A/N thanks to everyone who has supported my white collar fics. This is a request made by Row (Whispercloud). This time it is a Chuck/White Collar/Batman fic. Enjoy.

For those who don't know Jones's first name is Clinton.

Neal's POV

His shoulder ached as he sat at his desk. The entire office was being tested on their self defense skills. It made him uneasy despite the fact he had not been called yet.

It wasn't that he was afraid that he would fail the test. He was afraid that he would pass it. No one knew that he could fight. Or even fight as well as he did. Despite his aches and pains he could still fight. Not as well as he once did but enough to defend himself against White Collar criminals.

Very few people had ever seen him without a shirt on. He was very careful about it when he changed. His scars would bring up questions that he could not answer.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end suddenly. Someone was watching him and they didn't have the best intentions. There was little doubt in his mind who it was.

Slowly he turned his head to look back towards the conference room and higher offices. Standing at the railing was Phillip Kramer.

Blue green eyes met blue. A triumphant smirk crossed the elder man's face. It made Neal's skin crawl just seeing it. That man was up to something. Even after he and Peter made up the bastard still had yet to leave.

His commutation hearing was in just a few days. It would be what decided his future for the next two years. Would he be free? Or would he still be kept on a leash?

He hid a start when movement appeared at his desk. The pen he had been playing with tightened into his fist. It wasn't much of a weapon but it would do.

When he looked up he saw Jones standing there. The older man looked uncomfortable. Given what he wanted Neal didn't blame him. It was well known in the FBI that he didn't fight.

Jones said carefully, "Neal, Hughes wants you to be the next to be tested. Let's go down to the training room."

Neal sighed. He didn't really have a choice. Every member of the FBI was being tested. This included all the CI's.

Peter gave him a strange look as they passed. Peter knew that he had been acting strangely since the order went out.

Who could blame him? He practically begged Hughes not to give him the test. Hughes had denied his request.

Hughes blatantly told him if he couldn't pass the test then they would find a teacher. It wasn't that he was worried about. He could pass a defense exam. Fighting was drilled into him at a young age.

What he was afraid of was losing his position here. Proving that he could fight just chose not to could very well end his time at the FBI. He would have to be cautious not to show his true skills. Just show enough of them to be left alone.

Hesitantly he allowed Jones to take him to the training room. Neal took off his jacket immediately then began to roll up his sleeves. This was what he wore constantly if they were going to test him it would be on his terms.

Jones inquired curiously raising an eyebrow, "That's what you are going to fight in?"

Answered without looking at the man, "If you want to see how I fight. It would make sense to see how I fight in the clothes I wear all the time. Rather than clothes that I would wear only in practice."

Jones shrugged, "All right, Caffery. If that's what you want."

Jones removed his own jacket and took an open fighting stance. To Neal's trained eye he could see the man knew how to protect himself. That he had trained as a boxer before. Boxing however was too restrictive to be much use here. To fight for your life was to give it all you had to throw away the formal training and give it all you had. Boxing was good in a controlled setting but not here.

Neal didn't give the older man time to strike. He lunged forward feinted left and swung right. That attack hit its mark on Jones's jaw.

Neal could see that the other was seeing stars. He might not look like much but he packed one hell of a strike.

Jones quickly recovered blocking the second strike. Neal backed away waiting to see what he would do next.

Jones didn't let him retreat for long though. He went straight in for blows of his own. Neal blocked expertly ignoring the dangerous twinge that his shoulder was giving off. He could push through that. It wasn't on the verge of being useless. Not yet at least.

Neal chooses to go at Jones a second time. This time he slips around the other's guard and grabbed his wrist. With strength that few knew he had he spun the man around and twisted arm behind the other's back. Jerking it up and pushing on the wrist be put the agent into a painful wrist lock. Only to follow through with a kick to the back of Jones's knee.

Jones went down and that was the end of their fight. Neal growled as he applied a slight bit more pressure when the man tried to stand, "Do you yield?"

Jones yelped painfully, "I yield, Caffery. Let go."

Neal did as he was bid. It was only a moment later he realized what happened. The Larkin side of him had kicked in. He could have seriously injured Jones in what should have just been a sparring session.

Neal apologized quietly, "Sorry. It's been a long time and I went to far."

Jones shook his head as he rolled his shoulder and rubbed his wrist, "I shouldn't have underestimated you. You have proven time and time again that just because you won't. Doesn't mean you can't. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I learned from a young age," he answered truthfully.

Give just enough information to quell the questions. Not enough to trace it back to any point in time or place.

As he was rolling down his sleeves Peter said from the doorway, "Neal come on. We have a case."

That got him moving. Anything was better than standing here waiting. No more awkward questions. Immediately he left with Peter leaving Jones staring at his back.

Jones's POV

As he watched Caffery leave something caught his eye. Caffery's jacket was still laying where he left it. The fight must have really spooked him if he left his trademark jacket behind.

When he picked it up a picture fell out from the inside pocket. Curious, Clint picked it up. Anyone who had ever been in Neal's apartment knew the man didn't have pictures. There were artwork hanging up but nothing of him.

There was a betting pool about the man's past. 300 dollars on what kind of past Caffery had before. Considering nothing was known about him before the age of 18 it wasn't surprising.

He turned the picture over in his hands and started in surprise. It could have been a group of brothers. Or adopted some of them looked to different to be full blooded brothers.

Immediately he spied Neal the oldest of the group. He had a bright grin on his face. His arm was slung over a grumpy looking child. They almost looked as if they were brother.

To his trained eyes he noticed the difference between that smile and the smile he normally saw. It was less forced and truly happy. Who were these people?