Wow look, a story that's not Gravity Falls. This is simply a plot bunny that's been bugging me forever, along with a lot of dissatisfaction of how they resolved Valerie's arc in season 3 - *cough* they didn't *cough*. It should only be a few chapters, if you're paying attention to the title.
Valerie's fairly used to life throwing her curve balls. She can hardly remember her life full of steady constants, of lunch at the popular table with her popular friends and shirts that cost over fifty dollars. (How did she ever waste that much money on tops, much less ones she couldn't fight in?) a life before nights spent with the warmth of her gun pulsing beneath her fingers, of her feet planted firmly on the sleek, humming surface of her hoverboard as she shot forward. Her life is one of guns and ghosts and getting smacked through walls at one am occasionally. She's used to curve balls.
But to be fair, this is less of a curve ball and more of a direct hit to the face.
Even mere hours out, the memory is surreal.
The cold that had been plaguing her since the moment she set foot in the North Pole – she could no longer feel it. She couldn't feel anything. She stood there, in the small crowd of relieved, applauding people, their world just barely saved, her own hands numbly rising in a desperate sort of mimicry.
Feeling nothing.
In hindsight, she's an idiot. The messy white hair is no different in its perpetually ruffled state than when black. The wiry, always-bruising frame is no different in the black jumpsuit than in jeans and a t-shirt. And the eyes – god, she's so stupid – his eyes have always been the same. Those stupid, piercing eyes that look at the world like it's his own responsibility or his own inside joke. Those stupid eyes that looked at her like she was worth something, even when she left him screaming with a voltage she couldn't think about – when she – oh god.
Even hidden in the safety of the small room she's been given with her father, Valerie wants to run.
How could he not tell her? How could he let her – let her –
Was she not good enough? Did he assume she wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't understand?
(Did he have a very good reason not to? Ye-)
Valerie stamps down on the surge of emotions. Her world is crashing down around her ears, but she won't crack. She won't. He doesn't get to do this to her.
She takes a deep breath, running her hands through her hair. She frowns at the gnarled tangles in it, wincing as several strands rip free. She can't hide in here forever, she thinks, dully. The celebrations ought to be dying down soon, and people will want to be going home.
Home. She'd kill to be there now. Anywhere but this stupid frozen wasteland, where she can't get her head in order.
She stands, straightening her jacket as she heads for the door. Maybe she can help with repairs, or…something. There's not much they can do, with the Fenton-jet being a smoldering wreckage on the mountainside. There's a few helicopters she could probably sneak on, but she can't leave her dad behind.
No, she thinks turning the handle. She'll wait it out, like everyone else stuck in this place. She yanks the door open, and freezes.
"V-Val!"
Danny's hand is still half-raised, poised to knock. His face is caught in an expression of fear and awkward sheepishness. She stares at him like he's a ghost (ha). He looks as tired as she does, the circles beneath his eyes turning from bruised-purple to black. She can see bruises lining his cheek, his neck, the arm he still has half-raised. He looks small and exhausted and breakable. He doesn't look anything like a ghost whose screams can level a city, whose hands can bring hulking monsters to their knees.
He looks like Danny, with those stupid blue eyes staring at her like he actually cares.
She might want to cry again, but she'd die before that happened.
"What do you want?" she asks, her voice cold. Good.
Danny flinches back. "Look, Val, I get…. I get that you're mad, okay? And you have every right to be, okay, I just-" he swallows. "Look, can we talk?"
"We are talking," she says, flatly.
Danny takes a breath. "You know what I mean, Val."
"Don't call me that," she snaps, pushing past him. She marches down the hallway, Danny's footsteps almost imperceptible as he follows her.
"Okay, Valerie." His voice is quieter, almost wounded. Valerie shoves back the flash of guilt she feels.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she says, eyes glued firmly ahead. "Basking in the glory of saving the world? With your friends, or something?"
"I am with a friend," Danny says. Valerie sucks in harshly. "And I don't want to 'bask.' I don't wanna talk about it at all, actually."
His tone suggests he's more than had it with the subject. Valerie's not surprised. For Phantom, she might have been, but Danny… Danny's never been about the spotlight, has he?
"Then go fly somewhere they won't ask you about it," she says. "Or turn invisible, since you can do that, you know."
"Val, I – Valerie, I mean – look, can't we talk about this?"
"About what?" she snaps, whipping around. He freezes, inches from her face. "About how you lied to me? About how you had ghost powers this whole time but never trusted me? About how you ruined my life?"
Danny's face crumples, and he draws back as if she's physically hit him. "Val-"
"About how you let me shoot at you?" she continues, her chest growing tight and her eyes growing hot. "About how I've been hunting you for months? About how I – how I tortured you-" she breaks off, her voice cracking. She swears, turning away from him. Damnit, this is not how this is supposed to go, she is not supposed to get emotional-
"Valerie," Danny says, his voice soft. "Valerie, none of this was your fault-"
"Shut up," she snaps, and he does. She should leave now, storm away with what little dignity she has left. She doesn't. She stands there, next to him in the hall, fighting back the unwelcome surge of tears.
After a minute, Danny takes a breath. "D'you- do you wanna get coffee?"
She glances at him, frowning. He scuffs the floor awkwardly.
"It's free in the cafeteria, and it should be empty right now," he says, slowly. "And I don't know about you, but I'm really, really tired."
Valerie straightens, sucking in a breath. She thinks of saying no, of leaving him alone in the hall and running.
She glances back at him. His eyes are searching her, with that same mixture of fear and guilt – and perhaps a shred of hope.
His eyes are blue.
She swallows. "Okay," she says, softly. "Let's get coffee."
The smile that flashes across his face is blinding, even if he quickly struggles to suppress it.
The coffee the cafeteria offers is, in Valerie's opinion, some of the worst she's ever had. It somehow manages to be both too weak and too bitter at the same time, and the tiny plastic creamers Danny scavenges do little to help that taste. But it's also the first coffee she's had in weeks, and she's running on less sleep than she wants to think about, so it's also the best coffee she's ever had, in a way.
The cafeteria is empty, save for an analyst slumped over snoring, and Valerie notes the obvious relief on Danny's face at that. They don't talk. She has hundreds of questions, all crowding her mind and bursting against her tongue, but she doesn't have the energy to ask them. And Danny seems perfectly content to sit there in silence, sipping at the awful coffee as the wind howls against the roof.
It should be awkward. It should be bitter. It's not. It's the kind of quiet companionship she's missed.
The only time they speak is when they rise to leave, the sound of voices growing closer through the halls. She turns to leave, only to be stopped by Danny's hand. She glares at him and he quickly releases her wrist.
"We should do this again? Soon?"
It's more a plea than a question. Against her better wishes, Valerie nods. Danny gives that dumb smile again, this time not even trying to suppress it.
"Oh, and Danny?" she says, as she leaves for her dad. He turns. "That coffee was horrible."
He grins. "Touché," he says. "I'll find better next time."
Next time. Valerie snorts. He means it, of course, this is Danny - but the likelihood of Danny and her crossing paths again soon is slim. He's got bigger things to worry about, now.
She ignores the faint twinge in her chest at that. Next time.
As if.