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Dick leaned over a conference room table at the White Collar office, pen in hand and concentrating on filling out their latest mission report.
It was the kind of mission report where you were sat down in an unoccupied conference room and told, Please state why you shouldn't be put back in jail, while a friendly colleague was suspiciously stationed right outside the door.
Dick sighed and added another paragraph explaining why he had followed Peter into the building when his handler had explicitly told him to stay in the car.
Unfortunately for him, his actions looked mighty suspicious: SA Burke went into the warehouse while SA Berrigan stayed back in the car with SA Kramer and the CI to surveil the surroundings. Then, suddenly, CI Caffrey's phone rang. Not the FBI-issued phone—a second phone, Agent Kramer had immediately noted, that Caffrey wasn't allowed to own. After checking the message, the CI proceeded to drag SA Burke out of the warehouse seconds before it blew sky-high.
On one hand, the CI had saved an FBI agent and should have been handed a medal.
Instead, uncomfortable questions arose.
Who had notified him? Why had they messaged him, and how had they known? Had they known because they were the ones who planted the bomb? And why would they alert Caffrey if he didn't know about it—or worse, if he did?
Questions upon questions, and Dick could hardly answer any of them since Caffrey was supposed to be on a strict leash. A criminal simply didn't have the same leeway as an agent.
The circumstances raised enough red flags to decorate a parade. That was why Neal tried to spin a convincing story that didn't immediately crumble like a house of cards built on an elephant and didn't leave him looking like a co-conspirator who had gotten cold feet because his friend had been slowly walking into a building rigged to blow—even though Agent Kramer had originally been the one supposed to check out the building, and everyone knew Caffrey and Kramer hated each other.
What was a bomb between enemies?
No wonder Dick chewed on his pen and worriedly spun in his chair.
Round and round—but only in his head. Neal was classy. He couldn't let the other agents know he was worried.
His gaze met the agents' outside the conference room, and he gave them an awkward wave before adding the finishing touches to the report.
Neal never showed his nervousness outwardly.
And, well, Dick had a lot of practice with that.
He still barely managed to suppress a flinch when the conference room door opened and Peter walked in, followed by Diana, Hughes, and Kramer.
Ugh.
Dick deliberately relaxed his shoulders and affixed an amused smile to his face.
"What can I do for you, lady and gentlemen... and Agent Kramer?"
He caught Diana's mouth twitching upward at his pettiness before she carefully schooled her expression back into neutrality.
"Caffrey," Hughes began, not unkindly, "your latest actions have raised some concerns. Agent Kramer, especially, wanted to get them cleared up as soon as possible. And I'll have to agree that it's more than necessary."
"Of course." Neal's smile twitched almost imperceptibly. "I understand that it might have looked suspicious out of context."
"That it did. However, I'm grateful that you risked your life to get Burke out of there. I won't disregard that. Nonetheless, an investigation is unavoidable." Hughes gestured toward Diana. "If you would pass your statement to Agent Berrigan."
Neal slid the paper across the table.
Diana swiftly skimmed the important points before nodding and handing it to the Director.
"This follows the events as far as I can verify."
Hughes carefully read the statement, no doubt having already been briefed by everyone involved.
The agents sat down around the conference table while Kramer powered up the conference room display, much to Dick's confusion.
Then he connected a phone to it.
Neal's phone.
Well.
Dick's phone.
The one he had left in the car when he sprinted toward the warehouse.
And, of course, Kramer had picked it up before Dick could make it disappear.
Dick had really gotten sloppy.
Well, fuck.
"If you would." Kramer pointed to the locked phone. "Agent Burke convinced us to keep the matter private... for now. But don't think you can get off scot-free. If any evidence is uncovered that you're involved in the planning of premeditated murder—my murder—or any other criminal offense, you won't be able to stay here."
Dick almost raised an eyebrow in pity at the man's inflated ego.
He had planned exactly one murder in his life, and that had been when he was nine.
Although he could probably be persuaded to look the other way if the Joker was involved.
But for a man who was the equivalent of an annoying fly buzzing around?
More worrisome were the contents of his phone.
While it was mostly Richie's phone, Dick had never completely separated Richie from himself, resulting in a device that was primarily used by Richie but still contained one or two chats that didn't quite fit the airhead persona.
"As you know, we need to verify your claim about your acquaintance." Diana smoothly took over. "In the best-case scenario, we'll only have to look at the message in question. Otherwise... well, we'll talk about it when we get there."
Neal could pretend to forget the password, right?
No.
That was a Richie thing.
Riddler could attest to that.
But, to be fair, when you were used to typing the code from muscle memory and suddenly had to think about the actual digits instead of the tapping pattern, the realization always hit out of nowhere.
What the fuck is my code?
Unfortunately, he knew this one.
The date Jason came back to the family.
Neal slowly took the phone and entered the password.
More importantly...
What was his background photo again?
He was so fucked.
The agents turned toward the large display showing Neal's phone for everyone to see.
Specifically, his wallpaper.
It could have been worse.
Batman—or rather Bruce Wayne in a fake Batman costume at a Halloween gala—stood surrounded by his kids.
The wallpaper raised a few eyebrows, but they were professionals, so Peter simply accepted Neal's phone and opened the messenger app.
"As your statement says, you received a message from an acquaintance who has, on occasion, helped you stay out of trouble." Diana tapped the report. "This person is a hacker known in Gotham as Oracle. According to your statement, they contacted you because you've crossed paths before, and they generally issue warnings whenever something from Gotham causes trouble elsewhere."
"That's right." Neal nodded. "Oracle probably uses some kind of warning system that alerts nearby parties when they need to evacuate. Of course, not everyone takes a random warning seriously, but those who know... well, they take it seriously."
Diana frowned thoughtfully before inclining her head.
Kramer, meanwhile, watched Peter scroll through the contacts with hawk-like intensity.
"If you're telling the truth, why can't we find their contact in your phone?" Kramer asked with a dangerous smile. "Did you save them under a codename?"
"No." Neal answered with perfect innocence. "You don't just save Oracle's contact. They're a hacker. They wouldn't leave a trace."
"That's doubtful. You probably just renamed or deleted them. We need to search his chat history for anything suspicious."
"That's private."
Neal's expression slipped for just a moment.
Kramer immediately honed in on it and bulldozed straight over the objection.
"It's not private. You gave up your right to privacy when you became a criminal."
Dick suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
"We do have to search your chat history," Hughes replied apologetically. "At least for the month leading up to the incident. That's the minimum."
Peter frowned. He knew Neal valued the little privacy he still had, criminal or not.
"Let's just start at the top," Diana suggested. "There are six chats with activity during that period."
Peter handed Diana the phone.
He preferred reading from the big screen, and Diana was better at this sort of thing anyway.
She studied the contact list.
Five chats.
That wasn't too bad. Especially since this was Richie's phone. He would never have been this careless with his Nightwing tech. Still, he couldn't remember every conversation he'd had over the last month.
Fingers crossed they wouldn't find anything.
Yeah.
This was exactly why Bruce micromanaged everything.
Where were Bruce's obsessive drills about never leaving your belongings unattended, no matter where you were?
Diana opened the first chat.
Catmom.
Fittingly, she scrolled through daily pictures of adorable cats.
Neal quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank God for Selina's tendency to share her cats with him.
At least this made him look like an ordinary cat-picture enthusiast.
Diana smiled at one especially cute kitten before briefly freezing at a picture of a hyena.
The very next image was simply Selina holding a cat.
Catwoman's identity wasn't public knowledge outside Gotham, so to everyone else it just looked like Neal had a friend who liked cats and knew he liked them too.
Hence the endless pictures.
"We still have four chats to go," Kramer announced.
Yeah.
Can't wait.
Oh shit.
The next one is—
"Back in Red," Peter read aloud while Diana scrolled.
This time they started at the one-month mark and read the conversation in chronological order.
Back in Red: (Picture of a pantry.) "Dick, you're out of salt."
Neal: Why are you even checking the pantry?
"Dick?" Kramer chuckled. "This person doesn't seem to like you."
Peter, however, frowned.
"This isn't June's apartment. Neal, why does it sound like you have a second place?"
Neal merely shrugged. Just because they were reading his texts didn't mean they were entitled to an explanation.
Peter narrowed his eyes but continued.
Back in Red: Why the fuck is there a Penguin ice cream cake in your freezer?
Neal: Patience, my dear Padawan.
Back in Red: (Picture: A newspaper article.)
Headline: Penguin Arrested After Glitter Bomb Foils His Escape.
After a cake disguised as a glitter bomb led authorities to the fleeing mob boss, investigators attempted to determine where it had originated. Upon questioning, Penguin merely sighed.
"It was my birthday. I should have known."
Back in Red: How do you even know Oz's birthday?
Neal: :3
"Neal," Hughes began slowly, "did you help arrest this 'Penguin'?"
"But, sir," Neal replied with perfect sincerity, "I'm allegedly an evil criminal. Why would I ever do something like that?"
Back in Red: Guess what.
Neal: What?
Back in Red: There's a living corpse on your fridge.
Neal (voice message): "...living cor— Little Wing, you are not a zombie! Your bodily functions still bodily function."
Neal: And wait... why are you on the fridge?
Back in Red: (Video.)
A rat scurried across the floor.
The camera abruptly flipped, revealing Red Hood awkwardly wedged between the fridge and the ceiling, visibly fuming.
"Because you're a fucking trust-fund baby who doesn't understand the meaning of trust fund. You are not broke. Get yourself a nice-ass apartment. Even my abandoned warehouses are cleaner than this shithole."
Neal: Language!
Back in Red: Dick!
Neal: Anyway, have you got anything for Dami's birthday?
Back in Red: When was that again?
Neal: Next month. August 9th, Little Wing!
"Neal, this seems to be a crimelord on your fridge," Diana raised an eyebrow. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"That's just a neighbor's kid. He likes to cosplay," Neal explained calmly. "Do you really think a crime lord would hide on a fridge from a rat? Their vigilante clothes should be bulletproof—or at least bite-resistant."
"Well, Neal has a point," Peter shrugged. "In addition, there wasn't anything incriminating in this chat. Let's move on to the next: Flightless Bird."
Dick could feel the piercing glare of Kramer. He just barely restrained himself from sticking out his tongue. Sensing the tension,
Diana opened the third of 5 chats.
–Flightless Bird–
Flightless Bird: I'm picking you up from the zoo today.
Flightless Bird: Get ready.
Neal: Happy birthday!
Flightless Bird: My birthday is on the 26th, not the 16th of July.
Neal: No, I know.
Flightless Bird: Then why would you wish me a happy birthday?!
Neal: It's because Ronald Amundsen's birthday is today!
Flightless Bird: ...who?
Neal: He led the first expedition to the South Pole!!!
Flightless Bird: You know, I'm shocked that you know penguins live on the South Pole.
Neal: I was watching a documentary about penguins, and of course I need to know where your relatives live.
Flightless Bird: ...I shouldn't have asked.
Flightless Bird: Do you mind if Edward tags along tomorrow?
Neal: Eddy! Are you babysitting me tomorrow?
Flightless Bird: Message deleted.
Flightless Bird: Yes. Don't tell anyone.
"Babysitting? You are a grown man, Caffrey. Is that a codeword for jailbreaking your anklet?" Kramer asked, confused. "But that doesn't make sense. If you could slip the anklet monitor you would be long gone."
"Has it already been three times this month?" Neal scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "He's just a friend. We hang out. What's so strange about that?"
"You've been sick three times this month, exactly on these dates..." Peter said, realization slowly dawning. "Have you been skipping work when you were supposed to be home sick?"
"Not voluntarily," Neal muttered, then quickly continued. "No, I was home sick, Peter. My... friend just tried to hang out with me. I was sick and couldn't, unfortunately. That's all I have to say about this. Let's continue."
Peter gave him a look that made it clear that they were going to talk about that, later. When there wasn‘t an agent around, who had it out for Neal. But for now he thankfully let it drop.
Diana regarded him skeptically but complied regardless.
Neal: voice message — bad rendition of "Flightless Birds" by the Guppies.
Flightless Bird: Richie, no. I do not need a theme song.
Neal: Eddy has one. His Riddle Time thingy.
Flightless Bird: That wasn't a song. That was his midlife crisis.
Diana clicked out of the chat, and after seeing nothing concerning, she blinked at the next contact name.
Then the agents turned to Neal in unison.
Not just in unison—but in an almost awed, synchronized disbelief at what this person had done to deserve that name.
Because it must be said: Neal didn't usually hold grudges. He wasn't especially petty.
But this was petty on a whole other level.
The contact name read:
Slade-the-Lemonade-Can’t-Win-a-Blade-Parade-Deathstroke-the-Breath-Joke-Masky-McGrumpface-the-One-Eyed-Drama-Pants-Overcompensating-Ninja-Grandpa-With-the-Cape-That-Smells-Like-Regret-Who-Trips-Over-His-Own-Sword-And-Gets-Beat-By-Teenagers-And-Shapeshifting-Alligators-While-Pretending-He’s-Scary-Still-Can’t-Beat-A-Kid-With-A-Boomerang
"Neal," Peter started. "Don't names usually have a character limit?"
"Yup," Neal said lightly. "I was motivated."
"WAIT," Diana said suddenly, a bit too sharply. "I just noticed—Slade and Deathstroke. Neal, this better not be the contact of Deathstroke the Terminator."
She opened the chat and relaxed slightly after scrolling through the messages, quickly checking the most recent ones. Then she took out her phone and cross-checked something.
After a moment, she slowly looked up and just stared at him.
"Are you—"
"Agent Berrigan?" Hughes asked. "What did you find? Is it really Slade Wilson? Should we be concerned?"
"Well..." Diana hesitated. "Neal did nothing wrong."
She scrolled back to the one-month mark and let them read the messages in order.
Slade-the-Lemonade-...: Are you in town today?
Neal: No, spending time with the family tonight.
Neal: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!
Slade-...: Are you in town today?
Neal: YES!
Slade-...: Are you in town today?
Neal: Yes. (°-°)#
Neal: YES!
Slade-...: I haven't even asked yet, kid.
Neal: No! You are not allowed to kill anyone in my town. It doesn't matter if I'm there or not.
Slade-... : (picture: Deathstroke dangling a man over a rooftop) I'm not asking if I'm allowed to kill. I'm asking if I need to be sneaky when disposing of him.
Neal: SON OF A BITCH, you'll regret this…
Neal changed the name from "Meanie Cyclops" to Slade-the-Lemonade-Can’t-Win-a-Blade-Parade-Deathstroke-the-Breath-Joke-Masky-McGrumpface-the-One-Eyed-Drama-Pants-Overcompensating-Ninja-Grandpa-With-the-Cape-That-Smells-Like-Regret-Who-Trips-Over-His-Own-Sword-And-Gets-Beat-By-Teenagers-And-Shapeshifting-Alligators-While-Pretending-He’s-Scary-Still-Can’t-Beat-A-Kid-With-A-Boomerang
"Technically Neal did nothing wrong," Diana repeated. "Except not alerting the authorities."
"I did tell the Justice League," Neal defended himself. "Deathstroke falls under their jurisdiction, being enhanced and all."
Diana snorted while the others processed this information.
Since they couldn't determine whether his contact with Deathstroke counted as wrongdoing (Kramer certainly thought it did), they agreed to verify the claim with a Justice League contact later.
At least the next chat looked promising.
—Eddy—
Neal: What has four wheels and flies?
Eddy: Hah! Too easy Richard, a garbage truck.”
“Richard!“ Peter exclaimed, “I don’t know this alias yet. Richard what?“
“Richard“ Diana pondered, “can be shortened to …Dick.“
Neal: CORRECT! You are so smart Eddy. Next: Why did the scarecrow win an award?
Eddy: Because he was outstanding in his field.
Neal: What’s orange and sounds like a parrot?
Eddy: A carrot. Richard, why are you sending me these riddles?
Neal: I came up with them.
Eddy: While not improbable, what’s the real answer?
Neal:…
Neal: Ozzy dared me. He said he could solve them faster. So we stopped at this bookshop and I got the Riddle book. But then he just sighed at me when he saw the book I chose. What’s so wrong about this book? These riddles are pretty funny, even I could barely solve them, and I have the answers in front of me.
Neal: Why don’t skeletons fight each other?
Eddy: They don’t have the guts. And of course I’m winning, Oswald is not faster than me.
Neal: No Ozzy is doing pretty good, it stands 2 : 1. He got distracted at the first one, because Red Robin fell out of the rafters laughing.
Eddy: You are lying! Of course you would defend your favorite Uncle, now continue so I can win.
Neal: What kind of room has no doors or windows?
Eddy: A mushroom.
Eddy: I have to say…
Before they could continue a new message plopped open with an insisting sound.
Oracle: Riddler‘s on route. Imminent.
“Oracle!“ Peter exclaimed.
Then it vanished.
“The Gotham villain?!“ Peter exclaimed, confused.
“Stay here!” Peter instructed Neal and hurried outside, weapon drawn.
“Hello, NEW YORK!” Riddler twirled his question mark cane skillfully around his body before slamming it to the ground. “Someone here is in a load of trouble.”
“Freeze! Put your hands above your head!” an agent called.
“Tsk tsk. Where would be the fun in that?” Riddler replied. “I think you should all drop your weapons if you don’t want to see this man—” In a smooth motion, Riddler extended his cane and hooked Jones around the neck, pulling him forward. “—dead.”
Before the agents could do more than gasp, Riddler’s henchmen entered the bullpen. If anyone fired a weapon now, the stalemate would break and the whole office could be decimated.
Riddler shoved Jones toward a henchman and dusted off his green suit jacket. Hughes, as the highest-ranking official, raised his hands and stepped forward onto the railing overlooking the bullpen.
“I’m Director Hughes,” he said calmly. “To what do we owe this visit?”
“Straight to the point. I like that.” Riddler tilted his head. “One of your agents tried to tamper with something that is not to be touched.”
His gaze sharpened. “May Agent Kramer step forward.”
Kramer immediately stiffened—and then, with a controlled motion, gestured slightly toward Diana.
“She was the one who handled the Oracle evidence,” he said. “If anyone here understands what you’re referring to, it’s her.”
Hesitating only briefly, Diana stepped out from Hughes’ shadow and descended into the bullpen. Maybe she could help Jones, when she was in closer proximity.
“I’m here. Please let Jones go!” Diana stated calmly.
“Ah. No honor among agents. How ironic. Well, I don’t care either way.” Riddler smiled faintly. “Very well. I’ll give you one chance to get out of this with your lives. Riddle me this…”
Albert and Bernard just became friends with Edward, and they want to know when his birthday is. Edward gives them a list of 10 possible dates:
May 15, May 16, May 19, June 17, June 18, July 14, July 16, August 14, August 15, August 17.
Then Edward tells Bernard the month he was born, and Albert the day he was born.
Bernard says: I don’t know when Edward’s birthday is, but I know that Albert doesn’t know either.
Albert: At first I didn’t know when Edward’s birthday was, but now I know.
Bernard says: I also know when Edward’s birthday is.
Now tell me, Miss Berrigan, when is Edward’s birthday?
(AN: Can you solve it? If you need a hint, read on to the next AN)
“And if I hear any attempt at cheating,” Riddler leaned on his staff, smirking at the unwilling contestant, “people will start dying sooner rather than later.”
Diana forced herself not to focus on the man whose life now depended on her answer. This was just a logic puzzle. She was good at logic puzzles. Usually, they didn’t come with hostages.
“Tic toc, or this agent will lose his head.”
“You can’t do this!” Kramer snapped.
“Oh, but I can.”
Diana could figure this out. She just needed to think—without imagining Jones’ head rolling if she failed.
“Now the time is up. What say you? When is Edward’s birthday?”
“The date is…” she started. One in ten. No—one in eight if you eliminate June 18 and May 19–
(AN: hint: you can eliminate June 18 and May 19. Why can they be eliminated?)
“Your answer now!”
“April 1st! Obviously.”
Diana spun around.
Neal was cheerfully kicking his feet, perched on the railing four meters above the floor like gravity was a suggestion.
Also—how did he get April 1st? It wasn’t even one of the options. If this was some kind of joke…
“Richie!” Riddler pointed his cane accusingly. “I’d say I’m surprised, but it makes more sense now why my surveillance program alerted me.”
He crossed his arms, studying him. “And no, while my day of creation falls on April 1st, the answer to the riddle is not my birthday. And before you ask, the Edward in the riddle is not me.”
“Aw,” Neal said, pouting. “And here I thought it was a trick question. Guess I’m not much of a Dora the Explorer, am I Diana?”
“What—” Diana blinked. “Sorry, what?”
“I said,” Neal repeated, a little too casually, “I’m not much of an explorer, am I?”
“No,” Diana said slowly. “No, you are not much of an explorer…”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
Riddler raised an eyebrow at the exchange but said nothing. Strange behavior was unavoidable whenever Richie was in a room.
“Now, Ms. Berrigan,” Riddler continued, “your answer please. Or heads will roll.”
“It’s the 16th of July,” Diana declared.
Silence dropped like a weight.
“Correct,” Riddler said, almost disappointed. He spun his cane lazily and muttered to himself. “Maybe the riddle was too easy…”
He gestured dismissively. “Let the agent go.”
Relieved, Diana and Jones quickly retreated to the other agents. Before the Riddler could do anything else, or the agents had time to try to arrest the dangerous Rogue, a voice drew their eyes to the first floor terrace, where the Director and Peter stood, while Neal was still perched on the railing.
“Why did the tomato turn red?” Neal‘s voice rang out over the bullpen.
Riddler pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because it saw—” Before he could finish the sentence, Neal tipped forward with a delighted giggle. Riddler’s head snapped upwards, to the sound in sudden alarm.
The Rogue was only not flattened because he jumped to the side with a high-pitched squeak, while three of his goons scrambled to catch Neal. They set the CI down, and with a quick “Thanks, guys,” Neal was off again.
The agents on the balcony stared in horror at the empty space their CI had left behind. He moved quickly to see down into the bullpen to figure out what had triggered Neal’s reckless decision. Maybe the criminal tried something?
Peter’s breath hitched in confusion and betrayal.
Neal had thrown himself at this Riddler and hugged the criminal who would have murdered Jones if Diana had gotten the answer wrong.
“—Because it saw the salad dressing,” Edward sighed, arms pinned to his side by the hug, while Neal giggled. “Are you still on that children’s riddle book? I thought I already solved all of them for you?”
“Nah, you only solved like one third,” Neal said, stepping back and rocking slightly on his heels. “Why are you here?”
“My program alerted me that your phone was being tampered with. Someone tried to install a trojan—spy software.” Riddler amended at Richie‘s confused puppy dog eyes. Peter turned to give an accusing look to Kramer, who immediately avoided his gaze. “Of course, I wouldn’t care if it were Batman’s or Oracle’s software—they have to keep track of you somehow. But this was government standard. And as we always say,” Riddler wiggled his hands free and spread his arms in a grand gesture, “the police thrive on the indulgence of society’s understanding. And as such, we, as the outcasts of society, cannot allow this exploitation to continue. The exploitation of our citizens.”
“So…” Neal raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Penguin told you to do it?”
Riddler’s shoulders sagged. “And Penguin told me to do it, because I was in the vicinity.”
“It’s nice of you to stop by. I was showing the nice FBI agents my contacts—they thought I blew up a warehouse. Though I don’t know what’s so bad about that. There’s always a warehouse blowing up in Gotham. And no one gets in trouble.”
“A warehouse blew up?”
“Yeah, and they thought I told someone to do it. But like, almost nobody does what I tell them to do. I told Bruce to wear that polka-dot shirt. He didn’t wear it—”
“Almost nobody?” Riddler perked up.
“—Though I told Freeze to cool my drink, he did! And once I told Red Hood to shoot me.”
“Ah…” Riddler squinted. “Was that why—”
“And he shot me,” Richie pouted. “It hurt, but not as much as that time I fell off a building.”
“So that’s why Deathstroke accepted a hit on Red Hood that time,” Edward tilted his head to the side.
Dick leaned over a conference room table at the White Collar office, pen in hand and concentrating on filling out their latest mission report.
Oracle, the hacker, did warn Neal Caffrey that the building was going to explode. (Witnesses [Agent Peter Burke, Director Hughes, Agent Diana Berrigan, Agent Kramer] to a similar situation can assert that Oracle‘s message notification sound and Modus operandi is reasonable and likely in this scenario). Therefore Neal Caffrey is not accused of wrongdoing in this case.
He still barely managed to suppress a flinch when the conference room door opened and Peter walked in, followed by Diana, Hughes, and Kramer.
Ugh.
Dick deliberately relaxed his shoulders and affixed an amused smile to his face.
"What can I do for you, lady and gentlemen... and Agent Kramer?"
"Caffrey," Hughes sighed, "your latest actions have raised some concerns. Agent Kramer, especially, wanted to get them cleared up as soon as possible. And I'll have to agree that it's more than necessary."
"Of course." Neal's smile twitched almost imperceptibly. "I understand that it might have looked suspicious out of context."
"That it did. However, I'm grateful that you risked your life to get Berrigan out of there. I won't disregard that. Nonetheless, an investigation is unavoidable." Hughes gestured toward Diana. "If you would pass your statement to Agent Berrigan."
Neal slid the paper across the table.
Diana swiftly skimmed the document before fixing him with a look.
"Caffrey,“ Diana said in a deadpan voice, “this isn’t supposed to be about the mission. It should be about your involvement with the Gotham Rogue, the Riddler.“
Oh.
Right…
Well.
Shit.