Coming Back

A man searches through the basement of an abandoned research facility. He uncovers a steel capsule surrounded by life support equipment. Inside he finds…

Meandering through the abandoned location, the lead agent made his way into the lowest and most secure level of the facility. "Figures they would be hiding something big down here… but what is still the question." He muttered as he looked around the lab.

It looked like any ordinary research facility. A mixture of computers, microscopes, books, and various experiments were scattered about based on workstations. Then there was a door with extra security on it.

Cocking his head, the agent smiled. "This has got to be something good." He purred happily. If he recovered something special, it could mean that promotion he'd been looking at.

Approaching the door with caution, he knew that anything special and guarded that highly could also have unseen traps. Moving slowly, he hacked the security and opened the door. "Nothing?"

All that greeted him was an apparently empty storage closet that had likely contained valuable supplies and research results at one time, but it had been left to serve as a decoy when the location was abandoned.

Sighing as he began to poke around into the storage slots, he hoped something had been missed. Then seeing a button recessed into the wall behind some deteriorating debris, he decided to push it and see what happened.

Jumping back as the entire wall swung out to create a double entrance into a recessed room, he went back to believing he had uncovered something big. There was a steel capsule in the middle of the room!

Continuing forward, he entered the space and walked around the capsule at a distance identifying the various machinery around it. They were all forms of life support, so whatever the capsule had contained had been living. Would there be any evidence as to what… or who, had been held captive inside?

Opening the lid with his gun drawn, he was prepared to shoot if necessary.

When the lid finished the slow process of lifting up while lights turned on and air shifted between the two spaces, a sound caught his attention. Whoever had been held in the capsules, was still in there and alive, because they breathed!

Calling in to report his find, he knew that promotion was sure to be his. He had found a hostage, but not just any hostage, one Agent Bryce Larkin. He was alive after being shot dead…. the second time.

He woke up in a morgue with no memory. On a table next to him was a brown envelope marked 'Confidential.'

He was cold, and oh so tired. The surface he was laying on was hard, with a metallic cold to it that seemed to have seeped into his very bones. On top of that, it felt like he had been sleeping for a very long time; and yet no time at all.

Opening his eyes, he closed them again quickly. Even the dull light around him couldn't compete with the bright light focused on his person causing him to see blinding white.

Groaning, he sensed that he needed to open his eyes. An elusive feeling of danger seemed to swirl around him, reminding him that he hadn't been safe the last time he was conscious. Forcing them open, he realized he was in the morgue.

There were cold slabs of stainless steel lined up at various points around the room, most were empty, but one had a brown envelope on it. Continuing to observe his surrounding, he noticed the freezers, equipment, and swinging doors all typical of the environment.

Moving to get off of the cart, he wobbled and dropped to the floor. His legs were as useful for walking as Jello so he moved to a seated position and let his system regain its equilibrium.

Using the time wisely, he stretched and rubbed his muscles working his blood into limbs and through his system faster.

Once he felt better, he moved to crawl across the floor in a crawl before you walk kind of thing. Then when he reached the other cart he used it to help him climb back up until he could reach the envelope.

Easing back down to the floor, he shivered from the cold it also contained but ignored it.

Reading the front, the envelope said 'Confidential.' With no one around to answer his questions, he flipped the top open and slid a folder out into his lap. Lifting it up, it had a name typed along the edge tab. 'Bryce Larkin, Agent' was all it said.

Feeling like the name was familiar, but not knowing why, he turned the cover to see what it contained.

The first page showed a smiling face of a young man with records of schooling at Stanford. This section ended with notes about his recruitment to the CIA. "Huh." He didn't know what to think of that.

Moving on to the next page, he found that most of the information was blacked out. What he could read of the information indicated a legendary hero, someone he could possibly admire, but ended when he reached the death certificate, and then another death certificate?

Frowning, he wondered how someone could die twice. Then again, why was he looking at someone's file, and why did it seem so familiar, or matter?

"Are you finished looking through your records Agent Larkin?" A voice as hard and cold as the steel around him echoed through the space.

Flinching, he had been caught unaware of anyone being around. Looking around the room again, he noticed it was still empty. Redirecting his focus upward, he noticed a speaker for a sound system and figured the voice had come from there.

'Great, I'm being watched,' was the first thought to cross his mind. Then it dawned on him that he had been addressed as this Agent Larkin he had just been reading about. "So, I'm Agent Larkin?" He questioned the voice. Everything was hazy for him before waking up in the room.

"Do you not know who you are?" The voice repeated, a woman's voice. She sounded secure in her position and used to being obeyed, a person of rank.

"No, mam." He answered. There was no point in lying, considering he had already asked the question revealing the truth.

There was a muffled sigh, and some talking blocked from his hearing. He could hear the sound, but not distinguish the words.

"Guards will be on hand in a moment to escort you. Our scientists will endeavor to figure out what happened to your memory. You are officially off of field duty until further notice and will be restricted to the labs until this situation can be cleared up. Do you understand me?" She barked.

"Yes, mam," he kept it simple. The details weren't clear, but the intent was. She was going to hold him somewhere until he remembered.

As expected, the doors swung open while he answered to reveal four men in uniform. They were armed and directed him to accompany them.

Walking him down a hallway, the guards assisted him whenever he seemed to stumble, and then carried him after his legs tired shortly into the walk.

Opening another set of doors, they placed him into a seat where he found himself engulfed in testing equipment.

This seemed to bring up flashes of panicked moments, but he couldn't remember enough to really fear the situation. Instead, he hoped they would get him answers. He could always act later if he needed to, once he remembered how to act anyway.

Glancing through the machines, he saw his reflection in the mirror. He was wearing a white set of scrubs, but his face was an older version of the man in the file. What had happened to him?

"I don't have a license to kill. I have a learner's permit."

Holding the gun in his hand felt wrong. Although he knew he had carried one before, even used one to kill others, it still felt alien in his hands.

"You have a license to kill. What do you have to worry about? It's not like you haven't done all of this before." His handler for the Red Test stated calmly.

Although he had regained his memory and could utilize most of his skills, he seemed to have lost something with guns. "I don't have a license to kill. I have a learner's permit." That was putting it mildly. Due to his memory issues, he was technically a field agent, but going through the training, again.

Snorting, the instructor didn't seem to care. Instead, they gave him his instructions and watched as he walked out the door.

Going through the process, he was able to pass certification for being a field agent, but still lacked something of his old self. He wasn't the same spy he had been before dying again.

Instead, the general decided to assign him to an old case. It was one where he could play nonviolent and allow others to carry the guns for him, but still allowed him to be useful by accomplishing an old mission.

"Hold on, you died." "Yeah, well it didn't stick."

Working with the FBI wasn't the most glamorous assignment, and it wasn't the dullest either.

There was glamour. Living in a mansion and wearing Devore suits certainly had its appeal. Then there were undercover operations at fancy events and playing exciting roles.

However, there were dull aspects to the job to, like working in a bland office without anything interesting to look at. Mortgage fraud cases were like sleeping pills, piles of sleeping pills with nothing of interest that always seemed to be waiting in the wings when more exciting cases didn't require attention. And even getting out of the office could mean sitting in the van… the cramped, smelly van where he had to listen to someone else have all the fun.

Sighing as he sat tapping his pen on his desk, Neal couldn't believe that he was this bored. After dying twice, you'd think he would find life exhilarating, or have a new zest for freedom, but he was instead overwhelmed by the boredom.

Three straight weeks of nothing but mortgage fraud, the office, and the van… nothing was going on!

Sure, he didn't want super soldiers, nukes, or the stability of the free world at stake, but couldn't someone rob a museum of a painting?

Hearing the elevator ding, he looked up to see who was about to enter the office.

A man got out of the car and pushed through the doors into the White Collar unit. He was looking around, unsure of whom to speak with when his eyes landed on the first desk.

Seeming to expect something of a secretary, his eyes widen and he blurted. "Aren't you supposed to be dead, Bryce?"

Wanting to facepalm, Bryce couldn't help but think he got what he wished for as the entire office stopped and turned to look at him. "I believe you have me mistaken for someone else." He tried the bland way of getting out. The man was a former frat brother, from his college years.

"No, I don't. You're Bryce Larkin, the dude I went to school with as a fraternity brother." Digging in his pocket, he pulled out his phone. "Here, I even have a picture from that night we were gaming and posed for a picture. There is you, Chuck, Harry, and I." The picture was turned for him to see.

Sure enough, there is his smiling face looking back at him. "That is odd how much we look alike, but I'm telling you, that isn't me."

Snorting, the man wasn't giving up like he hoped he would. "See the scar tracing along the side of your face there? You still have a faint line in the same place. It's not likely two doppelgangers would have the same scar." Getting a bit angry, the man threw in another jab. "I don't know why you treated Chuck the way you did, but I won't fall for your games."

"Neal, what is he talking about?" Peter joined the conversation and had his hands on his hips. He was obviously in speech mode.

Sighing, Bryce tilted his head back and muttered in Klingon. Then bringing his head back down, he lightly glared at his former friend. "Why do you have to be so persistent? Besides, how do you even remember that scar?" It's not like they were particularly close?

"I gave it to you, remember?" The man crossed his arms.

Thinking back, he couldn't remember. "Maybe my memories didn't come back as much as we thought…" He muttered. No matter how much he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with the memory of how he got the scar.

Growling, Peter wanted an answer, and he was getting tired of waiting. "Neal?"

Turning to face his handler, and he had to admit friend, Bryce tried to figure out what to say. "I can't answer your questions. Not only because I apparently don't remember as well as I thought, but because I'm not allowed to."

Frowning deeper, Peter ordered his agents to handle the man's case. "Neal, we're going for a walk."

Getting up, Bryce looked around at the office. "Don't research that name, unless you want to get a phone call or personal visit from Washington." After delivering his cryptic warning, he turned to walk out the door with Peter.

Riding the elevator silently down, followed by an equally silent walk, Peter decided to get into his car and drive. It was private with only the two of them.

Grabbing coffees and heading for the nearest park, he found a secluded spot and ordered, "Spill it, Neal. What was that all about?"

Waiting until after Peter had swallowed a sip, Bryce answered. "In college, I was brought into some government stuff... I can't say what, but technically it got me killed."

"Hold on, you died." Peter seemed to be having trouble wrapping his head around that.

"Yeah, well it didn't stick." Bryce shrugged. He wasn't going to mention how many times he had died. "Anyway, last time I woke up in a morgue without much memory. It took a lot of scientists some time to figure out what my problem was and help me get my memory back, but I still don't have it all and aren't even the same person anymore. Because I can't do my job to the standards I used to carry, I was reassigned to play Caffrey. Once again, I cannot tell you why, or any details."

Sipping on his coffee silently for a while, Peter didn't seem to have anything to say. Then he made a small comment, something that didn't seem like much in itself, but meant a whole lot in context. "I'm glad it didn't stick."

Releasing a tension he didn't even know he had, Bryce relaxed and was finally able to drink his coffee.

"So, is any of the criminal stuff real?" Peter questioned with a thoughtful expression.

"No, I only pretend to be a criminal," Bryce answered the general question. He had already admitted to being government, so he might as well get that out there too.

Relaxing as well, Peter seemed to be happier for the exchange.

"You aren't mad?" Bryce couldn't help but wonder. Would he really get to keep his strange friendship with the agent?

"No… not really anyway. I mean, I wasted a lot of time chasing a criminal that wasn't, which isn't something I'm thrilled with." Peter bounced his head while he continued to think. "However, I don't actually have to teach you how to be an honest citizen, so there are perks to this."

Smiling slightly, Bryce couldn't help but be amused. "You count not having to teach me how to be honest a perk?"

"Being government playing a role means you're more honest than a real criminal, but I didn't see this coming so you're also really good at lying. Since you mentioned that you've been killed before, the more skilled you are at hiding the better. So, yeah, not having to teach you how to be honest is a huge weight off of my shoulders." Peter smiled lightly back at him. There was genuine friendship in his expression and he seemed to be happy knowing the truth.

Feeling a warmth; Bryce realized what he had been missing since he woke up on the cold slab. Feelings, the feelings of friendship, belonging, and family. Seeing the welcoming look on Peter's face, he knew he would have a tough run ahead of him, but he wouldn't be alone anymore.

"I think I'm finally coming back to myself." And he meant it. Not the spy, or con, but the man. He was finally coming back to being himself.

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