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“Dude, you are not sending me out of here without at least a snack!”
Dick felt a familiar headache start just below his left temple. “Look, Walls, it’s been over eight hours of mortgage fraud followed by three hours of talking Mozz out of committing felonies followed by five hours of patrol, and I still need to get a shower and at least an hour of sleep in before Peter shows up, so can you just–”
But the speedster was already throwing open his fridge and rifling through the contents at superspeed. He downed the entire container of leftover homemade pesto alla genovese June had given him in less than a second and then went back for more, wiping out the entire selection of expensive French cheeses that Mozzie liked and Peter liked to make fun of. “Why do you have so much wine?” Wally asked in a single breath. In a blink he’d unshelved half the top shelf and grabbed the half-empty carton of orange juice that had been shoved to the back. “You don’t even like wine.”
He could swallow as fast as he wanted, but even Wally West couldn’t make gravity pull any harder or faster on liquid in a bottle. While Wally chugged the orange juice, Dick finally had space to answer. “I don’t, but Neal does. He’s a connoisseur.”
“Seems dumb to me,” Wally said, wiping his mouth. He zipped out to put the carton in the recycling bin and was back before Dick could react. “Why didn’t you just make him like all the same stuff you like? Since you have to live as the guy.”
“That’s not a very good cover, Wally,” Dick pointed out. “There should always be distinct points of dissimilarity between the identities. Both big and small. Sometimes, it’s the throwaway details people notice most.”
His friend shrugged. “C’mon, Dick, it’s not like any of these people are going to meet the real you.” He tilted his head. “Either of the real yous, I guess.” He began re-shelving the fridge’s contents at dizzying speed.
“And that’s a good thing,” Dick said. “An absolutely critical thing.” He tapped at a cheekbone. “Considering this face is the only one I’ve got.” Prosthetics would never cut it in a day-to-day close cover operation like this one. The occasional concealer to cover an inconvenient bruise was one thing–Neal Caffrey was known to be both skilled at disguises and vain about his appearance. A bit of makeup wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows if it were noticed, but it probably would be noticed. They were all sharp, Peter and his team, and they were all constantly watching Neal, even when they pretended they weren’t.
“Yeah, that face is looking pretty tired, buddy,” said Wally. He’d put the fridge back to rights, and was now ransacking the cupboard. “Remind me why you’re still doing this?”
Dick pushed himself away from the counter with a scowl. “As opposed to what? Crawling back to Bruce?” He heard the harshness in his voice, but he couldn’t soften it. He’d crumble, first.
“That’s not your only opt–” Wally began, annoyed, and then froze. They’d both heard it–the sound of approaching footsteps.
In the blink of an eye, Dick had been carried to the bedroom, stripped of the Nightwing suit, and shoved into one of Neal Caffrey’s Devores. The buttons were all off by one.
The door creaked open. “Neal?”
Shit.
Dick walked unhurriedly into the main room, fingers moving over the buttons with a speed that couldn’t quite match Wally’s. He wasn’t sure where the speedster had taken himself off to, but it was Wally. He could be halfway back to Central by now.
“Peter.” Dick tried to reach for Neal’s carefree jauntiness, but he couldn’t manage it. Exhaustion dragged at him, hard. “What brings you here so early?” Don’t be the anklet, don’t be the anklet, don’t be the anklet. Dick could feel the weight on his leg, know that Wally had managed to vibrate him back into it—God bless superspeed—but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been giving off weird readings in the night. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I was thinking about that case last night and I—” Peter broke off, frowning. “Do you…have someone over?”
And Dick was tired because instead of a butter-smooth Caffrey deflection or an even smoother lie, he opened his mouth and said, “What?”
Peter nodded at Dick’s jacket, and shit, he missed one. “Get dressed in a hurry?” His eyes raked over Dick, and he knew the man was cataloguing every suspicious detail. His hair, unwashed, limp and greasy from a night of patrol and completely lacking Neal’s carefully gelled tousle. The sheen of sweat Dick could feel on his forehead. The suit, and buttons aside, why the hell was Neal Caffrey dressed in a suit before 7 am anyway? The whole thing reeked, and entertaining an overnight guest was probably the least damning conclusion Peter could have leapt to.
“Uh, yeah.” Dick ran a hand through his hair, trying to casually shape it towards Neal’s usual look. “You know how it is, when your FBI handler calls…” He flashed a charm-laced smile. “But I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about me.”
Maybe he had. There was a better than fifty percent chance. Peter was nosy about his CI in a way Dick hadn’t fully accounted for when he’d made the decision to pick the Neal Caffrey identity back up. Not just about his comings and goings, potential criminal activities, etc. Dick had expected that. But about Neal Caffrey’s life.
More often than not, Dick got the feeling Peter actually wanted to know him. The real him.
The real fake him, that was.
“I thought Sara was in Spain until next Thursday,” Peter was saying. His scrutiny had shifted from Dick’s person to the apartment. Dick resisted the urge to follow his gaze–it would read as guilty. Besides, Wally had cleaned up after himself, right? So it was fine.
“Yeah, I think she is.”
Peter’s face fell a little. The guy could be so transparent at times. “I thought you and she…”
“We are.” Dick liked Sara Ellis. Too much, probably. It wouldn’t work, long term; he knew that. Too many secrets and lies between them. But it could, that was the damning thing. He could see it, how the same flexibility that let her have her thing with Neal Caffrey, convicted conman, juuust might let her work things out with Dick Grayson, undercover operative, nighttime vigilante, and who the hell knew what else. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
That familiar exasperated scowl crossed Peter’s face. “Neal. You two are good for each other. I don’t want to see you blowing that up for a—”
He cut himself off as the bedroom door opened. Out came Wally, heaven only knew why. At least he was dressed—in a button-up and slacks that definitely came from Neal Caffrey’s wardrobe. Dick suppressed a groan.
“Oh hey,” Wally said, waving in an attempt at casual.
Dick was nothing if not adept at improvisation. “Peter, this is, ah, Jay. Jay Allen.”
Peter’s mouth was agape. He was looking rapidly between Wally and Dick, every glance a little more flustered.
Dick couldn’t help but smirk. “Guess I have a thing for redheads.”
Wally wheeled sharply to look at him, and Peter was breaking out in red and white splotches. Dick took pity on them both. “Jay’s an old friend, Peter.” He emphasized the word friend. “He happened to be in town and needed a place to crash. I was just about to drive him to the airport.”
“Ah, a friend.” Peter’s face cleared for just a second before suspicion overtook it. “And just how do you know Neal, Jay—was it?”
Wally’s eyes were wide and guileless. “Um, we sort of grew up together.”
Dick winced and couldn’t quite catch it in time. Meanwhile, Peter’s expression was undergoing another major shift. “You knew Neal as a kid?”
“Yeah, sure,” Wally said incautiously. He slapped Dick on the shoulder. “Me and this man go way back.”
“So you know Neal’s dad?” Peter asked with barely disguised curiosity.
“Uh…” Finally, the words that had been coming out of his mouth seemed to have actually reached his ears. “Yes?” The word very nearly squeaked out.
“You do?” Peter leaned forward. His eyes had that gleam they got sometimes when he was in the thick of a case.
Wally shot a panicked look toward Dick. “I mean, I’ve met him before. He’s…I mean, he’s not the easiest guy to know, you know?” Wally’s voice kept picking up speed. Dick nudged him once, hard. A warning.
“Because he’s a cop?”
Wally bluescreened for just a second, but then he was a speedster. “A cop?” he echoed, a little hysterically. “Ah, yeah, definitely. He’s very, um, anti-crime.”
“Huh.” Dick could read volumes in the lift of Peter’s eyebrow. Neal had told him his dad was a dirty cop. Didn’t exactly gel with a hardline “law and order” stance, but Peter had enough tact not to say so in front of Neal’s childhood friend. Instead, he said, sympathically, “Kind of a hardass?”
“Kind of?” Wally shuddered. “The guy’s terrifying.”
Peter frowned. He angled a look towards Dick shot through with equal parts appraisal and concern. Dick shifted uncomfortably. “Must have been a lot to grow up with.”
“Oh, man, you have no idea,” said Wally, way too enthusiastically.
Dick jabbed him, hard and smooth in the ribs as he stepped forward. “As great as this little getting-to-know you session has been, I really do have to take Jay to the airport.”
“Where are you from, Jay?” Peter asked.
“Central City,” Wally said breezily, as that wasn’t the home of a well-known hero who happened to have Wally West’s name and face. The only thing keeping Dick’s now throbbing headache in check was knowing that Peter didn’t care much about superheroes and less about celebrities. Still. Distinct points of dissimilarity. They’d just talked about this.
“Which you’ll find it hard to get back to if you miss your flight,” Dick pressed, trying to hustle him past Peter and out the door. “Can I catch up with you at the office, Peter?”
Peter ignored the question. “Is the airport actually in your radius?” The smug curve of his lips said he damn well knew the answer already.
“Figured I could keep him company for part of the way,” Dick replied smoothly.
“Well, since I’ve delayed you two, why don’t I give you both a ride?” Peter suggested. “I’d hate to make you late.” He gave them his best butter-won’t-melt smile.
What followed was one of the most excruciating fifty minutes of Dick’s life, including the time when Batman and Catwoman had teamed up to rescue Robin from Riddler’s “sphinx maze” and he’d had to watch Bruce and Selina flirt, increasingly less subtly, while he dangled over a tank of Nile crocodiles. Peter peppered “Jay” with all kinds of questions, and Wally answered them. He had enough sense to sidestep the most sensitive—obviously “How did you two meet?” couldn’t be given an honest answer, but when Dick put in “youth sports,” he added, “Little League,” with an absolutely gleeful look in his eye.
“Baseball?” Peter looked both pleased and surprised. “I didn’t think you played, Neal.”
“He was the batboy,” Wally supplied. Dick tried hard not to groan and changed the subject.
By the time they pulled into the “kiss and fly” zone at LaGuardia, Dick was about ready to burst out of his skin. He about hauled Wally out of the car.
“What?” said Wally, laughing as he waved goodbye to Peter. Then, he registered Dick’s expression. “Wait, dude, are you actually pissed?”
“I told you,” Neal said through gritted teeth, “how important it was for me to keep the details of Dick Grayson’s life separate from Neal Caffrey’s.”
Wally looked sad. “You know, I think a lot of your issues can be boiled down to the fact that you talk about yourself in the third person without even blinking.”
“I’m serious, Wall.”
“Yeah, me too.” He sighed. “I wasn’t trying to mess anything up for you. I know this operation is important to you–and maybe now I get why a little bit more.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dick demanded.
“Look, man, all I’m saying is, if you are really choosing this thing, then choose it. You know how to lead a double life, but do you know how to have a life?” His eyes softened. “Let people care about you. The real you. That’s all I’m saying.”
Before Dick could argue, he threw his arms wide. “I’ve missed you,” Wally said into his shoulder. He stepped back from the hug. “Call me anytime. I mean it.” He winked. “I’ll be there in–”
“Don’t say it,” Dick groaned. “But I will. I promise.”
Wally saluted, and strolled through the airport doors. Dick knew as soon as he was out of sight, he’d put on a burst of speed. He’d be home long before Neal Caffrey made it back to the office, or wherever Peter planned to drag him.
He jogged back to the car where Peter was waiting. He’d expected a barrage of prying questions as soon as they navigated out of the airport’s ecosystem, but Peter surprised him. “It was nice to meet that friend of yours,” was all he said. “I’m glad to know you have people like that in your corner. He seems like a good guy.”
Dick smiled. “He is. He really is.”