Chapter Text
Dick is totally fine.
He only has like- five active identities. That isn’t too many. He’s got this.
Sure he might be in Gotham under the guise of Neal Caffery, White Collar CI, but so long as his siblings stay out of things like he has emphatically requested, it should be fine.
Totally, completely fine.
What could go wrong? I mean, any other name of his that gets mentioned while in Gotham can just be brushed off as a past alias Neal used.
Except- there is one ‘alias’ that he really can’t brush off.
But this is White Collar! Not Organized Crime! They shouldn’t come across any of the people who would know him as… that.
It really is just Dick’s siblings that could mess this up. And he has applied enough blackmail that they all should stay well away from him and the FBI agents.
What could possibly go wrong?!
…Dick should have expected something to go wrong.
The forgery case they were looking into turning out to be a front for trafficking? Not at all surprising in a place like Gotham. Nor is it a surprise for the criminals to decide to kidnap a federal agent and his CI. The respect for police authority in Gotham is incredibly low.
So it is all totally normal and fine, being tied up in a chair alongside Peter. Dick just needs to engineer a distraction that will allow him to get away without making Peter suspicious. A difficult task, but certainly not impossible.
It should be fine!
The doors at the end of the warehouse swing open and Dick prepares to annoy the heck out of this operation’s boss (despite Peter’s clear protests).
It is at that exact moment that everything just- crumbles.
“R-Robbie Malone,” the boss breathes in horror, freezing in place the moment he gets a good look at Dick’s face.
Ah. Great.
Why did it have to be that name? Anything else would have just built upon Neal Caffery’s alleged crimes and underworld access. But this- the Malones have an entire section of the ‘before you dare to enter Gotham’ briefing that was delivered to the WC team. It is fresh information. And on top of that, it is very… memorable.
And out of all the information about the Malones? The things about Robbie would stand out the most. Something that is confirmed by Peter’s quick flash of horror. There is still a clear level of hope in Peter’s eyes, hope that this is just more evidence of Neal messing around.
But Dick can’t just make it seem like he is messing around. Because being Robbie is far more important than being Neal. If he has to burn one, there really isn’t a choice here.
“Oh good,” Dick drawls, the Neal persona slipping from his shoulders. The Robbie one taking its place: a cruel smirk on his lips, a crazed light in his eyes, a set to his posture that is at the same time both at ease and tensed for movement. For violence. “You know my name.”
The look Peter sends Dick causes his stomach to sink. That is suspicion, plain and clear. Suspicion that is sure to turn to certainty before long.
“Untie him,” the boss orders, a clear tremble in his voice despite how he is working to suppress it.
“But Boss-“
“Do it!” He practically shrieks. A number of grunts move to respond. Dick sits up slowly, rubbing at his wrists to return the circulation to his hands.
There is a long, tense moment of silence. Dick lets it grow and bloom around him, something Neal would never do. Something Robbie certainly would.
“What was your plan here?” Dick muses, eliciting a harsh flinch from the boss. “I mean, kidnapping a federal agent, who isn’t from Gotham? Risky…”
“We needed information!” the boss protests. “We need to know why the FBI has sent a New York team here!”
“That is more reasonable,” Dick hums. He stands and begins to slowly walk towards the boss, who looks nervously around him. “How were you planning to get the information?”
“Well…” at this, the boss trails off. His eyes flicker to Peter, causing anger to bubble up in Neal-Dick-Robbie’s gut.
“It is amazing how resilient the human body can be,” he chuckles. “Shall we have an example?”
Before anyone in the room can move, Dick pulls out the knife that was concealed in his shoe. (Seriously? They didn’t search him? Gotham goons? This is ridiculous.) Faster than a blink, he has strode over to the rickety table in the warehouse where a man sits watching the proceedings.
Dick has been scanning the room this whole time, trying to determine who would be best to target. This man, if he isn’t the second in command, is in the eyes of everyone in the room. The regular grunts move carefully around him, he watches the boss’ back. He is valuable and trusted.
The knife in Dick’s hand pins the man’s sleeve directly to the table, cutting right through the man’s leather jacket and well into the wooden table top. The man goes to pull away, but Dick is faster. He has the cool muzzle of a gun pressed to the man’s fingers before the guy can so much as twitch away from him. (Did no one see him take the gun from that grunt? Man, these guys could use some more training. Red Hood would destroy them.)
“Hm,” Dick muses, his pointer finger resting lightly on the trigger. He is deep into the blank, distant headspace he keeps for Robbie. It isn’t the easiest thing to slip into, but once he is finally in it, he is in it. “I wonder. If I shoot your finger right now, will it just blow the thing off into pieces, or will they be able to stitch it back on?”
“Don’t,” the boss barks. Dick knows it is not an order for him. No, it is for the men who made to move toward him. Who actually thought they could stop him. They can’t. Especially not when he is like this.
“You know?” Dick purrs, tracing the end of the gun along the veins that are visible on the back of the man’s hand. “I think it would be best for you to just let us go.”
The boss scrambles to comply, cutting Peter loose himself. Dick grins crookedly at the man in front of him. If he were really Robbie, he would shoot the guy anyways. But he isn’t.
He isn’t!
Dick tucks the gun into the waistband of his pants and then strolls out of the warehouse, not even looking back to make sure Peter is following him. He will be. No matter what he suspects.
“Neal,” Peter breathes, when the two of them at last come to a stop a few feet from the warehouse. “What-”
“Peter,” Dick interrupts. I promise, I’m not a Malone! Dick wants to shout. But that isn’t true. Because he is a Malone. He is a Malone far more than he is a Caffery. So instead he merely says, “we should contact the others before they get into trouble looking for us.”
The betrayal that flashes through Peter’s eyes hurts far more than a knife to the gut.