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“I’m sorry, how much?”
“Hundreds of thousands. Maybe a million.”
Neal leans back in his chair, whistling low. “And we know for sure this guy is a fraud?”
“That’s the tricky part,” Peter says. “Because the embezzlement may be a crime, his business isn’t.”
“He’s a legitimate gymnastics trainer?” Neal asks.
“Precisely,” Peter says, pointing at Neal with his pen. “At least, from the outside. We’d need someone on the inside to really understand what goes on.”
“So, we get in contact with one of his trainees?” Jones asks.
“Unfortunately, no,” Peter says. “These gymnasts, their careers depend on this man. And he has the power to ruin their entire future in gymnastics. No, we need someone new.”
“I can do it?” Neal says.
“Neal,” Peter says slowly. “Vasilov only takes on potential olympic candidates.”
“Yeah? And?” Neal raises an eyebrow.
“You’d have to do rigorous training,” Peter says. “And you’d have to be good enough to not only fool him but continue to fool him.”
“Yeah?” Neal repeats.
Neal and Peter have a silent staring contest, Peter with a look of doubt and Neal with a challenging determination.
Neal breaks the silence with a sigh. “Okay. Follow me.” Neal heads out of the board room and begins to lead them through the office.
“What are you doing, Neal?” Peter asks.
“Just follow me,” Neal says.
He takes them on an odd adventure through the floor until they finally enter a long, empty hallway.
“What are we doing here?” Peter asks.
Neal grins, cocky and confident. “Watch.”
Neal strips from his suit jacket and dress shirt.
“Neal,” Peter starts.
“Just trust the process,” Neal replies.
He does a few quick stretches, the anticipation building from the team as they watch him, and then he stands.
With a short run, Neal does a cartwheel into three back handsprings into a double twisting flip and lands perfectly on his feet.
The team gapes at him silently.
Neal just shimmies. “Huh. I’m a little rusty.”
“Neal,” Diana says. “How did you— you just— oh my God.”
Neal, suddenly sheepish, nods.
“Why would you become an art thief when you can do that?” Jones asks.
“I’m not technically an American?” Neal says, voice high.
They all just blink at him.
“Alright,” Jones says. “I wasn’t expecting that one.”
“Neal,” Peter says. “You can actually do this.”
Neal grins. “Told you.”
.-~*~-.
Neal meets with Vasilov for an audition and he can feel nervous jitters coursing through him. It’s been a long time since he’s done anything remotely related to his acrobatic (and vigilante) side.
Vasilov is unimpressed by his first impressions of Neal.
“Tall,” is the first thing he says. “And bulky.”
The words sting a bit — they hit too hard on an insecurity tucked far away, knowing that his height and build has surpassed the lithe form made for flying — but he just smiles. “I’m good at what I do, sir, and I’d love to show you what I can do.”
Vasilov humors Neal and leads him to his gym.
“Stretched?” Vasilov asks.
“I stretched before I came,” Neal says, voice eager as if he’s a starry eyed newbie desperate for praise.
Vasilov hums. “Have you competed before?”
“I have,” Neal lies easily. “Should I do my last gold routine?”
Vasilov waves his hand to the mats.
Neal goes to the bowl of chalk and coats his hands and gets to the corner of the mat.
And in those moments, he loses himself to the movement. An extravagant yet intricate routine filled with handsprings and twists and flips. He can feel Vasilov’s stares and when he catches a glimpse of him, his jaw is dropped.
He continues his routine, with aerials and rolls and splits. He gets lost in it so much that he doesn’t realize he’s finished until he hears the slow clapping of Vasilov.
“Impressive. But your transitions are sloppy and your combinations are boring. All in all, I don’t think you’d get top 5, let alone medal. But, if you work with me, I’ll get you on that podium. So, what do you say?”
“What do I have to do?”
“I have a weekly fee as well as a per session fee.”
“Whatever it costs,” Dick says eagerly. “Whatever it takes.”
Vasilov holds out a hand to Dick. “Welcome aboard.”
.-~*~-.
Dick spends the next few days getting back into the rigorous training regime that comes with gymnastics. When he comes in, he’s preparing for the man’s gouging prices, strict coaching, and intense critique to be his biggest problem.
“You lied to me,” Vasilov says, arms crossed. “Richard Grayson.” Dick’s shock must be showing on his face because the man scoffs. “Did you really think I wouldn’t do my own background check?”
“Neal. Whatever’s going on, whatever he believes, you’ve gotta put an end to it.”
“You’re right. I am Richard Grayson,” Dick says, knowing that lying will only dig him into a deeper hole and put himself in danger. He’s already imagining the stack of paperwork that he’s going to have to fill with the JLA when he gets back. “I… I haven’t competed. Not recently. Or at least, not publicly without being under aliases. I didn’t want my family’s legacy to impact how I was scored nor my other family.”
“And you didn’t think anyone would catch on, hm? Thought that as the circus fades into obscurity that they would forget about the great Flying Graysons?”
“I didn’t think. I knew. I… I don’t get recognized for my time at Haly’s nearly as much as I am for being Bruce Wayne’s son. Either way, neither did me any favors in competitive gymnastics or acrobatics. And the two can never not coexist.”
“...Neal?”
Vasilov hums. “Well, I know now. And I happen to know that your daddy has a lot of money. And considering how you want to keep this under wraps, how about we negotiate the price of my silence.”
“I don’t know what’s going on and we are going to talk about this, Neal, but keep him talking.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Hm. We can start at… a million?”
“A million,” Dick repeats. “And if I don’t?”
“Well, then I’d have to let the press know that not only was Richard Grayson using a fake name, fake IDs, and maybe even fake funds to pay for my services.”
“They won’t believe you.”
“Oh? But I have proof. And you. Don’t.”
Dick takes a shaky breath. “I’ll get you the money by the end of the day. Just please don’t leak anything to the press. It would tarnish my name. My… dad’s name.” It’s weird referring to Bruce as such, but the man seems to have a skewed perception about how much Richard Grayson’s reputation really matters. Richard Grayson has “done” so much worse than this, been rumored so much worse, that the press wouldn’t bat an eye at this. Aliases and fake IDs are nothing in Gotham. If anything, they’re a necessity for most.
Dick scurries out with faux fear and meets up with Peter at the end of the street.
“Neal,” Peter says, voice hard, “what the hell was that?”
“That… was my cover being blown.”
“What are you talking about? Your cover wasn’t blown.”
“Yes. It was.” He meets Peter’s eyes. “With you.”
Peter stops. “What?”
“My name is Richard Grayson and I’m on assignment to be undercover as Neal Caffrey for the JLA. Do a quick Google search and you’ll see my face plastered on tabloids. I… I was never supposed to be here this long.”
Peter takes a moment to search his name and he pales, looking between his phone screen and Neal. “Why… why did you stay then?”
“Because I like being Neal. And I like working with you. And… I couldn’t let this life go.”
“You’re the son of a billionaire. You apparently work for the Justice League. You could be doing anything you want. Why would you want to work in White Collar crimes as an informant?”
Dick takes a shaky breath in. “You heard what I said. My name carries so much weight. But here? Neal Caffrey? His name may have its own connotations, but not the kind Richard Grayson does. I don’t get looked down upon as an idiot ditz who doesn’t know how the real world works or stuck up, rich kid who gets everything he wants because of nepotism. You value me because of the intellect I actually have and what I bring to the team.”
“I value you because you’re a good man, Neal. Or, uh, Richard.”
“Dick,” Dick corrects. “Please. I know how it sounds but, it’s Dick.”
“Dick,” Peter repeats, as if he’s trying out the word on his tongue. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Of course,” Dick says. “One day. But there’s formalities. Things I have to do to get you cleared for this kind of information. And I just… haven’t gotten it yet.”
“And you will now?”
“I don’t have a choice now.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter says. “I’m confused as hell and definitely a little pissed but I know this can’t be how you wanted me to find out.”
“Does this… change things?”
“Of course it does,” Peter says and Dick winces at his words. “But I don’t think it has to be changed for the worse. I think if anything, I’ll really get to know who you really are. Which is what I’ve wanted since I started chasing you down.” He pauses. “Was any of that real?”
“And that’s where the clearance comes in.”
Peter sighs. “Okay. Well, while we’re waiting on that, we’ve got Vasilov on record for extortion and blackmail. So, back to the case? Until things have to change?”
Dick smiles. “Back to the case.”