Disclaimer: I don't own DP, or "The World is Too Much With Us" by William Wordsworth.
BGM: "Stay Alive" by Trapt.
The World Is Too Much
My parents are mad scientists whose creations warp the laws of physics simply by existing. My little brother is a half-ghost superhero. My baby sister is somehow his fem-clone. I am the only borderline normal human in my family.
I put off leaving for as long as I possibly could. I wanted Danny to have a buffer between himself, and our horribly narrow-minded ghost-hunting parents. I had a full-ride scholarship, and my parents agreed to pay a few extra fees so their baby girl could take her freshman year classes online. I only had to go to the local community college to take exams four times, and of course I passed every one of them with flying colors. I worked as a teacher's aide at Casper High, I took over some of Valerie's shifts at the Nasty Burger, and I even chaperoned Danny's junior prom. At least he had the sense to ask Sam this time, his decision aided by a few judiciously applied threats to his general person.
I did everything as I was expected to, as well as I possibly could, attracting as much attention as I could. This way, Mom and Dad would notice Danny coming home late, but not the odd green residue left on his skin from already-healed injuries. Mr. Lancer noticed his sleeping in class, but not that he always disappeared just as a ghost attack began. Valerie noticed how the ghosts knew him, but some of them recognized me, too. I was a Fenton, and so was Danny, and that explained all of the weirdness.
I was scared, terrified that Sam and Tucker would not be around to explain his disappearances and his vanishing injuries. How could they explain away a positive reaction to active ectoplasm, when every medical professional in Amity Park now knew it was highly toxic? How could they explain his instinctive understanding of languages no living being ever spoke? How could they protect him from the threats they couldn't defeat with ecto-blasts and glowing lipstick? I wasn't really a student anymore, so I couldn't ask to join study groups or offer help outside of tutoring sessions. I could follow Danny to school and the Nasty Burger, but I couldn't be there every time. I knew that I was respectable, I was the normal Fenton, so I would be believed, but who would believe me if I wasn't there?
I looked in the mirror. My eyes had dark circles under them, my hair was oily and tangled because I had been too tired to take a shower last night, and I was several shades paler than I should have been. I wasn't even Goth-pale like Sam, who deliberately shunned sunlight. I was ash-pale, the color of sickness and exhaustion and weakness. When Tucker, sweet stupidly honest Tucker, mentioned that I wasn't the one that was supposed to look like a walking corpse, I knew something had to go. Eventually, something would break, and I could not afford to break. I couldn't leave Danny again, not after I learned what Vlad was capable of, especially not now that he's the mayor!
I heard a knock on the door, and hastily scrubbed my face clean and blew my nose. Thankfully, I got the pretty-crying gene from Mom, so at least I wouldn't have red, swollen eyes to give me away. I ditched the tissue on my way to the door, and pulled it open, expecting Mom or Danny, or maybe even Sam with some makeup tips. Sam would never admit it, but she had her girly moments. It was the last person I expected to see in my room. Tucker was standing there, staring very intently at a spot somewhere above my head.
"Tucker? Um, I'm sorry," I choked out. I cleared my throat a few times, eternally thankful that I had mastered the art of silent tears years ago, and looked right at him. Our eyes met and hastily flew apart again. "I wasn't really expecting you."
"Yeah, I could have guessed that," he said teasingly and pointed at my feet. I was wearing fuzzy white bunny slippers with little pink ears and noses and black button eyes. I squeaked, realizing I was in front of a non-related teenage boy in light summer jammies.
"Tucker, out! Out! Whatever it is can wait." I started to slam the door on him.
"Jazz, stop!" I glared at him. Why in the heck would he want to see me in daisy-print pajamas, besides the obvious? Tucker hesitated, chewing on the inside of one cheek and looking off to the side. He sighed, and continued, "You need to talk."
"I need to talk? What would I need to talk about?" I feigned ignorance.
He returned my wide-eyed look of absolute innocence with one of his own, looking utterly shocked. Then he started laughing, and I clapped a hand over his mouth, begging any benevolent deities to keep my parents and especially my brother from seeing this. Mom and Dad would chew him out for interrupting my studies, but Danny would avenge my supposedly-besmirched honor first and ask questions later.
"Jazz, you… Oh. Oh, my sides hurt." He wiped a tear from his eye. And just what was so funny? "I'm sorry, but that look on your face – it's practically the exact same one Danny gets when someone accuses him of having a crush on Sam. Y'know, minus the blushing."
"He has a crush on Sam."
"Which made the look on your face the long-lost twin of a river in Egypt."
"What?" I asked, not liking where this conversation was going.
"Denial, Jazz. You're in denial, and usually you're the one going on and on about being open and honest. You are such a hypocrite," he said, his tone and expression growing steadily more bitter and disbelieving, arms folded across his chest and glaring right at me. "You always tell Danny to share his burdens, to let other people help, to stop freaking martyring himself! You're the ever-reliable older one, just like Danny is the one with a hero complex the size of Mount Everest. You always interfere. You always have to help."
"So? What's wrong with wanting to help Danny? He's your best friend. Don't tell me you've never done crazy things for his sake. I know all about the ghost flu incident. You've had a raging case of nosocomephobia for as long as I've known you, and yet you willingly infiltrated a haunted hospital for your friends. How is that any different?"
Tucker shuddered. "One, I did not go willingly. I went because things really were so desperate I was the only one left who could help. You were sick too, remember? Two, that was a one-time thing. I haven't gone into a hospital for over a year now," he said proudly, puffing out his chest and putting his hands on his hips. He looked so silly I couldn't help but chuckle a little. I do not giggle. I'm too dignified.
He smiled, relaxing for the first time that night. "So, can I come in? I promise, there will be no funny business from me." He drew himself up, putting a hand over his heart and looking me straight in the eye. Unfortunately, the effect was utterly ruined by his glasses slipping off his nose. "Aw! Dang it, I need new frames," he grumbled from somewhere around knee level, crouching down to get the glasses. I shook my head, and shut the door on him. I heard a few plaintive moans come through the door as I changed into a pair of loose aqua pants and a slightly wrinkled loose black V-neck top, the same clothes I wore all through high school. I opened the door to find Tucker with his pointer finger out, once more ready to rant. I put a preemptive finger on his lips to shut him up, pulled him into my room and sat him on the chair. I leaned against the wall, not willing to sacrifice the slight psychological advantage it would give me. I had no intention of losing our argument, whatever it was about.
"So, Tucker," I began. "What exactly do you think I am in denial of?"
"You ended a sentence with a preposition," he blurted, nervous again.
"Stop attempting to change the subject, and for heaven's sakes don't be so blatant about it. This little talk was all your idea."
He groaned, holding a hand to his forehead. The other was in one of his myriad pockets, doubtless reaching for some bit of personally meaningful gadgetry as another might reach for a protective amulet. I simply looked at him, waiting to see what the point of this little conversation really was.
"Look, Jazz. You gotta understand, it's not easy to say this, especially since I know I'm the team weak link, but..." he trailed off.
"But?" I clipped out, running low on patience. Anyone else, I could have talked out of it. I could distract Dad by mentioning ghosts or food, and I could bring up combat strategies and the possibility of combat training to tempt Mom away from a serious discussion. With Danny, a few prying personal questions would send him running faster than humanly possible. Sam was somewhat trickier, but a mention of the GIW's (and by extension the US government's) blatant anti-ghost policies would send her off into a rant about nonhuman rights. Almost all of the time, Tucker could be distracted with food or gadgets. There was a point in every interaction with him where he would go looking for something to eat, or simply pull out his newest PDA and shut out the real world. I had expected him to leave after he dropped his glasses, but instead, he waited. Tucker was not patient, he was not focused (except for tech and meat) and he was never this serious. The moment he came in, I had resigned myself for an out-of-character personal discussion with the most anti-social person I knew. His pathetic attempts at flirting most certainly did not count!
"Jazz!" Tucker was standing in front of me, snapping his fingers in my face. I flushed and batted his hand away, mortified that I had just gone off on a mental tangent in the middle of a conversation that could have major consequences for our future interactions as members of Team Phantom.
"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that I think I already know what this is about, and I was never expecting you of all people to confront me about this," I admitted, sinking down onto my bed. Tucker plopped down next to me, causing the bed to rock and the springs to creak. I gave him a look, and he held up a hand to placate me.
"I know, I know. I'm not really the think-y advisor type, but that's why I'm here." He shifted to face me, right leg folded and left leg hanging off the side of my bed. Once again, I was struck with the realization that I was alone with a boy only slightly younger than myself. Mom and Dad were downstairs working on some new invention and Danny was off on a study date with Sam (which he refused to refer to by that name). I was in the house alone with my little brother's nerdy, awkward, ridiculously pathetically flirty best friend. Why was I worried again?
"Explain." Realizing how abrupt that sounded, I winced, backtracked and said, "I mean, why are you here."
"Because we're both stuck." I raised an eyebrow, and he continued, "We're both normal." I had to laugh at that one. As I attempted to stifle a series of very unladylike guffaws, he glared and asked if I was really listening. "Think about it. Danny is the hero, with the special powers and the weight of the world on his shoulders and all that stuff. Sam is his kick-ass love interest. Then there's the goofball and the bossy sister. I fix things and get made fun of. You nag and fuss all the time." I gave him my best what-did-you-just-say look, and he shut up.
"I do not nag and fuss."
"De-ni-al. Big time. Jazz, I know you mean well, but you know perfectly well what Danny thinks of you trying to micromanage everything. Heck, these days all you need to scare him out of the house is a fake-innocent question about his day at school, and don't think Sam and I haven't noticed that trick. I've also noticed you spying on Danny whenever you have a free minute," he said victoriously.
"So, maybe I fuss," I hedged. "He's my little brother. It's just a little sisterly concern."
"No, it isn't. Maybe it was at first, but sisterly concern wouldn't keep you stuck here in Amity Park while you could be off living your own life. Jazz, you graduated over a year ago. Harvard College offered you a scholarship. Your mom wouldn't shut up about it. And here you are, in the same mail-order outfit you had since you were 14, in the same stupid little-girl pink room you've had since the first time I slept over with Danny. This isn't sisterly concern."
"And what else would it be, Tucker?" I snapped viciously. "Ghost envy?"
He just looked at me. "You said it, not me. You want to be special, but you can't, so you're doing the next best thing. You stay in Amity Park, even though you hate weirdness. You hated ghost hunting, now you're taking lessons from your Mom."
"I refuse to be dead weight if I need to fight again."
"You hate fighting!"
"And so did Danny, but that didn't stop ghosts from attacking and new enemies from coming out of the stupid woodwork!"
"So? He won, Jazz. Danny always wins, somehow, because he's the hero. That's what he does."
"And you expect me to believe you're satisfied with that?"
"Let's see," he held up a fist and began to count off, flipping a finger up with each item. "No one dies because of Danny's fights. Almost all of his worst enemies are locked up in inescapable prisons, and he's got some kind of weird truce with that arrogant bastard. That's not really a win, but close enough for now. No matter how badly he's hurt, he heals overnight at worst." I cringed at that and hoped Tucker didn't see my reaction. Luckily, he was on a roll. "Most importantly, when I go to bed at night, even with all the ghost attacks and freakiness around here, I feel better knowing that at least one super-powered being is on our side. He always will be, Jazz, and Danny isn't half as bad about doing everything himself these days. Remember last winter, when you pretended to betray us? You were working together all along!" he finished brightly.
I sighed. This was not going to be pleasant. "Tucker, I wasn't working with Danny, not at first. I tried to trick the information out of Vlad myself. I just wanted to be useful, to do something other than get in the way."
He goggled at me. "What? You've got to be kidding me, Jazz. You really are a Fenton. You always have to do something, even when you physically can't."
"I know. I just…"
"You just hate being useless. Weak. The load, always dragging everyone else down. News flash, Jazz. If you're useless, then so am I. Danny and Sam might be better at using the weapons, but I'm the only one who can fix them. And you know that Danny can't strategize for crap. You can. You even managed to fool Vlad!" I smiled, remembering the Ecto-Suit incident and what Danny told me about Vlad's little cabin-in-the-woods plot. I definitely got Mom's planning skills. I just wish I had inherited her aim.
"I know, Tucker." I laid a hand on his shoulder. "I've been playing the fool pretty effectively, haven't I? What were we even arguing about in the first place?"
"You working too hard."
"You never mentioned that."
"Wait, hang on, I'm sure I- aw, man! I said you meddle, and that you're in denial, but I never actually told you why I was here." He shook his head, continuing, "Danny's worried about you, man."
"Man?" I asked, bemused.
He backpedaled, "I didn't mean- I don't see you as a guy, Jazz! It's just something to say, you know?"
"Well, it's nice to know you've noticed my femininity," I said archly. Tucker really was fun to mess with.
"Of course I noticed. You're smoking hot," he said with a completely straight face. Then he performed a very good goldfish impression, opening and closing his mouth several times without saying a single word. "So, uh, do we agree?"
"About what?" I chirped.
"That you work too hard. When I notice you're out of it, it's got to be bad. Even Danny noticed, and he's the freaking prince of obliviousness."
"'Prince of obliviousness.' Sam came up with that, didn't she?"
"Who else?" he said flatly. "Seriously, though, you're doing way too much. You taught half the freshman classes this year. You work at the Nasty Burger every afternoon. You spend way too much time covering for Danny, and when you're not doing that, you're studying or doing chores. When was the last time you took out some time to just be Jazz?"
"Ah." I thought back. "When the Guys in White bought FentonWorks?"
Tucker looked at me incredulously. "I don't believe it. Jazz, I would have gone nuts after a few lousy days without a break. You've been working nonstop for months. You can't keep doing this. You look worse than Danny did after the CATs, and he looked like crap warmed over. You look like a walking corpse, and Danny's the ghost."
"Are you insulting me?"
"No, I'm- Yes, but you deserve it! You're going to work yourself to death one day."
"Don't even joke about that, Tucker."
"Who's joking? I was worried. Now I'm flat-out scared."
"What are you scared of? Why are you even here? Why not my little brother? I always listen to him. Why not Sam? At least she's a girl."
"Since when did you care or even know that I am, in fact, a guy? I'm here because I want to be. You can believe it, or don't. I don't care." Suddenly, he got up and started pacing around my room. He turned and said, "Danny needs you, Jazz. He needs you, not some robot that makes up lies for him and does whatever she's told. And that's what you're turning into. Look at yourself. When Freakshow came back, all you could do was run around screaming for help."
"He warped reality, Tucker. That's all anyone could do."
"Did you even try to come up with an escape plan or something? Freakshow isn't much of a thinker. You out-sneakied Vlad, so why not him?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Why not?
"You're losing it, Jazz. When was the last time you had fun?"
"I had fun when all the guys vanished," I said coldly.
"Low blow."
"You don't need to worry about me, you know. I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself."
"I know you can take care of yourself, but do you really think you can grow up all the way living with your parents. You're not living your life, you're trying to live Danny's life. I speak from painful, personal experience. I wound up possessed by a ghost made of my own freaking jealousy the last time I tried that. I just don't want that to happen to you."
"You don't want me to be possessed?"
"I don't want you to get hurt, genius. That mess nearly drove me insane, not to mention putting another giant hole in my friendship with Danny."
"And the first one?"
"He overshadowed me. Long story, not important right now," he said with a pained expression. "The point is, you can't do this. Something's gonna give. I really hope for everyone's sake that doesn't happen to be you." He sighed, slumping down to sit in the chair. "Danny thinks it's his job to save everyone. You think it's your job to fix everyone's problems. I just want the real Jazz back. The one who doesn't come home after a day of subbing for absent teachers and a four-hour shift at Nasty Burger to finish a ten-page paper that's due the next day."
"So, what do you want me to do about it?" I said dully.
"Whatever you want."
I scoffed. "What?"
"You heard me. Do what you want. You want to go to college, right?"
"As though you needed to ask."
"So go. You know Danny – if he figures out that you stayed for him, he'll feel horribly guilty and beat himself up over it."
"I did not choose to stay in Amity Park solely for Danny's sake."
"Sure. And you weren't guilt-tripping like crazy, and somewhere out there is a land of pigs with pink polka-dot wings."
I closed my eyes, too tired to struggle. Distantly, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, a hesitant pat and a swift retreat. Pausing in the doorway, he spoke, "I'm sorry, Jazz. I didn't come here to fight, but I had to say it. If it was Danny, you'd be too busy keeping him from worrying. If it was Sam, you'd probably wind up talking about girl stuff or something." I snorted. "So that left me. The funny guy with permanent foot-in-mouth disease."
"Tucker?"
"…Yeah?"
"It's a syndrome." I knew he was smiling that nervous smile that looks like it could duck around a corner and hide any second. He always did, around me. I wasn't clueless, and neither is Danny, not really. We're just scared to face the truth. Tucker just happens to be scared of so many things, the truth stops looking scary after a while. I know, because he told me so. Because we have had this argument, or similar arguments, more and more frequently since last spring. Because he promised to warn me if I was being stupid, and it's about time I listened.
As I heard the soft thumps of Tucker's boots going down the stairs, I realized how stupid I'd been. We'd had this argument a hundred times, true, but this was the first time he ever came into my room alone. My life is insane, my room my lone sanctuary. Tucker knew this, and he still came in when he knew no one would interrupt. Tucker is brilliant, in his own annoying way, because he never really learned how to deny himself anything. Any unclaimed piece of meat will immediately be devoured, and any shiny new gadget will be played with, upgraded and personalized to heck (and most likely named). Any words that go through his mind are said, no matter the consequences. Really, that has to be my favorite thing about him. Danny tries to do everything himself, Sam pushes everyone away, and my parents are my parents. Tucker just says what he means, no matter how many times it ends badly. He has to be the most persistent person I know.
I know he's right. I have to face this and make my choice. I need to live my life. It figures it takes the guy with no life to remind me of that.
In the end, I've already chosen.
Good night, Amity Park. Good night, Mom and Dad. Good night, little brother. Good night, Sam, my sister of the heart. Good night, Tucker, my stupid genius, my brilliant fool.
At the risk of sounding clichéd, tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life. Look out, world – here comes Jasmine Marie Fenton!
A/N: Freesia didn't feel like working on CHI or FL. This incident is set in the summer of 2007, parallel to the later parts of CHI.
Whoof, this turned out long! Blatant TxJ, lousy blocking (theater term, Google it if you don't know). I think I need to edit a few things. Do they seem sufficiently IC? Please R&R.