Chapter Text
Neal Caffrey didn’t like weapons. Whenever he had to use one, he made his discomfort painfully clear, yet here he was, a gun in his hand.
Last week, Hughes had made it pretty clear that everyone had to complete the upcoming self-defense course. And apparently, the CI, who wasn’t a government agent, had to complete it too. Neal had already tried talking his way out of it with Peter at the office, but that had gone nowhere.
“Neal, you work here, and that doesn’t seem likely to change anytime soon.“ Peter’s eyes flicked to Neal’s ankle. “In every case you work, you cause problems. Don’t deny it.“
He didn’t let Neal respond; he simply kept talking.
“Sometimes, and I mean sometimes, we understand the risks you take. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to let you keep taking them without some training.”
“Peter, you know I can defend myself. I don’t need anyone to teach me how to shoot or how to de-escalate a situation when I’ll be long gone before it explodes. Don’t you remember how long it took you to catch me the first time?”
The comment caught the attention of Diana and Jones, who were listening from their desks with amused smiles.
“Yeah,” Peter said, “and I remember how long it took me to catch you the next five times you escaped.“
Neal’s smile vanished.
“I don’t care what you think.” Peter added. “Hughes and I talked about it. The decision is made. It won’t change.”
“Come on, Neal,” Diana said. “Last time you handled a gun just fine.You’re not bad at it. The problem is going to be the close combat-lesson.“
Jones tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a laugh.
Neal’s head snapped toward him.
“Close combat? You definitely want to kill me. Max-security prison was easier than this. Will someone tell me exactly what this course involves?”
“Don’t worry,” Diana said. “There’s a two-hour briefing first. All theory. You’ll find out Monday.”
And that was why Neal stood in front of the blackboard, a gun heavy in his hand, listening to instructions on how to dismantle it and clean it properly.
He remembered everything his guardian had taught him about weapons before he joined the force, how he insisted he learn everything in case something happened.
We all knew he never wanted to use them, and for a while, we felt the same.
The first one to change that belief was Jason. After all his time as the Red Hood, after his moment of madness, he decided to keep using weapons. After a talk with Bruce they came to an agreement: Jason would use his rubber bullets instead of real ones.
For Dick, that moment came with the Blüdhaven Police Department. He still didn’t like guns, but Amy had made sure he learned to use them properly. Bruce had taught him the basics, but to the rest of the world, Bruce Wayne couldn’t be the one to teach Dick Grayson how to shoot, that would’ve been highly suspicious or, at least, incredible.
Then Dick Grayson disappeared.
People believed he was traveling the world, but the truth was far less romantic. Dick had been drowning, and Bruce, desperate to help him, offered him a lifeline. A purpose. A new identity.
Neal Caffrey.
A cover the League used to retrieve magical and alien artefacts when they needed absolute discretion. At first it was easy. Then Peter Burke started chasing him… and everything became more complicated, and strangely more entertaining.
Bruce once told him the League could erase Neal entirely, wipe the identity form existence, but Dick refused. The chase amused him. And besides, if Peter captured him, he’d never actually end up in prison.
The years Peter believed he’d spent behind bars, he had actually been in Gotham, at home. The Martian had created a double to sit in the cell. Meanwhile, Dick had taken up the cowl during Bruce’s absence. Everyone thought Bruce had vanished, or worse, was dead, and while they mourned, someone had to be Batman.
It stayed that way until the day Bruce walked back into the mansion as if nothing had happened. He didn’t even realise he’d been gone.
And Dick had to hand the cowl back.
It broke him. He was happy Bruce had returned but one moment he had a purpose, the next he had nothing. So he returned to the only identity that gave him structure:
Neal Caffrey.
“Neal, can you do me a favor and give it a try? They only need you to dismantle the gun. No shooting involved.”
“Yet.” Someone said.
Neal nodded, though he seemed miles away. The whole White Collar office watched silently as he dismantled the gun and reassembled it in under a minute.
Peter exchanged a glance with Hughes. They’d talked about Neal. Something had changed lately. Neal had always move with effortless grace, silent when he wanted, friendly to everyone. Recently, though… there were moments when he seemed heavier, more present, almost intimidating.
Not intentionally, nothing explicit. Just the way he moved. The way he held himself. Like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulder.
And this moment didn’t help.
Neal lifted his eyes, smiled, and looked at the instructor.
“There. Done. Do you need anything else, or can I leave and never come back?”
His whole body was drawn tight, like a pulled bowstring.
“Stop being dramatic. Just follow instructions. I don’t want to be here training someone who clearly doesn’t want to be here, but here we are. Make this easier, for my sake or for yours.”
He was only the instructor for the theory day. Someone else would take over after.
“Come on, Neal, don’t be rude. He’s helping you.”
That was partially true. Neal hadn’t exactly tried, and the instructor patience was wearing thin.
“I didn’t ask for his help, so don’t make me look bad for something I never wanted.”
Peter grabbed his arm.
“Hughes is watching, and neither of us wants to see you go back to prison. Don’t give him a reason.”
Neal slipped out of his grip easily.
“Oh, Peter! I didn’t know you had feelings for me! Do you want a hug or something?”
Peter sighed. Today was absolutely not the day to push Caffrey.
“Neal, sit down and behave. You’re giving me a headache.”
Peter rubbed his forehead.
“You knew I didn’t want to be here.” Neal replied. “Live with the consequences.”
Jones appeared next to Peter and took the seat next to Neal.
“Don’t worry, boss. I’ve got him.”
Peter prayed he did.
The lesson continued, covering everything from dismantling a gun to safe handling an legal frameworks.
“You’re telling me they don’t know how to do the? They carry guns every day. IF the FBI let them into the field without-”
“Neal, there are new people here. This course is for everyone. Let them learn; it’s their first year.”
“And I have to sit here learning something I can’t use because, last time I checked, I am non-violent. That’s literally why I’m out of prison.”
He sighed and returned to listening.
after several reminders from Jones, Neal followed instructions while Hughes and Peter watched him like hawks.
“Thanks for listening,” the instructor said. “I hope you learned something or remembered something. Thank you again.”
He gathered his things as Hughes stepped forward.
“Tomorrow we’ll have a close-combat expert teaching self-defense, using everyday objects or nothing at all. This is useful for everyone, rookies and veterans. Wear sports clothes. Everyone participates. Understood?”
His eyes locked on Neal.
Neal clenched his jaw but nodded in acknowledgment.
“So, you all want to laugh at Neal?” He muttered.
Dick discovered the next day the building had a gym. It shouldn’t have surprises him. What government building didn’t? But he had never gone… until now.
He hadn’t set foot in a conventional gym in years. The only one in his orbit had been a tiny MMA gym whith nothing but a cage and a shadowboxing area. Peter had never been there, so he assumed Neal worked out in a normal weight-lifting gym. Dick could always claim he was on looking for a “date”, very onboard for Neal.
Neal entered the gym with Peter, Diana and Jones.
“I’m curious. “ Diana said. “What can a close-combat expert teach us? I mean, we don’t need an expert. A normal one would’ve worked.”
Peter nodded.
“Speak for yourselves,” Jones said, grinning. “I’m excited about this. Last time I trained with a professional was in the army. He took on five of us at once, and won.”
He looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
“You’re the only one here who might avoid your ass kicked, so yeah, you’re excited,” Diana replied dryly.
“And that’s very true, dear Diana.” Neal agreed. He was about to continue when something caught his attention.
The instructor was waiting on the mat with his back to them. Tall, taller than Dick, with dark hair that showed hints of red when the light hit it. Built like a fighter: athletic, intimidating, but not bulky enough to sacrifice speed.
He was twirling a knife between his fingers while he spoked with Hughes. He never once looked at it. The fluid precision of the movement was making Hughes visibly uneasy; his eyes tracked the clade constantly, calculating posible trajectories if the instructor slipped.
“Good morning,” the man said. “My name is Jason Peters. I’ll be your instructor for this part of the course.”
“No way” Neal whispered.
Jason Peters.
He had change a lot since the last time, but Dick could have recognised him anywhere.
He still couldn’t stay still, he never could. There was alway some movement, a restless energy in his hands, his shoulder, the way he shifted his weight. That hadn’t changed.
Nor had the way he stood, as if the world owed him something.
Jason Peters
Or how he met him, Jason Todd.