Chapter Text
“Hold on a minute, Peter!” Neal called loudly through the door.
Peter shuffled awkwardly on the landing and checked his watch. It was 8:37, They had three minutes before they had to leave, and Neal was going to make him late. Because this morning hadn’t been going badly enough already.
He’d woken up with a pounding headache fifteen minutes before his alarm was set to go off, then his coffee maker, after making a valiant effort, gave a long, pained whine and shut off, clearly dead. Already in a bad mood, he’d begun brushing his teeth so aggressively that he accidentally jammed the toothbrush into his gum. Hard. So hard in fact, that he’d launched it out of his mouth and across the bathroom into the toilet. Then, in his frustration, he stubbed his toe against the cold ceramic where the toilet met the floor.
He was not planning on being late. He deserved to get to work on time after having to deal with all that. “Neal!” he called, banging his fist against the door. “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”
The door opened and he was nearly blinded by Neal’s radiant smile, it was far too bright for such an early hour. “Peter! Hello! Can I just finish up this call before we head out?”
He briefly glanced at the phone in Neal’s hand, not recognising it as the one given to him by the FBI, and sighed. He’d long grown used to Neal breaking small rules, and since, unfortunately, the only way Mozzie seemed to communicate was with burner phones - evidenced by the five currently stashed in his wife’s nightstand - he decided to let it go.
“Fine Neal. Just be quick so we’re not late,” he acquiesced.
Neal threw him a sloppy salute and stepped out onto the patio, closing the door behind him. He sighed and made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, thoughts drifting to the case he and Neal were currently working as he sat down at the table and took a small sip of water.
(Peter can only hear the bolded side of the conversation)
‘I think the case is really getting to him. I haven’t been able to get him away from the computer for more than an hour or two at a time. The most luck any of us have had was when Lucious dropped off the new grapples and he tinkered with his for almost an entire day.’ ~ “The grapples are done already?”
He promptly choked as Neal’s voice rang through the thin glass door separating the apartment from the patio. He had to have misheard that. Grapples?
Oh god. Were Neal and Mozzie planning something? And why, please god why, did it have to involve grapples? One of these days the two of them were going to get themselves killed, give him an aneurysm, or both simultaneously.
‘I may have asked Lucious to rush production slightly. Please don’t tell Tim.’ ~ “Don’t worry I won’t let him find out.”
And woe is him, it got worse. They were actively hiding things from him now.
He gingerly set his glass on the table, straining his ears but not taking his eyes off the wood grain of the table. He didn’t want to do anything that might alert Neal to the fact that he could hear his side of the conversation - that included staring the man down and hoping the back of his head would reveal all his secrets.
Maybe if he was careful and didn’t push his luck Neal would drop something that would let him proactively put a stop to whatever this was.
‘I have no doubt you’ll attempt to use this as blackmail, but don’t bother. I know all about what you and Jason got up to last month in that Target.’ ~ “Shit! How?”
His eyebrows furrowed in concern.
Neal actually sounded worried. Was he being threatened again? Maybe Neal set up this phone conversation intending Peter to overhear. But that couldn’t be it, Neal hadn’t dropped any information that would help him get to the bottom of things.
‘I’m Batman, Chum. I know everything.’ ~ “Yeah, yeah. Our all knowing overlord. No, really? How?”
Neal could be talking about him, but he’d said ‘our,’ and it wasn’t like Peter was overseeing any other criminal consultants, so his theory about Neal and Mozzie being threatened made the most sense. The only question was, what was being held over them?
‘I’ve got to go Dick. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you, Chum.’ ~ “Hey! Wai- B! Shit! He hung up.”
B? Who was B?
Peter, breaking his own rule, chanced a glance at Neal and saw him standing with shoulders slumped sadly staring at his phone. He saw him lower the phone and start to turn around, so he hurriedly pulled out his phone and opened a random app, only looking up again when Neal entered the apartment.
“You done?” He asked, with what he hoped was complete nonchalance.
Neal slipped the phone into a pocket deep in his jacket and nodded, expression neutral, “Yup. Good to go.”
He watched Neal closely as they made the drive to the office. The conman didn’t seem overly stressed, but he was often far too good at hiding things and Peter didn’t trust that too wide smile one bit. But there was also a chance he was just making mountains out of molehills. Neal could change.
...Yeah, no. Something was definitely wrong, but what?
Maybe this time he could try a different approach than he’d used previously. Maybe he could finally take El’s advice and approach Neal like a friend, rather than an obligation or, even harsher, an enemy. While self centered and self destructive, Neal never did anything without a ‘good’ reason.
So, for once in his life, Peter decided to give Neal some wiggle room. He wasn’t going to pry further… Well, not much farther anyway; he’d have to be exceptionally stupid to not to at least ask his CI what was up with that phone call.
Dick and Jason were royally screwed.
Bruce knew about Target. How the hell did he find out about that? He had to call Jason, but he was stuck in a car with the nosiest agent in the world and unable to pull out his personal phone. To top it all off, the odd looks Peter was regularly throwing his way were making him want to crawl out of his skin.
Damn. Undercover work makes things extremely difficult sometimes.
Cranking ‘Neal’ up to eleven, Dick widened the carefree smile on his face and vowed to text Jason from the bathroom the second they got into the office. Next to him, Peter awkwardly cleared his throat. “So… Uh… What was all that about earlier?”
“What?” He asked, using all his years of training to stop from cringing at the sudden prying question. He shifted slightly to angle himself towards Peter, focusing on keeping his voice even. “Why were you listening in on my phone call?” He turned the accusation back on Peter.
If he could get the agent to go on the defensive, it might help distract him, but Peter only drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and quickly shifted lanes before casually answering, “I overheard it accidentally, but the phone call. Was it Mozzie? It sounded serious.” Peter shot him a quick appraising glance before focusing back on the morning traffic surrounding them.
The distraction hadn’t worked, but thank god for Peter’s assumptions. He’d just offered him a beautifully simple way to get out of the mess he’d inadvertently created. “Yeah that was Mozzie. He’s neck deep in another conspiracy theory that’s dragging him halfway across the country. It’s easier to just play along. Speaking of, if he contacts you about an old mixtape, tell him the FBI burned all the copies to hide the evidence.”
Peter raised his eyebrows, a questioning look adorning his face. “Ya’know, I’m not even going to ask.” A small piece of Dick’s smirk broke through ‘Neal’s’ smile for a moment before he could shove it down, and Peter shot him a weird look. After a moment he relaxed, seeming to accept the odd behavior as one of ‘Neal’s’ many quirks.
He was bursting with pride. His masterful bullshitting had saved the day once again.
Being a performer at heart, he considered making shit up as he went to be one of his many finely honed skills, but he also had to give credit where credit was due. Jason’s “Bullshitting the Bullshitter” workshops that he’d put all the bats - including Bruce, even in retirement - through last winter definitely helped with cynics like Peter. Dick’s style more appealed to people he didn’t actually know or care about, so they’d stopped being effective against the agent a few months into the operation.
“You sure you don’t want to know?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
The more Peter let him spout off, the more this whole thing would fade to the back of his mind. It also helped that it was ridiculously fun to make up nonsensical stories and pass them off as the truth; even if it sent a pang through his chest every time he had to lie to Peter.
The agent looked torn, “Will telling me make me have to arrest anyone?” he finally asked, his tone and expression betraying his curiosity.
Dick put on his exaggerated thinking face, “I mean… not unless you can arrest someone from 1932 who died in a tragic massage accident or an angry Australian with excessive acne and beautiful hair who doesn't actually exist.”
There was a long pause and Peter blinked slowly. “I-” he shook his head. “Tragic massage accident?” he finally asked, looking like he already regretted the question.
Twenty minutes later they were turning into the FBI’s parking garage as Dick was finishing his explanation of why the Australian’s beautiful hair played into his decision to take revenge on his former Middle School teacher, and Peter was starting to look like he’d finally given up on life.
At the very least, he’d probably completely forgotten how they even got on this topic in the first place. Anything to forget this story. Nothing distracts from suspicious behavior like a rated-r description of a man’s luscious locks. “But you don’t understand, Peter! The way it-”
“Neal!” Peter abruptly cut off his description. Dick stared judgmentally at him, and he looked back with a desperate expression. “Please, Neal. Any more and I’ll have to hire a therapist to help me cope with the trauma of listening to this story.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically but stopped, instead absently starting to fidget with the heating dials on the dashboard of the car. Peter bat away his hand before glancing in the mirrors and parking the car.
“And you’re telling me that Mozzie really believes in all this?” Peter asked as he checked that he was in the lines.
He nodded, making a mental note to tell Tim everything he’d told Peter, just in case the agent decided to fact-check things with ‘Mozzie’ later. It’d been a while since his brother had pulled on the old bald cap to make an appearance. He added another mental note to remind Tim to visit sometime soon.
“Yeah. he’s a paranoid guy,” Dick said with a shrug. Peter only sighed in response, unbuckling his belt and stepping out of the car, Dick following close behind as the two of them made their way into the building.
They entered the elevator in a comfortable silence that was only broken when he started quietly humming, a habit he took up as Neal to avoid accidentally being too quiet. Which, in his family, was a surprisingly common problem.
When they stepped out of the elevator on their floor, Peter quickly took off towards his office, while he quickly slunk away towards the bathrooms, resisting the urge to pull out his phone as he walked. He hoped he could reach Jason before Bruce had a chance.
After locking himself in the bathroom, he hurriedly pulled out his phone, thanking his lucky stars when the call picked up after only two rings. Summoning up his most obnoxious older brother voice, he loudly greeted his younger brother, “Little Wing!”
Jason’s answering groan was expected, but still caused a smirk to slip onto his face. It never got old. “What do you want, Dick?”
Immediately sobering at the reminder, Dick’s face fell as he answered, “It’s about Target. Bruce knows.”
“Well, shit.”