Chuck is in New York for business, and there's nothing else to say.
Short, and probably not a satisfying ending. But I wanted Chuck to let him live his life.
Which is the ghost?
Chuck was in New York for Carmichael Industries when he saw him.
All thoughts of computer engineering, of cyber security, or of annoying CIA and DEA spies trying to take over his life again – granted, Carina just wanted to spend some time with Sarah, but that didn't explain why Forrest was in Burbank too – all this left his brain immediately, as his eyes focused solely on the man walking down the street... and towards Chuck.
Instinctively – cowardly, perhaps, but Chuck'd pretend it was not to be seen – the nerd – and proud to be one – turned around, presenting his back to whoever came in his direction from where the man had been coming.
He just hoped neither his curly hair nor his gangly stature would give him away – not that the man had ever seen him with his hair cropped so short, but you never knew with that guy.
"Breathe, Chuck, breathe..."
...or not. Saying his name out loud might not be the best idea as the man was probably closing in, if he didn't want to be noticed and recognized.
Chuck took a deep breath – difficult not to breath, after all – and fumbled for his cellphone. He had to call Sarah, and tell her... Tell her what?
He stopped short of hitting the calling button, unsure of what to say to Sarah, of the words he should use to describe what he had just seen. Who he had just seen.
Chuck looked up from his phone as someone glared at him for standing in the way... and noticed that the man had passed by him, without even recognizing him. Perhaps having been totally focused on the cellphone had been a good thing, after all; Chuck was certain the man would have immediately noticed if someone had been observing him, and then Chuck'd have been made.
The dark brown hair, longer than they used to be when Chuck and the man had been at Stanford together, but shorter than they were the last time they had seen each other, were covered with a hat – a fedora. The only hat Chuck had ever seen the man wear had been a cowboy hat, for Halloween.
The hat made it easier to keep tracking the man, so Chuck wasn't going to complain.
It was as if the man wasn't even worried about being tailed, and it surprised Chuck. Last time he had seen him, the man – former friend, he reminded himself, his former friend – had been bordering on paranoid. How could he just walk down the streets of Manhattan like that, without a worry in the world, whistling of all things, today?
How could Bryce Larkin be walking down the street, to begin with?
Chuck followed his former friend, all the way to Federal Plaza – why there, of all places?
Bryce greeted three people who were discussing on the plaza, and from the cut of their suits, Chuck could already tell they were FBI. A military black man, a tough woman, and a no-nonsense-model-agent older man. The three greeted Bryce back - "Neal" and two "Caffrey" – and Bryce gave them each a cup of coffee, before turning to the federal building – as if he worked there.
Which he did, Chuck had to accept the fact, since the four people immediately headed inside, and Chuck was left standing stupidly on the sidewalk.
He felt like he should be angry – how could Bryce just go on with his life, never telling them he was alive, never... But he couldn't be. He couldn't feel the anger. Instead, Chuck felt... empty.
He headed back to his hotel, sat down on the bed, and searched "Neal Caffrey" on his laptop.
Dozens of articles, a wanted poster, and the records of a trial appeared immediately. Considering what he had seen earlier, Chuck guessed FBI CI. After all, Neal Caffrey had led a very... interesting life, both before and after Bryce's death; he would certainly be useful to the FBI... The details had Chuck wondering how, and why, Bryce had gone to such lengths to create a background story – he dismissed the fact that it looked too complete, too real, as he speed-read through the articles. Bryce had been real, and Neal Caffrey was not. He was certain of that.
Still...
In the end, he didn't call Sarah. No, he wasn't going to call Sarah. He wasn't going to tell her that Bryce was alive – was he, really? Chuck doubted that. Bryce Larkin was very much dead, and whoever this fake identity was? – was definitely more real, more alive than Bryce Larkin had been in the years before his death.
He had seen it, as Bryce had walked in the federal building. A real, bright smile.