Bryce Larkin died for the second time that night. But Bryce Larkin never was. neal Caffrey was. And Neal Caffrey died for the second time that night.
He didn't expect to still be conscious, in the New York FBI office, White Collar division, after that.
And Peter Burke certainly hadn't planned to get a ghostly CI.

This is so much fun...
And such a mess to deal with. Good thing I stopped writing before it got to that part!

Still sticking around - part 1

Bryce Larkin died at night, in a secret facility hidden behind an official business.

For the second time.

Though the first time had been in a secret facility of the NSA, not hidden behind a front business.

Still, Bryce Larkin died at night for the second time in his life, and this time, there was no one to revive him, or who would have wanted to revive him. Bryce Larkin wasn't a particularly liked individual. Even the people who did like him, liked him better from afar. If some would cry a little for his death, none would really want him back. They thought he was too much trouble.

It was a pity, really, considering everything he had done for these people.

But Bryce Larkin was the kind of guy who never got any recognition, not until it was too late, and never enough that people would actually want him back.

Bryce Larkin was the kind of individual you liked to blame, even when it wasn't their fault if the situation was shitty to begin with. That kind of people you blamed for not being able to do miracles, when others are put on a pedestal simply because they had tried, even when they had failed.

So, that particular night, Bryce Larkin died again. And it didn't disrupt the course of the world all that much. A few tears, a quick burial, and the world was done with Bryce Larkin.

Perhaps it wasn't so strange, considering that Bryce Larkin had never existed to begin with.

But while Bryce Larkin wasn't a real person, only a creation, an identity no one had managed to crack, but who was still very fake, there was a real person who died that night. The one person who had been using the name Bryce Larkin all along. If Bryce Larkin died that night, and Bryce Larkin had never existed, it meant that Bryce Larkin hadn't died. Someone who's not real cannot be killed.

There still was a body left behind. If Bryce Larkin didn't die that night, Neal Caffrey did.

Neal Caffrey was a genius white collar criminal, who shed personas like a snake's skin - only, more frequently. He went from Nick Halden to Bryce Larkin to Gary Rydell in the blink of an eye, and a change of clothes.

He hadn't expected to be noticed by the CIA as he had gotten himself into college at Stanford, but certainly had appreciated the challenge, and before he knew it, he had become a CIA agent... or, Bryce Larkin had become a CIA agent, while Neal Caffrey continued his crimes around the world in between Bryce's missions.

He never had a minute to relax, but it didn't bother him all that much. The human life was only so long, that he had to make the better of it. Bryce allowed him to do good things and save people, even if at the cost of some lives along the way, something he didn't like very much, but he understood. Neal Caffrey, him, could only do cons and thefts and otherwise frowned-upon-by-the-law activities, which were exciting in themselves, and relatively victimless, at least in the ways that mattered, because he never went after someone who couldn't afford it – but the cons didn't do any good to his conscience.

Despite what some people might have said, Neal Caffrey had a conscience.

In fact, he had long wanted to be a cop, to defend those who couldn't, just like his father.

Then he had heard the truth about his father's heroism, and Neal hadn't felt like he should be allowed to protect anyone. Not when he was his father's son. Not when he doubted himself and his tendencies not to follow the rules.

It was easier to simply chose a "job" which actually asked for him to break the rules.

Out of nowhere, "Bryce Larkin" had offered him a chance to be doing what he was best at, and be the good guy at the same time. Bryce Larkin had allowed him to be, even if while living a lie, the man he had once dreamed of being.

About half of Neal's lives were lies, anyway. Someone with as many lives as him couldn't possibly be all that real. And if he had more than one true life, it was only because his name had been officially changed once, and he had himself unofficially, but effectively, changed it once more.

It didn't matter, though. Not now. Not anymore. Never again.

Because Bryce Larkin had died that night, and if Bryce Larkin truly had never been alive, it wasn't Neal Caffrey's case. So when Bryce Larkin had died that night, really it was Neal Caffrey who kicked the bucket. Again. Not everybody could say they had died twice in their life.

He'd complain about it being an unhealthy habit, except he was, you know, dead.

Definitely, this time.

Dead people don't complain all that much. Because they're, you know, dead. Which Neal was.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so much with all the crazyness in his life, but still, quite a lot nonetheless, because, really, this wasn't the kind of crazy he was used to - anyway, to the point: surprisingly, Neal found he still managed to complain, even though being dead.

Which was clearly suspicious, if you asked him for his opinion. Not that anyone would ask a dead guy about his opinion on the possibility to complain after being shot to death, actually dying, at that.

Had Neal been religious, he'd still find this situation more than a little tiny bit suspicious. Because even considering he'd believe in God and the afterlife, were he religious, there'd still be the issue that the place he was at right now didn't exactly look like Heaven... or Hell for that matter. Wonder where he'd end up. He wasn't a bad guy, surely, but he wasn't a saint either...

Anyway.

The place Neal found himself in, after having died a truly disappointing death, didn't look like any kind of afterlife he'd ever heard about. In fact, it looked pretty much like the deserted offices of some company after hours. No lights on. No one. And certainly no judge to tell him where he deserved to go from now on. Just a bunch of desks, chairs, shelves, and various other furnitures.

An office. Neal, or really, Bryce, had seen a lot of strange and otherwise disturbing things in his life.

A deserted office in the middle of the night didn't even make it to the Top Twenty.

No, what bothered the newly-deceased Neal Caffrey had nothing to do with the place in itself... and more to do with the fact that he was here, after having died. Neal wasn't an expert on the subject of dying - though some people may think he did have a headstart - but he seriously thought it wasn't supposed to happen like that.

Usually, he surmised, it was more of a dead,-lights-out kind of things.

Thus his issue with the current situation was such: yes, he was dead; no, the lights weren't out.

Proof, his continued existence.

Neal heard a sound coming from the other side of the office, and turned around. The glass doors had opened to let a man enter, but the stranger hadn't yet noticed Neal. He was on the phone.

"Sorry, Honey, but I had a hunch... Yes, I know, I'll be there tomorrow evening, as I promised... No, no, just do as always... I'm sure Satchmo'll be happy to eat my meal... Me too, Elizabeth."

The man sighed, unaware of the younger man standing in awe just a few feet ahead of him. He had a case to work on, criminals to catch, and an idea to get there. That's why he had come back to the office this late at night. Something another agent had said had rung a bell earlier, so... He knew what to look for. He wasn't sure how difficult it'd be to find it, but it was still more than before.

And, more importantly, he knew he wouldn't be able to go to sleep before he found his hidden link.

As for Neal, he was finding this situation alarmingly amusing, which didn't sit right with him at all. For some reason, it seemed, he was dead, and yes, he was certain of that, because his T-shirt still felt sticky with blood, and God, was he a ghost, now? - he was dead, and in the New York FBI office, White Collar division, with Peter Burke, the man who had caught him by luring him with Kate, a few years ago, working late hours.

Considering he was a ghost, Neal wasn't sure Burke would be able to see him or anything, but if he did... That was a whole can of worms that'd be opened, one to which he didn't have half of the answers - the ones about how the hell he was a ghost - and the other half better would be left alone - like, how had he died out of jail, when he was supposed to be in there for six more months yet?

The bright side, Neal supposed, was that even if the CIA somehow heard about it all, they wouldn't be able to kill him for what he had done, given that he was already dead. They wouldn't be able to lock him in a cobalt prison either... Or, hoped hoped they couldn't.

After all, he didn't think the CIA knew how to deal with ghosts, and yesterday he'd have said there was no way a government agency would waste time with fictional supernatural issues. But today, he knew such things weren't that fictional. For all he knew, there was a governmental agency dealing with these kinds of problems so that the population would not hear about the supernatural.

Neal sure hoped he was an invisible ghost right now.

On the other hand, he was pretty certain he'd get bored quickly, if no one could tell he was here. Neal didn't do well with loneliness. He had pulled it off as Bryce, because he knew he could always become Neal again, have his friends again, shake off the solitude if he needed. But if he was supposed to spend the rest of eternity alone, watching over what became of the world...

He wouldn't be able to.

Burke pressed a switch, and there came the light.

Moment of truth, Neal realized. Either the FBI agent ignored him, because he actually couldn't see him... or there would be a very awkward, very problematic moment when the man'd see him.

Burke turned around, grabbed a file, and otherwise ignored Neal. The ghost didn't dare move, just in case the agent had simply not noticed him, rather than not being able to see him. Moving would probably give him an answer... But Neal wasn't certain he wanted that answer. Whatever it'd be.

Burke grumbled something at the papers in his hands, something about it being obvious, that he should be able to find it if he focused on the right points...

Neal, curious, sneaked on the unsuspecting man, and looked over Peter Burke's shoulder.

It was a file about a simple insurance scam, which the FBI hadn't had much difficulty to tear apart, except on one point: they knew how it was done, who was in on it, who benefited from it... but they were lacking hard evidences. Everything in this file was circumstancial at best, and they still hoped they could pin the criminal down with no risk of her getting away at her trial.

Neal squinted at the receipts in evidence on the wall, not in the best position to read.

"Well that's a very good job. The pizza delivering boy is on it, though. Definitely the messenger."

Burke started at Neal's whispers. Neal realized he had spoken aloud, or, if anything, loud enough to be heard. And, apparently, Burke had heard him.

The FBI agent turned around, a hand on his gun, and looked right at Neal.

"Caffrey?!"

No doubts he could see Neal, then.

The ghost took a step back, unwilling to be shot at by a FBI agent. He was fairly certain it wouldn't do anything to him, but he wasn't completely sure it wouldn't at least tingle.

"Agent Burke. Pleasure to see you again. Not exactly something I had planned, but well..."

Peter Burke suddenly became aware that not only Neal Caffrey, convict currently, or, supposedly, in supermax, was in the FBI building of Manhattan, which definitely wasn't normal, but that, moreover, the man was not looking good.

In fact, Peter focused for a moment on the state of Caffrey's clothes, and he had to say, he wasn't used to seeing the con artist looking like that. First, because he was wearing a dark jacket, dark pants, and a grey sweatshirt, which wasn't the usual attire of Neal Caffrey, not even taking into account that lately, Caffrey's attire was supposed to be more on the orange side. Second, because said grey sweatshirt turned red on the left side. Red like blood.

"Are you wounded?"

Okay, the disbelief in the agent's voice might have made him sound a bit uncaring, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why Neal Caffrey, out of supermax and wounded, would come to the FBI office where he worked. It simply didn't sound logical at all.

Caffrey looked down at his possible wound, acting almost as if he had forgotten about it.

"Oh, that..."

The younger man pulled his sweatshirt and the T-shirt underneath upwards, giving Peter an eyeful of abs the FBI agent would never have thought the conman to have... as well as a bloody bullet hole which had bleed all over his stomach.

"...nothing we can do about it now."

"Are you kidding me? What are you even doing standing there?! You need to go to the hospital!"

Caffrey took a step back, but not in time that the FBI agent couldn't grab his arm and drag him downstair if needed. Or, at least, Peter tried. His hand went right through the younger man's arm, and wasn't that disturbing?

Peter Burke stared, uncertain of what to do at this point, of what to think really, at his own hand.

Then he looked up and back at Caffrey, who was giving his a sad smile.

"As I said, nothing left to do about that. I think I'm a bit too dead for a hospital to do me any good at this point."

"Are you... Are you a ghost? Since when do ghosts even exists? And if you are a ghost, what in hell are you doing here of all places? No wait, more importantly, what were you doing out of jail? And who killed you? Why did they kill you? How..."

Neal took yet another step backwards, his smile slipping into nothingness.

"Calm down a minute, FBI. I know you have that instinctive urge to investigate, but really, I can't say much, only that I got myself out of jail long ago, and that I was trying to right a wrong when I got shot. My killers have certainly already been taken care of, and if not, no one will find them now. And no, I have no idea why I am a ghost, or why here of all places."

Burke gave him a suspicious look, which, okay, Neal might have deserved. He wasn't the most truthful man on earth. But he really didn't see the point of lying right now, and, seriously, shouldn't the FBI agent be a bit more overwhelmed by the fact that he had a live ghost, or, you know, whatever he wanted to call it, in front of him?

"You cannot say, can you?"

Neal gave him a big, wide-eyed look of innocence.

"Confidential."

"Sure."

And, maybe, maybe Neal was just a bit relieved that the man wasn't believing him right now, even if it was the truth. CIA work was confidential... and he didn't want Burke poking around Bryce Larkin, not when it could alert the higher-ups that Bryce was very far from real. Neal had worked very hard to make Bryce believable, but the persona wouldn't hold long if they ever heard of Neal Caffrey, and noticed that strangely, he looked just like Bryce.

Sure, no one could do anything more to him, but still...

Perhaps Neal wanted to keep Bryce's years of hard work safe.

Burke sighed, and went to sit down in a chair, intellectually exhausted.

"Obviously I can't threaten you with legal consequences now... So I have to pretend I believe you."

"Yeah, you do that."

"Great... Since you're here, why don't you help me figuring these cases out?"

Neal's glance turned to a stack of waiting files, back to Peter Burke, then to the White Collar office in general. A big grin appeared on his face, he arched his eyebrows, and there was something close to delight in his eyes. The FBI agent immediately wondered why he had suggested him to help.

"I could be your ghost consultant, Peter! I can call you Peter, can't I, Agent Burke?"

"Absolutely not!"

The kicked puppy look Peter received for that refusal almost made him change his mind, but the FBI agent could already tell he wouldn't last with Caffrey if he didn't stand his ground from the beginning. Not that he was certain whether or not he could do that for long.

Peter's eyes flittered back to Caffrey's wound, and he cringed.

"I don't even want to think about how I going to explain why I have a bleeding ghost as a CI."

Neal followed the agent's gaze, and winced too.

"Perhaps... I can try to do something about it... I think."

"What do you..."

Peter hadn't finished his sentence that he jumped several feets away from the ghost, his heart beating an unhealthy rhythm.

Caffrey wasn't wearing his dark attire anymore, but black suit pants with white shirt and loose tie. And he was literally covered in blood, his shirt actually white and red, his hair longer and in disarray, a trail of dried blood over his left temple. He actually looked deader than before.

The ghost, having noticed Peter's fright, looked at himself in unpleased surprise.

"That's not what I was aiming for... Sorry you had to see this. I'll just..."

Neal focused again, and the next moment he didn't look like Bryce the first time he died, but rather like himself in the middle of a large con. Designer suit, perfect hair, smooth smile.

He knew he'd revert to a less savory appearance the moment he'd stop focusing.

But the afterlife sounded like so much fun right now, he was totally willing to do the effort.