For a moment, while Hartley was leaning close, he - Freddie? - looked up, to read his face, to share the feeling that it wasn't quite right, and their eyes met, way too close. Way closer than Dick could make the words come out, and then Piper moved back away and he found himself with his lips feeling way too dry.

He swallowed, and started looking over the meager other papers there with the driver's license. Then Hartley mentioned a problem, drawing his attention away from a hotel restaurant receipt he was looking at, and his attention snapped to what he was being shown and.

What.

The.

Fuck?

His jaw dropped and he. His hand reached up towards the box, then dropped, then reached up again, scooping two of the papers, holding them open but staring at them unseeing for a few moments...

... then, then his face lit up.

"This one. This is me." He held up the license with the right name.

Richard John Grayson. Permanent address in Gotham, but there seemed to be a New York something in that pile that he caught sight of.