Work Text:
“Hon,” Elizabeth’s voice carried up the stairs.
Peter frowned at his reflection. He had to re-do his tie—god forbid he look unkempt next to Neal Caffrey and his ability to always look just a bit more sophisticated than everyone else in the room—and had to be out the door in ten minutes if he didn’t want to get caught in gridlock traffic.
Elizabeth sounded worried.
Peter patted his tie, pleased with the near-perfect knot. He accepted it was about as good as it was going to get for a cloudy, dreary, Monday morning.
He took the stairs two at a time, stopping when he saw Elizabeth standing in front of their television.
The news was on.
Text took up over half of the screen, leaving barely enough room to see the anchors. BREAKING NEWS. SMASH AND GRAB LOUVRE HEIST. MUSEUM SHUTS DOWN.
Elizabeth looked over at him.
Peter’s phone rang.
::
“It wasn’t me.”
“An innocent man doesn’t call an FBI agent to tell them they’re not involved in a crime, just because,” Peter ran a hand down his face. Of course Neal was calling.
Before Neal could start again, Peter added, “I’m sending Diana to get you. I’ll meet you at the office.” His phone buzzed, telling him he had another call.
“Peter—”
“Goodbye, Neal.” Peter didn’t look back at Elizabeth, pacing the front entry. “Reese.”
“You saw the news.”
Peter held his phone in his hands, texting the directive to Diana. She immediately replied.
“Berrigan is bringing Neal in,” Peter started shoving his keys and wallet into his pockets, one arm through his suit jacket while the other held his phone to his ear. “I’ll be at the office in—” he glanced at his watch “—thirty minutes.”
“Straight to my office when you get here,” Hughes prompted. “Caffrey too. Don’t stop to talk to anyone before you see me.”
Peter gave an affirmative, managed to maneuver his way into his jacket with Elizabeth’s help, and with a quick kiss on her cheek he was halfway out their front door.
The Louvre, he cursed to himself. Why, Neal? Why?
::
Dick woke up to the sound of the terrace doors closing. He held his breath, exhaling only when he was confident the rhythm matched his sleep pattern. Twenty seconds passed with no change.
Rolling over on the bed, feigning sleep, Dick opened one eye to scan the rented room he’d been living in for the last two years.
Nobody was there.
He frowned, more concerned that he didn’t hear someone enter the room than the fact someone left without his knowledge.
It took less than six steps for him to move from his bed to the dining table. Opposite the terrace doors, there was a soft, velvet bag sitting next to his half-empty fruit bowl.
Dick picked up a pen, tugging at the bag to loosen the drawstring without touching it. Even in the grey morning light, a light drizzle of rain hitting the window panes opposite of him, Dick caught the unmistakable sparkle of jewels.
Under the bag was a note.
Dick dragged it over the tabletop with the back of the pen.
A gift fitting for my crown jewel.
What the fuck.
::
“Diana,” Dick started, car door half open.
“Don’t,” she stopped him, eyes on the rearview mirror. The door wasn’t completely closed when she started merging back onto the street and into traffic.
“You know it wasn’t—”
“Neal,” Diana glanced over at him.
“I don’t have anything to hide!” Dick cried out, exasperated. “You’re not protecting me! There’s nothing I can say that would be incriminating, because I did not do this!”
They sat in silence.
Diana didn’t speak again until they were turning into the parking garage under the bureau, “The Marshals are reviewing your anklet data.”
“They’re not going to find any problems.” Dick’s jaw was clenched.
“I hope they don’t,” Diana finally turned to look at Dick, expression somber. “For both your and Peter’s sakes.”
::
“Not the finger point,” Dick bemoaned.
No one laughed.
Diana nudged his side with her elbow, walking briskly past him. Jones fell in step with him when Dick moved after her.
No one spoke until the door to Hughes’ office was closed.
“Not a word,” Hughes held his hand up.
“Why bring us in here, then—”
Hughes looked at Dick, sharply, “Not a word.”
Dick slouched in his seat.
Neither agent moved to sit in the chair next to him, preferring to stand behind their criminal informant.
Dick fought the urge to turn around, the itch at the back of his neck anytime someone entered his blindspot growing more persistent the longer they remained still.
There had been a low hum in the office when they’d walked in. Dick wasn’t stupid; he noticed the office was more full than usual, more faces he didn’t recognize watching him when he’d walking in with Diana.
The low hum quieted, drawing their attention.
Sparing a glance out the windows lining Hughes’ office, Dick spotted Peter.
He didn’t pause at his own office, where he usually dropped his bag even if he was planning to see Reese first-thing in the morning.
“Burke,” Hughes nodded at him. Peter took the seat next to Dick.
Dick stared at him, practically begging Peter to look at him, but he didn’t spare Dick a passing glance or care.
“Interpol is here,” Hughes told them. He looked at each agent before bringing his attention back to Dick. “They will begin conducting interviews once we are done in here.”
“I’m going with him.”
“Peter—”
“No, Reese,” Peter’s jaw was set, there was no use trying to change his mind now. Dick had more than enough experience on the receiving end of it. “I need to hear it for myself. If Caffrey is lying, I’m the only one who will see through it.”
“For the record, I do not like this,” Hughes leaned back in his chair. “Berrigan and Jones, follow every lead. I don’t care if Interpol has jurisdiction and agents on the job.” He looked back at Dick, “If we’re going to take down one of our own, we’re going to make damn sure it sticks.”
Dick felt like the floor was falling out from under him.
Peter had a hand on his shoulder, prompting him up and out of the office, “Let’s go, Neal.”
“Peter,” Dick tried, voice strained. “Just let me talk to you.”
“Neal Caffrey,” A nameless agent wearing the signature Marshals jacket intercepted them. “You’re going to be coming with us.”
Dick opened his mouth to protest, shutting it only when Peter pushed him forward.
::
“Boss,” Diana’s voice came over the intercom. Dick wondered how long she had been standing on the other side of the two-way mirror. If Jones was with her.
Peter nodded.
“The jewels have been located.”
Nobody spoke. Dick looked at Peter.
“The team is en route from Riverside Drive.”
“Neal,” Peter shook his head.
Dick looked away. He hadn’t seen someone look so hurt, so much betrayal, at his expense in years. Not since—
Well, not since he became Neal Caffrey.
::
“Unless you think I’ve got a pocket full of fairy dust to fly across the Atlantic overnight,” or a Zeta-tube at my disposal, “there is literally no way for me to have done this!”
“The jewels were found in your room.” Peter shook his head, “In June’s home.”
That made Dick pause. If this was going to get June into trouble—
“Luckily for you, June was at a weekend retreat with her granddaughters. She’s completely off of the suspect list.”
Dick let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Peter’s head tilted, watching him carefully, “You’re more worried about June.”
“Of course I am, she’s been nothing but kind—”
“You’re adamant you’re being blackmailed, but are more worried about the woman who owns the home you live in than scrapping together a defense.”
“I don’t need a defense,” Dick shook his head. “It is physically impossible!”
Peter stood up, closing the file, “That’s where you’re wrong, Neal.” He moved for the door, “You’re going to need a damn good defense.”
Dick ran a hand through his hair, frustration growing. He knew he should keep his poise, keep the Caffrey mask perfectly adorned. But— but this was too much. He’d spent years carefully building his house of cards, and all it took was one gust of air for the whole thing to come tumbling down.
::
“I don’t like this,” Peter said, opening the jail cell door.
“I told you I was telling the truth,” Dick stepped out, running a hand through his hair. It had grown out, just enough to tuck behind his ear, in the time since he’d been sentenced.
This was the first time he was seeing Peter since he testified against him in court.
“We can’t re-try you for the heist,” Peter didn’t wait, starting the walk back down the hall he came in.
“You won’t need to,” Dick shook his head.
They didn’t speak again, not until they were outside and headed for Peter’s car.
“What cleared me?” Dick asked, looking out the window at the passing greenery.
“A fingerprint was found on one of the gems,” Peter was frowning. “It wasn’t found during the first sweep. More time was spent investigating how someone could plant a fingerprint than confirming the authenticity of the mark.”
“But it was there.”
“It was,” Peter spared him a glance, eyes going back to the road when Dick didn’t look back. “Impossibly, it was there. A near-perfect thumbprint.”
“Was it in the database?”
Peter tapped his thumbs on the wheel.
Dick bit the inside of his cheek. He had to be careful, Peter clearly wasn’t convinced that there wasn’t any foul play when it came to getting his name cleared.
“Alvin Draper,” Peter said after another long stretch of silence. This time, he turned to look at Dick and waited until he looked back, “That name mean anything to you?”
Dick blinked.
“No, not at all.”
Peter faced forward, stoplight turning green.
He didn’t question Dick again.
::
“What the actual fuck,” Dick was pacing down the stretch between his dining table and the doors out to the terrace. June had no reason to welcome him back, not after all of the commotion and problems he’d caused her, but when he knocked on the door all she did was smile, pull him in for a hug, and informed him his room was just as he had left it.
“It’s not a big deal,” Tim started.
Dick paused, mid-step, to shoot him an incredulous look.
Tim sighed.
Dick resumed pacing.
“Alvin Draper is not in any system,” Dick reminded him.
“He is now.”
“Alvin Draper doesn’t have his own set of unique prints.”
“He does now,” Tim moved out of his chair, standing to block Dick’s path. “It was my idea.”
“It was a stupid one,” Dick shook his head. Tim held his gaze, and Dick sighed. “I don’t mean that.”
“I know you don’t,” Tim shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Dick moved to take the seat opposite Tim, “Did we figure out who did the actual heist yet?”
“Who do we know that has the grace of an elephant and would use power tools to break into the Louvre,” Dick paused. “And leave on a scooter?”
“Besides Alvin Draper?” Tim gave him a wry look.
“Besides Alvin,” Dick shook his head.
“I did some digging based on that note you received,” Tim pulled it out of his pocket. Dick had put it one of the many cubby holes before leaving for work that day, away from the stolen pieces.
He had formed a plan, after waking up to find the bag of priceless gems waiting for him. He was going to call Peter, get him to come over, explain what happened and how someone must have been trying to frame him. But, the note would be saved for the Bats to investigate. If they confirmed it was someone related to Caffrey and not Nightwing or Dick Grayson, Neal would ‘find it’ and bring it to the bureau’s attention.
Unfortunately for Dick, the federal government was three steps ahead of him this time.
Dick ignored Tim’s pointed look.
“Aren’t secret admirers supposed to send you chocolate? Flowers?”
“Neal Caffrey is special,” Dick rolled his eyes.
“Not Caffrey, Dick.”
Dick fought against the impulse to put his head down on the table, groaning. He had a feeling who would have gone through all of the trouble when he first found the velvet bag, but he had held out hope that maybe, just maybe, there would be another reason—
“I’m more surprised Ravager was willing to do her father’s dirty work.”
Dick sputtered, “Rose was involved?”
“Deathstroke wouldn’t be caught dead riding on a scooter,” Tim deadpanned.
Dick covered his mouth, trying to stifle his giggling at the mental image.
“That still doesn’t explain why she was willing to do all of,” Dick waved his hand in the air, “this.”
“Selina dropped by the Manor.”
Dick let his forehead drop, catching it on his folded arms. He pointedly ignored Tim’s laugh.
“Are you more mad Rose went to Catwoman for tips or because you didn’t get to break into the Louvre first?”
Dick shook his head, cry of dismay muffled.
Tim laughed harder.