Archive of Our Own

When Diana gets into the office that morning, there’s a meeting in her calendar that she doesn’t remember adding. She double clicks, hoping that a past version of her added details in the description. It’s blank. Just the time, the place, and the title: NC-E.

NC is obviously Neal Caffrey. She doesn’t know what the E could be. 

She glances up to Peter’s office, but he isn’t waiting to catch her eye. If he wanted to talk about Neal, he wouldn’t have put it in her calendar. She’s fairly certain he wouldn’t know how anyway. 

Over the years, they’ve had plenty of closed door meetings regarding their favorite CI. The aftermath of the sub especially, it felt like every day they were checking in, seeing if either had noticed any clues that Neal was ready to run. 

In the intervening years, things haven’t calmed down, not by a long shot. But the trust has held. 

That’s the important part. 

Maybe this too is a sign of trust. Neal’s a complete snoop. He looks over any shoulder at any screen. When he gets in today, he’ll see the upcoming meeting in the corner of her calendar and know that someone has plans to talk about him. 

“Diana,” Jones starts, drawing her attention. “Are you on the 10:00 as well?”

NC-E, 10:00 AM, conference room D. She nods.

He lets out a relieved breath. “Do we need to prepare anything for that?” 

Again, Diana looks up. Peter is frowning at his computer screen, oblivious to the attention on him. Hughes’ office is dark. 

She shrugs. “I think it’s a ‘come as you are.’”

Jones accepts. She knows there have been a few times that he’s been brought into the need to know too late and that it’s hurt their relationship. For once, they’re in the exact same position. 

The pair return to their emails, getting through as much of the overnight messages as possible. Diana doesn’t know about Jones, but she doesn’t make much progress. Especially when Neal doesn’t stride into the office at his usual fifteen minutes late. 

Every time the elevators open, her attention flies over. Other agents, consultants, and civilians alike all bear her scrutinizing gaze. One woman stands out by how she catches her eye before Diana can jerk away. 

The woman’s red hair is in two perfect braids. Her black blouse and pantsuit are as nice as anything her mother would have in her closet. The manual wheelchair she smoothly directs through their glass doors has a backpack hanging from it. It’s stuffed full. 

She doesn’t stop to speak to anyone. Doesn’t ask for directions, despite Diana being certain that she’s never seen this woman here before. 

Diana sighs, forcing herself back to her inbox as the woman disappears. The impending meeting has her out of sorts. Focusing on the wrong things. 

Up above, Peter has his phone wedged under his ear, the other hand swishing around his mouse. Diana’s seen that exact behavior before. Calling Neal while checking his tracker. 

Great. 

Diana rubs her temple, trying to think through Neal’s behavior the last few days. They just finished up a batch of mortgage fraud cases that always crop up after taxes are due. He’d been antsy, going on more breaks, but it was all expected. Predictable. 

There haven’t been any major conversational redirects. No personal phone calls. No longing, sad looks. 

He’d made plans to get lunch with her and Christie this weekend. He’d been at Peter’s two nights ago to watch a baseball game. He’d gone to a bar with Jones last week to cheer him up after what had clearly been a nightmare-plagued morning.

There are signs, when he’s up to something. He becomes more evasive, less present in their lives. 

If anything, he’s been more present of late. Borderline clingy, now that she thinks about it. 

Is it on purpose? To throw them off? To what end? To- 

“Diana.” 

Her cursor jerks under her grip as she’s brought back to attention. 

Jones taps his watch. It’s time. 

She looks up to Peter’s office. Jones follows her gaze curiously. 

“Do you think he’s in the meeting?” 

Jones pauses, his laptop and legal pad half gathered. “You think he isn’t?”

If Peter set the meeting, it would be in his office. If Peter set the meeting, it would’ve been a nod to come join him for a working lunch. If Peter set the meeting, it would’ve been shouting for everyone to scurry to the conference room. “I guess we’ll see if he’s there,” she answers instead. 

There wasn’t anything in the message, period. But nothing that would indicate that this is some clandestine meeting. It’s in a federal building, how could it be? 

Yet there’s an instinct she can’t shake to keep where she and Jones walk now between them. He must have the same gut feeling, because he doesn’t speculate like he normally would. 

The hallway is empty. Not unusual. Conference Room D is a back up space, for when too many cases are requiring too much room. It’s on the same level as the bullpen and doesn’t have any exterior windows. An odd choice when the premier Conference Room A is available at the moment, looking down on both the bullpen and the city. 

The windows that face the hallway are darkened. The curtains are down, Diana thinks at first. But no light at all spills out, like they’ve been affixed tightly to the wall. Even the overhead bulbs in the hallway seem dimmer than usual. 

Why does she feel like she’s stepping into a hostage situation? 

Jones taps his badge against the black box she doesn’t remember being there. The red light doesn’t flash green. The door doesn’t unlock. 

Diana taps her down badge. No change. 

“Do you-” 

The door jerks open. 

The woman from the elevator, with the sharp, observant eyes, gestures them inside. “Agents,” she greets. 

Diana doesn’t move, instead choosing to observe what exactly she’s stepping into. The central, unloved conference table holds a single gray box and an open laptop on the far end. The most comfortable swivel chair, usually at the head of the table, is tucked in the corner. The TV just behind the head of the table is on, but not to the usual FBI screensaver. It’s a green logo Diana can’t identify at a glance. 

And a glance is all she gets. 

“Step inside,” the woman instructs. “We don’t need anyone wondering why you’re hovering.” 

Needing, always, to be confident and assured, Diana goes first. She’s hesitant to put her back to this unknown woman, so she sidesteps and circles the conference table. She glances at the laptop as she passes it. The screen is black. 

The door clicks shut as soon as Jones steps through. He meets Diana on the far side of the table. His expression is worried. He doesn’t know what to make of this either. 

The woman wheels through the tight corridor between pushed-in chairs and the wall to take the head of the table. She presses a few sporadic keys, jaw set. The screen brightens, making her look even more pale. But her shoulders lose a small amount of tension. “I appreciate your patience, agents. We’ll wait for your supervisor to begin.” 

Diana carefully nudges her phone out of her pocket, scanning for messages as discreetly as possible. The woman continues typing. The little bar on the top of her screen shows no signal. She has no reason to believe that these events are related, except for the cold stare the woman directs her way until her phone is back in her pocket. 

Jones clears his throat. “Is this about… Caf-”

“We’ll wait for your supervisor to begin.” No change in tone. No urgency. Just a cool, collected assertion. 

No names either. Calling Peter their supervisor is technically true, but not how anyone ever refers to him. 

Diana slides her notebook onto the table. She left her laptop in the bullpen, too used to Mozzie’s meddling to bring it. There’s a faint hint of approval in the curve of the woman’s mouth at the action. 

The door handle jiggles. Locked, still. Despite the interior deadbolt not being engaged. From this position, Diana can see a matte black disk mounted to the door, just above the handle. Nothing she’s ever seen in any of their buildings. Bomb, her mind supplies. But it’s so small, she’s not sure what sort of damage it could do. 

The woman taps through a few items on her laptop, then regards Jones. “If you don’t mind letting your supervisor in.” 

Warily, he stands. “How do you know it’s him?” he challenges. The windows are sealed shut, some sort of thick tape that Diana imagines will strip paint from the already scuffed walls. There’s a layer of fabric stretched over the curtains, smooth and dark. 

“He was invited,” she responds coyly. There’s something so Neal about the non-answer that Diana’s heart picks up. What is he mixed up in this time? 

Jones looks to Diana. She nods. 

They’re already here. Whatever this is, the only way out is through. 

Jones rests his hand on the door for several moments, assessing the non-existent locking mechanism, before he pulls down the handle. It disengages without issue. 

In the hallway, Peter stands, just shy of harried. “Jones,” he says with a hint of relief. “Diana.” 

“And you are…?” 

She smiles. “Come on in. I’m sure we’re all eager to get started.” The depths of her calm is unnerving. They are three highly competent federal agents. Diana doesn’t care how much muscle she can see pressing up against the sleeves of the suit jacket, this woman isn’t in a winning position. 

Peter hesitates only a moment. He too must realize this is about Neal. The door swings shut behind him. It doesn’t lock. Still, Diana is certain no one else will be joining them. 

“Devices in the cage, if you don’t mind. That’s laptops, cell phones, comms. Anything with a signal.” 

Jones has returned to his seat, but Peter remains standing. “I’m sorry, who are you? We’re federal agents, you don’t get to make demands of us.” 

She lowers her laptop lid. “I think you’ll find that I do.” She gestures to the gray box on the opposite end of the table. “That’s a Faraday cage. It’ll ensure that our conversation isn’t eavesdropped on by itching ears. I think we’ll all prefer it that way.” A fair amount of emphasis on the word all. 

Peter caves at the implication Neal is in trouble. Diana holds out. “What about you?” 

The woman glances down at her laptop. Amusement colors her gesture as she types out a few commands and closes it. “Sure,” she agrees. “Why not.” She reaches a pouch on her left side and pulls out what looks like a binder clip. It clicks onto either side of the closed laptop. It blinks green once. 

Diana handles it very carefully as she passes the device down to Peter. Jones’ laptop and both their phones follow. Diana gives the woman an expectant look. 

“I didn’t bring any cellphones,” she informs pleasantly. A Caffrey technical truth if she’s ever heard one. 

But Diana can tell this woman’s mirth isn’t never-ending. And there are more important things to press on. 

“What’s going on?” Peter demands once the box is closed again. He takes the seat across from Diana. 

“I’m here about Neal Caffrey.” She looks each of them in the eye. “I’m N’s handler.” 

Peter straightens, affronted. “I’m Neal’s handler.” 

“Yes.” 

Her amicable agreement makes Diana’s head whir. When Peter gears up to argue further, Diana reaches out a hand to stall him. “N. Not Neal,” she observes. 

The woman smiles. “Exactly.” 

There is only a faint humming as three great minds attempt to puzzle out more meaning from this little information. 

“Where is Neal?” Peter settles on. 

“He’s on his way. You saw the movement on his tracker before you joined us.” 

Peter stills, disturbed. Cameras in his office? A deep knowledge of the subject? Access to Peter’s computer? Access to Neal’s tracker data? 

There’s no good way for her to have that information. 

“Who are you?” Diana studies the woman for any sign of ill will toward Peter, toward Neal. She doesn’t feel content when she doesn’t detect any. They’ve dealt with heartless people motivated solely by profit margins. Emotion doesn’t always factor into cruelty. 

The woman tugs on her jacket, straightening it just enough. Her two braids are pushed behind her back. She doesn’t wear any make up, dark blue eyes standing out against her pale skin. A few freckles here and there, but nothing exceedingly identifiable. No visible tattoos or scars. Nothing to go off of later. If there is a later. 

There’s an iciness to this room that doesn’t abate. Diana’s met health insurance CEOs who create a warmer atmosphere. 

“I’m N’s handler,” she repeats. “For now, you can call me O. I’m here to talk with you about N.”

“N as in Neal?” Jones clarifies. 

She tilts her head. “In a way. N is Neal. Neal isn’t N.” 

Diana resists the urge to thunk her head against the table. “You’re talking around something. Say what it is you’re here to say.” 

O gains a delighted look. Diana doesn’t like it directed at her in the slightest. “Neal Caffrey is an alias.” Not news. Diana waits. “It’s an identity constructed by the Titans for covert operations.” 

“The… Titans,” Jones says slowly. “Like… Beast Boy and Raven and…?” 

She nods. 

“Superheroes?” Peter asks dubiously. 

Another nod. 

“Caffrey is an art thief. A forger.” Diana tries to predict the trajectory of the conversation from here. Really, they should all be laughing in O’s face. The idea that Neal would be associated with a group of crime fighters is ridiculous. 

But… The Titans aren’t the Justice League, with their United Nations treaties and governmental representatives. There’s a whole office of the FBI devoted to coordinating with the Justice League. 

The Titans aren’t like that. They’re much more covert, much more behind the scenes. Their headquarters have been secret since the gaudy T-shaped building exploded off the coast of Manhattan. There’s an official Watchtower tracking website in compliance with international satellite law. 

The Titans play dirty. There isn’t a published roster. When they make the news, it’s because of a joint Justice League mission or a major disaster. 

The Titans may fight crime but, like Neal Caffrey, they aren’t afraid of breaking the law to do so. Moral, but not legal. 

“Why did the Titans build a conman identity?” 

Peter and Jones give her incredulous looks. She ignores them. 

The unlocked door won’t budge. The curtains are sealed. The devices are tucked away. 

O has a technical advantage and that doesn’t come from nowhere. 

“They were investigating a cult. The leader had devotees in every branch of government, the news, and law enforcement. My understanding is that they tried a few different aliases, but the Caffrey one stuck.” 

“Your understanding?” Jones hedges. 

She shrugs. “I’m not affiliated with the Titans. Not ten years ago.” 

Jones leans back, clearly not giving up on identifying her among the few confirmed Titans. 

Dog with a bone, Peter states, “Neal Caffrey first appeared on our radar ten years ago.”

“Yes.” 

“You’re saying he wasn’t active prior to that?” 

“A few months.” O shrugs. “They backdated the name as much as they could without it being dubious that N was the con in question.”

Confusion only lasts a moment. They used to be the Teen Titans. How old is Neal? How old is N? 

O continues. “The Titans dismantled the cult and to retire Caffrey, they had him arrested.” 

Diana blinks. She repeats the words in her head. She does it again. They don’t make sense. 

With a deeply uncomfortable look on his face, Peter says, “Neal got arrested on purpose.” He’s more composed than Diana would be if she discovered the greatest arrest of her career had been planned. 

“That’s what the file states.” O doesn’t seem quite satisfied with that response herself. “They resurrected the identity four years ago when the cult had a resurgence.” 

“Neal escaped prison because his girlfriend dumped him,” Peter corrects. 

Diana sees between their two statements. “Who is Kate? Really?” 

“A witness. She needed eyes on her and if those eyes came from the Titans or their affiliates, she wouldn’t have made it a month.” 

“Then why’d he stay?” Jones protests. “If Neal is really a- a Titan and not a conman, then why did he become a CI? We would’ve looked after Kate while looking for Caffrey.” 

“We had intel that a powerful member of the re-forming cult was in the FBI. The CI position gave flexibility to investigate that a new agent wouldn’t afford. And-” She glances at Peter. “The Caffrey alias has history.” 

Of course. Peter’s soft spot for Neal has opened a lot of doors that not even Diana has walked through. 

“Who?” 

For the first time, O frowns. There’s a level of sympathy in her gaze that only spells problems. “You’ll know,” she says simply. 

Diana thinks of the dark office upstairs and hopes her instinct is very, very wrong. 

She orders her thoughts. Not a single word has made it onto her notepad. The pens usually in this room are missing. 

This is what O wants them to believe:

One, Neal Caffrey is an alias. 

No problem there.

Two, Neal Caffrey is an identity being used in a years-long undercover operation conducted by someone codenamed N with a handler codenamed O. 

Somehow, this doesn’t defy all logic. Neal’s always been unorthodox. He’s always had a new trick. He’s always had phone calls with Mozzie and Sara that they’ve denied. On late nights, after hard cases, when a teammate is injured, Neal’s always had a shade of intensity that doesn’t fit with his light personality. 

Three, N infiltrated the FBI to weed out a cult member who also infiltrated the FBI. 

Very, very farfetched. Diana’s cousins had to go through background checks. There are constant check-ins. No one is above scrutiny in their agency. 

O doesn’t provide any evidence. Just a sure tone and serious eyes. 

There shouldn’t be any credibility in that. 

“I want to speak to Neal,” Peter demands, coming to a similar conclusion as Diana. 

“Soon,” O agrees. 

“I- I need-” Peter runs his hand over his face. “You must understand how unbelievable this is. We don’t know you. If this is some game, and you’re distracting us while Neal is out getting into trouble, or into danger-” 

“The op is done,” O interrupts. She looks to Diana. “Ask the real question.” 

Diana doesn’t like this. She doesn’t like any of this. But she complies. “Why are you telling us this?” 

If the operation is over, if their cult member is no longer in a position of power in the FBI, then why not cut Neal’s anklet and run? 

Deep cover agents don’t get closure. Nor do the people they leave behind. 

“It’s… unorthodox. But we have something of a proposition. A job offer. A promotion, even, depending on how you look at it.”

Diana darts her eyes to her colleagues. Peter crosses his arms, not trusting it for a moment. Jones turns to face O a little more head on. 

“You all have worked with N for three years. You’ve proven time and again to be adaptable, compassionate, driven, and justice-motivated. You’ve displayed a comfort in the gray areas of the law while still balancing the responsibility of your badges. And, quite frankly, you’ve put N on his back foot several times. His reports have always been glowing, even when your observation skills and tenacity have made it difficult for him to do his job. Even more so, in those instances, in fact.” 

Diana leans forward. “We’re good at what we do, we know that. What’s your point?”

The woman smiles. “I am N’s handler for this mission. I have been his handler for every undercover mission dating back nearly a decade. Others have been assigned and they’ve been pulled. I’m always happy to have N’s back, but—and I say this with all seriousness—I’m too important to my organization to be monitoring N’s comms and fielding reports. I can’t keep serving as his handler with all my other responsibilities. I need a replacement.” She smirks. “Well. A few.” 

Great, Diana thinks. A new thing she can’t wrap her head around. 

It’s too fast. Jumping from your friend has been lying to you even more than you thought to would you like to help him lie to more people. 

They’re on a timeline. There’s no easing in, no building trust, no proving loyalties. 

Or maybe that’s been the last three years. 

Neal’s written reports about them. N has, she corrects. Neal hates paperwork. 

“You’re recruiting us for the Titans?” 

“No,” Diana answers, watching O. “You don’t work for the Titans. What’s your organization?” 

O meets her gaze, unwavering. “You are being recruited by the Titans. I’m brokering this offer as a favor to N.”

“Who do you work for?” Diana presses. 

It’s a dealbreaker, for Diana. If she doesn’t know where this woman’s allegiances lie, then she can’t trust any word that comes out of her mouth. 

Neal isn’t here to corroborate anything she’s said. And while her trust in Neal’s word changes from day to day, her faith in him hasn’t wavered in a long time. 

The pause is heavy. O folds her hands in her lap, retreating, almost. “Most pertinently… The Justice League.”

Diana searches for the lie, but it’s all evasion. Detailess truths. Divulgence without risk. 

While the JL is above board compared to the Titans, it’s still shrouded in secrecy. Why allow three federal agents to see her face?

“You’ve been promoted.” Diana’s not certain, but it’s worth testing. The quick pace of this conversation isn’t without reason. If Neal isn’t in danger, which Diana doesn’t believe based on this woman’s demeanor, then there is another source of urgency. 

Once again, O fixes her attention on Diana. “What makes you say that?” 

“Am I correct?” 

O shrugs. “Some would say I’ll be stepping into a role I’ve been preparing for since I was young.” She moves her hair over her shoulders as she leans back in her chair. “It’s complicated, but I won’t be able to serve as N’s handler after this mission. You all have proven beyond a doubt your capabilities to handle N and to get him home at the end of the day.”

It’s consistent praise. It’s true, too. Through it all, the three of them have been there for Neal. They’ve protected him, they’ve kept him at their side. 

It doesn’t read as flattery. She isn’t trying to convince them. 

“What happens if we don’t accept?” 

Jones starts at her question. Clearly, he already hasn’t started to truly consider this new position. Diana doesn’t know why she is. 

With that same steady gaze, O answers, “We discuss the details of Neal’s exfiltration. We trust that you keep the information you’ve learned here from interested parties.” 

“That’s it?” Peter doesn’t look convinced. 

“Neal trusts you. If I thought his judgment were unfounded, we wouldn’t be here.” 

That’s what it comes to. Trust. 

Does Diana trust O? No. 

Does she trust Neal? No. 

Does she want to uproot her life for a man whose status as a conman is itself a con? Maybe. 

“When do you need to know?” she asks. 

“I’d like a temperature check before we leave here. N will go on a mandatory two week leave starting tomorrow. I’d like an answer before that ends.” 

“Two weeks?” 

O glances at Jones. “Yes.”

“He’s been with us for three years.”

“Yes.” 

“And he’s only getting two weeks off?” 

She sighs. “He’ll only accept two weeks off. If we could convince him to hold off for longer, we would. He wanted to jump back into training tomorrow.” 

Peter frowns. “Training?” 

“Would you be willing to serve as N’s handler?” She regards each of them. “I’m not asking for a signature. I’m not asking for a promise. I’m not asking for what your significant others think.” 

Diana closes her eyes. She thinks about it. Really thinks about it. 

She loves her job. She loves the chase, she loves the triumph. She loves bringing those taking advantage of others down to their knees. 

Is she willing to give up all of this? What does it really mean to be a handler? Would she get to serve in the field again? Would she be aligning with her own morals? 

Simultaneously, could she forgive herself if she gave this up? Is she willing to lose Neal for good? If there’s a greater injustice to right, she wants to be there. 

Diana looks to O. “I’m in.”

Peter jumps, his face stormy. “I’d… like to learn more.” 

O nods. “Of course.” 

“But Neal has been a fantastic partner. And if you’re poaching Diana…”

Jones glances between the two of them. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Alright.” 

The woman lets their decision grow between them. “Thank you.” She taps her ear. “N, you’re clear for entry.” 

That startles her. 

“He’s coming here?” Peter asks, disbelieving. 

“He always was.” 

Jones shifts. “Should I-”

The door opens. 

She should be able to say unambiguously that the man who steps through is Neal Caffrey. James Bonds. Prisoner number 04384. Criminal Informant number 0052. 

And he certainly looks like Neal Caffrey. The eyes, the hair, the clothes. 

As the door closes though, it’s like all the other times she’s seen Neal adapt a character. Nick Halden’s smooth talking. Benjamin Cooper’s sliminess. She always found it equal parts eerie and impressive, how easily he could morph his speech, body language, and expressions. 

The man before her now adopts none of the known traits. His eyes flick around the room as he tucks a matte black badge into his pocket. His face brightens when he settles on O. 

“Hi all,” he greets flippantly, striding quickly across the room. “Hi you.” 

O’s expression loses many guarded layers as he leans his weight against the table, facing her and only her. “Hey there.” 

Neal, N, tugs gently on one of her braids. “BB catch you again?” he teases. Diana has heard him flirt a thousand times. He’s never sounded like this before. 

“She heard I was coming to see you.”

His voice brightens further. “I didn’t realize she’d grown up to be such a romantic.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Who says she wasn’t trying to make you look like a slob in comparison?” 

Neal chuckles. “It doesn’t take much to do that.” The words are warm with affection. 

Amid the swirling incomprehension of Neal being considered a slob, Diana finds it in herself to recognize a truth in their exchange. Whatever their relationship is, it transcends traditional romance. 

Their affectionate moment is broken by Peter clearing his throat. 

“Neal,” he sounds out. 

N turns, just as fluid as ever, and slips into the open seat between Peter and O. “Peter,” he returns. Some of Neal’s teasing rings through. Underneath that is an intensity that heats up Diana’s chest. “Thank you for being here.” He looks across the table. “All of you. I’m sure it’s… a lot.” 

“Understatement of the year,” Jones grumbles. He’s eyeing N like it’s early days of his work-release. 

N leans back in his seat, a jumble of limbs whereas Neal always lounged with poise. “Past three years, perhaps?” 

“Not funny,” Peter gripes. 

“A little funny,” Diana allows, still wrapping her head around all this. “Tell us something true.” 

He cocks his head at her, bright blue eyes like a warm summer rain. “Like what?” 

Diana thinks. N being here like O promised, filled with familiarity for the woman, does a lot for the initial verification of her story. “Why start all this?” Diana decides. 

Swiveling his chair, he regards Diana more directly. “O mentioned the cult member,” he begins slowly, feeling out her request. 

She shakes her head. “Not the cult, not Neal Caffrey. Why start being a Titan?” 

The edges of the table cut into her arms as she leans forward. Leans toward the kernel of truth at the center of any good con. Learning about Caffrey, learning about his mission, it’s not good enough. If Diana is really going to uproot her entire life to follow the man she’s chased time and again, then she needs to know what is at the core of all the falsehoods that have spilled out from that point. 

He glances at O, who shrugs. “It’s your exfil,” she murmurs. 

That only causes his brow to furrow deeper. He stares intently at the dusty table, eyes flickering as he considers what Diana wants here. 

Jones shifts, uncomfortable with the prevailing silence. Peter watches N’s indecision spill out. 

Finally, the man sighs. “I don’t think that question’s right.” A smile tugs at his lips. “I didn’t start being a Titan. I didn’t join an already formed team. I-” He pauses. Looks to Diana. “You want to know something true?”

She nods, not breaking eye contact. 

“I was the first.” His gaze grows distant. “Of this generation, I was the first. When I fuck up, everyone knows. When I excel, everyone resents it.”

“N-” Oracle gestures to her ear. 

“I know,” he assures. He flexes both hands before tucking them in his lap. “I kept forging trails that I didn’t expect anyone to follow. Some need it more than me, some are better at it than me. I’m responsible for all of them. When I make a mistake, when I don’t clean up my messes, everyone suffers. I’m here cleaning up my mess.” 

“You were the first,” Jones echoes uncomfortably. 

The air feels stale as N nods. 

“Robin.”

The effect is immediate. His chin juts, his spine straightens, his hands shift to his hips. 

Peter doesn’t accept the confirmation. “Robin’s a teenage boy,” he protests. “I appreciate that there’s some truth to-” He gestures broadly. “-all this, but I really don’t see how Neal, who is nearing his forties, can be Batman’s adolescent sidekick.” 

“Robin’s been a teenager for over a decade,” Jones challenges. 

“Robin isn’t just teenage boys,” Diana corrects, remembering the news that broke out of Gotham seven years ago. “There was a girl too.” 

A brief smile passes over N’s face. “She’ll be happy to hear you say that.” 

Diana freezes. “She’s alive?” The story was big for months. Within weeks of Batman being a confirmed entity in Gotham, there was the horrifying discovery that his rumored sidekick was murdered. 

There’s a heavy pause. Not indecision, but something more. It feels like grief. “She is.” 

“The point still stands,” Peter pushes, facing N. “You’re not Robin.” 

The younger man shakes his head, a small layer of sadness in the gesture. “No, I’m not. I haven’t been for a long time.” 

“Who are you then?” 

The man Diana thought she’d gotten to know smiles to her, a little guilty, a little sad. “Let’s stick with N for now.” He forces tension out of his shoulders, but there’s still a faint disquiet there. “If you’re still on board in two weeks… You’ll know.” 

Time to digest, Diana agrees. But not time to change her mind. 

O taps on the desk. “We should…”

He nods. “Yeah.” And the last of Neal Caffrey drains out of his demeanor. Serious eyes, just as cold as O’s. Shoulders back, breath deep. And something else. Something profoundly sad. “SAC Hughes will not report for duty today.” He speaks into the middle distance, a careful gap from their reactions. “His involvement with the Brother Blood cult has been documented going back several decades, but he was missed in the original sweep nine years ago. Three years ago, he began the process of recruiting agents, politicians, and members of the press to return the cult to its former power. We provided our investigatory materials to Interpol last week and he, and the rest of his accomplices, were taken into their custody this morning. Bit of a rush job, but…” He shrugs. 

“Before this news breaks, Neal Caffrey is going to be called into his handler’s office,” O continues. “Burke is going to receive an email from the Marshals, informing him that Neal’s sentence has been commuted by the governor. Neal is going to immediately inform Berrigan and Jones, loud enough for other agents to hear. There will be a discussion of a quiet celebration at June’s. When you three meet, Neal will already be gone.”

“Where will you be?” Peter asks, face ashen. 

N lets out a breath. “I’ll be completing a full debrief with O and the Titans. Then…?” He looks to O. 

“Psych eval, med check, team reunion… Family reunion.” She says the last two words carefully. 

N presses his lips together, not looking at her. “Two weeks to recoup, then I’ll-” He swallows, nodding to himself. “I’ll be starting a new gig.” 

The carefully maintained intensity from before deteriorated, O watches him with a gauzy sadness. She reaches for his hand. He closes the distances, drooping as she gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

Diana’s thoughts swirl back to the urgency of this meeting. “Why two weeks?” 

The two glance at each other. 

“It’s your exfil,” O says again. 

He rubs his thumb over her calloused knuckles. “The Justice League’s annual summit with the Lanterns is on Oa this year. They announced the diplomatic council earlier this month.” He lets go of O’s hand to wrap his arms around himself. “They amended that roster last week.” 

Diana tries to make sense of why this matters. N is a member of the Titans. So long as she believes it, this has been well established in their conversation thus far. 

“They said Batman would be replaced by someone named Oracle,” Jones fills him. He shrugs at Diana’s surprised look. “There was a fair amount of confusion in the reporting. Oracle has only ever been on their reserves list and has never publicly represented the JL.” 

“Superman is also on that mission,” N adds. “When he leaves in two weeks, it’s going to leave a gap.” 

“One that you’re meant to fill?” Diana asks skeptically. If N is the kind of Titan that can stop an alien invasion, she fears that he’s been hopelessly wasting his time in the White Collar Unit. And that the world has an incredibly misconceived notion about how powerful Robin is. 

N’s expression shutters. “You could say I’ll be stepping into a role I’ve been training for since I was a kid.” It’s a strange echo of something O said earlier. He bears the sentiment with far less pride and far more dread. “O won’t be here to have my back when I start and I’ll need to hit the ground running.” He forces a smile. “It’s why I’d appreciate you all joining me.” 

“N…” Diana hedges. “What happened?” 

He spent three years infiltrating the FBI only to call the wrap up of his mission a rush job. He is hardly taking any time off before beginning a new role about which he doesn’t sound enthused. He is holding at bay a sadness she can’t comprehend. 

When he finally looks up, his shining blue eyes are wet. “My dad died and Gotham still needs a Batman.” 

After two sleepless weeks, Diana drives to Blüdhaven, New Jersey. She parks in an underground garage for the blandly logo’d TT Inc.

She presses the call button on the wall to the left of the elevator. It glows blue. “Welcome, Agent Berrigan,” a familiar voice greets. “We’re glad you’re here.” 

She smiles as the elevator doors open for her. Peter and Jones may be coming, they may not. But if these last three years have taught her anything, following Neal always leads somewhere interesting and somewhere just.