Work Text:
Neal breathed in the smell of coffee in the air.
Or, he would have breathed in the air, if he could breathe. But, as it was, he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t been able to breathe in years, in fact, due to the whole ‘dead’ thing. Dying, it turned out, meant that you couldn’t breathe anymore. But it didn’t mean that you had to stop living, which was a plus. Instead, Neal was a ghost. He didn’t know how, exactly, or why. There wasn’t a manual on this thing, you know. There should have been, but there wasn’t. But according to some of the other ghosts that Neal had befriended over his time as a spirit, only some people became ghosts. And there wasn’t any sort of pattern, either. It was just random. Some people liked being ghosts. Some didn’t.
Neal liked being a ghost, though.
It gave him a freedom that he had never had as a human. He didn’t have to worry about sleeping. Or eating. He had all the time in the world, actually. And he got to meet people that he could have never met while alive. All sorts of ghosts, from all sorts of times. There was Mozzie, an eccentric ghost who died in the 30s. Neal was pretty sure he ran a speakeasy. Or maybe just smuggled alcohol? As eccentric as he was, he was even more cryptic. There was Kate, an heiress from the 90s. The 1890s, that was, who died in some sort of vicious scandal. She got teary eyed anytime you mentioned it, but Neal was certain that that was just a ruse. She was way more ruthless than you’d expect. And there was Alex, too, a fierce woman from the 60s. She said that she was an antique dealer, but Neal was pretty sure that was code for fence. And with Neal being a famous con man turned roadkill, they made quite the crew. And Neal would have never met them, if he hadn’t died.
There were downsides, of course. Being a ghost could definitely be boring. And that was only made worse with the fact that Neal couldn’t touch anything. He couldn’t touch paints or paint brushes or canvases. He couldn’t create. And he couldn’t steal, either, his other favourite pastime. He couldn’t charm people into giving him things, because nobody could see him. He couldn’t just take a painting or a necklace, because his hands would just pass right through them. He could still plan heists. He could go up close and see riches that he would have never been able to see while he was alive, but it just wasn’t the same.
It didn’t matter, though. Neal found other ways to occupy himself. Mainly, that wound up with him freaking humans out. It was fun to do. It wasn’t as though ghosts were stuck being wailing messes, with smoke instead of legs, or anything. Neal’s head was still all there, as was the rest of his body. But the only way he could really interact with the living was by making loud enough noises that they could hear. And, if he focused, he could knock things over. He could flicker light switches, too. Alex had mastered causing a whole blackout, but Neal wasn’t nearly there yet. But it was fun, messing with humans. Gave Neal something to do, in any case.
But his favourite place to wreak havoc was the FBI.
At first, he had only gone to see if anyone was able to connect Neal, the dead body after getting hit by a car, and Neal, the prolific thief, grifter, and conman. They hadn’t, at the time. They still hadn’t, by the way, because Neal was just that good. Even dead, he couldn’t be caught for his crimes. But he had kept coming back, even after he had learned that the FBI weren’t at all close to shutting his case. He had kept coming back to the FBI building, and he had kept floating around the white collar crimes unit in particular. Even when he had no reason to, he kept doing it. He kept coming back.
Neal didn’t really know why he kept coming back, not really.
It was interesting, Neal could admit that much. Watching people solve crimes was almost as interesting as committing them. Almost. He was still very much against them, of course. But when Neal had been alive, the NYPD and the FBI and every other letter of the alphabet chasing Neal had been the fun part. They had kept the chase alive. They had made it interesting. So, Neal had started following along with them. He had wanted to know the people who had been chasing him, when he was alive. See just how better than them he had been.
At some point, it had become a game. A game to see whether Neal could solve their cases before they could. Neal had the obvious advantage of being a ghost, but that didn’t matter much. Neal wasn’t that bored, it wasn’t like he was floating through every inch of the city to beat the FBI at a game they didn’t even know they were playing. No way. Neal kept to the same information that the FBI had, at least clues wise. But he did know a lot more when it came to the criminal element. And which cases were his. Okay, so maybe Neal did have a bit of an advantage, but it didn’t matter. It was just something to do.
Or, it had started as just something to do, in any case. Now, Neal had a feeling that it was maybe a bit more than just a way to pass the time. It was fun, okay? It was fun to solve cases. It was fun to race against the FBI agents. And it was fun to hear the FBI gossip, too. Mikey and Louisa were having a torrid office affair, apparently. And there’s an office food thief. Neal knew that it was Charles, but nobody else could figure out who it was. The last Neal had heard, Mary had been considering poisoning some decoy food as retaliation. It was all so interesting. And fun. Mostly fun, actually.
Neal was at the FBI offices, now, floating around his favourite floor.
There was a new guy, sitting at a tiny desk that was way too small for him. The guy towered over it, really. Neal had never seen him before. He must have just been assigned there, or something, though Neal didn’t exactly care about the inner workings of the FBI. He was just interested in the crimes. And the smell of coffee that wafted off the place. Neal missed coffee. The new guy clearly missed coffee, too, considering that he was chugging his as fast as was humanly possible. He had a file open on the desk in front of him, and Neal made his way closer to snoop. Maybe the file was interesting.
Except, when Neal moved towards the new guy’s desk, the man looked up. It was like he had seen Neal, which was impossible, because Neal was, you know, a ghost. A literal ghost.
“Where’s your badge?” The man asked.
Neal looked around. Who was he talking to? He didn’t see any humans who didn’t have a badge on. He didn’t see any humans at all, actually. They were all in offices or the break room.
“I’m talking to you,” the man said, still staring at Neal.
“No, you’re not,” Neal said, even though he knew the man wouldn’t hear him. Maybe there was someone coming down the hall that Neal couldn’t see yet.
“Yes, I am,” the man said.
And okay, that was weird. That was not supposed to happen. At all. “Who are you talking to?” Neal asked. There must have been somebody else, Neal told himself. Someone he just couldn’t see yet.
“You,” the man stressed. “How did you get in here without a badge?”
Neal froze. That was definitely not supposed to happen. It wasn’t happening, actually. But he couldn’t reveal that to the man. He wasn’t a ghost, Neal would have been able to tell if he was a ghost. Which meant that the man could see ghosts. Which was weird, because humans couldn’t see ghosts. Neal had never heard about a human seeing ghosts. And from the look of it, the man didn’t know that he was talking to a ghost. He thought that Neal worked at the FBI. Which was ironic, because Neal would never work for the FBI. Ever. But he needed to do something, because the man was still staring at him. But Neal had always been good with people.
“I think I’m in the wrong place,” Neal said, carefully. He put up a facade of nervousness, which wasn’t all that forced considering the situation, and continued. “I’m from IT. Should I not be here?”
The man sighed, sounding long suffering. “IT is a floor down from here,” he said. “Is it your first day, or something?”
“Yeah,” Neal said. “It’s my first day, and I’m already lost.”
“It happens to the best of us,” the man continued. His hand reached out to grab Neal’s arm.
His hand reached out to touch Neal’s arm. And instead of touching it, his hand passed right through Neal, because he was a ghost.
The man froze. “What the hell?”
Neal didn’t know what to do. Neal didn’t know what you were supposed to do when a human could see you. Neal didn’t know that humans could see ghosts, at all. That wasn’t a thing Neal had ever heard of, even as a rumour. And the ghost rumour mill was always full of outlandish things. But never humans that could see ghosts. Like, actually see ghosts. They could see apparitions, sometimes. They could hear it when ghosts wailed loud enough. They could see what ghosts knocked over, or flickered, or otherwise messed with. If ghosts were skilled enough, they could maybe appear for a second or two, as an orb. But Neal had never, ever heard of someone actually seeing a ghost, and especially never someone talking to a ghost. Talking! So, Neal did the only thing he could think of.
He floated out the wall of the building, and onto the street.
Neal needed to talk to Mozzie. He needed to talk to any old ghost, actually. Any ghost would work, at all. Literally any ghost ever. Neal just needed to talk to someone. Anyone. He needed to tell someone what just happened. Because, Neal could not stress this enough, that was not supposed to happen. None of that was supposed to happen. Neal probably would have assumed that he was hallucinating, if ghosts could hallucinate. But ghosts couldn’t hallucinate, just like how humans couldn’t see ghosts. But apparently, humans could see ghosts. Or at least, that one particular human could. And yet, the man hadn’t reacted like he had seen a ghost before.
It was all so strange. All so incredibly strange. It was strange and unprecedented and Neal didn’t know what to think about any of it. A human had seen him. A human had actually seen him. He had seen him and talked to him and hadn’t even known anything was wrong until he tried to touch him. A human had tried to touch Neal! Humans only ever touched ghosts by accident, walking through them without a care in the world. Because they shouldn’t ever know where a ghost is. Because humans could not see ghosts! They couldn’t! Neal knew that he still had a lot to learn about being a ghost, having only been dead for almost twelve years now. But he knew that humans couldn’t see ghosts. Everyone knew that humans couldn’t see ghosts!
And yet, this one had. This one had seen him. This one had talked to him. This human hadn’t even seemed to know that Neal was dead. He just hoped that the poor guy didn’t have a mental breakdown or something, over this. That would have been less ideal. Not that Neal would have felt bad, or anything, but he didn’t really want that on him. He had seemed like an okay guy, even if he was an FBI agent. An FBI agent who had seen Neal. Who had actually seen Neal. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He seriously couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It was just- there was no way that any of this should have been happening, and yet it was. Somehow, this was happening. This had happened.
Neal just didn’t know how to feel about any of it.
—
Peter Burke was a rational man.
You didn’t work for the FBI if you weren’t rational, and you certainly didn’t work for the white collar crimes division. Granted, Peter hadn’t been with white collar for too long, he was still kind of green, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t rational. He was. He was rational and serious and focused. He was everything that an FBI agent needed to be. He was everything that an FBI agent was supposed to be. He didn’t mind the boring work. Paperwork and stakeouts and dredging through files. He didn’t mind anything. He was a serious FBI agent. He was a rational FBI agent. He had always been rational, even as a kid. He had never believed in aliens, or witches, or monsters under the bed. And Peter had never, ever, believed in ghosts.
But Peter knew that he had seen something in the office.
He was certain that he had seen something in the office. No, not something. Peter was certain that he had seen someone in the office. He had talked to the damn person! A young man, with a charming smile and scruffy hair. And no badge, that had been the most identifying bit. He hadn’t exactly looked like he belonged in the white collar crime office. So, Peter had talked to him. They had had a damn conversation! They had been talking about IT and first days and whatever other small talk Peter couldn’t remember. He had been right there, across from Peter, and then suddenly Peter’s hand had passed right through the man’s arm! Passed right through.
And then the man had disappeared. That was probably weirder than Peter’s hand passing through his arm. But that was weird, don’t get him wrong. It was weird to see, and it was even weirder to feel his arm go through nothingness that wasn’t exactly nothingness. It was almost like a static shock. But the static shock was nothing compared to the shock of seeing the man just disappear right before Peter’s eyes. Except, of course, the man hadn’t exactly disappeared. No, that would have been easy. Instead, the man had just walked through the wall of the building. Walked through the wall of the building that was multiple floors off the ground. And when Peter had thought to look out the window, he couldn’t see the man anywhere.
There had been nobody else in the room when the man had come up to him. But Peter had seen him enter, a few minutes before that, when people had still been milling around. And yet, when he asked them, nobody had seen the man. And nobody had seen the man leave, either. It was as though the man had never been there at all. But Peter had seen him. He had talked to him. He knew that there had been a man there. He knew that someone had been there, in the office. Somebody that nobody else had seen. Somebody that Peter’s hand had passed right through. Somebody that had disappeared. Somebody that Peter couldn’t stop thinking about.
Peter Burke was a rational man. A rational man in all respects.
He threw himself into research, before coming into any conclusions. He looked for answers. For reasons. For an explanation as to what actually happened. Mostly, he found hokey websites with nothing but lies. Or the experiences of drug addicts. Nothing that actually helped Peter figure out what was going on. What he had seen. There were ramblings and horror stories and nothing that was remotely helpful in the slightest. Odd stories, sure, but nothing similar to what Peter had experienced. Nothing that helped explain any of it. Peter found nothing that even resembled answers at all, in any of his research.
Peter Burke was a rational man. A rational man who trusted himself.
The next explanation, for most people, would have been that Peter had dreamed the man. Or hallucinated him. Most people would have assumed that it had just been a figment of their imagination. That their brains had just made it all up. But Peter knew that what he had experienced was real. Peter knew that what he had seen was real. He knew that he wasn’t confused, or making it up, or anything like that. He knew that what he had experienced was what had actually happened. He never fell asleep, or hallucinated, or did anything of the sort. His reality was just that- real. Which meant that what he had seen was real, too. He just didn’t know how it was real, yet. But he would. He would figure it out.
Peter Burke was a rational man. A rational man who knew that he had seen something he couldn’t rationalise.
He had seen someone. He had seen something. Something that he couldn’t explain. Something that nobody could explain. He didn’t know who the man had been, or what the man had been. He didn’t know why Peter couldn’t touch him, or how the man had walked through a wall, or anything. He just didn’t know. Nobody knew. But Peter knew that he would find out. Somehow, Peter would figure it out. He would find out if the man was a ghoul, or a time traveller, or some sort of vision. He would figure out if the man was a ghost or a hologram or whatever else those websites had mentioned.
Peter would find out, eventually.
But for now, time moved on. Work moved on. He tried to focus on anything else besides the man who had appeared and then disappeared so quickly. He focused on cases. On crimes. On stopping the crimes that nobody else did. He focused on filing paperwork. He focused on being a goffer for the more senior FBI agents. He focused on crime scene photos and filing evidence and doing research. He focused on the cute witness that Peter had interviewed, that he didn’t know how to talk to. He focused on fingerprints and paper trails and crappy breakroom coffee. He focused on late work days and sleep nights and his tiny apartment.
And yet, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about the man. Nobody would have been able to just move on from that, Peter told himself. There was no way that anybody would have been able to see that, to experience that, and not keep thinking about it. He kept thinking about it. He kept replaying the scene in his head again and again and again. He kept wondering what had happened. He kept researching what the man could have possibly been. He did every single thing in his power to try to figure it out. He researched. He hypothesised. He even tried to perform experiments, but he could never get the man to appear again. He tried and he tried and he tried to explain what the man was. To explain what had happened. And yet, time kept marching forward, and Peter still had no answers.
It wasn’t as though it interfered with his work, or anything. If it had, Peter would have been concerned. Work was what mattered to Peter. It was what he cared about. It was what paid his bills, sure, but it was also what gave him a reason to keep going. A purpose. Work was what really mattered. So it didn’t really matter if Peter was staying up too late after long nights at work, just to research on those sketchy ghost websites. It didn’t really matter if Peter found his thoughts drifting towards the man, every free second he had. None of it really mattered, as long as his work kept getting done. Work was what mattered.
And then Peter saw him. Again.
It was him. Him. The man that Peter had seen in the FBI offices. The man whose Peter’s arm had passed through. The man that had walked through a wall and disappeared. It was him, Peter was absolutely certain. There was no way that Peter was forgetting that face. It was all Peter could think about these days, really. It was him, just in the street. Walking through downtown New York, like it was totally normal to do. Like the man wasn’t capable of disappearing. Like the man wasn’t more than human. Like the man wasn’t a- whatever he was. He was definitely something, though.
Obviously, Peter followed him. It was the only rational thing to do, after all.
There were enough people in the crowd that following the man was easy. It wasn’t as though the man was paying much attention, either. He was just walking through the crowd, not a care in the world. He didn’t even pay any mind to the crowd of people walking around him, either. He didn’t try to move out of their way. And nobody tried to move out of his way, either. That only proved further that it was the same man. Peter was too far away to see if anybody actually passed through the man, but he was close enough to know that that was what was happening without actually seeing it. He knew that the man was capable of that from first hand experience, after all.
Peter managed to follow the man for six blocks before the man noticed. If Peter hadn’t been paying attention, he wasn’t even sure if he would have known that the man had noticed at all. He hadn’t reacted, and he hadn’t even looked behind him. It was oddly professional of him. Peter respected it. But Peter was a professional, too, and he knew when somebody knew they were being followed. The man started taking random turns, carefully watching to see if Peter was still following him. He did this a few more times, each time just barely looking back to see if he had lost Peter yet.
This lasted four more blocks. The man would turn, and check to see Peter. Peter, for his part, was at least trying to move through the crowd to hide himself a bit better. But he was a tall guy, and the crowd was beginning to thin with each turn the man took. Besides, each time that Peter moved, the man seemed to just know where he was anyway. It was odd, but still not as odd as the rest of the situation. Peter was trailing a man who passed through walls. Peter was trailing a man who passed through people. Peter was trailing someone who by all intents and purposes shouldn’t exist. And yet, he did.
Finally, the man stopped.
The man took one last turn, down towards what looked like an alley. It was a dead end. Peter knew that he shouldn’t follow strangers down dead ends. That was ‘how to get stabbed’ 101, in Peter’s books. In all of the bureau’s books, probably. And yet, Peter still turned down the alley. He didn’t know why, exactly, but he did. Okay, maybe he did know why. More than anything, Peter needed answers. More than avoiding getting hurt, he needed answers. That was all he really cared about, right now. All he cared about was getting answers. All he cared about was knowing what had really happened. All he cared about was knowing.
He stepped into the alley, and the man immediately stepped closer to him.
“Can you see me?” The man asked, before Peter could ask his own questions.
“Yes,” Peter said plainly. “Is that weird?”
“Is that weird?” The man parroted mockingly. “Of course it’s weird!”
Peter frowned. “What are you?”
“I’m a ghost, obviously,” the man said, talking quickly. “And humans can’t see ghosts!”
“I can see you,” Peter said. “What does that make me?”
The man smiled. “Special,” he said. “Absolutely unique. Or maybe it makes you a freak! No ghost has ever had a human see them. No ghost has even heard of a human seeing ghosts.”
“So it’s not like the movies?” Peter asked. He hadn’t expected the supernatural to be like the movies, because he hadn’t expected the supernatural to exist at all. But mostly, he had asked just to rile the man up.
“Of course it’s not like the movies,” the man said. “How would film makers even know what ghosts were like, to make it accurate?”
Peter shrugged. “Maybe the filmmakers can see ghosts.”
“Nobody can see ghosts!” The man cried.
“I can see ghosts,” Peter said bluntly. “Or I can see you, anyway.”
“Right,” the man said. “And that’s the weird part. You can only see me here, right?”
“Obviously,” Peter said. It wasn’t as though there was anybody else for Peter to see. It was just him, and the ghost, and the alley. He was a ghost. Peter was still wrapping his head around that bit.
“But I’m not the only ghost here,” the man said. He was speaking so fast that it was almost hard to understand, in all honesty. “My friend is here, right beside me.”
“But I can only see you,” Peter pointed out. How could he see this ghost, but not another one?
“Exactly!” The man cried. “None of it makes sense! Absolutely none of it makes sense! And yet-”
“Slow down,” Peter commanded. “Take a breath.”
“I can’t breathe,” the man pointed out. “I’m a ghost, remember?”
“Right,” Peter said. “Just- calm down for a second.”
“Why should I calm down?” The man asked. “There’s so much to discover about this. So much!”
“I don’t even know your name,” Peter pointed out.
“Oh,” the man said, just slightly slower. “Right. Right. I’m Neal.”
Peter nodded. His ghost’s name was Neal. Great. “Peter,” he replied. “Peter Burke. Agent Peter Burke, technically.”
“Shut up,” Neal said, looking away from Peter.
“What?” Peter asked. Did he do something? Had he broken some sort of ghost social code, or something?
“Not you,” Neal said. “My friend. My ghost friend. He doesn’t like feds. Or cops. Any sort of authority, really.”
“Right,” Peter said. The ghost didn’t like cops. Wait, no. His ghost’s friend, who was also a ghost, didn’t like cops. And feds. Great. Totally understandable and not at all complicated.
“He’s paranoid,” Neal whispered to Peter, a dumb smile on his face. It was a stupid smile. It was a cute smile. It was a-
“So you don’t know why I can see you?” Peter asked.
“No,” Neal said, smile disappearing. “And I’m guessing you don’t, either?”
“I was hoping you would give me some answers,” Peter admitted. “But you seem just as clueless as I am.”
Neal laughed. “I’m not quite as clueless,” he responded. “At least I already knew that ghosts existed.”
“True,” Peter said, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.
Neal didn’t seem terrible, which was good. It would have been hell to be able to see a ghost who just totally sucked. Maybe he was a bit wound up, and fast talking, and a little too good at shaking a tail, but overall, he seemed good. Easy to get along with, anyway.
“So,” Neal said. “What now?”
Peter opened his mouth to answer.
And then his phone rang. “It’s work,” Peter said, before picking it up.
He only half listened to his boss talking over the phone. Instead, he mostly just watched Neal watching him. He paid attention, obviously. He wouldn’t just tune out his own boss. But some of his attention, most of his attention, was kept on Neal. Neal, who was a ghost. Neal, who was a ghost that Peter could see. Neal, who was the only ghost that Peter could see. Neal, with his boyish looks and his mischievous smile. Neal, with his bright laughter. Neal, who spoke too fast and evidently thought even faster. Neal, Neal, Neal. Neal, who was currently watching Peter on the phone, with a curious expression that was morphing more and more troublesome as time went on.
Peter hung up, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I need to go,” Peter said, giving Neal one last look. He didn’t like the smile on Neal’s face, at the moment.
“Wait,” Neal said. “Just wait one second.”
“What?” Peter asked, trying not to sound too snappy. He really did need to get into work.
“How would you feel if I tagged along with you?” Neal asked.
Peter blinked in surprise. “What?”
“What if I went in with you!” Neal asked. “To the FBI offices!”
“Seriously?” Peter asked.
Neal grinned. “Seriously!”
“It will be boring,” Peter warned.
“Less boring than ghosting around downtown,” Neal whined. “At least you can see me! And the cases can be fun, you know.”
Peter paused. “Is that why you were there, that first day?” He asked. “To peek at our cases?”
“It’s interesting,” Neal said with a shrug. “I would be there now, if I wasn’t scared about freaking you out again.”
Peter sighed. He couldn’t believe he was seriously considering letting a ghost come into work with him. A ghost. Into work.
Neal pouted at him, all wide eyes and boredom.
“Fine,” Peter said. “You can come with me.”
Neal grinned. “I was going to go either way,” he said, teasingly.
“Of course you were,” Peter said, as he began walking back to the bureau.