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Jason knew who was stepping off the elevator before her boots could touch the floor of the White Collar office.
Black leather gloves, massacre-red robes dripped over her lithe—and lethal—body leaving only her face, with her regal features and icy stare, visible.
Neal didn’t have any reason to recognize her, even if he happened to look up at the sounds of the elevator doors opening, so Jason could only glance at her disinterest—the blatant disrespect a hammer to his own ribs.
Jason didn’t expect the White Collar team to recognize Talia al Ghul as the Daughter of the Demon’s Head—he knew for a fact Peter didn’t even believe the League of Assassins were real. But even without the authority gained from her title, Talia stood out in any room.
Her formal robes may have hidden the sword pressed to her spine, but they did nothing to lesson the warning she brought with every breath.
Then again, Jason doubted she would blend in any better in plain clothes.
In a way, the robes worked in her favor. They were strange, but so was everything else about her. Put together, one explained the other.
Peter would be able to see Talia from his office by now.
He would stand up from his desk to meet her—more like to keep Neal from doing anything stupid—but wouldn’t be in any rush.
It was odd to get a visitor at the hour, when most of the building had cleared out for the day, but not unheard of.
Peter didn’t register the visitor as a threat, but someone else did.
Talia was two steps away from Neal’s desk when Jones jumped up and whipped out his firearm like Jason has only seen him do a handful of times.
Jones was a veteran of the U.S. Navy. He was disciplined. Smart. He knew when to conserve his energy, only moving as fast as he needed to.
But Jason didn’t have time to think about the speed of Jones’ draw until he blinked and realized the gun was pointed at him.
And then it was three guns pointed at him.
Good, he thought. The familiar, heady darkness taking its time-honored position in his mind posthaste. Three fewer guns pointed at Mom.
Because of course he jumped in front of her. She may be able to defend herself, but she shouldn’t have to, not when Jason was there.
Peter motioned for his agents to lower their guns, but not to put them away.
The weapons being pointed at the floor did nothing to satisfy, nor settle, the dark cloud in his mind. Jason knew exactly how quickly a drawn gun could be aimed and fired by the Special Agents.
Let them try, the darkness whispered. Let them die trying.
A strong, yet delicate, hand pressing down on his shoulder brought Jason back to himself enough to, with a concentrated effort, push the green to the edges of his mind.
“What is going on?” Peter demanded.
That tone of voice was not helping.
He had been doing so well. For years, he had managed—no, beaten—the Pit Madness. The team he worked with every day never once in three years saw his eyes glow.
They really shouldn’t have pointed a weapon at his mom.
Threat. Kill them. Kill the threats before they can hurt Mom.
Just like that, the green was back like it never left. Jason’s blood boiled as his heart raced even faster.
“…bi. Habibi [my love], stand down.” The whisper was warm on the back of his neck. “I am safe, ibni [my son]. Come back to me.”
And with her grounding words, he was reminded that the faster he succumbed to the green, the harder the fall and harsher the rebound.
Jason mentally broke the surface at Talia’s command, but found himself gasping for air. The hand squeezing his shoulder hard enough to bruise was the only reason he believed her voice was even real.
On the other side of the room came a second voice, familiar in a different way, Peter.
Peter was asking Jones who Talia is. Jones muttered something about recognizing a pattern or clothes, or maybe a pattern on clothes, until Talia cut in the way she always did: in such a way that made you feel like you were misbehaving or talking out of turn, even if you were a grown man, and even if she had just approached the conversation.
“I can introduce myself, Special Agent Clinton Jones,” she said, coolly. “That is, if I might propose a civilized conversation? One without our weapons.”
Peter lowered his firearm further, but Jones just looked sick.
“She’s not a threat to you here,” Jason said, the words scratching his throat on their way out. “But I will be if you don’t put away your guns and sit the fuck down.”
Talia squeezed his shoulder again.
Diana holstered her gun without taking her eyes off of Neal or Talia, taking her seat wordlessly. Her eye was twitching the way it always did when she knew the answers to a case were right in front of her, ready to be discovered. She had the evidence she needed, she just had to piece it together in the right order.
Peter and Jones followed her, with Peter taking Neal’s chair. Jones turned his safety back on but didn’t put away his gun, and leaned against a desk instead of sitting down.
“I recognize those,” Jones said, pointing his chin at Talia’s cloak. “You’re from the League of Assassins.”
“What?” Diana whipped her head around to gape at Jones. “No, she’s Neal’s mom!”
Jason hadn’t forgotten Diana spoke Arabic. But was it so much to ask that she miss that part?
A person can be two things.
Jason bit his tongue.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Talia said, her voice like a purr. “I am Talia al Ghul, daughter of the former Demon’s Head. I came here to thank you for taking care of my son during his time here.”
Jason meant to scowl, but he couldn’t quite suppress his smile. Talia had been calling him her son since he was a teenager, but it never got old.
Diana was looking at Jason with wide eyes, but Jones wasn’t paying attention to him. His eyes were glued to Talia, his whole body tense, including the grip on his gun.
But once Jason took a second to think, Jones wasn’t the only one reeling at new information.
“Former?” Jason asked.
He was nowhere near ready to turn his back on his “team” but was desperate enough to see her face that he risked a glance in her direction.
Talia looked up at him with a smile in her eyes. “Yes, my father is dead. That is the good news I bring to you.”
Jason tried to process her words, or his feelings, but there was so much to take in.
If Ra’s was really dead…
That would mean that Damian was safe. Tim had been avenged. And Talia finally had control over her own life.
“And you’re sure he’s not coming back?” Jason asked.
Questioning her so forwardly, with an audience no less, felt unnatural, but he had to be sure before he’d be able to breathe normally again.
Talia turned to face him, not hesitating to put the agents in their periphery as she cupped his face between her hands. “I watched him turn to ashes and scattered them myself. He’s gone forever. He will never hurt you or your brother again.”
Tears slipped out as relief broke free from his chest in heavy exhales.
Talia touched his arms and his shoulders. Soft brushes to remind him she was there.
He knew he had to pull himself together. It was unprofessional, the way he was acting.
But Ra’s al Ghul was dead. After centuries of killing people, and cheating death so that he could kill more people—
Jason was still taking deep breaths when Peter started up again.
“Neal—”
“Is an alias,” Jason said, cutting the man off without looking at him.
He knew exactly where the man was and how quickly he could draw his firearm, and he couldn’t care less about anything else. The mission was over.
Ra’s al Ghul was dead.
“I wasn’t behind half of the thefts attributed to Neal Caffrey. Either way they were all JLA-authorized. And you should know, I can’t paint for shit.”
Peter opened his mouth, but thankfully Diana spoke before he could ask anything ridiculous like, “What do you mean you can’t paint? You’re a world-renowned art forger!”
“What can we call you?” she asked.
Her words earned her a small smile. “My name is Jason.”
“You admit you committed extensive identity fraud to go to prison?” Jones asked, blowing past the sincere moment entirely.
Jason laughed. “I had to get caught with something to become a CI. Don’t worry, I only spent a few days in prison.”
“You are admitting to a federal crime,” Jones said, speaking slowly. “A lot of federal crimes.”
Realization sparked in Diana’s eyes. “You said the thefts you did were authorized by the Justice League. Why?”
“It was usually stolen alien artifacts,” Jason said with a shrug. “It was the right thing to do, and even if I didn’t believe that, I’d still have done it to prevent an alien invasion or war. Because I’m one of the idiots who lives here, right?”
Diana shook her head without appreciating the literary reference. “No—I mean, that’s good to know—I meant why you?”
“Honestly?” Jason shrugged, again, still with plenty of reasons to keep his secrets, but far less will to deny these agents, who had become his friends, an explanation. “Skill and availability. And little brothers who would have done it if I hadn’t.”
“Done what exactly?” Jones asked.
“Insert myself within the FBI to weed out agents planted by the former Demon’s Head,” he answered, casually. His heart was still racing but the green evaporated in the cooling of his relief. “But now that he’s dead, Talia can pull the rest and I can go home.”
“Where’s home?” Peter asked.
And Jason? Jason almost smiled. Because even in the presence of a known assassin with an unknown kill count, Peter would still jump at any chance to learn more about Neal Caffrey.
“Think about it,” Jason replied, playfully. “I work for both the JLA and the League of Assassins. You’ve heard my natural accent and always found my knowledge of magic suspicious. I hate Metropolis. Who am I?”
Peter looked lost, but Diana’s eye finally stopped twitching.
“Gotham,” she gasped. “You know Batman.”
“Know Batman,” Jason scoffed. “I know he’s waiting on the roof with documentation proving who I am to give you. There’s a chance he’s with a speedster or staying nearby, but I’d bet money Superman’s up there, too.”
He looked back at Talia. “Am I right?”
She smiled up at him, amused and something else. “You know your father well,” she said.
Diana gasped, again, Peter blanched, and Jason realized what the something else he saw in her expression was.
Mischief.
“Moooom!”