Work Text:
“No,” Peter said flatly.
Neal smiled at him and held out a coffee.
“No,” Peter repeated.
“Oh, come on, Peter,” Neal cajoled.
“How the hell do you expect me to be able to tell my supervisor, both to his face and with a straight face, that ‘yes, that red-haired woman in the wheelchair is Neal Caffrey.’ I can only push this so far,” he glared down at Neal.
And, seriously, he needed some way to mentally differentiate between the “Neal” stand-ins that kept showing up.
Had it really gotten so far out there, stretching the limits of believability, that Peter was immediately willing to call this red-haired woman Neal? As if she really was Neal? As if they all were? This wasn’t Spartacus. This was ridiculous.
“If you like, you can run my prints,” Neal said, innocent as a duck.
Peter snatched the coffee from her hand. “Really? Are we really doing this today?” he demanded.
The front door to June’s opened and slammed shut. Peter looked up and felt relief flood him. There he was, Neal. Actual Neal? First Neal? Oh god, this was getting to be too much. And—Peter turned to the redhead. She still sat there, smiling innocently. “Actually, it looks like I have some place I need to be. Sorry, Peter. Catch up later?”
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned to Neal.
The... the other Neal. The First Neal.
“Have I ever told you how much of a headache you are?” Peter asked.
“Mm, not this week, unless I missed something in the debrief,” Neal smiled.
Peter hated to admit it, but it was the exact same smile that every Neal gave him. Even the redhead when she was (apparently) pulling his leg. It was like there was a Neal Caffrey hive mind and it would sub-let one of its units to Peter, but couldn’t seem to pick the same unit twice.
Neal Caffrey as a hive mind. That was a terrifying thought.
“Wait, debrief?”
Neal walked around to slide into the passenger side of the car, instead of answering.
“Debrief?” Peter asked the air. He opened the driver side door and climbed in side. “What the hell do you mean, Neal? What debrief?”
“Please tell me we have something more interesting than mortgage fraud, today, Peter. I’m begging you,” Neal turned to Peter and folded his hands together, pouting and doing his best puppy-dog eyes.
Peter levelled him a flat, unimpressed look.
--
“Wait, wait, Dick went yesterday,” Steph said. “I haven’t gone at all yet! I should get to go!”
“He drew the short stick,” Tim said.
“But it’s not fair! He’s, like, always Neal!”
“You know what,” Dick let a smile spread across his face, slow and a little bit evil. “You can be Neal tomorrow, Steph. O can set you up with the anklet, the schedule should be on the fridge. Remember that Neal likes fancy things. No waffles, unless they’re authentic Belgian waffles.”
“Fuck yeah!” Steph punched the air.
--
Peter pulled up to June’s house. He took a deep breath. He was a bit early, which gave him a little time to try and sort things out. Because, look, there’s no way that Peter’s CI could be all those different, if incredibly similar, people that Peter had been carting to work while everyone pretended that he didn’t grow and shrink overnight, almost every night.
A tap-tap broke Peter out of his thoughts and he turned to his window.
A bright, Neal Caffrey grin greeted him. But it was a bright, Neal Caffrey grin on a pretty blond girl who couldn’t possibly be out of her teens. There was no way.
Neal offered Peter a coffee, then tipped her hat at him.
“I hate him,” Peter muttered. “Them. All of them. I hate all of them.”
Neal wandered around the car and got in, this time properly passing the coffee over to Peter. “So! Mortgage fraud again or do we finally get something interesting?”
Peter rubbed his temples. “Counterfeit jewelry, actually,” he said.
“Oh, thank god. If I had to fill out one more form pertaining to mortgage fraud, I think I would have keeled over on the spot.” Neal placed a manicured hand over her lapels. How all these different-sized Neal Caffreys happened to have perfectly tailored everything was beyond Peter. I mean, he’d definitely seen this exact ensemble on Neal, before, but that Neal had been the tallest and most broad-shouldered of the Neals he’d dealt with...
Neals.
He was referring to them like they were some kind of species. What the hell.
“I’m sure Neal would have keeled over on the spot if he had to put up with another day of mortgage fraud paperwork,” Peter agreed. “Except that you’ve never had to fill it out.”
“Oh Peter, how could you know that?” she smiled beatifically. Like a fat little cupid in a Renaissance painting. “We have to practice handwriting somewhere, right? Otherwise it wouldn’t match.”
Peter snapped his gaze over to her. “What?”
“Fake diamonds, huh? I bet I know a guy who could help with this. What do you think? Scam or scheme? Are they just in it for the fake jewelry or is there something more insidious creeping just underneath?” Neal kicked back into her seat and made herself comfortable.
“Neal.”
“Well?” Neal looked at him expectantly.
Peter sighed. Fine, if she wanted to play it that way, Peter could deal with that.
--
“Hell yeah I got fake jewelry!” Steph gloated. “Suckers.” She stuck her tongue out. “Mortgage fraud, mortgage frog, morgi—eugh. I can’t say it more than once. But you suckers got morgatage—mortgage fraud and I got friggin’ diamonds!”
“None of us can,” Tim shrugged. “Pretty sure we’ve all tried it.”
“Fuck you, I can,” Jason said.
“Prove it!” Steph hopped to her feet.
“Mortgage fraud, mortgage fraud, mortgage fraud,” Jason deadpanned.
“We’re gonna end up summoning the ghost of mortgages past if we keep this up,” Dick said.
“Holy shit. I don’t believe it,” Steph muttered.
“Believe it, Stuffy.” Jason flipped her off.
“The holiest of shits,” Steph muttered.
“I’m out of the Neal draw for tomorrow, by the way,” Jason turned to Dick. “Lian’s birthday n’ all. I’m not going to go work for the FBI when I could be making her a cake. Obviously.”
Dick smooshed his own cheeks and cooed at Jason.
“Aren’t you giving her adoption papers or something?” Tim’s nose was in his tablet, but – honestly – he still managed to be the biggest pain in the ass, for Jason, sometimes.
“What?!” Dick hopped up. “Oh my god! Little Wing!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Jason whacked at Dick as Dick attempted to encase him in the Brotherly Hug of Doom. “Get away from me, you freak!”
“I need to check something in the FBI’s computer system,” Tim piped up. “I’ll pass on the next draw if you all let me take tomorrow. Sooner we make sure the systems there aren’t compromised, the better,” he glanced up from the tablet. “I mean, obviously someone else could probably do it, but this one’s a DL kind of computer task...”
“Timmy’s got Neal, tomorrow, then,” Dick said.
--
Neal had four coffee cups next to him on the front step when Peter drove up. One was tipped over and clearly empty, one was in his hand and almost empty, and two were full. Neal laid eyes on Peter’s car, knocked back the rest of the coffee in his hand, then made his way to the car – though he took the time to toss the empty coffee cups in a trash receptacle as he passed it.
“Peter,” Neal greeted. He closed the passenger door behind him.
“You’re short, today,” Peter said.
Neal’s smile froze a little, clearly annoyed. Short Neal hated the short jokes, the comparisons to the other Neals. All of it. Peter, of course, knew this. Short Neal and Neal Prime were the most frequent Neals he had to deal with. Or had been when this entire mess started.
“Yeah, no cab fare,” Neal joked.
Peter knew better than to assume that one of this Neal’s coffees were for him. The rest of his Neal habits were perfect to a fault, modeled directly after whatever Neal program they had, but this Neal was extremely territorial about his coffee. No, both of those coffees were Neal’s.
--
All of the Batkids looked at the results of their draw.
“But—” Duke motioned around himself, at the rest of them. “Guys. C’mon.”
“Duke’s Neal, tomorrow!” Dick announced.
“Wait, no—”
“Good luck, Duke! Don’t worry, Peter doesn’t bite. And if there"s any trouble, Oracle and Clark are both just a quick message and (or) shout away,” Dick said.
“Guys, I’m black,” Duke tried.
“I’m Korean,” Tim shot back.
“I’ve got boobs, Duke,” Steph added. “Boobs!” She grabbed her own boobs for emphasis. “Neal had boobs, like, two days ago!”
“Stop grabbing your chest like that, please,” Tim eyed her with a small measure of... not quite disgust. Judgment? Maybe disappointment.
Steph rolled her eyes, but obliged him.
--
Peter checked his watch, not for the first time. Neal was late. Ten minutes late.
He sighed and got out of the car, went up to the front door, and rang the bell. The maid, now used to the presence of both the conman (conmen?) and FBI agent, immediately let Peter in to fetch Neal. And Peter didn’t quite hold his breath, but he did wonder which Neal it would be, today.
Peter took a deep breath and knocked on Neal’s door.
No answer.
Peter knocked a bit louder. “Neal?” he called.
There was a loud thunk on the other side, which was vaguely concerning. Peter frowned and glanced up and down the hall, then over at the stairs.
“Neal?” he called again.
“Y-yeah! Hang on, Peter! Sorry!” Neal called back. Or. Peter assumed it was Neal. Somehow, however, it sounded completely unlike any of the other Neals. Another new one, then.
Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Neal shuffled around on the other side of the door. At one point, it sounded a little like he’d knocked something over and. Well. Peter checked his watch. Yeah, he supposed he could tolerate a little more of this before getting annoyed. He was already apprehensive, anyway.
“Sorry again, Peter! I don’t know what could have happened!” Neal opened the door and flashed him a smile.
Peter felt his eyes slowly raise to the ceiling, seeking a higher power to beg for patience. For understanding. For anything. He dropped his eyes back to Neal. Neal didn’t change, though. It was the right smile, the right body language. Hell, it was even the right pattern of speech, as far as Peter could tell from the small sample he’d heard, so far. But.
Well.
“Alarm not go off?” Peter deadpanned.
Neal laughed, “Looks that way.” He offered a solid Neal Caffrey smile. Seven out of ten. This Neal was good, and he’d probably only get better as he settled into the role. I mean, he had thick curls and dark skin, but he wore the Neal Caffrey persona as well as the rest of them did, physical differences aside. “We should head out, right? Oh, do we have time to stop for coffee? Slept in, you know.” He gave a self-deprecating (but still incredibly self-confident) shrug.
“The office has coffee,” Peter deadpanned. He turned to head back down the stairs.
“I disagree,” Neal said. “The office has a hot liquid that they call coffee. I think we all know that it’s not really coffee. It’s awful, Peter!”
“Well, if you’d been down on time, maybe we would have had time for a coffee run,” Peter said.
--
“Please don’t make me be Neal again,” Duke scrubbed his hands over his face. “The hats are fine. But just. No. I don’t... no.”
“Not a fan of the suits?” Tim asked.
“Just wear a turtleneck and slacks. The Steve Jobs look is totally in,” Steph said, “and it’s totally comfy! Added benefit of still being within the parameters of Neal Caffrey dress code, too, eh?”
“I don’t wanna be Neal again,” Duke insisted.
--
This time, Neal was standing on the sidewalk with a drink carrier in hand, ready to go as soon as Peter drove up. It was the same Neal as the previous day, albeit in different clothing.
Peter didn’t know if he would have preferred it go back to Neal Prime (his regular “Neal”) or if he liked the change of actually having the same person two days in a row. He decided to average it out and go with ‘I don’t really care, one way or the other, when it comes to Neal Caffrey.’
“Is one of those for me?” Peter asked.
“And one for Diana and one for Jones,” Neal smiled his most charming smile.
“Trying to win them over?” Peter raised an eyebrow.
“You wound me! Aren’t we already friends? After everything?” Neal balanced the drink carrier in one hand and lay his other hand over his heart melodramatically. “Maybe I just want to do something nice for my friend!”
“So, one of those is for me,” Peter surmised.
“Of course, Peter,” Neal picked out one of the cups and offered it to him.
“And you have to realize that this isn’t convincing, right?” Peter accepted the cup and motioned to Neal with his free hand. ”We know we only met you yesterday, Neal. I mean. You-Neal.”
“Me Neal?” Neal gave him a bemused smile.
Peter could already feel a headache coming on. “We haven’t been through anything besides a few complex cases of mortgage and insurance fraud,” he deadpanned. I don’t care if you all debrief, wherever it is you Neal Caffreys hole up when you’re not being a pain in my—”
“Oh, Peter. There’s only one Neal Caffrey,” Neal gave him a slightly pitying look. “Obviously. And I’m right here. Like I am every day.”
“Unless you’re implying you’re a shapeshifter—”
Neal barked out a brief, incredulous laugh. “Oh please! I’m not a meta!”
“No, of course not,” Peter deadpanned. “You just mean this whole game we’ve been playing.”
--
“I can’t believe you told him you weren’t a meta while keeping a straight face,” Steph high-fived Duke.
“Wait, is Damian allowed to even enter the draw?” Tim asked.
Dick compared Damian’s draw to everyone else’s, for probably the third time. “Hey, even Alfred has a draw. He just chooses not to take it, usually,” he said. Then he sighed. “Okay, Dames, looks like you’re up next as Neal.”
“I will be the superior Caffrey, of course,” Damian straightened.
Steph snorted.
--
“No,” Peter shook his head.
The child version of Neal raised an eyebrow.
“No,” Peter repeated. “This is too far. You’re way too young. No one in their right mind is going to believe that you’re Neal Caffrey, thirty-three-year-old conman and forger. No one’s going to believe you’re anything but a minor.”
The child rolled his eyes, then somehow transformed before Peter.
No, not literally. Neal was still Child Neal. But he suddenly looked fond and amused.
He had the Neal smile and the Neal posture and, good lord, even the way he had his hands in his pockets screamed “Neal” in a way Peter couldn’t quite quantify. “A minor?” Neal said. ”Should I be offended, Peter?”
Peter ran a hand down his face, then got back in the car and slammed the door.
Neal waited a long moment, still looking bemused, then walked around to the passenger side door. “I half expected you to drive off without me,” Neal joked. And how that intense child had managed to square all his intensity away and put forward Neal Caffrey’s good-natured tone and jokes was absolutely and utterly beyond Peter.
Peter—he. He’d seen the flint in his eyes, the fight in his shoulders. He’d seen the disgusted curl of his lip and the childlike petulance. He’d seen arrogance and anger. The child that he’d seen, for a few mere moments before Neal had put his “Neal” face on, had been a child that looked like he had had murder in his eyes. A child that would sooner be at your throat than bandying jokes.
“So, what do we have today?” Neal asked.
Peter just grunted.
Whatever he’d planned, obviously he couldn’t let a minor do any of it. That couldn’t be legal.
Yes, he knew if he checked the Child Neal’s fingerprints, Neal Caffrey would come up in the system. Everything would confirm that this child, this ridiculous child parading around as Neal, was in fact Neal Caffrey. Was, somehow, thirty-three. Had, some way, been in jail for four years. He knew it!
Back when these Neal shenanigans had started, Peter had tried to do that. To get a positive ID on Neal using the fingerprints that he would have had to give when he entered the prison system. But, without fail, every set of fingerprints Peter took from a Neal would lead right back to Neal.
Legally, they were Neal.
Hell, even their DNA came up as Neal Caffrey’s, the few times Peter had gone to the trouble of getting DNA processed to try and prove that whoever was with him, on that day, hadn’t been Neal.
Peter didn’t know what the hell was up with their system, but everything always seemed to be in order.
It was ridiculous.
But, anyway. Child Neal was, of course, a child. Children weren’t federal agents. Children weren’t supposed to—look, it didn’t matter if “legally” (or whatever), this Neal would come up as thirty-three years old. Peter didn’t care. This was a child and labour laws knew what they were doing, for the most part. Kids didn’t work. Not like that.
So. Whatever Peter had had planned for the day, in terms of working with Caffrey, would need to be changed to suit the latest development.
Peter wondered if he could just playact that it was a “take your kid to work” situation, because Peter still had work to get done, regardless of whether or not Neal was able to work (which he wasn’t, being that he was, again, a child).
“You look troubled, there, Peter,” Neal said. “You know, I know a great masseuse, in my radius. Maybe what you need is a good, long shiatsu massage. Huh? What do you think, Peter?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks,” Peter grit out.
Neal chuckled. “Suit yourself. It’s an open offer, though.”
--
“The Damian thing definitely broke him a little,” Dick worried his lip between his teeth.
“He adapted admirably for someone so entrenched in the particulars of this situation,” Damian said. And it was... Dick was pretty sure it was an actual compliment, actually. Wow.
“All right, folks. Everyone who’s drawing to be Caffrey tomorrow, gather ’round,” Dick said.
Steph bounded over excitedly. “I hope it’s me!” she said.
“I’m sure Peter is hoping for the exact opposite,” Dick snorted. “He’s probably hoping for one of the Usuals. You know. Me, Jay, or Tim.”
“Tim doesn’t share his coffee. I bet he’s not hoping for Tim,” Steph countered.
“Just draw, Steph.”
A few minutes later, Dick had the results. “It’s...” he paused for dramatic effect. “Cass!” He turned to his sister, arms thrown in the air to celebrate either with or for her. “That is, if you want to. No pressure.”
“Okay, wait,” Duke cut in. "How come it’s ‘no pressure’ for Cass, but you made me go two days in a row?!”
“Duke, that was basically homework. Obviously,” Dick said.
Everyone could tell that that was bullshit. Dick was just an overgrown gremlin who liked to make life difficult for his siblings. Duke was just the latest in a long list of sibling casualties. It had to happen sometime, you know? Making life hard for younger siblings was an older sibling prerogative.
“Will go,” Cass offered.
Dick turned back to her, beaming. “You’ll be a great Neal,” he said.
Cass nodded solemnly.
--
For a second, Peter thought it was Short Neal waiting for him the next day. He’d just about let himself feel relieved when he noticed that there was something just the slightest bit different about Neal, though. Something that made this... not Short Neal.
Peter parked and, by then, figured it out. It wasn’t Short Neal at all. It was another new Neal.
No. Not new.
Peter had met this Neal once. Quiet Neal.
The smile and body language were still right, but this Neal didn’t speak as much. She signed. Her signs had the right energy for Neal, but – obviously – the other Neals didn’t communicate quite so much in sign.
“Neal,” Peter greeted.
“Peter,” Neal said carefully. “Good morning.” She signed her greeting as well. Are you ready to fight the forces of evil and mortgage fraud?
Peter hadn’t been the best at ASL, the first time he’d met Quiet Neal, but he’d since taken a few refresher courses. “Evil and mortgage fraud,” Peter echoed. “Sure, Neal. Though I did have a great case of bond forgery I thought you might be interested in.”
Neal laughed. That sounds more interesting. Forget the evil and mortgage fraud. I’d rather investigate the bond forgery.
Peter nodded. “Of course.”
--
“Why is Cass just. Amazing?” Steph asked.
“Eww, you’ll get your lesbian cooties on me,” Tim said.
“I’m bi, you dick!” Steph whacked him.
“He’s not Dick, I’m Dick,” Dick piped up.
Steph groaned. “I hate it here.”
“Can we just get the draw over with, already?” Jason snapped.
There was some grumbling. Some shuffling. Then everyone drew their sticks. Jason groaned once he realized that he’d drawn the “winning" lot. “I have Lian tomorrow,” Jason said. “Can someone else do it? Operating under the Caffrey alias isn’t exactly a conducive environment for childcare.”
“No, no,” Dick shook his head. “You drew. You’re supposed to pass before drawing, Jay.”
Jason flicked his tiny stub of a stick at him.
--
Peter had barely put the car in part when a small child came bounding up to the car.
Peter raised his eyebrows and glanced around for a caretaker. All he saw was Neal, sitting on the steps of June’s place. That wasn’t comforting. He sighed and opened his door, slowly so that he wouldn’t accidentally hit the child.
“Hi, hi, hi!” the little girl said.
She was small, maybe five years old, or so. She had dark red hair up in two little buns (reminiscent of the Star Wars thing) and a warm complexion that Peter had initially taken for Caucasian, but wasn’t. Her eyes were big, dark, and gently slanted with some kind of Asian heritage that Peter couldn’t quite place off the top of his head.
She wore a little tailored vest over a button-up with sleeves rolled to her elbows. And little pressed slacks. There was even a hat – trilby, not fedora – on her little-kid head. It was very... Caffrey.
“Uh, hello,” Peter said. A sense of dread started to build in him, starting first as an inkling, then climbing into something a bit more urgent.
She squealed and turned, careening toward the stoop and Neal.
This one looked like it might be Angry Neal, the tallest and broadest-shouldered of the Neals. And the most intense, though he was pretty good at smoothing it over with the “Neal” persona.
Peter watched, almost detachedly, as the little girl cannonballed head-first into Neal’s chest.
Neal picked her up under the armpits and raised her up, ”You got me, kid!” he grinned up at her.
“Papa,” she giggled.
The singular word was like a bucket of ice-water down Peter’s back. Somehow, even though Peter’s brain seemed to have switched itself into the off position, Peter managed to walk over to the stoop, Neal, and the mini-Caffrey with the red hair.
“Neal,” Peter greeted. His teeth felt numb. Was that a normal reaction? Was that how anxiety presented itself? It was weird.
“Peter,” Neal grinned at him and stood. As he stood, he placed the little girl on his shoulder, where she kicked tiny versions of Neal’s own Louis Vuitton wing-tips into the air.
“Who is this?” Peter asked. And, now that he looked at Neal, he could see that the little girl and Neal were actually wearing matching outfits, down to the shoes and hats.
“I’m Neal Caffrey,” the little girl said.
“I dunno, sport,” Peter couldn’t help but smile at the way the name rolled off the kid’s tongue, with the little-kid inflections and the drawn-out final syllable. “I’m pretty sure this is Neal Caffrey.” He motioned to Neal. Angry Neal.
The little girl gasped. “Papa, are you Neal Caffrey?” she asked.
“I dunno, Neal, am I?” Neal grinned up at her.
“O. M. G.” The... the Baby Neal clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Papa! You’re Neal Caffrey.”
“But if I’m Neal, and you’re Neal, who’s flying the plane, Baby?” Neal asked. Angry Neal, that is.
God, Peter wasn’t paid enough to deal with stuff like this. “Uh, Neal,” Peter cleared his throat, and narrowly avoided startling when both the little girl and his CI turned to him in response to the name. “I, uh, don’t have a booster for her.”
“Aw, that’s all right, Peter, you couldn’t have known,” Neal gave Peter a winning smile. “Don’t worry about it. Neal has her booster just inside.” He picked her back up off his shoulder and set her down gently. “Why don’t you go grab your booster, Neal?”
“Okie-dokie, Neal,” Baby Neal saluted him.
Peter kind of wanted to cry, but three minutes and one anchored toddler booster seat later, they were on their way. Peter with a headache and two Neals in tow. Sometimes he really hated Neal. Neals. But not the Baby Neal. That one he couldn’t bring himself to have even the slightest grudge against.
--
“Did you have fun, Sweetheart?” Roy swung Lian around once, then hugged her close.
“I got tuh be Neal!” Lian squealed.
“I don’t think there’s ever been a more professional five-year-old in the history of five-year-olds,” Jason said. He absently accepted a greeting kiss from Roy, then placed a kiss on Lian’s head. And then pretended he couldn’t hear Dick’s ridiculous cooing. God, he hated his siblings sometimes.
“Papa was Neal, too!” Lian said.
“I was,” Jason agreed.
“Daddy! Daddy! You should be Neal next!”
Roy laughed. “I dunno, Pumpkin, sounds like a whole lot of work. And sleeves. You know how much I hate sleeves.”
“Oh,” Lian took a moment to think about that, then nodded, “Okay. You don’t have to be Neal.”
“Thanks, Pumpkin,” Roy kissed her nose.
“Are we drawing or what?” Steph asked. “You two are being all gushy—”
“Hey!” Lian scowled over at Steph.
“Sorry, sorry. You three are being all gushy over there and I just want to find out who’s messing with Peter next,” Steph said.
--
Peter breathed a sigh of relief when Neal Prime greeted him, the next day. Neal ambled his way around the car and got in on the passenger side.
“There was a five-year-old in my car yesterday,” Peter said accusingly. He barely waited for Neal to close his door and buckle.
Neal raised his eyebrow. “Congratulations. Did you and El adopt?”
Peter scoffed and merged with traffic.
“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Caffrey. She called herself Neal, just like the rest of you, and the big, angry Neal was with her—”
“Was Neal bad?”
“Which one?!” Peter asked, exasperated.
“The Baby, of course,” Neal said.
“No, the kid was a peach,” Peter threw up his hand and shook his hand. “She was great. All the agents loved her. Jones showed her how to juggle. Diana crab-walked from one side of the bullpen to the other with her.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “And, the whole time, she only answered to ‘Neal,’ unless the other Neal was calling her, then she’d answer to whatever cutesy nickname he gave her.”
“I’m glad she enjoyed herself,” Neal smiled.
“I hate you,” Peter said, without heat.
Neal laughed.
“No, I do!” Peter insisted. “First the twelve-year-old—”
“Neal Caffrey is thirty-three, Peter.”
“First the twelve-year-old, then this baby! Toddler. Whatever. And the woman in the wheelchair, before that, besides. And the black kid. And the girls. Surely you don’t actually think this act is convincing anyone. Do you?” Peter glanced at Neal, then back at the road.
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, Peter.”
“Of course you don’t. Neal.”
--
“Alfred’s it! Alfred’s it!” Dick crowed.
Alfred, unflappable as he was, allowed the celebrating to happen around him, though he was thoroughly unimpressed the entire time.
--
Peter was thoroughly uncomfortable from the moment the elderly gentleman introduced himself (as Neal Caffrey, of course) until the moment Peter was able to drop him off back at June’s place. The acting was still impeccable, it was just jarring to see the Neal Caffrey act put on by... by a man who could obviously be the actual Neal Caffrey’s grandfather!
Well.
He could have probably been the grandfather of any of the Neals. All of them. Except maybe the Baby and Child Neals, to whom the elderly gentleman could have passed for a great-grandfather, even.
And Peter couldn’t exactly put his finger on a “real” Neal, either. He had his First Neal, Neal Prime, but the only reason Peter thought of him as the “real” or “actual” Neal was because he’d been the first Neal Peter had had experience with.
Anyway.
Peter was uncomfortable.
More so than when the Child Neal was suddenly in his care.
All the same, this Neal did impeccable work. The amount of paperwork this Neal managed to fill out and file was impressive, to say the least, and – in spite of his discomfort – Peter almost wished to have the elderly gentleman around the office longer.
And then the Elderly Caffrey bid Peter goodby in an English accent that felt a lot more natural for him, which just sent Peter into a new wave of disorientation.
“It has been a pleasure, Agent Burke,” Elderly Neal said. His accent was crisp and clear and the man stood with purpose and elegance, even beyond what Neal Caffrey usually put forth. “Rest assured that we shall not have a repeat of this ridiculous farce, however. Neal Caffrey is a young man’s game.”
“Ah. Yeah. Of course,” Peter said.
He drove away feeling like he was the main character in The Truman Show. Or else the victim in one of those practical joke shows.
--
“You know, it might be fun to play a ‘reformed’ thief,” Selina said.
Dick traded looks with his siblings. They all came to an agreement, which was a bit unusual for them. “Well, O can get you set up with the anklet,” Dick said. He rattled off the usual ‘first time Neal’ instructions, his smile growing all the while.
--
Peter was pretty sure her face was on an FBI Most Wanted poster, somewhere.
“Neal, I presume?” he sighed.
“Oh, Peter,” Neal’s smile was a lot sharper than usual. More feline. “It’s like we don’t even work together when you greet me like that.”
“Wonderful,” Peter said. ”Yeah. Uh. Sure, why not?”
--
“That was fun!” Selina stretched languidly as she walked through the Cave, content and at home even though no one really knew how she always had the access codes, honestly. It was like their security was nothing to her.
Or like Bruce had accepted her as family, status as one of his exes notwithstanding, and had left her biometrics in the system so that she could have access whenever she needed, wanted, or felt like it. Given Bruce’s penchant for expanding the Family Tree in... slightly unorthodox ways, that actually would have made a lot of sense.
Dick stepped in Selina’s way, smiling. ”I’m glad you had fun, but...” he put a hand out. “I think I know you well enough, by now.”
“You wound me, kiddo.” Selina set Peter’s watch and wallet in Dick’s hand.
“Come on, Selina,” Dick offered his other hand. “Don’t be like that.”
Selina rolled her eyes fondly, then placed a Diana’s necklace in Dick’s hand, followed by Jones’s wallet, then Hughes’s wedding ring. Dick wasn’t sure how he was going to explain that last one when he gave it back.
“Is that everything?” Dick asked.
Selina pinched his cheek. “Everything but the cash in the wallets,” she purred.
“Well,” Dick tilted his head one way, then the other. “Okay, I’ll let that pass.” It was, quite honestly, better than he was expecting of Selina. But it was just a game for her. Just trinkets.
Selina laughed again. “Oh, don’t worry so much, kiddo,” she said. “Just bits and bobs. A little cash. Maybe something out of your desk. Nothing too worrisome, I promise.”
Dick sighed. That was slightly less comforting.
--
“Oh, thank god,” Peter greeted.
Peter’s First Neal was back.
“It’s barely been twenty-four hours, Peter,” Neal chuckled.
“No, it’s been a week,” Peter scowled at him. “A week with your weird clones. The one yesterday stole my watch. And she wouldn’t button up her blouse. Do you know how distracting that can be?”
“Ooh, yeah. Sorry. That’s probably my fault, actually,” Neal slipped out of his “Neal” persona a little to wince. “Yesterday was a little spur of the moment. She was wearing one of my shirts and. Well.” Neal rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s very comfortable with herself, you know?”
“Jones walked into two walls, three desks, a door, and at least two other agents,” Peter deadpanned.
Neal shrugged. “What can ya do?”
“Buttons!” Peter said. “You can do up your buttons!”
Neal laughed. “Oh, before I forget,” he offered a small box to Peter, Peter’s name written in neat cursive on the lid. “Your watch and wallet.”
“Wallet,” Peter deadpanned. “And here I thought I’d just left it at the office.”
Neal settled back into his seat once Peter had the box in hand. “Sometimes, you just feel like testing your skills,” Neal said.
“You mean yesterday’s Neal?”
Neal, mask perfectly in place, turned to give him a quizzical look. “Peter, there’s only one of me. I know it wasn’t very nice of me to go around nicking people’s things, but I included reimbursement for any hassle I may have caused—”
Peter groaned, realizing the moment was over and Neal was back in “Neal Mode.”
--
“The need for this assignment has come to an end,” Bruce said.
Dick looked at him, surprised, then deflated a little. “Are we just disappearing or...?”
“I was thinking of a send-off, of sorts,” Bruce said. His tone was dry, but his eyes had a spark of amusement and thoughtfulness in them. “We have certainly done a number on the patience, and perhaps sanity, of the New York FBI’s White Collar Crim Division, after all. It’s only fair.”
Dick lit up. “Once more into the breach?” he asked.
“Of a sort,” Bruce nodded.
--
The party was for Peter’s team, exclusively. That is, the people most used to Neal (the Neals, rather). It was to be held on the rooftop balcony at June’s and had come with some very fancy invitations, hand-delivered by another new Neal.
That Neal, though, looked a lot like all the others. I mean, of course they did, they were all “Neal.” But it was more than that.
This new Neal was a bit older than the usual Neals, taller than all but the Angry Neal, and looked vaguely familiar.
(Jones later claimed that he’d known it was Bruce Wayne, from the tabloids, but he hadn’t – none of them had.)
Peter and El arrived at the party with low expectations. Well. Confused expectations, more like.
El was excited. “Neal doesn’t usually do parties,” she said.
Peter was less enthused. “There’s more Neals than there are days of the week, El. One of them might be a party-animal and we’d never know.”
El laughed, her excitement not flagging in the least. That settled and balanced Peter a bit, actually. El’s happiness often did that for him. And, besides, El had good instincts. If El didn’t think ill of the Neals – and of the Neals she’d met over the time Neal had been working with the FBI – then Peter felt that he could trust her gut. If not his own.
Arriving on the roof was like arriving to a world that actually made sense.
Instead of a different Neal almost every day, all of them claiming there was only one Neal, all the Neals were there. Clearly individuals. Clearly distinct from one another. And absolutely none of them done up to be “Neal,” at all.
“I don’t suppose this means we’ll ever get an answer of who the real Neal Caffrey is?” Peter asked.
Angry Neal -- he had a nametag that read “Jason” stuck to his leather jacket – stood up. “I’m Spartacus,” he said, completely straight-faced.
Baby Neal jumped up with him (her nametag said “Lian”). “I’m Sparpacus!” she said.
The redhead that sat on Jason’s other side (“Roy” his nametag informed Peter, and “Jason’s husband” under that) laughed at the two of them, but seemed to be recording on his phone, already, like he’d expected that to happen.
“I’m Radio Rebel!” Short Neal (“Tim”) hopped up onto his chair.
The boy next to him, whose nametag read both “Tim’s +1” and “Kon,” tried to pull Tim down off his seat. It looked like he could, if he really tried, but he mostly laughed and tugged on the edge of Tim’s sweater. “Babe, come on, that’s embarrassing,” he was trying to say.
Of course, that wasn’t where the mess ended, though.
“No, I’m Radio Rebel!” Blond Neal jumped to her feet, her chair clattering behind her. (Her nametag said “Waffle Queen,” crossed out, and then “Stephanie.”) There was no Kon to try and hold her back, but the dark-haired girl (Quiet Neal, though Peter couldn’t make out her nametag from where he stoof) smiled over at the blond in clear amusement, and the blond returned her grin toothily.
In the midst of the Radio Rebel development, Jason and Lian glanced at each other.
“You wanna be Spartacus or Radio Rebel?” Jason asked.
“Radio Rebel!” Lian crowed. “I’m Radio Rebel! I’m Radio Rebel!”
Peter didn’t understand the reference at all. (Poor Peter and his lack of weird, live-action Disney channel movies, right?)
“I’m Radio Rebel!” Jason agreed.
“Who is Radio Rebel?” Child Neal (“Demon” crossed out, and then “Damian”) asked.
Black Neal (“Duke”) leaned over to explain it to him. On Damian’s other side, however, a kid leaned into him, “We can watch it later,” he said. (His nametag said “Damian’s +1” and “Jonathan,” but with everything after “Jon” crossed out. There was a lot of crossing-out going on with those nametags, honestly.)
“Uh, I’m not sure Radio Rebel is, like, the most valuable way you could be spending your time,” Duke said, a little perturbed.
Steph gasped loudly. “Duke, you take that back!”
First Neal, or Neal Prime (his nametag literally, actually said “Dick”), stood up and put his hands out like he was Chris Pratt training raptors. “Guys! Remember! We had a deal. Settle it like men or drop it.”
Steph glared at Dick.
Duke, though, looked relieved.
“Fine!” Steph brought her fist out and slapped it against her open palm. “Two out of three?”
Duke nodded.
Dick sighed and threw himself back into his seat, clearly satisfied with the turnout. The two of them, Steph and Duke, then engaged in an eight-round Rock-Paper-Scissors match (so many ties, man) that Duke ultimately lost. Steph threw her hands in the air. “Bow before your queen!” she demanded.
“How about I just formally withdraw the sleight against Radio Rebel,” Duke deadpanned.
“I’ll take it,” Steph nodded.
Dick gave both Steph and Duke a thumbs-up, then leaned his head against the shoulder of his own plus-one, a freckled redhead with bright green eyes and a nametag that read “Definitely Not the Flash” instead of an actual name.
The redhead laughed and kissed the top of Dick’s head.
The Spartacus and Radio Rebel shenanigans devolved from there, until everyone was back to their own things.
Yeah. Just, all the Neals. All in one place. And then some!
There were others there, as well. An Alfred (who was apparently their butler – but “grandpa” had been added to his nametag in another colour, so Peter wasn’t sure, there), a Selina (who had a bunch of cat doodles surrounded her name on her nametag), a Cassandra (who was quietly listening to music off to one side, for the moment), and their host – the latest Caffrey – Bruce Wayne, himself. It was, almost, like some kind of cosmic joke. But, also, it at least made sense: Neal Caffrey wasn’t necessarily a person. Apparently, Neal Caffrey was, firstly, a group effort, and secondly, a family.
Bruce’s nametag actually read “Dad,” but out of the Neal Caffrey costume and act, it was pretty obvious who he was, and Peter was surprised he hadn’t seen it sooner. How did he miss that? A billionaire – a billionaire’s whole family – had been in and out of his workplace. For ages. Jeez.
Bruce shook Peter’s hand, then El’s. “Thank you for coming. We thought we should give ‘Neal Caffrey’ a proper send-off before retiring him,” he said.
“Send-off?" Peter blinked.
“Mm. He’s done his job. There’s no reason to keep that particular alias active longer than necessary. There will be a League-approved dossier in the morning, I’m sure, but tonight is for celebrating the absolute mess that my children made of this assignment, almost from the get-go. You are a remarkably patient man to have put up with so much.”
“Remarkably patient,” El snorted. She looked up at Peter fondly.
“I, uh, thank you. Sir,” Peter blinked a few times.
“Come,” Bruce said, “Allow me to make a few introductions. Proper introductions.”