught Neal's face with her hands and turned his gaze to her face. "Neal?" Then she whirled on Nightwing, a furious expression on her face. "Why did you stop him? Why did you let that monster get away?" she yelled at him.

As Dick struggled for an answer, watching helplessly as Kate turned away from him with a disgusted glare so she could return to tending Neal, he felt a strong hand settle on his shoulder.

"I'm going to go after Ra's," Batman said quietly, his own gaze focused on Neal and Kate as well. "You need to get these two to safety."

"We won't be able to use the jet," Nightwing murmured. "With his arm broken, he won't be able to make the climb to the roof the way we came in."

Batman thought for a moment. "There's the bunker at Yost and 2nd. One way in and out from the street level, and you can take the tunnels back to the cave from there. " He patched through to the Batcave. "Oracle. Can you remote control a car to the DiDio Building?"

"Sure thing, guys. I'll have one there in five."

Nightwing nodded as he watched Neal and Kate. His brother had finally snapped himself out of the shell-shocked, fear-induced stupor he'd been in earlier and was tenderly caressing Kate's face with his good hand as they sat together on the floor, speaking with one another in low, hushed tones he couldn't make out. Despite the pain he was still in, there was a large measure of relief there too. There was so much love in his eyes for the woman in front of him. He seemed almost blind to everything else going on around him.

"I'll see you back at the cave," his father said as he made his way to the exit. As Batman left, Nightwing walked over to the reunited couple. Dick felt a guilty pang as his brother flinched away from his approach, watching him warily while Kate glared daggers at him.

"It's ok," Dick said gently. "I really am here to help you two." Slowly he knelt down to their level. "We need to get out of here. It's not safe." He avoided Kate's dark look by turning his attention squarely on Neal. "Sorry about your arm. Let me stabilize it for you. I promise we'll get a legit doctor to look at it later." He offered Neal an open hand, palm upward. The injured man stared at the gloved hand as if it were a snake that might strike him if he got too close. His blue eyes, reflecting so much pain, confusion, suspicion, and fear, lifted up to meet Nightwing's red pupilless gaze. The obvious lack of trust wounded Dick and made his heart ache as he remembered the days when his younger brother used to trust him with his very life, no questions asked, no hesitation.

"Please, Neal," he pleaded sincerely. "Let me help you."

A silent look was shared between Neal and Kate. Wordlessly, he took a deep breath and released it slowly. Then, just as slowly, he gingerly offered Nightwing his broken arm.

Midway through the maze of the pitch dark building, Bruce was silently cursing his atrociously bad luck. He'd lost Ra's al Ghul midway through the building about a dozen floors below where he'd left his sons. The black-clad vigilante went to the nearest window to look around outside while he checked in with the others.

"Robin... Batgirl... If you're able, I need you two to scout the street level perimeter."

There was a moment of pause before his youngest son's voice came through in his cowl. "No can do. Batgirl and I are pinned down here on the rooftop next to you."

"The League's assassins?"

"No." There was the sound of gunfire and bullets ricocheting off of concrete. "Council of Spiders."

"What?"

"Soon as we took out the last League assassin, we were ambushed again, this time by Wolf, Goliath, and Widower. Batgirl's taken out Widower, but I've lost track of Goliath and Wolf is shooting at us from a distance." Bruce could almost hear the frown in Damian's voice. "It's strange though. They aren't trying very hard to take us down. They seem more determined to just keep us from leaving."

Batman's own lips curved into a frown as he listened to his son. "Do what you can to get out of the situation. Meet us here." He switched to a different frequency on his com link. "Red Hood. Report."

The response from Jason was almost immediate. "A little busy right now!" There were the clear sounds of a fight going on in the background before the line to the Red Hood was abruptly cut.

As Batman stood there in silence, an uncomfortably tense feeling of dread was coiling in the pit of his stomach. Something didn't feel right.

If it weren't for his training, Bruce would've jumped when his com link pinged at him. "Oracle?"

"No, Master Bruce. It's me."

He indulged in a small sigh. It was only Alfred. "Status report?"

"We've just arrived. I've secured Miss Hunter in one of the rooms in the east wing of the manor, with instruction that she is not to go wandering for the time being. How is the situation with Timothy?"

"We've gotten custody of him," he confirmed with the old man who was more father to him than servant these days. "But our situation is complicated here. There was a confrontation with Ra's al Ghul that has affected Tim badly. He and Kate are with Nightwing right now while I'm tracking down Ra's. There are members of the Council of Spiders here as well. Robin and Batgirl are dealing with them at the moment. Possibly Red Hood as well."

"I'm sorry, sir, but who did you say is with Timothy and Richard?"

"Kate. Kate Moreau. Tim's... Neal's girlfriend. She was being held hostage by the League of Assassins, possibly as leverage against Tim."

The wary disbelief in Alfred's voice threw up another set of warning flags in Bruce's mind. "That's quite impossible, sir. Kate Moreau is dead."

"I know the story," Bruce tried to reassure Alfred. "That she appeared to have died in a plane explosion some months ago. But she is alive-"

"No sir. Kate... The real Kate has been dead for nearly two years."

Bruce's blood ran cold. "What?"

"I finished getting the last of Miss Hunter's story during the trip from New York to Gotham. The real Kate Moreau had been murdered and replaced with a look-a-like by the League of Assassins shortly before Timothy escaped from prison."

Even before Alfred finished speaking, Bruce was already backtracking, trying to make his way back to his sons. "Are you certain about that? Is she?"

"If what Miss Hunter told me is true, Ra's has known about Timothy's identity as Neal Caffrey for several years now. While he was in prison, the League quietly murdered Kate and replaced her with an imposter."

Bruce ground his teeth together. "This has all been a game to him!" he growled. "He's been toying with Tim! Playing with him until we finally found him!"

"The imposter should have been dead too, though," Alfred said solemnly, catching the urgency he heard clearly in Bruce's voice. "Miss Hunter confessed to having set the bomb which destroyed the plane and her in it. She did it to protect Timothy."

"Well she failed!" Bruce snapped before connecting to his eldest. "Nightwing! Status report!"

"I'm somewhere near tenth floor," Dick said softly. "Tim and Kate are waiting on the eleventh while I scout the stairwell."

"Get back to them now!"

"Wh-?"

"Kate is an imposter!"

"What?"

"She's working for Ra's! Tim's in danger! GO!"

As soon as he heard his father's words, Dick practically flew up the stairs and burst through the door to the eleventh floor, where he'd last seen his brother and the woman he now knew to be working for the enemy. A part of him wanted to scream when he saw nothing but an empty hallway waiting for him.

"They're gone!" he said over the com link. "Tim and Kate aren't here!" Immediately, Nightwing dashed to the opposite end of the hallway, where another stairwell entrance was. He knew that the only way the two of them could've gone was down. He only hoped that he could reach them before they got too far.

Dick had just reached the third floor in the stairwell when the sound of two ominous gunshots from outside the building practically stopped his heart. His shoulder crashed hard into the nearest wall, as he was immediately too distracted to make the sharp turn for the next downward flight of stairs.

"No..." he murmured in shock as the sound of the gunshots echoed in his heart, wracking his entire soul. A third gunshot, a couple of seconds delayed after the first two, jolted him back into action. "NO!" Dick descended down the stairs even faster than before, the rest of the journey a blur in his vision until he burst through the doors that led him to the outside ground level. The sight that greeted him wasn't what he expected in the least, but still brought him no comfort when all was said and done.

Bathed in grim moonlight, three bodies lay bleeding on the ground. Tim... Kate... and Ra's al Ghul? Two were dead, still and unmoving from gunshot wounds that were clearly fatal, even in the deep shadows. However, one still lived, though he bled profusely from a wound in his abdomen. That man was being tended to frantically by an all too familiar FBI agent, whose service pistol was sitting nearly forgotten on the ground next to him.

Author's Note:

As I write this, I cringe at the thoughts of the DC reboot that is currently going on. For those of you who are just now starting to read this story, "Confidence Lost" takes place in the DCU, not DCnU as the rebooted universe is being referred to in several forums and has little bearing on this story.

This story is finally coming together, and the end is coming into sight.

However, it's not over yet.

Also, the story behind "Kate" will be revealed in the next chapter.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Present Day...

It didn't take long for members of the Justice League to realize that something was amiss in Gotham City. One or two of the Bats taking time off the active duty roster was not an unusual thing. Three at the same time was uncommon, but not unheard of. However, when practically the entire clan of them suddenly dropped out of circulation in all their respective organizations at the same time, including Batman himself, it made a more than noticeable impact. A group from the League was even prepared to head into Gotham themselves to make sure their friends were alright.

Before they could head out, though, Superman himself called a sudden urgent meeting at the Watchtower.

"Clark?" Wonder Woman said once they were all gathered together on the orbital satellite. "What's going on? Do you know what's happening in Gotham with Bruce and his family?"

The Man of Steel nodded solemnly.

"Well spill!" Bart Allen, the current Flash exclaimed. "What's so important that even the workaholic Daddy Bat took himself off of active duty for the first time in forever? It can't be that gallery opening we're supposed to attend in NYC. We just got the e-mail saying it's been postponed."

Clark Kent lifted his head to look at the collected members of the League. It wasn't the complete roster. He'd handpicked the various members specifically for this gathering. All familiar faces. All close friends who'd known each other for years. Everyone who was close enough to Bruce and his family to be trusted with their true identities.

"They found Tim."

The shocked silence that filled the meeting room after that announcement lasted only a moment before it was broken by an cacophony of voices bombarding Clark with excited questions. Instead of answering even one, though, Superman held up his hand, and eventually silence returned.

"Tim is alive," he said somberly. "But the situation is complicated. Bruce has asked that everyone respect his family's privacy for the time being. For now, everyone in their family is going to be gathered in Gotham, but they'll be staying close to home."

"Something's wrong, isn't it, Clark?" Diana asked after a moment, worry clearly written on her face. "Bruce and his entire family wouldn't circle the wagons like this if everything was fine. Is Tim... alright?"

Superman hesitated a moment before slowly shaking his head. "He was hurt very badly recently, and they're not sure..." His words trailed off. He couldn't finish the sentence, but everyone caught his unspoken meaning.

There was a long moment of silence once more as the gravity of the revelations sank in. Those men and women who had once been closest to Tim, who years ago had been his best friends, clustered together and comforted each other quietly.

"Is there anything we can do for them?" Diana asked gently.

Clark sighed. "We can help keep their city safe," he said. "And we can pray."

While Elle was upstairs watching over Neal along with Alfred and Dick, Peter found himself standing on a secluded balcony at the rear of Wayne Manor. From his vantage point, he could see the barest trace of Gotham City's skyline over the tops of the trees which surrounded the expansive mansion. Searching for the distant skyline in the near pitch black, moonless night was a calming, peaceful exercise the weary federal agent needed after everything that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours.

Then he sighed.

"How long are you going to stand there skulking in the shadows?" he asked aloud to seemingly no one in particular, his eyes still focused on the horizon.

"Sorry," Bruce said as he stepped into the small amount of light which trickled onto the balcony from the windows. "Force of habit."

"It's a bad habit," Peter scolded mildly. "Especially in your own home."

"How did you know-?"

"Paranoia."

"Hmm?" Bruce looked at Peter curiously.

"Although, as one of Neal's compatriots would say, 'It's not paranoia when they really are out to get you.'" He finally turned his eyes away from the night and towards Bruce. "I had no idea you were there," Peter admitted. "But I had a feeling that I was being watched, so I took a chance." He paused a moment before continuing, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What do you want?"

Bruce moved to the edge of the balcony, standing even with Peter. "I wanted to say that you shouldn't blame Dick for leaving you behind in New York. He doesn't deserve your scorn."

"So it was you?"

"Yes."

Peter wanted to be angry with Bruce. He wanted so much to indulge in yelling at the this man who he felt was at least partially responsible for the state Neal was in right then and there. However, when all was said and done, Peter just didn't have it in him to be angry anymore. He was too tired, and it didn't seem right at all to vent his frustrations on a man when his son's life seemed to be balancing so precariously on the razor's edge. "I understand why you did what you did," Peter finally said. "That doesn't mean I like what happened, but it's not something I'm unaccustomed to. I've had to deal with getting the same kind of crap from Neal while working with him." The FBI agent grumbled. "Always running off to do what he thinks is best. Cutting me out of whatever his plans are." He gave Bruce a sidelong look. "Now I think I see where he actually gets it."

Bruce studied Peter as he spoke. Despite giving the agent and his wife a comfortable private room in the manor after they'd finally brought his son home, but it looked like the agent hadn't taken advantage of it to get any rest. Dark circles shaded the underside of his haunted eyes, and the weary irritation in his voice was one Bruce recognized all too well.

"You should get some sleep, Agent Burke," he said.

"Later," he said simply as he turned his gaze back towards the Gotham City skyline. "There'll time enough for sleep later."

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" Bruce queried cautiously. "About the night Tim... Neal was hurt? About what happened to Ra's al Ghul and the imposter posing as Kate?"

Peter thought about the nightmare that had jolted him from his sleep when he last dozed off just a few hours prior; what had led him to staking out the balcony in seclusion in the first place. "Not with you," he finally told Bruce.

"Kate! Slow down!"

"No, Neal! We're almost out!"

It was just as she'd said. A few hurried moments later found the two of them bursting through a door that led to the outside grounds just to the rear of the unfinished building. Though adrenaline was able to keep him moving, Neal's physical injuries and his chaotic, fear-infected mind made it almost impossibly hard to focus and think.

Things didn't feel right. Neal didn't understand why he was so terrified of that strange old man he kept wanting to call "the demon". He didn't have the slightest where these horrific visions that were tormenting him came from. Adding to his confusion were images of Batman and Nightwing that kept flashing in between the others.

"That's far enough, young man."

Neal froze, a chill running down his spine at the sound of the frighteningly familiar voice. His fear did not root him completely motionless, though. Immediately, his thoughts ran straight for Kate and he reacted purely on panic and instinct.

"Run Kate! Get out of here!" he yelled as turned to put himself between her and the demon.

Neal never saw the dagger.

Excruciating pain, sharp and burning, radiated immediately throughout his midsection. It was nothing, though, compared the fresh wound in his heart when he saw the face of the one who held the blade.

"K-Kate?" he gasped out as he stared at the woman he loved, that he'd sacrificed so much for. The betrayal became even more heart-rending at the cold, emotionless expression she wore as she twisted the dagger just enough to send him to his knees with a gasp of agony. When she jerked the blade out of his abdomen, reflexively his good hand moved to press against the bleeding wound, though he had a feeling it wouldn't do much good.

"I underestimated you, Timothy," Ra's al Ghul said as he stepped out from the shadows. "You showed so much promise these last few years. I had hoped to put your incredible talents to work for me, so that you might work off the debt I'm owed for the damage you did to the League all those years ago." The old man glared balefully at him, the blood from the earlier gunshot drying against the side of his head and matting the hair it had spilled into. "I never thought, with everything your father taught you, that you'd actually take the initiative to attempt to kill me. With a gun no less!"

There was that name again. Even through the haze of pain, both physical and emotional, that name stuck out in his blurring consciousness.

"My name... is Neal," he weakly stammered out, eyes downcast as he watched, almost mesmerized, his own blood starting to pool on the pavement beneath his knees. "I don't know... what you're talking about." Neal tried to swallow. His throat felt so dry, and his body was starting to feel hot.

Neal felt the cold metal pommel of a sword roughly tucked under his chin, forcing his gaze upward so he could look straight into the face of the demon himself.

"You really don't know who you are anymore, do you?" Ra's observed, then frowned as he stood back up. Neal winced visibly at the sound of the demon's sword being drawn slowly out of its scabbard. "That almost makes this task a little less satisfying."

"So we won't be taking him alive, Father?" 'Kate' asked, sounding disappointed herself as she began to step away from Neal.

"I'm afraid not," Ra's confirmed. "Much as I know you were looking forward to bearing his child, Timothy is too much of a liability to possess." The demon lifted his sword. "Besides, I made a promise to his father a long time ago that I fully intend to deliver upon."

Kneeling there on the pavement, watching as too much blood continued to spill from his body and still reeling from the betrayal of the woman he loved, Neal found himself eerily, calmly resigned to his oncoming death. Back in the furthest reaches of his mind, a small voice wondered if this was finally the permanent end that had eluded him for so long.

Slowly, his eyes began to close.

"Freeze! FBI! Put down the weapon, now!"

Neal's eyes snapped open. His dulled blue eyes stared past Ra's al Ghul and found a familiar federal agent's silhouette in the dimly lit dark. The light that was present on the construction site glinted off the barrel of his gun, which was trained squarely on the demon.

"Peter?" he whispered in a hoarse voice. Fear returned to Neal's expression, though it wasn't for himself. Suddenly he was faced with the very real prospect of the one of the few people he actually truly trusted being hurt or killed right in front of him. It didn't matter to Neal if he himself died or not. However, he couldn't allow Peter to be killed. What would Elizabeth think? He didn't want her to become a widow. He didn't want her to suffer that grief.

Ra's wasn't at all bothered by the sudden presence of the federal agent. "Take care of him, daughter," he ordered dismissively.

"Yes, Father," 'Kate' said obediently as adjusted her grip on the dagger, Neal's blood still dripping from its tip.

Desperation rose up in Tim, pushing him past his pain and his fear as he tried to rise up and grab at Kate. "Stop! Please don't!"

Immediately, he was struck on the temple with the pommel of the demon's sword and was sent crumbling to the ground. "Your suffering ends now!" Ra's declared as he lifted the sword high and started bringing it down fast.

Two shots rang out like canon fire in the night. Everything in that moment seemed to freeze in time. Neal stared, in wide-eyed shock, at the demon with his sword raised just inches from his face. His eyes weren't focused on the blade, however. They were focused on the formerly pristine white shirt that were now blooming crimson from the two bullets that had torn through Ra's chest.

The old man had an expression of shock on his face as well. He turned his head to look back at Peter, who stared at him pointedly. Even with 'Kate' just a couple of yards away from him, her dagger in hand and poised to strike, the agent had taken the shots to save Neal's life first, completely disregarding his own safety.

"I... underestimated... the wrong... people..." Ra's stammered out as his consciousness faded and his sword fell harmlessly from his hand. His lifeless body followed soon after.

'Kate', who had frozen in horror at the sight of her father being killed, stood there for a moment in complete disbelief at what had just happened. "...no... Father... No!" she murmured before whirling on Peter, her face blazing with rage. "NO! I'll destroy you!" she shrieked as clutched her blade and went dashing towards her father's killer.

"Peter! NO!" Neal screamed as loudly as he could, anguish written all over his face. He tried to get up, but he was in too much pain and was far too weak to reach Kate in time.

Unfortunately for 'Kate', her hesitation when her father was killed cost her. It had given Peter just enough time to refocus his aim on her, and she rushed him before he could even warn her to drop her weapon and surrender.

"I'm sorry, Neal," Peter whispered as he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, knowing full well that at point-blank range the bullet would find its target without fail.

Neal's eyes snapped open with a gasp. He would've sat bolt upright, but a stab of pain in his midsection aborted his body's reflexive action. So he laid back, closed his eyes, and tried to will away the shakes and chills caused by the remains of the horrible nightmare.

Several long minutes later, a much calmer Neal opened his eyes once more. He stared at the ceiling with a puzzled expression. There was something about what he was seeing nagging at his sleep addled mind. Something wasn't right, and yet it strangely was.

"Ceiling?"

He blinked. With a turn of his head, first to the left and then to the right, Neal was surprised to find himself lying on a massive king-sized bed in what looked like a bedroom in a very nice old home. A home that seemed almost familiar, and that confused him.

Gingerly, Neal eased himself up into a sitting position, mindful of expertly wrapped bandages wound tightly around his abdomen and his right arm bound up in a cast. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand before taking better stock of where he was.

"Where am I?"

Author's Note: Chapter 30 brings a more detailed explanation of what exactly happened between Neal, Peter, Kate, and Ra's al Ghul the night everything came to a head before Nightwing and Batman found them all. We also have a slight bit of interaction between Bruce and Peter, as well as a cameo from members of the Justice League. And finally, of course, we have Neal waking up alive in the safety of Wayne Manor.

One more planned chapter left, folks. It will be out before Nov 1. Then I'm planning something new for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). If you'd like to learn more about this, please check my tumblr writing account at ( writingsbycrscott . tumblr . com ). I'll be updating it with my novel info within the coming weekend.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Peter knew something had changed the moment Neal and Dick emerged from the secret door concealed by the grandfather clock in the parlor. The frantic panic that Dick had been exhibiting earlier while searching for Neal was gone, replaced by an infectious happiness that seemed to be radiating off of him in waves. Neal too, despite the fact that he was still nowhere near well enough to be moving about on his own, seemed extremely happy himself, although also a little dazed. He didn't even seem to notice Peter or Elizabeth at first when they stepped into the parlor, his focus resting mainly on staying as upright as possible.

"Neal!" Elizabeth exclaimed with a look of relief.

The injured man turned to look at them. "Elle... Peter..." he said quietly.

Elizabeth moved forward to get a closer look at Neal. She smiled warmly at him. "Gave us a bit of a scare there. Are you alright?"

He nodded. "I think... I'm better than alright," he said as he glanced around himself, a look of wonder on his face. "This is home? I really am... home?"

Dick's eyes began to tear up again, though his brilliant smile showed no signs of fading. "Yeah, Tim. You're finally home." Then he looked to Elizabeth. "Sorry we can't stay and get you caught up right now, but if I don't get Tim back to bed, Alfred will skin me alive," he said with a laugh.

The pair of brothers had barely left the parlor when Alfred and Bruce both emerged from the cave's entrance. Peter noticed that they looked happier as well. It didn't take much more for the federal agent to put two and two together.

"Neal remembered who he is?" he asked.

Bruce nodded. "He remembers. Exactly how much of his past we can't say for certain, but-" he said with a contentment he hadn't felt in years. "-he at least remembers his family."

The good news spread quickly among the Bats, League, and Titans. While Peter and Elle helped Dick get Neal back to his room, Alfred and Bruce contacted their friends and family about Tim's updated condition. From Earth to the Watchtower, heroes the world over were celebrating. Though the ones who were outside of Gotham's city limits knew enough to let the Bats have their prodigal son to themselves and restrained their desires to immediately visit, those who were there felt no such compulsion.

The only warning they got in Neal's room to the arrival of more visitors was the thunder of running footsteps before the door burst open suddenly and two unmasked, uniformed girls (one in all black, the other in purple accents, and both sporting bat insignias on their chests) filled the door frame. Neal, Peter, and Elle were all startled by the appearance of the two women, though Dick seemed to have expected them.

The elder brother did not stick around for the heartfelt reunion between Tim and the girls who were the closest things to sisters in their lives. As Cass and Steph shared their affections with a quite speechless Neal (much to Peter and Elle's amusement), Dick noticed a movement from the shadows of an oak tree just beyond the window. Quietly he slipped out of the bedroom as the three visiting Titans began to slowly filter to join the girls. A few minutes later, he was up in the branches of that oak tree himself.

"You do know you're both welcomed to come in, right?"

"Please, golden boy. Maybe for the runt because it's still his home, but we both know that's not the case for me." Jason Todd, his face hidden behind his red helmet, leaned against the trunk of the tree as he glared at Dick.

Despite his relative good mood, Jason's tone and words irritated the former acrobat. However, Dick steeled his resolve and refused to snark back at him.

Not tonight.

"How is he?" Damian's quiet voice cut through the budding tension between his two eldest brothers. The youngest of them had focused his gaze completely on the scene taking place beyond the bedroom window, where Batgirls and Titans sat on the edge of his other brother's bed, the lot of them speaking with smiles lighting up their faces.

Dick regarded Damian calmly. "He remembers. Not everything, but enough to know who his family is and the fact that he's home."

"But how is he physically?"

The eldest Wayne son turned his attention to the window himself. "Tim's still not completely recovered. I doubt Leslie will clear him to move about on his own for awhile." He looked at Damian again. "You should come home, Dami. Bruce and Alfred both know you've been staying with Jason since Tim returned. So have I. Even though we've been preoccupied with Tim, that doesn't mean we haven't noticed or worried about you." Dick sighed. "I know you and Tim never had the most pleasant relationship when you were younger, but-"

Damian nodded. "I know."

"Wait? What?"

The teen looked at Dick. "I know things are different now. I'm not the same person I was when I was ten. I know he's not the same person either. It's just..." He glanced off to the side. "...I want to apologize to him for the past, but I'm not sure I know how."

Dick placed a reassuring hand on his youngest brother's shoulder. That Damian was even contemplating apologizing to Tim, of all people, was a testament to how much he'd matured over the years. Though he knew he never said it enough (or maybe too much for Damian's tastes), Dick was proud of the man he was growing up to become.

A ratcheting up of the tension next to the tree trunk drew Dick and Damian's attention. It didn't take long to see what caused Jason to shift into an unconsciously defensive posture. Through the window, they could all see that Bruce and Alfred had finally joined the extended reunion.

"He... Bruce... Looks happy..." Jason muttered quietly.

Dick, not for the first time, wished that Jason didn't wear the helmet. He wished he could see his face and gauge the younger man's expression. "Why wouldn't he be happy?" Dick posed the question gently.

Beyond the window, the younger generation of crime fighters slowly cleared from Tim's room at Alfred's insistence. Peter and Elizabeth as well appeared to give Neal a few parting words before they too exited. A minute later, it was just Tim and Bruce alone. Tim looked exhausted, but content. Bruce had such a warm expression on his face as he spoke with his son.

His arms folded across his chest, though his expression was still a mystery, it was clear that Jason had not taken his eyes off of the window. "Would he have been that happy if I..."

Jason had spoken so softly, neither Dick nor Damian could catch all that he said, though the eldest could've sworn he'd heard a tinge of regret in his tone. "What did you say?" Damian asked.

"Nothing." Finally Jason tore his eyes away from the window, his voice sounding strained. "Just nothing." He pulled out his grappling gun and aimed it for a copse of trees where he and Damian had parked their motorcycles. "I'm heading back to finish patrol."

"I'll join-"

"No. You've been holding me back long enough the past week." Without another word, the Red Hood vanished into the shadows of the night, leaving Dick and Damian far behind.

It took a week before Neal and Damian finally met face to face. The unplanned reunion took place quite on accident... or more likely through some subtle manipulations by Alfred. Neal had been enjoying a quiet breakfast on a balcony overlooking the grounds one morning, savoring the feeling of finally being released from bed rest by the good doctor as well as having an engaging conversation with Selina Kyle.

Even though it had been at least a good two years since she'd hung up her goggles and whip, the former original Catwoman still tried to stay up to date on the comings and goings of her previous less-than-legal profession. She'd known of Neal Caffrey's career for years, though in all that time she'd never seen a photograph of him or even fathomed that he and Tim Drake were the same person. After initially kicking herself for the oversight, it didn't take long for the two of them to start bonding on a level that never would've been deemed feasible seven years ago.

"Seriously?" the dark haired woman said astonishment.

Neal's smirk was completely unrepentant. "Unless a reason ever arises where they need to examine the rubies under a microscope, I don't think anyone will ever discover that the duchess's favorite pendant is currently made of synthetics." He grinned into his coffee.

Selina shook her head with a chuckle. "And how long has it been since the switch was made?"

"About five years now, I think. It was one of the last jobs I'd pulled in Europe before coming back to the States."

"You certainly were a piece of work."

"Were?" Neal laughed. "I still am a piece of work. Just ask Peter."

Selina laughed, then leaned in close and her voice lowered to a conspiratorial volume. "So... Whatever happened to the real rubies?"

Neal's eyes gleamed with undisguised mischief. "Now that would be the $63,000 dollar question, wouldn't it?"

Before she could press for further information, curiosity gnawing away at her as she eyed his smug, impish smile, Alfred knocked on the door to the balcony.

"Please pardon the intrusion," he said politely as both Neal and Selina quickly set aside all the shop talk. The old butler set down a third coffee cup next to theirs as well as another set of dishes and silverware.

"Is Bruce or Dick joining us?" Neal asked curiously.

"Neither," Alfred said before stepping aside and allowing a clear path between an uncomfortable looking Damian and the breakfast table.

"Alfred, I don't think-"

"Sit, Master Damian," Alfred insisted. "I will return with breakfast in just a moment." Once the old man was satisfied with the teenager's reluctant movement onto the balcony, he nodded to the other two occupants before heading back into the manor, closing the twin glass doors behind him.

There was a thick, uncomfortable silence between the three of them until finally Selina rose from her seat. "I just remembered, I need to call Bruce and see if he'll be free for lunch this afternoon. Back in a few."

And then there were two.

Damian and Neal sat opposite one another in awkward silence for another minute more. Neal casually sipped his coffee while Damian seemed to concentrate on looking at anything other than him.

"I know we didn't start off on the right-

"I'm sorry!"

When they spoke, both intent on finally breaking the silence, their words collided at the same time, startling both of them into finally meeting each other's gazes. Neal, setting his coffee cup down gently on its saucer, inclined his head in a silent motion signaling that Damian could speak his mind first.

After taking a deep breath, the teenager let the uncomfortable words slip from his mouth. "I... don't know how much of the past you remember between the two of us. Most of it... All of it I suppose was pretty bad. I was a pretty fucked up kid back then, but that really isn't an excuse..." Damian sighed. "After you... disappeared... when I was older, I learned more about who you were and what you'd endured before I came into Father's life."

Neal attempted to interject something, but Damian raised his hand to stop him. "I treated you horribly for all the wrong reasons, and I want to apologize... for everything." The teen's eyes cast themselves downward, and everything in his posture, demeanor, and tone radiated a sense of regret. "Perhaps... If I hadn't been such a little bastard when everyone thought Father was dead, when Richard made me his Robin, you wouldn't have gone off on your own. You wouldn't have left and gotten tangled up with Grandfather and you wouldn't have-"

"Stop it."

Damian looked up to see Neal staring at him with a serious expression. It was a look that was all Tim Drake and not Neal Caffrey. Then his face softened. "I'll accept your apologies, Damian, but I don't want to you to blame yourself in any way for what happened to me all those years ago. That wasn't your fault. It wasn't Dick's. It wasn't Bruce's. If anyone in this family has any blame to shoulder for what happened to me back then, it was my own stupid self for not considering my own safety when dealing with your grandfather seven years ago. However, I refuse to let those kinds of regrets and what-ifs eat away at me anymore because, ultimately, if anyone was responsible for what happened to me, it was Ra's." Tim's gaze darkened as he thought of Damian's grandfather. "That monster tortured me, tormented our family for years, victimized countless innocents for longer, threatened my friends, murdered the woman I loved, and used her doppelganger to manipulate me further." His eyes slid closed. "I wish I could've killed him myself, but I'm glad that bastard's dead." He sighed. "However, it's time to move on."

Damian listened to Tim quietly. It was surreal conversing with his estranged adopted brother like this. The young man had been expecting some semblance of anger or animosity directed towards him. The fact that it sounded like Drake was trying to reassure him confused Damian.

"You... don't hate me?"

Tim smiled a little, in a way that reminded Damian a lot of Dick's "Silly rabbit, Trix is for kids" smile. It was definitely a Neal smile. "You were ten, I was seventeen, and seven years puts a hell of a lot of water under the bridge between the two of us." He then stretched out his hand across the table toward his younger brother.

Damian eyed the hand suspiciously before shifting his gaze upward.

"Clean slate," Neal offered, hand still outstretched. "It's not like either of us knows the other one anymore anyways. So let's start over from scratch." The older man smirked. "This time without the Gitmo-style beatings."

"Tch! You provoked over half of those blows," Damian grumbled as he finally shook his brother's hand.

Neal shrugged. "Baiting you turned out to be more entertaining than I thought it would be. The bruises and dental work were completely worth it."

For almost a month, Neal stayed in Gotham City. Of course, once Dr. Leslie Thompkins got word that he'd woken up, she set down a number of rules in stone involving visitors and how much he could exert himself during the course of a day and night. The first couple of weeks was a surreal experience for the former con-artist/former teen vigilante. His memory, though still spotty, was becoming more and more complete with every day that passed and every person he met.

Of course, with the return of good memories invariably came the bad ones.

It didn't take long for for the first nightmares to surface. Though Neal tried to keep the fact that he was sleeping poorly a secret, in a house full of Bats and a very observant Alfred, it was practically impossible. Sleeping pills from Leslie helped, though he refused to talk to anyone about the visions that plagued his dreams.

The last thing he wanted was to burden the people who cared about him with the images of what they were unable to stop seven years ago.

There was also one more thing adding to his growing discomfort with living at Wayne Manor, though it had nothing to do with the past and more with what waited for him for the future.

Peter and Elizabeth had long since returned to New York, once Neal's health had stabilized. The FBI agent must have had a massive stack of case files waiting for him on his desk because it was over three weeks before he returned to Wayne Manor for a visit.

In fact, he had one with him when he arrived.

"Seriously, Peter?" Neal said with an amused smile. "Bringing your work with you on a social call? Are you that inundated at the office?"

The agent sighed, as if he had a feeling he was going to soon regret the words that were going to come out of his mouth. "This case is one that requires your unique... perspective."

"Oh really?"

"There's a con-artist who's making pretty non-subtle waves in New York the last few weeks. We're sure he's a copycat, though, but I need your help to figure out his next move."

"Alright. So who is this guy trying to emulate?"

"You."

The case file vanished from Peter's hand in the blink of an eye. Neal's eyes, alight with interest and curiosity, devoured the information contained within the folder ravenously. Then, after a couple of minutes of reading, Neal's expression shifted and he slowly closed the folder.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked.

"It's just... Well... I don't know..." The younger man's blue eyes stayed focused on the FBI seal in the middle of the dark folder, an emotion akin to longing coloring his gaze.

Peter unconsciously made himself more comfortable on the sofa they were sharing. He had a feeling he was going to be there for awhile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Neal glanced around himself, as if trying to make sure that they were both alone in the study. Then he sighed. "What do I do, Peter?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what to do." Neal spoke hesitantly, as if dragging each word was an almost painful endeavor. "The other day I was talking with Mozzie over speakerphone, and Damian overheard the conversation. After I got off the phone with Moz, Damian asked me when I was going to start using my real name." He leaned back on his side of the sofa and turned his eyes to the ceiling.

Peter started to get a hint as to what was troubling the man next to him. "And what is your real name?"

Neal looked at him. "I don't think I honestly know anymore." He straightened up in his seat, leaning over so he could rest his elbows on his knees. The more he spoke with Peter, the easier it was getting to say what was on his mind. "It's natural to hear my family call me Tim. When they call me Neal, it sounds wrong in my ears."

"But..."

"BUT, when you or Elizabeth or even Mozzie tries to call me Tim, that doesn't sound right either. When any of you do that, I automatically feel like correcting you."

"I've noticed," Peter admitted.

Neal grimaced. "I think, to my family, my identity as Neal is just that. Something like another secret identity, like the kind used for going undercover, something that can be discarded and set aside when the mission is completed."

"But it's not really like that for you."

"Neal is who I was... I am..." The grimace deepened. "I was?" He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Yes, I know that aspects of who I am weren't developed naturally, that another person planted those traits into me, but-"

Peter placed a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder. "But for seven years, practically a full third of your life, you were Neal Caffrey. Completely. You had no reason to believe you were anyone else." The agent looked at him with a fatherly expression. "Though it may not feel like it to anyone besides yourself, Neal is as real to you, and as important to you, as Tim."

Neal looked at Peter, grateful for the older man's observation. "I... can't just throw away the last seven years of my life. Yes, it was a criminal's life, and yes I did a lot of things that now..." He tore his gaze away from Peter guiltily and back to the case file on his lap. "...now I don't feel quite so proud of. But it was my life. It's a big part of who I am right now."

"And who are you right now?"

"I... don't know." He stared at the folder. "I'm pretty sure my family, especially Bruce, Dick, and Alfred, would like it if I reclaimed my name as Timothy Drake-Wayne and decided to stay in Gotham City."

Peter nodded. "They do have the resources to make that happen, if you wanted-"

"But I don't know if I want that!" Neal admitted. Then he looked up at Peter quickly. "I don't mean that I don't want to spend more time with my family! Now that I have them back, I don't want to lose them ever again. They... They mean the world to me."

"However..?"

Neal sighed. "However... I don't feel like I deserve to receive a Get Out of Jail Free card just because of my family. Especially knowing that I've done things over the years that goes against everything they've ever stood for... That I once stood for." He stood up and made his way to the table with the collection of family photographs, picking one up.

"If I return to New York, it'll be awhile before I'm able to return to Gotham City, won't it?"

"You know it will."

"What do I do, Peter?" Neal asked. He looked over his shoulder at the still seated agent. "Can't you just flash your badge and order me back to New York?"

Peter smiled a little and shook his head. "I could, but I won't." Before Neal could protest or ask why, he stood up and moved to the younger man's side. "Even though you weren't aware of it, for most of the last seven years your life choices have been influenced by forces bent on either your self-destruction or using you as a pawn to destroy someone else. For the first time in years now, you have an opportunity to make a decision free and clear of those influences." He looked pointedly at Neal. "This is your choice about the rest of your life. You need to make it on your own."

Neal felt Peter's hand clap reassuringly on his shoulder. Then, as he kept his eyes focused on the images of his family, he listened to the agent make his way out of the room while his thoughts churned within his mind.

Six months later...

"Admit it. You missed the fingerstripes."

Nightwing, dressed in an updated version of his blue-accented armored uniform, stood opposite Neal on the rooftop of the New York City FBI headquarters and grinned. "I did. I really did." Then he smirked at his younger brother. "If you want, I can always ask Alfred to fabricate a version for you."

Neal held up both hands. "I think I'll pass. Much as I appreciate the protection body armor provides, I'll stick with designer suits and a kevlar vest underneath."

A gust of wind cut across the rooftop and jerked Neal's hat from his head. It tumbled backwards onto the rooftop and stopped only when they hit Peter's legs as he stepped through the doorway. The federal agent tucked an envelope under his arm before kneeling down to pick up the hat. Then he made his way to the brothers.

"I believe this belongs to you," he said as he offered the hat to Neal. Then he grabbed the envelope and offered it to Nightwing. "And this is yours."

As Neal replaced the hat atop his head, Nightwing took out the files and skimmed them with great interest. "This is great," he said as he flipped through the folder. "This is just what we need to nail down Luthor's operations here in NYC. The Justice League can't touch him with anything right now, but pressure from the feds on his more questionable business ventures could keep him from starting any mischief here."

"Thank Neal. He did all the leg work on this one," Peter said as he shot the man in question a sour look.

Nightwing caught the look from the agent and turned his attention to his brother, suspicion lining his own face now. "What did you do?"

Neal feigned innocence with the masked vigilante. "Nothing illegal."

"Neal..."

"Tim..."

"Seriously! Total gray area. I double-checked the law."

Behind his mask, Nightwing's eyes narrowed at his brother. "How gray?"

As Dick and Tim bantered back and forth, Peter gave them some space, moving backwards towards the rooftop entrance, to where the shadows cast by the building housing the stairwell were darkest.

"How's he doing?"

Peter didn't have to look behind himself to know who was speaking to him. "Better. Far better, though he still has his moments. The stunt he pulled to get that information wasn't technically illegal, but still..." He sighed.

"Still an improvement?"

"Still an improvement." Peter agreed. "I think the fact that his brother has moved his base of operations here to New York has helped considerably." He watched as the seriousness of the conversion between two men in front of him dissolved and a more casual, light-hearted demeanor returned. "Family has become very important to Neal. It's given him a reason to work at being a better person." Peter finally glanced back into the shadows. "He wants to make you all proud."

"We are," the voice said softly. "I am."

"He's got about three years left of his work-release program," Peter said solemnly. "After that, he's free to do whatever he wants, to be whoever he wants to be. He could choose to go back to Gotham and take back the name he left behind, or he could stay in New York and continue his work here with us at the FBI. Or maybe he'll surprise us both and do something completely different. Three years is a long time, and lots can happen between now and then."

From the shadows, the man behind Batman's mask nodded. "No matter what happens, no matter what path he decides to take, he won't be facing the future alone. His family and his friends will always be there for him."

"Yes," Peter said with a smile. "We certainly will."

Author's Notes:

It's done. It's finally done.

The last chapter of Confidence Lostis finally written. The story is complete.

…

Wow...

I started this tale this past June on a whim. Discovering the Red Robin comic books, watching the latest season of White Collar, and discovering a series of "Catlad" images and stories on Tumblr inspired me to create this unusual crossover. When I started, I never imagined that it would become the massive thirty-three chapter, almost 80k word novel that it has become. I wasn't even sure if I would actually succeed at crossing over two so completely different fandoms.

I believe only my readers have the final word on if I succeeded at that or not.

Speaking of my readers, I think I have been extremely fortunate to have such wonderful people reading and reviewing this work over the past six months. In addition to being an incredible motivation for continuing writing, they provided some good feedback and gave me the confidence that I was taking the story in the right direction. To everyone across the various websites I've displayed this work:

Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. I love you all.

The combined DCU/White Collar-verse is very near and dear to my heart now. Perhaps I'll return to this world and write more stories for it in the future. There is certainly room for more stories to be told. For now though, it is time to turn my attention to other tales that need to be told.

I hope that when the time comes, you will continue reading my stories. You will always be able to read my fan-fiction here, or you can find my original writings on my personal writing blog at writingsbycrscott. tumblr. com.

Again, everyone, thank you so very much for reading my story. I hope you all enjoyed the ride.