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For as much as Dick disagreed with Slade on matters related to Neal Caffrey, most often on the decision to make him nonviolent, he knew, at the end of the day, that he was doing it for his benefit. Usually.
If Neal Caffrey had combat skills, people would be wary before trying to best him with physical maneuvers.
If Neal Caffrey used weapons, people would be wary before trying to get the drop on him.
If Neal Caffrey had a partner, people would be wary before trying to persuade him to join them in a mission that would prove to be biased in their favor over his.
As it was, Neal Caffrey worked alone (excluding Mozzie, and even then Neal Caffrey was typically the face of the operation–there’s a reason Mozzie never got on the FBI’s radar). Neal Caffrey was inept when it came to physical altercations, more lithe and agile and known for his ability to keep distance and be fast on his feet than he was for any physical prowess. Neal Caffrey could make a tool out of anything, and while he was always quick to counter someone using a makeshift weapon similar enough to their own (or, using their own, if they happened to drop it), he was never known for striking first or showing up with his own weaponry.
Dick would argue that Neal Caffrey was more than capable on his own without any specialized training to make him aggressive in the field. He didn’t need brute force to get what he wanted, he could use the art of persuasion and manipulation to get things done just as well.
Slade would argue that his years of training gave him leverage, no matter how he used it, and that by doing things the ‘Caffrey Way,’ as he’d taken to calling it with disdain and a grimace, Dick would always be tempting fate. Using force had the advantage of being quick. If you forced the outcome you wanted, you could do it in half the time it would take to otherwise artfully persuade a target.
Dick ended the argument by reminding Slade that the ‘Caffrey Way’ ended in fewer fatalities. No matter how Slade would try to counter, Dick would already be halfway down the hallway and onto the next thing. The years spent arguing that point alone were far enough in the past that Slade didn’t care to push the matter, anymore. It was a stalemate that worked for them both, and it was a line that neither cared to cross. At least, not earnestly.
Looking back, Dick didn’t regret his decisions when it came to being Neal Caffrey, but that didn’t mean hindsight wasn’t twenty-twenty, either.
Neal Caffrey was sentenced to spend four years in a maximum security prison. If he’d known he was going to end up there, his reluctance to use force may have been worth re-evaluating. If his name was associated with strength, other agents may have thought twice before underestimating him.
It was fun, seeing the looks on people’s faces when they realized they’d assumed wrong about Caffrey. Especially when it came from Agent Ruiz or his team in Organized Crime.
What wasn’t fun, was realizing that the unexpected feats would inevitably draw the wrong kind of attention.
Dick hadn’t accounted for Agent Kamer.
::
Kramer was staying in the city for an indefinite amount of time. They were entering week two, and the wide smiles he’d shoot at Dick were more than rubbing him the wrong way. It was like an itch under his skin that he could never quite reach, that never went away. He could feel his eyes on him, watching and waiting, before ever having to turn and find the man to know he was there.
Dick shrugged it off, at first. He was used to his instincts putting him on high alert and having to maintain his indifference (or ineptitude). It wasn’t the first time it’d happened in the FBI office, either. Hell, it had taken months for his body to catch up with his brain and register that Diana and Jones weren’t threats. It wasn’t all that shocking that Kramer had a similar effect.
Unlike Diana and Jones and the other agents on White Collar, Dick wasn’t as sure about Kramer. He didn’t know what the man was after. After investigating on his own and finding out that he was looking for the Degas that Mozzie had been looking to fence, Dick should have felt calm in the days that followed even if he had to play Neal Caffrey as anxious. Instead, his feelings of unease hadn’t dissipated. If anything, they had worsened.
Neal Caffrey had never encountered anyone able to leave an impression, the way Kramer did. Dick tried to recall, hoping it may help him to better understand what was happening now, and nearly broke a pen when he realized the last time he’d been so unsteady was when Slade turned his attention to Robin and the Teen Titans.
He knew he failed to hide his recoil at the thought when Diana asked if he was feeling alright. Jones pointed out he looked as pale as a ghost. They both watched him warily when he tried to brush them off.
Neal Caffrey didn’t get sick, much less get so shaken that he forgot to keep his body in check.
The commotion reached Peter’s office, because of course Diana and Jones weren’t willing to drop it when Dick tried to brush off their concerns. He chanced a look to the offices above and heard the clack of his teeth before he felt how tightly he was clenching his jaw, seeing both Burke and Kramer step out of the office. Peter looked down at him with nothing but concern.
Kramer looked like a shark, ready to descend on its prey.
He wasn’t faking it when he ran from the room to throw up in the bathroom, just outside of the office. He knew he looked worse for wear when Jones caught up to him on his way back and told him in no uncertain terms to go home. Told him, Diana was telling Peter their decision to send Caffrey home, and to focus on getting rest while he could.
Dick didn’t try to argue. He was more than happy to get out of the office and away from Kramer. The thirty-minute subway ride back to June’s should have been more than enough time for him to re-center himself and break the stupor he’d fallen into. It was a nice enough day, the walk to Riverside Drive was usually one of his favorites. Some days he’d take his time, choosing to sketch the buildings he’d become familiar with, appreciating the different styles of architecture that spanned those few blocks.
The buzzing of his phone from where it sat vibrating in his pocket forced him back to attention. Looking at his screen, Peter had tried calling a minute prior. Dick let the second call go to voicemail. Another minute later, and a text message came through.
‘ Call me back in the morning. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll expect to see you at the office. Jones and Berrigan filled me in. Call us if you need anything. Elizabeth is in the area for a client. ’
Dick didn’t know how the man could be so trusting of Caffrey, especially with his own mentor likely reading over his shoulder and judging the amount of care he blatantly had for his informant. He wasn’t about to argue differently. Dick wrote back, ‘ thank you’ , before tossing his phone on the end table closest to the door.
‘ Anytime, Neal .’
He didn’t toss it fast enough, Peter’s answering text catching his attention before Dick was more than two steps away. He aborted his previous plans to lay down, flopping down into the couch instead. Dick tapped his phone, debating on calling Peter and telling him why he was so uneasy.
They didn’t have that kind of rapport, for as close as Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey were. What would he say? Hi Peter, sorry for puking all over the men’s bathroom, your mentor reminds me of my mentor. Did yours brutally train you, too?
Dick let out a frustrated groan. Thinking about his training to become Renegade reminded him of Bruce and his deprogramming to undo everything he’d learned as Renegade, which made him feel impossibly more ill. Then, all he could think about was how they were one wrong move away from Batman showing up and dragging him home. The fact he was a grown adult be damned.
Kramer hadn’t done anything, hadn’t even said anything to Dick directly, and his body was already responding to him as if he were a Justice League-level villain.
It didn’t make sense. Dick knew it didn’t make sense. He also knew his instincts had never led him awry. If his body was telling him that he needed to keep his distance from Kramer, Dick would question it later. He shivered, remembering what had happened the last time he didn’t listen to his own body’s forewarning.
::
With the world crashing down around Neal Caffrey, Dick forgot about the timeline of Slade’s latest contract.
He’d spent the better half of the year on the West Coast, begrudgingly spending time with Joey and Rose in between contracts. All three of them would complain and argue, but Dick never backed down. The end result was always the same; Rose and Joey would use the group chat Dick had started years prior, sending off more jokes and laughing at Slade’s confusion, for at least a month. Slade wouldn’t get that pinched expression on his face when his children came up in conversation. If it was a particularly good, or long, time spent with either of them, he’d freely share stories about what they got up to. Unprompted.
It meant Dick didn’t see Slade for long stretches of time, but they’d gotten accustomed to the routine when Caffrey was initially caught. With the amount of FBI surveillance on Neal Caffrey’s life, it was often for the better that Slade stayed out of New York for as long as possible. Deathstroke didn’t avoid the area, the completely absence of a presence would be just as glaringly obvious that Dick might as well have sent a letter to the Manor notifying them of his change of address, but it was a careful balance they’d worked hard to maintain.
Dick flinched when the vibration of his personal phone shot up his leg. He’d forgotten to take it out of the ankle strap he typically kept it in, on days when they went to the office. It was easy to avoid suspicion when the item caught by a metal detector could be explained away as his ankle monitor. Even easier when the security guards had become more than familiar with Neal Caffrey and didn’t demand he pull up his pant leg to prove it.
“Hey, sorry,” Dick sat up, moving the phone from one hand to the other while he worked on taking off his suit jacket.
There wasn’t an immediate answer.
“Right, right,” Dick muttered. Once the jacket was well and truly off, he sat back, “No apologies needed when nothing’s been done.” He usually rolled his eyes when he repeated the words that had long ago become routine. If Slade were there, he’d have only stared at Dick, face carefully neutral and void of expression. Dick knew he did it so that Dick wouldn’t have something to try and mirror, or reason to change the topic. He also knew Slade could keep it going far longer than Dick ever cared to, remaining nonreactive and ambivalent until he reached the conclusion on his own. Then, and only then, did Slade say anything else.
“ You’ve had a day ,” It wasn’t a question.
Dick took an exaggerated breath in, held it, and then exhaled just as loudly. He did it a second time when Slade made a sound of approval.
“ You’re not at the office ,” Usually, Dick would have been sharing his annoyance at Slade’s insistent assumptions by now. He’d tell him that just because he could hack into the Federal Marshall’s database and view Neal Caffrey’s tracker didn’t mean that he should.
“Sick day,” Dick slipped his shoes off, pulling his feet onto the couch. He held the phone in his hand and pressed his forehead to his bent knees.
There was a pause on the line. Dick didn’t doubt that Slade was trying to get a read on his vitals, for as far away as he was.
“I’m okay,” Dick tried again. Slade scoffed. “Okay, not okay, but I will be okay.” Another pause. “I have a bad feeling about the agent that’s visiting.”
“ Philip Kramer ,” The distant sound of the keyboard filled in what Slade wasn’t saying directly. “ Art crimes, based on Washington, DC .”
“That’s the one,” Dick grimaced. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing them into his knee. “He was Peter’s mentor in Quantico.”
“ And he’s interested in Caffrey .” Dick could imagine how annoyed Slade was. He was annoyed by most of the things Neal Caffrey did. Or, the attention he drew. Especially when Dick refused to fight his way out of most of the situations Caffrey fell into.
“He’s more than interested,” Dick didn’t know how to articulate that Kramer made him feel like he was sixteen again with his defenses stripped bare. That the feeling of being watched by the man was as nauseating as the fear that Batman or Oracle were one security feed away from finding him.
“ It’s a six hour flight ,” Slade’s words were accompanied but further typing.
“I’ll be okay,” Dick repeated, sitting up in hopes that his voice would sound more confident. “The team’s looking out for me.”
Slade’s remark of, For now, went unspoken.
Dick heard it loud and clear.
“I’ll call Billy if circumstances change,” Dick tried to placate. He knew Slade was scheduled to leave in the coming days. His next contract was in Asia, and it was in part why he hadn’t taken a trip to the East Coast when he was already on the other side of the country. While they had virtually infinite resources, that didn’t mean Slade enjoyed sitting on a plane for double the amount of time necessary.
“ I’m reinstating daily check ins ,” Slade spoke with finality. Dick wasn’t going to tell him, but it eased the knot of nerves in his stomach to hear Slade say as much. There wasn’t much he could do, being thousands of miles away, but hearing the sound of his husband’s voice was a reassurance Dick knew he’d need, for as long as Kramer was in town. A reminder that this Slade was not the same man from before, that their circumstances were different. A reminder that Dick was different, and stronger for it.
Their call ended not long thereafter.
Dick cleaned up, completing his post-bureau routine albeit hours later than he typically would have. He messaged Peter, telling him he’d be fine to return to the office, that he probably ate something funny at lunch that his body was refusing to agree with. Peter answered with a joke about his refined palate finally seeking vengeance. Dick found himself smiling at the remark.
He didn’t know what was going to happen with Agent Kramer and the team from DC Art Crimes. He trusted his instincts and reminded himself that he could navigate things on his own, that he wasn’t lost even if the idea of the other man left his body physically ill. Dick knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t going to let the threat of what if deprive himself from remaining in the moment, and living his life as Neal Caffrey. He’d learned the hard way, it was much more harmful to get caught up in the fear of what might happen than to face reality.
And if Dick was able to do-so knowing Slade was a short phone call away, he was all that much happier for it.