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“If this is the way Queen Victoria treats her prisoners, she doesn’t deserve to have any.”
~ Oscar Wilde
Jason let the knocker fall twice on the big black door into June’s house, and waited for an answer. June had staff on hand, not as efficient as Alfred, of course, but Alfred is rather special.
Jason wasn’t specifically keeping an eye on Dick. He’s a big boy. Well, Jason had seen him in the showers, and he’s an average boy, but Dick liked pretending to be a grown up vigilante who doesn’t need backup and siblings looking out for him, or even regular communication while undercover.
Which was fine, because as mentioned previously, Dick’s a big boy in the metaphorical sense, if not the pants or height sense.
But the Red Hood had business in DUMBO, and June’s an excellent hostess, and Alfred gave Jason a letter to pass on to June that’s been burning through his pocket with curiosity. (He wouldn’t break Alfred’s trust; Jason might be a recovering mass murderer, but he doesn’t read the mail of anyone not currently expected of a crime. He respects boundaries.)
Maybe that’s the problem with Dick. Jason’s need for boundaries rarely matched up well with Dick’s need to run right over them. They haven’t since Jason was first plucked from the street by chance and given a stolen name to go with the scaly pants.
Huh. Jason wouldn’t have forgiven that for a lot longer than it took Dick. Well, he didn’t, when it came to Timbo, and he got a bit murdery over the whole thing. It must suck to be as forgiving as Dick.
“Hola,” Jason said to Marisol, the maid who opens the door. “Is June in? Or Neal? I came to town by surprise.”
“Hola, Jason. La señora June volverá en una hora. Neal está arriba.”
“I’ll head up to Neal. Gracias, Marisol.”
DC + WC + DC
“Heeeellllo, Dickhead!” Jason called, barging straight in like siblings should.
Though, does Dick even have a lock on this door? Sure, it’s inside June’s house, but it’s still pretty weird that he doesn’t have a lock on it. No wonder he can’t keep any vigilante-reveal-worthy tech on hand.
Dick was lying on the wooden floor, like he did sometimes, because he’s a bendy motherfucker who thought anything less extreme than dislocated limbs was comfortable.
”Hi, Jay,” Dick said, blinking up at Jason.
“You look like shit,” Jason said, wandered over to stand over Dick, planting a foot on either side of his ribcage, because he’s not above being a petty asshole and looming over his siblings.
“Just tired.”
“Yeah right, like I’m gonna believe that. Fuck off. Where’s the bleeding?”
Dick flipped him the bird.
Jason raised an eyebrow, then followed it up with some pretty graphic intentions in ASL about Dick. (Cass really was Jason’s favourite sibling; sometimes silent swearing was needed when you were on comms.)
“Nah, Jaybird, I’m fine.”
“All you bats are shit at injury management.”
“Hypocrite.”
“Fine, sure, which means I know when I’m being played. What’s hurting?”
“Nothing, little wing. I haven’t even trained in a week, let alone caught any hits.”
“Neglecting your training? Tut tut. What would the Demon Baby say about you slacking just because you’re playing white collar criminal?”
“Probably that he’ll stand over me with a katana and take out my enemies for me?“
Jason laughed. “Yeah, okay, he would.“
“I’m just exhausted, that’s all. Promise.”
Dick just looked up at Jason.
Dick didn’t make any move to throw him off, or get up, or even wrap his hand around Jason’s ankle. He wasn’t doing any of his weird flexy comfort things, either. Just lying there like a perfectly ordinary, perfectly exhausted, normally-flexible human.
On the floor.
Like a depressed person who can’t be bothered to get up.
“You’re getting old,” Jason said. “17 years of capes, scaly pants, and spandex, and it’s a nine to five that takes you out?”
“It’s not the job, it’s the—”
Dick closed his eyes, tipping his head back just a little, exposing his neck. He looked horrifically vulnerable like that. What kind of vigilante exposed their neck like that?
“Use your words, Dickiebird. Tweet tweet.”
“It’s Peter—he doesn’t trust me. It’s kind of exhausting.”
“Of course Burke doesn’t trust you. Your cover is being a conman.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dick said, dropping his head back on the floor. He was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes weren’t even drifting towards the frankly impressive skylights which Jason would have thought would be like flying to Dickiebird.
Who the fuck broke Big Bird?
“So, he doesn’t trust you.” Jason shrugged. “We work with lots of folks who don’t trust us. I mean, gods, B’s got such a stick up his arse he probably has a clone of himself as a contingency plan to take us all out.”
“B trusts—” Dick opened his eyes, “Well, he mostly trusts me, anyway.”
“You’re the contingency plan, then?” Dick didn’t respond. Jason huffed, “Yeah, I’m not surprised, but you can do better than be B’s clone.”
“B’s fine. He doesn’t matter right now. I haven’t talked to him in at least a month. But even when B’s being a bastard—he trusts me at his back, yeah? And Dami trust me. And I’ve got the rest of them, and the Titans, and I’ve worked with most everyone, and if shit goes down, they know I’ll be on their side.”
“Boo hoo, big bro, everyone trusts Nightwing.”
Dick’s eyes closed.
“I didn’t mean it like that, little wing.”
Dick’s phone started ringing, and he sunk a little deeper. Closed his eyes in something longer than a blink, but not long enough to actually rest.
“I’ve got to get that,” Dick said, obviously angling for Jason to fetch it for him.
Jason raised an eyebrow at Dick.
“It’s Peter. I’ve got to get it.”
The damn self-sacrificing bastard. Why wouldn’t he just shut the damn phone off?
“He likes to check on me.”
Then Dick held up his hand, so Jason would pull him up.
Damn.
No flippy nonsense to get up off the floor?
No jokes? No puns about needing a hand?
Fuck.
Jason pulled Dick up.
Dick rolled his shoulders, and put on that damn Caffrey mask as he answered the phone.
“Hi Peter,” he said, cheeky grin in his voice.
“Uh huh, of course.”
“Nope. Mozzie’s not here.”
“My anklet wasn’t moving because I wasn’t moving. Because I was sitting down.”
“No, I’m not alone.”
“—Just another associate of mine. Runs in very different circles to Mozzie.”
“It’s not Alex. Or any other lady of—“
“Not my—” Peter interrupted with something else. “Well, yes, if you sent me back to prison I wouldn’t get conjugal visits.”
“Yes, I’ll have it done. One cooked painting, and a plan to—”
“No, I don’t need to reschedule sex, because I’m not having any.“
“No, there’s no need to come round, Peter. I’ll be busy all night with this.”
“Give my love to El.”
Dick hung up the phone, then meandered over to the easel set up near the window. The painting on it was obnoxiously modernist, and not to Jason’s tastes at all. If you’re going to make art, it better be worth looking at. None of that pure colour and form nonsense.
“So it’s not really a nine to five?” Jason asked, as Dick settled back in front of the painting, a reference of the original pulled up on a tablet beside him.
“Not so much. But all UC jobs are 24/7.”
“He knows that most folks can’t forge a painting in a single damn night, right?”
Dick laughed. “Does it matter? I can.“
“Overachieving fucking bastard,” Jason said, ruffling Dick’s hair so the man looked up to scowl at him.
“It’s only acrylics,” Dick said, like that made it better.
Dick squeezed some more aquamarine blue onto a palette, blinking a few times as he focused in on the painting.
Jason watched. The man was steady, competent, all bundled up and precisely economical in his movements, in a way that Dick so rarely was.
Dick was the type of person to do backflips as locomotion. Being economical was a damn warning sign, to Jason’s mind.
“What kind of guarantees do you have in place with him?”
“Guarantees?”
“You know, when he’s asking you to do dodgy shit when your cover is that you’re on prison release. Does he write that shit down and give you a paper trail of permission when he asks you do shit?”
“It’s not that dodgy.”
“So he doesn’t. Just pretends it doesn’t exist.”
“Well, it’s not properly illegal. Reproductions aren’t illegal; it’s only a forgery if you try to pass it off as the real thing. Look, I’m going to sign the damn thing.”
Dick picked a spot on the canvas which would become the tacking edge, and painting a slightly more green-tinged blue on blue elongated N and C.
“Anyway, I’m not trying to pass it off as real, the FBI is doing that.”
“The FBI is going to get you to do that.”
“So it’s not all legal, maybe. Good enough for government work. Literally. And I’ve been a vigilante for decades. I’m not waiting for permission.”
“Burke thinks you’re a felon. Technically still a prisoner,” Jason said slowly.
“And doesn’t he love to remind me.”
“Hmmm. What an ass.”
“It’s not like he actually—technically, if anything crosses a line, JL credentials trump FBI ones, so I’d be fine.“
“Yeah. But it’s not like Burke knows that..”
Dick rolled his eyes.
“Why did you come here? What do you need?”
“Nah, I’m good, Dickhead. Just was in the neighbourhood. Had a letter from Alfred for June.”
“Do you think they’re—” Dick made a swirly motion with his paintbrush, gesturing with the point, “—you know?”
“I’ve got no damn idea, and I don’t wanna know.”
“I want to know. June sprays perfume on her letters.”
“She might just be reporting on how you’re eating. You know Alfie isn’t above seducing widows to make sure one of us is taken care of.”
“June is a pretty good conwoman, as well. I’d never know.”
They shared a conspiratorial grin.
“I’ll leave you to all this, then.” Jason said, looking at that damn painting.
“You can stay,” Dick said, “I’ve got wine. Maybe some beer from when Peter was last over.”
“Nah, I’ll go see some folks. I’ll come back to crash, yeah? Your couch looks comfy.”
“You want June’s breakfast spread.”
“Damn right I do.”
“Night, Jaybird.”
“See ya, Big Bird.”
Dick made a mumbled noise of agreement, and waved Jason off, already focusing back on the painting.
That man was such a fucking pushover when he thinks someone needs him.
WC + DC + WC
”Going so soon, darling?“ June asked, as Jason came down the stairs.
“I’ll be back to sleep, if you’ll have me.”
“I’ll have a room made up for you.”
“You’re my favourite. The best part about a New York visit.”
Jason offered June the envelope from Alfred, which now that Dick had mentioned it didn’t only smell like paper, or the leather and wood of Alfred’s office desk.
June held Alfred’s letter in her hand. She wafted the envelope up towards her face, seemingly without paying attention.
“That boy upstairs has been working himself to the bone,” she said.
“Yeap,” Jason grumbled. “Maybe he’ll be making scrimshaw with his own phalanges next.”
“That’s a rather grim image, darling.”
“I’m not feeling too cheerful.”
“You’ll take care of this, then?”
“Hhhmm, I’ll be giving it a fucking good try.”
“Your spare suit is in the blue panic room. The FBI would need some C4 and a lot of luck to get in. I’ll show you where you can change.”
“Thanks, June. You’re a gem among assholes. If Alfred doesn’t snatch you up, maybe I will.”
“As delightful as you are, young man, I’m afraid I’m taken.”
Jason grinned at her.
“You can do better. He comes with a mess of hangers-on.”
“I don’t think I can do better.”
Jason kissed her cheek. “Welcome to the family, then. Let the Dickhead upstairs know. He’s a gossip, but sometimes he doesn’t ask the right damn questions.“
June laughed.
“I swear, the lot of them have the emotional intelligence of toothpaste.“
“Darling Alfie has mentioned as much, in some of his letters.”
“Bruce is the gunky bit, that’s dried around the edge of the lid.”
June laughed even harder.
Jason had a moment of indecision, but left the spare outfit and helmet in June’s panic room. There’s no way that Burke would listen to Hood, as satisfying as it would be to scare the shit out of him.
He called Mozzie for a proper introduction.
WC + DC + WC
Elizabeth really was a complete sweetheart, and far too good for a paranoid bastard like Burke.
Mozzie had brought them to the door, a second wine bottle pushed into Jason’s hands, and knocked with so much overt suspicion that it slid all the way around to confident. It was impressive code switching to watch.
Jason liked Mozzie. They should probably keep him when Neal was done.
Elizabeth opened the door wide to let them both in with only a raised eyebrow.
“Mrs Suit,” Mozzie said, “I’d like to introduce you to J. We have a mutual friend in Neal.”
“Elizabeth, please,” she said, holding out her hand.
Jason, who wasn’t an idiot, and managed to learn some things from Alfred about appearances, took her hand, twisted it, and kissed the back.
Manners, a few charmingly similar traits to the character of Caffrey, and maybe Jay could get Elizabeth on side.
Elizabeth invited them to the dinner table, producing a plate of canapés probably leftovers from an event. Mozzie poured the wine in extremely generous portions.
They’ve made their way through half the first bottle before Burke got home; asking Elizabeth about her work, and Mozzie telling tall tales, and Jason chiming in with expansions on what ‘Neal’ was like when he was younger, when Mozzie’s tales leant that way.
“Hon?” Burke said as he took off his coat, giving Jason and his leather jacket and musculature a strong look, and then glaring at Mozzie. “Why are we letting felons vouch for dinner guests?”
“Only wine and cheese guests, so far, and we brought the wine.” Jason raised his eyebrows. “But also, Mozzie hasn’t been convicted of anything. He’s not a felon.”
“Hmm,” Burke said.
“Peter, this is Jay—”
“We don’t even get a full name, only an initial?” Burke said, glancing at Mozzie.
“Hon, you call me El.” Elizabeth said with a laugh.
“I go by Jay, which, yeah, is short for my birth name, but what’s a nickname between friends?” Jason said, holding his hands palm up.
Elizabeth poured Burke a glass of wine, and placed it in front of him.
Burke didn’t touch it, and stayed standing.
“I don’t like being ambushed in my own home,” Burke said. “So say what you need, and then leave me and my wife alone.”
“I could just want to make friends.”
“If you’re friends with Mozzie and Neal, then I don’t think we’ve got much in common.”
Jason stood up, pretending at polite by extending his hand toward Peter, but really just wanting to use his bulk and the flex of his biceps for the intimidation factor. He’s not above being a petty bastard.
“If you would like a longer name for me, you can think of me as Jay Caffrey.”
Burke shook his hand, obviously on autopilot while the rest of his brain processed that.
“Neal doesn’t have any siblings.“
“You don’t know anything about Neal from before he was 18.”
“Hmm,” Burke said, probably sharpening his mental pencil to rasp notes he can use against Dick in the future.
“Yeah, Neal’s got siblings. There’s a few of us. Street rats and adoptees and such, but he’s ours, you understand. He’s our brother. He’s got backup.“
Jason dropped back down into his seat, and sipped his wine. Comfortable, confident, waiting.
“Neal doesn’t need…criminal backup. He’s got me, and the FBI.”
“Interesting. Does he have you, Agent Burke? Would you back him up? Or would you set him up, like that Rice woman did?”
“Of course I wouldn’t set him up!”
“You set him up for failure every day. Those little digs about how he’s not good enough, and will always be a criminal, and could never be trusted with anything.“
“That’s hardly setting him up. I’m just making sure he knows that he’s on the good guys’s side now.”
“Ah. You see yourself as a ‘good guy’ against ‘bad guys’. How fucking exhausting it must be to still think like you’re a child, or a blood-less paragon hero. Is that’s why you set the bar at one level, and then move the fucking goal posts so he can never fit your arbitrary level of ‘not criminal’ enough? Once a criminal, always a criminal, yeah? Doesn’t matter if someone was a goddamn kid, or justified, or never hurt anyone, they’re all the same. We’re all the same,” Jason gestured at himself and Mozzie, arms wide and open.
“Ha! I knew any friend of Neal’s was—“
“I was a street kid, and every adult I’d met had betrayed me or died.”
“Oh,” El said, “of course that’s not your fault, if you were a child.”
“Once a thief, always a thief, yeah, Burke?”
“Well— That’s Kramer’s view, not mine.”
“You pretend you trust Neal, and then you rip that trust away. You’re like an abusive boyfriend, always moving the rules of what gets punished, so it doesn’t matter how hard Neal tries, you’ll always have an excuse to punish him.”
Burke was looking indignant already, a head of self-righteous steam gathering. Gods, it was like fighting with B, but more fun.
“Well, if he stopped being a criminal I wouldn’t have to punish him.“ Burke said with finality.
“And how the fuck does he prove that negative? When would you say that he’s no longer a criminal? Definitively, I mean. A record of good behaviour, stamped by you? One year of penance for every crime you can’t prove he did? You only got him on bond forgery and a prison break. You never even managed to prove he’s anything more than a forger.”
“It’s simple. He stays on the right side of the line and doesn't break the law. Or he goes back to prison.”
Oh, thank you, Burke, what a lovely set up. Jason looked over at El, to make sure she was paying attention. Jason slowed down, sipped his wine.
“That line of yours doesn’t have much to do with the law, though. Does it? If he fills in your crossword, you’ll send him back to prison? Get my coffee right, or you’ll be back serving slop to bruisers called Uncle Roy? You haven’t earned your weekend, I’ll check to see if the Marshalls can take you back?”
“Peter!” El said.
“I’m only joking. Of course I’m only joking. I don’t mean it.”
“But he looks better in orange than in his nice suits?
Burke laughed, seemingly on automatic.
“Jokes, uh huh. Right. Could Neal tell you to stop making those jokes?“
“Of course he could.”
“Without you sending him back to prison?“
“Yes. What are you on about, of course he could. I’m not actually going to send him to prison for not getting my coffee.”
Jason lent back. Burke was still trying to look intimidating, secure, master of his home. He really would be more comfortable if he sat. Jason had been intimidated by scarier men than suit-wearing feds.
“And how on earth is Neal meant to know that?” Jason asked.
“Because I’m not—of course I wouldn’t. It doesn’t bother him. He’d tell me to stop if it did.“
“Of course. Jokes about going to prison for filling in your crossword makes it so easy to be vulnerable. I’m sure you’ll never interpret questioning you or asking for boundaries to be respected as defiance, or rebellion? It’d be a slippery slope to masterminding a criminal empire, right, if he asks for anything? It’s always so easy to say when he’s hurting, or scared. Such a trusting fucking environment you’ve created here.”
“That’s just words. Neal’s a trickster. He knows it’s just words.”
“Does he?“ Jason asked.
Jason sipped from his wine, and caught Mozzie’s eye. Mozzie nodded.
“Out of curiosity, Burke, did you ever investigate little people crimes? Mundane ones? Boring ones, with no glamour. The ones where kids and women and workers got hurt, instead of business men with fancy art?”
“I focused on white collar crimes early on in my career. I had an Art History major, so it made sense.”
“So you never had to talk to kids and women who were beaten and threatened by their spouses, their parents, their bosses? Threatened with trafficking if they spoke out? Threatened with death, or rape, or pain, or their loved ones being hurt instead?”
“What does that have to do with Neal?“
“There’s a reason why those people, the little ones, the ones who don’t have spare yachts in the Hamptons, don’t speak out when someone in power hurts them. Especially if it’s only words so far. Words can be borne. We get used to words, and learn to manage the rest of it.”
“Neal’s probably got a spare yacht!”
“And if he did, it would be alright that you’re threatening him with pain, or rape, or being beaten to death in prison? He’s known to have been working with the FBI now. A prison break, and whatever weird fucking shit you pulled the first time to get a white collar forger sentenced in maximum security? He’ll be in protective isolation, at best, or dead at worst.”
“Neal’s not going to be raped.”
Jason huffed out a laugh. “You’re an ignorant little man, Burke, in an ivory fucking tower, if you think it’d be the first time.”
Burke looked indignant, and a bit confused. El had a hand over her mouth, but Mozzie just nodded.
“You’re in my house, Jay Caffrey, and I don’t need you questioning me like this.”
Jason looked over at El, and she was holding her tongue, but looking at Peter with something like hurt.
“So, if Neal can’t question you, and his family can’t question you, who is it that is keeping your power trip in check? Hughes? Someone on the FBI’s oversight body like Fowler, who set Neal up for exploitation?”
“I won’t let Neal be exploited. I’m protecting him. This is a damn good deal he’s got.“
“Is it?”
“Of course it is. He’s got 2 miles, and those suits, and that fancy apartment, and he’s not in prison.”
Jason cocked an eyebrow.
“You’re claiming June’s generosity as part of the benefit package you’re providing?”
“Well, okay, June’s apartment is rather outside of the FBI budget, but Neal’s doing good work with us, and he’s got 2 miles of freedom. That’s more than he had before he was working with us.”
“Yes, of course, those 2 miles, and your obsessive need to check he’s where he says he is.”
Jason turned to El. “Does he wake up in the middle of the night and bring up Neal’s tracking data, just to be sure?”
El nodded, but didn’t say anything. Discretion and valour, perhaps. Or maybe she had her own doubts about Peter’s actions not matching his stated goals of generous rehabilitation. Hopefully the second one. She seemed to have most of the braincells of the Burkes.
“I don’t ask him where his funds come from whenever he ruins his silk socks. Someone less forgiving than me would be all over that.”
“You’re jealous, aren’t you? You’re jealous of people who’ve gained their wealth through anything other than “hard work”. Jealous of that wealth that your white collar victims so often have: the penthouses, the fancy cars, and being able to pay for valet parking whenever. You like your cars.”
“Are you threatening my car?“
Jason laughed. “I haven’t made a living jacking car tires since I was 12. Nothing to fear from me.“
“So you are a criminal too,” Burke said, like he’d caught Jason out. “Of course you are. All of Neal’s associates are.”
“I think I just admitted to a crime as a minor, which has a statute of limitation of five years in New Jersey. Surely the real question is why a 12 year old had to make his own living through theft? You are very good at missing the point, Burke.”
“Were you alone?” El asked.
“I was a street kid for a few years.”
“In solitude the mind gains strength and learns to lean upon itself.” Mozzie said.
“Was that Sterne?” Jason asked, glancing at Mozzie from the corner of his eye. “Neal has a happier backstory than mine, not that he’ll ever tell it to you.”
“Yes, of course. Trust,” said El. “We really haven’t given him any sureties that his vulnerabilities won’t be used against him. That trust in us wouldn’t be misplaced.”
“Hmmm,” Jason said. “Perhaps there’s hope for Burke if he’s got you.”
Burke huffed, and moved to stand behind El, a hand on her shoulder.
“Neal is a big boy criminal informant. He doesn’t need his big brother swooping in to rescue him from the consequences of his actions.”
“Stop talking like he’s a child. Do you think he wants me to be here? Ha, like that Dickhead would ever ask for help like this. He’ll put up with your bullshit till it kills him. There’s precedent.”
“I don’t talk like he’s a child.”
“—And consequences? Do you really think Neal is the one wracking up karmic debt and consequences?”
“Sooner or later, everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences.” Mozzie intoned, pouring himself more wine.
“Mozzie—” El attempted to interrupt. Mozzie topped up her glass, with a sage nod of his head.
Apparently Mozzie decided to intervene when it got close to personal for Jason, which was a nice gesture. He’s very astute.
“I know,” Mozzie said, “Robert Louis Stevenson is a bit controversial around the edges, but he was a man of his time.”
Jason sat back as Peter moved closer, looming over the three of them sitting at the table. Holding El in place, or using her as implied backup.
Jason did not give a fuck.
“Do you like your close rate, Burke? Your little fiefdom of agents and a tamed conman?”
Peter looked furious.
“Of course I do. I work hard for my close rate. I am very good at my job.”
“But do you think your little act makes you special? That a badge is enough to make you good.”
“I am good. I caught Neal. Twice.“
Jason raised his eyebrow, and let out a little huff of laughter, leaning back in his chair.
Powerful men always hated being laughed at.
“Hmm, twice. Sure. The second time while sitting in the apartment you knew you’d go to. On the floor, feeling sorry for himself. What a difficult chase that must have been!”
“But I caught him.”
“Of course,” Jason smiled at Burke, slow and sweet. “And when you hold that up as a reason why you’re better than him, what possible metric should he be comparing it to?”
“What do you mean?”
“Would Neal win a point if he arrested you?”
“I haven’t committed any crimes—”
“Perhaps for abuse of a prisoner?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Peter said, his voice rising in a huff, “I haven’t been abusing anyone.”
Jason crossed his arms, letting his biceps flex.
“Wouldn’t it be a better comparison if we looked at how many times you didn’t win? How many times you didn’t capture him?”
“But I did catch Neal! That’s what’s important.“
“Your close rate looks a lot less appealing to the higher ups if we make it into a ratio. He escaped you for three years. You caught him once after three years. I’m pretty sure Neal wins, if we’re taking quantitive measurements.”
“That’s ridiculous. He’s a felon, and a prisoner, and I did it. He’s mine.”
Jason smiled, a crooked little grin.
“Elizabeth, did you know you have a pet felon? Does he play nice with Satchmo?”
“Shut up, Caffrey.”
“Is he that possessive of you too, Elizabeth? That’s a little worrying.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re point scoring against a prisoner in your power. It’s very worrying.”
“Hon—” El said.
“It’s a bloody joke! Neal’s—well, not quite my friend, but we’re—”
“It’s not a joke to Neal.”
“Well, then he shouldn’t have become a felon! If he wasn’t so damn rebellious all the time—if I didn’t have to constantly have my eye on him—I wouldn’t need to remind him where he is.”
“Where is he?“ El asked.
“He’s in prison, it just happens to be a penthouse in Manhattan, and if he’d just bloody listen to me—”
Burke huffed out the rest of his breath, looking like he went all the way through anger to resentment in one breath.
“What would happen, if he listened to you?“ Jason asked.
Mozzie raised a glass.
“For prison life with its endless privations and restrictions makes one rebellious. The most terrible thing about it is not that it breaks one’s heart—”
Jason took over the quote, “—hearts are made to be broken—”
“—but that it turns one’s heart to stone.”
Mozzie smiled at Jason sadly.
“Is that Oscar Wilde,” El asked, setting herself in front of Burke, like she wanted to divert their attention.
“Oh, god, it’s the educated crooks who think they’re funny.” Burke said, not appreciating El’s efforts at all.
Jason rolled his eyes at Burke.
“Do you really think Mozzie, or Neal, or I, have the kind of education which would land us cushy white collar jobs like yours? We’re not like your millionaire real estate fraudsters. We didn’t become criminals because we have a lot and want more. The world failed us, and we reacted to protect ourselves as best we can. We aren’t born this way. Criminals are made. And they’re made by people like you, as much as by greed.”
“Made by me? I am—I’m not some corrupt beat cop.”
“Hmm. Well, you certainly aren’t stopping anything at this point. How many crimes do you think Neal has perpetrated in the last month, say? Let’s make it easier. We won’t stack the prosecution’s docket. Instances.”
“—maybe five. He’s been out of his anklet, or my sight, and he’s a clever man.”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Neal is—this proves he’s not rehabilitated. We’re going to have to call the Marshalls and—”
“Thirty-five of those times were to make sure you got what you wanted. How can a man possibly be rehabilitated if his keeper requires him to break the law for him?”
“I—I never asked him to—”
Jason held out his own hands like he was examining them for blood stains, like the dramatic Shakespearian actor he could have been if life was fair.
“You keep your hands nice and clean. Meanwhile Dic—Diana and Jones get to work within the law, or go home and get some fucking sleep. While Neal is up doing an all night with paint stains on his hands, managing the impossible for you, and you don’t even have the good grace to realise it’s impossible.”
“It’s not impossible. He can do it.“
“Because he’s Neal,” Jason huffed, “not because it’s a reasonable demand. No other forger can make a pre-WWII artwork in a night, and they’d fucking tell you so. While laughing their head off that you asked for such a stupid goddamned request. That Dickhead is a fucking sponge to your demanding expectations. You say jump, he’s already halfway up the building.“
“What’s that got to do with Neal being a criminal? He was a criminal when I caught him, and I’m doing my best to help him rehabilitate, and find purpose in working on the right side of—”
“Are you protecting him? If he’s making a forgery on your account—”
“He’s making a reproduction, legally speaking.”
“—if he’s making a forgery for you, which you will then require him to place in a location which implies that it is real, Neal is committing multiple felonies. It’s a forgery. For you. For your bottom line. For your close rate.”
“Catching criminals is worth it.”
“El, you seem to have all the brains in this relationship. Do you think that commissioning a crime to catch a white collar criminal is worth it? Do you want your husband to be moonlighting as a criminal mastermind?”
El shook her head, while Peter opened his mouth to reply.
“He’s going to let Neal take the fall, when he gets caught, I suppose. I guess that’s worth it too, for Burke.”
“I wouldn’t—I haven’t—“
“Aren’t you setting him up for failure? For the fall? Again I ask, how are you protecting him? Is there a paper trail? Does Hughes know about all these deals and backchannels and assets that Neal brings to you every damn day?”
“He signs off on most of it.”
“But the rest has ‘plausible deniability’ written all over it.”
Peter was silent. El looked over at him in horror.
“I bet prosecution hates you.” Jason said with a rotten laugh. “So many loopholes and crimes and looking the other way to get your criminals. You’ve left holes big enough for spaceships to glide through if the defence lawyers have an ounce of sense. Which they do, because you go after people with cash to burn on defence attorneys.”
Mozzie nodded. “I could create reasonable doubt with five minutes and a crayola.”
Jay grinned. “Maybe not enough of your cases with Neal have gone to trial yet, but your record is going to look a lot less shiny when they do. The DAs are going to be cursing your name, and pinning your face to dart boards.”
“What do you even want from me, Jay Caffrey?” Burke said, like Caffrey was a curse word.
Jason sighed.
“I want you to be better. I want you to not take my brother down with you when you inevitably fall from this impossible tower protected by impossible demands that you’ve built for yourself.”
“I haven’t—I don’t have impossible demands.”
“I don’t know how you deal with this level of self-centred ignorance, El. It must be exhausting. The hypocrisy would give me hives if I had to share a bed with that.”
Burke bristled, and El rested a hand on Peter’s hand, where it was planted on the back of her chair, the knuckles white with tension.
“You’re a bit of a perfectionist, Hon. It can be draining,” El said.
“And don’t make me tell our little brother what you’ve been doing to that Dickhead of ours. He’s ours, only we get to make him miserable.”
“What would your little brother do?” Mozzie asked.
“Bring his katanas,” Jason said with a shrug. “Neal practically raised him from being a feral little shit. You won’t like what he’ll do if he finds out how miserable Burke’s been making our brother. I’ve been distracting him, frankly. I might just stop.”
Jason stood up from the table, and grinned when Peter took a swaying step backwards.
He took El’s hand, and bent over it like a fucking Victorian gentleman taking his leave from the lady of the house.
“Elizabeth, it was lovely to meet you. Neal speaks so highly of you.”
Jason let her go, and looked Burke up and down, letting the rage show in his eyes.
“Burke, get your fucking act together and stop being so wilfully blind to your own actions. You’re not Neal’s friend, not when you’re so insistent on being the biggest abusive arsehole of a keeper that you can be.”
Jason rested a hand on Mozzie’s shoulder, “Moz, keep an eye on my bro, yeah?”
Mozzie nodded, “it’s my pleasure and honour to do so, Jay.”
DC + WC + DC
Four days later, Jason checked in on Dick from a distance.
His skin was a little sallow, and the fucker wasn’t bouncing at all. He was all smiles and grins when Burke was watching, and then crumpled in on himself like a marionette as soon as Burke turned away.
No excessive moment, everything tight and restrained, like Dick was when he’d been—anyway, when villains had decided that Nightwing’s mouth was pretty, and his bodily autonomy wasn’t of particular importance to them.
Silent. His body tight and restrained and proper.
The fucking fed didn’t listen.
Jason had been almost polite, and barely swore at him.
What an asshole.
DC + WC + DC
The Red Hood came through the Burke’s backdoor, because he could.
For a Fed, Burke had lousy personal security.
Judging from the shadows in the windows Burke was upstairs, but El was in the kitchen, dealing with the dishes. Jason covered her mouth with one hand as he slipped the prepared zip ties around her wrists with the other. Behind her back, because she’s in a kitchen, and he’s not stupid.
Then he gagged her properly, and carries her to couch, He added a tie from her ankle to the heavy post of the standing lamp.
“Sorry,” Jason said, as he settled her comfortably on her side against the cushions, “I heard you were a real spitfire when kidnapped. ‘Amazingly resourceful in a kidnap situation’, was the actual warning. You should put that on your website as a testimonial. And Neal does know how to be kidnapped right.”
El glared at him. He really does like her. She’s far too good for Burke.
Jason winked at her, and went to collect Burke.
A few minutes later he had Burke in a fireman carry to bring him downstairs.
It was a bit weird to carry a man in his boxers and vest down the stairs, but it’s more efficient to wait for someone to get undressed to the point of disarming themselves than to pad them down properly and hope they’re not trickier than you are.
Wrists and ankles tied, gag in place, and Jason propped him up on the couch next to El.
Then Jason raised a gun. Pointed it at Burke’s kneecap.
“I’m gonna answer some of those questions running through your pretty little heads, and then—”
Jason signed, looking over at El, letting the noise rumble through his voice distorter, and answered the first question.
“No, I don’t murder feds in their own homes. The clean up is messy, and Neal adores Elizabeth. He’d be cranky if she were sad.”
Jason settled his hands on his hips, and oh, it was nice to be the one doing the looming. He stepped closer.
“Burke, it has come to my attention that you’re an irredeemable bastard who likes lording his power over prisoners. I don’t like people who abuse their power. It pisses me the fuck off.”
Burke’s eyes widened, and El closed her eyes, like she knew this was coming.
“I bet you’re wondering what a Gotham crime lord vigilante and you have in common. Not very much when it comes to the stains upon our character, really, since I give my henchmen more security than you do.”
Burke tried to say something behind his gag.
“I’m here because you can’t take a fucking hint, Burke. I’m here because maybe threatening you will make you behave less like an entitled powerful white male dipshit who never heard of a complicated reality which didn’t line up with your unimaginative expectations. I don’t really have a lot of hope for that, but Neal’s a bleeding heart optimist, so he’d be sad if I just killed you.”
Jason tilted his helmet, like he was contemplating it.
Then he moved towards Burke with speed, knocking his ankles together, and then settling his gloved hands to either side of the man’s head.
“It’s not the prisoners who need reformation, it is the prisons,” Jason said.
El startled, her eyes widening.
That was a little sloppy, quoting Oscar Wilde to the same people only a few days later, without even Mozzie as a distraction.
Jason spun away from them both, a bit of dramatic flair, a dizzying spin of one of his guns. Distraction, misdirection. Fuck, he wasn’t paying proper attention.
“So I’ve given some answers. Some might even call it a monologue. So when I take the gag off, you’re gonna answer some of mine. The answer to mine will be easy. The answer will be ‘yes, Hood,’. Got it?”
Burke nodded.
Jason turned to El, and loosened her gag.
“Do you think that threatening a prisoner is an abuse of power?”
El nodded.
“Does that kind of thing make you disappointed in the man you married?”
“Yes, Hood.”
“Would you like Burke to do fucking better, so he doesn’t get righteously murdered for being a fuckup waste of hypocritical breath?”
El shivered, and oh, that felt terrible. Jason didn’t want to scare El.
“Yes, Hood.”
“Good job. You’re a lovely lady. Keep this asswipe in line, and you won’t have to see me again.”
Jason took off Burke’s gag.
“I will—you were threatening my wife—”
“Uh, no, that’s not what happened here. Elizabeth, did I threaten you?”
“No, Hood. Hon, he really didn’t. The geraniums were lovely.”
“So, you wanna try answering my questions, Burke the Jerk? Remember the answer: ‘Yes, Red Hood, Sir.’”
Peter swallowed. “Yes, Red Hood.”
“Sir.”
“Yes, Red Hood, Sir.” Peter looked up at him. “You’re Neal’s little brother, then. The one Jay warned me about? Neal has connections to—to you?”
Jason laughed.
“Do I look like a little brother? I’ve got 8 inches on Neal. No, I’m not who Jay warned you about. Neal’s youngest brother doesn’t know. Yet. He’s much more of a ninja, that one. You wouldn’t see him coming. Wham bam, forensics have nothing, and Elizabeth’s trying on black dresses.“
Peter gulped.
“Yeah. He’s got me and a ninja on his side. I bet you’re regretting not listening to his brother and your wife now.”
Jason glanced over at El. Yeah, she definitely thought Peter had accepted the previous intervention, and changed his behaviour around Dick.
“Yes, Hood,” she said on Peter’s behalf. “He regrets that.”
“Good. Now, Burke, will you do better and stop threatening a prisoner under your power?
“Yes, Red Hood, Sir.”
“Will you treat Neal like a human? Not even like a friend, but as someone who is a human and has feelings, which you can hurt? You know, playground rules. Pre-school lessons about not being a bully.”
“Yes, Red Hood, Sir.”
“Will you sort out your frankly fucked up double standards about when you commit a crime, it’s justified and doesn’t mean anything, and when Neal does it he’s proving his criminal nature?”
“I don’t—”
“You do, you fucking shitstain of a nitpicking pragmatist. Stop it.”
“Yes, Red Hood, Sir.”
“Will you stop generally being an irredeemable example of the systemic problems in the US justice system?”
“Yes, Red Hood, Sir.”
“Good. I don’t want Elizabeth to have to pick out a new funeral outfit. Jewel tones look much better on her. Keep that in mind, Elizabeth; amethyst is a perfectly acceptable funeral colour, and would look amazing on you.”
El nodded, then she looked into the eyes of his helmet, not like defiance, more like she wanted to be polite and make eye contact.
“Hood, sir?” El asked, like the badass lady she was, “I—I heard you took care of the street kids in Gotham. And Jay said that Neal had been—were the two of them yours? Neal and Jay? Were they Gotham kids, under your protection?”
Jason looked at her.
“You are the smart one, aren’t you?”
Jason cut the tie connecting El to the lamp, and then stepped back out of range of a kick.
“Lovely to meet you, Elizabeth. I’m sorry it was under such stressful circumstances.”
Then he looked at Burke, staring for too long, unmoving. Waiting. Burke shivered, and looked over at El.
Jason grabbed his chin with one gloved hand, holding him steady.
Then he stepped back, making his way to the door. He threw the closed pocketknife at El so it landed against her belly.
“Neal likes giving people second chances. Don’t make him regret this one.”