The Eye Thief.
A/N~ Basically a one-shot that heavily implies to a headcanon of mine concerning Clockwork's scar, and Pariah Dark's 20/0 vision. 8)
NOTICE! Danny is sixteen in this, and the plot does not comply with Phantom Planet. It never happened. Moving on.
Not slash, but if you squint, you can perhaps make out a bit of Iambic Prose (Ghostwriter/Danny), and maybe some PLATONIC Temporal Trust. Maybe. I'm not too sure myself honestly.
Enjoy~
Now edited!
Summary:
An innocent conversation while studying in the Ghostwriter's library leads to an interesting, if not baffling discovery. Danny may just have to trade out his human history books for a copy of Ghost History 101. Apparently Clockwork can be just as cruel as he can be kind…
~s~s~S~s~s~
"The Boston Tea Party took place where and when?"
"Griffin's Wharf, 1773."
"Correct. What was the name of the ship on which the Pilgrims travelled to North America in 1620?"
"The Mayflower."
"Correct again. What was the name of the world's first man-made satellite launched by the USSR in 1957?"
"Sputnik I, duh."
"Right, stupid question. Lovely sarcasm, by the way. How long was French King Louis XIV's reign?"
"Too long."
A quirked brow, and a grey finger taps over the flashcard. No comment was made though, and the ghostly novelist moved onto the next card.
"What were the waitresses called who worked in the English Lyons Cornerhouse tea rooms?" He read.
There was no answer. Instead there was uncontrollable giggling.
The Ghostwriter sighed, placing the flashcards on the table and leveling the Halfa across from him a flat look.
"Really?" He droned.
"What? Come on, I'm sixteen, what did you expect?" Danny laughed, wiping a few mirthful tears from his neon-green eyes. Ghostwriter rolled his eyes.
"I suppose it was a bit too much to hope for a mature answer…" he muttered. He turned to look at the clock on the wall, "Regardless, I think it's time we took a break. It's nearly two."
Danny blinked, looking towards the clock. "Huh. That was quick."
"Indeed," The Ghostwriter stood up from his chair, stretching the stiffness from his arms and back, "Want a drink?"
"Sure, thanks." Danny stifled a yawn, only then realizing how tired he was. He watched the ghost novelist glide to the small kitchen tucked out of the way in an alcove. Eying his world history book, the Halfa closed it and pulled it over to use as a chin-rest.
"Hey, uh…thanks again. For doing all this, I mean," he said a bit awkwardly.
'Writer looked up over the bar of his kitchen at Danny, surprised. Clearing his throat, he simply shrugged as indifferently as he could manage. He felt just as awkward as Danny did now.
"It's no trouble, really," he said, "At the very least, it breaks up the monotony of my day…" he smirked at the deadpan glare from the Halfa. "And you're not the worst company."
"Har, har, har…" Danny grumbled, before he sobered. "But seriously though, I…I really wish there was some way I could thank you for all the help you've given me. Especially in my schoolwork."
The 'Writer bit his lip, mentally telling himself not to fidget or squirm. He picked up the two mugs – one green and containing hot chocolate, the other a dark plum and holding his preferred coffee – and shuffled back to the table.
"There's really no need, Danny," he said, placing the green mug next to Danny, "Besides, you apologized over a month ago."
Danny sat up straighter and picked up his drink, cheeks flushing. The apology in question was in reference to his actions two Christmas' ago. Of course there had been some heated words, and hands sparking with ecto-energy – mostly on the Ghostwriter's part, and more out of apprehension than anger. At sixteen and still fighting ghosts, Danny had grown in both height and strength. And even with his swift cunning and quick reflexes, Ghostwriter was not a fighter, and he knew he would stand no chance against the Halfa. But Danny had held his ground and brought no instigation, and after exercising some painful restraint, he managed to dissuade most of the hostility, and offer his apology. Needless to say, Ghostwriter had been stunned, and actively wondered if he was pulling some kind of cruel prank. Danny, seeing the hostility had mostly melted away into suspicion, quickly and breathlessly went on to explain himself.
No, it was not a joke. Yes, he was apologizing for destroying Ghostwriter's Christmas poem two years ago and for acting like a 'total jerk'.
'Writer had understandably been dubious, and had asked why he was apologizing now of all times. Sheepishly, Danny had admitted to feeling quite a bit of guilt after the high of the holidays had passed, especially when he considered Ghostwriter had been thrown in jail. He didn't know how to apologize at the time, and stubbornness and pride stalled him until 'Writer was released from Walker's prison. But after a while – two years apparently – it becomes tiring trying to keep up a stubborn and prideful façade, and he had gone to a friend for advice on the matter.
Said friend had, Danny informed, 'kicked my head out of my ass and told me to suck it up and make nice'. That had been an interesting sentence, and quite frankly, it had been the tipping point for 'Writer into accepting the apology. And over time, their shaky truce had evolved into a meek friendship, or at the very least a stable student-tutor relationship. All of which had started when Danny nearly crash-landed into his library, frantic and looking the worse for wear. But once he babbled on about some huge English test coming up in a few days, of which would count for a painful 1/3 of his final grade, 'Writer had quickly understood and agreed to lend a hand.
And it wasn't until after Danny had calmed down, and they went over the study material, did Danny mutter about how he, 'hated when he was right'. Ghostwriter assumed he was talking about the friend who had prompted Danny into apologizing, but had not commented at the time. It had been too soon to ask.
That had been a little over a month ago though. And now, like any creative and complex mind, Ghostwriter was becoming curious. He had subtly tried to get Danny to tell him who this friend was, but such attempts ended rather pear-shaped, seeing as Danny was not an overly subtle young boy. That had been a miscalculation on the 'Writer's part; Danny was sixteen, subtlety wasn't exactly in a teenager's nature.
And if it was one thing Ghostwriter had learned about Danny, it was that you had to be direct with him.
"You know…" he started, slightly strained – he wasn't used to direct confrontation. "You never did tell me who this friend of yours is."
Ghostwriter withheld a chuckle at the boy's dumbfounded expression, and instead busied himself with picking up some of the history books – most borrowed from his own shelves.
"I didn't?" Danny asked with a frown. "Huh…guess I didn't. Sorry about that."
"Oh it's no problem, I'm just curious is all," Ghostwriter said, stacking his books in a neat pile, "You once said he was a, 'know-it-all jerk'. I take it he's quite intelligent?"
Danny snorted. "Understatement of the century, the guy knows everything."
Ghostwriter bit his tongue to stifle the grin threatening to overtake his mouth. This friend clearly irritated Danny, but there was an obvious affection and fondness in the Halfa. Typical teenage reaction to anyone or anything they liked; they pretended it was an annoyance, a 'whatever' sort of attitude.
'There's a word for that, isn't there? What was it…? Tsundere? Yes, that was it!' The 'Writer made a mental note to further investigate this term, and maybe include it in one of his more teen-inclined novels.
Ghostwriter hummed and hefted his books into his arms.
"Well, he sounds like a charming individual. I would hope to meet him one day, if for nothing else than to thank him for, 'kicking your head out of your ass'."
And there was that pout, the same one that had Ghostwriter grinning in delight every time. He loved teasing the other; his reactions and expressions were priceless.
"Yeah, well, he's kind of a recluse…" Danny suddenly relaxed, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully, "He's nice though, just a smartass at times. But he's done a lot for me, and gives great advice. Brutal to spar with too. Makes great cookies though, let me tell you."
"Cookies?" Ghostwriter inquired, looking over his shoulder to see Danny while meticulously shelving his books. "So you see him regularly?"
"Yeah, not as often as you though," – that comment oddly made the 'Writer feel happy – "He's busy a lot, but he says he likes when I come over for whatever reason. I don't want to bug him too much though."
And there was that mentioned fondness. Danny could deny it all he wanted, but he liked this friend, perhaps even saw him as a role-model or mentor. And although they had yet to say it out loud, Ghostwriter hoped they were friends too. And as a friend, he wanted to be sure Danny's other companions were suitable to him and would not pose a bad influence.
It had nothing to do with a tiny bit of jealously. Nope, not at all.
He briefly distracted himself by shelving another book, adjusting his grip as the heavy tomes strained his arms.
"So you spar with him, you visit him fairly often, he gives great advice, and he bakes evidently," he stated. "May I ask for his name?"
Unsurprisingly, Danny paused to consider the request. Unlike in the human world, sharing names was a bit more conservative. Ghosts were very private and solitary individuals, and they were ridiculously possessive of the few things they may have. Including names and identities. Plus, with the numerous social and power tiers throughout the ghost community, it was a precaution to withhold other ghosts' names if one posed a risk of harm to the other. In many cases, it was considered rude and offensive to outright give out names of other ghosts, especially without their express permission.
Danny hummed, fingers drumming against his mug. "Well…he never said anything about telling you about him, and considering who he is, he would have mentioned it on my last visit…"
The Ghostwriter quirked a brow, curiosity spiking. How would this friend know if 'Writer was going to bring the subject up today?
The Halfa thought a bit more, before he shrugged to himself. "Yeah, I think it would be okay to tell you. I'm pretty sure he would have told me otherwise."
"Are you sure? You don't need to tell me if you're uncertain," 'Writer said sheepishly, "I kind of sprung it on you out of nowhere…"
Danny waved a hand. "No, no, it's totally fine! I actually think you'd really like him. He's a huge history buff too."
If 'Writer wasn't intrigued already, he certainly was now. "So…?"
"His name's Clockwork." Danny grinned.
Danny jumped and nearly tipped out of his chair at the loud slam that followed after 'Writer dropped his very heavy stack of history books. On his foot.
"OW! Ow! Oh, ow, mother of…!" Ghostwriter yanked his foot out from under the books, hopping back, hands scrambling for his foot and a bookshelf for stability.
"Holy-! Dude, are you okay?!" Danny got up and went to the pained writer's aid, steadying him by his shoulders. "What happened?! You never drop your-"
"Your friend is Clockwork?!" Ghostwriter blurted, eyes wide and glasses knocked askew, "The Clockwork? The Grim Reaper, the Time Keeper, the Eye Thief?!"
Danny blinked, taken aback. And not a tiny bit confused.
"Uh…" he started uncertainly, "Well I don't know about that. I mean, 'Time Keeper' is kind of obvious, and I guess you could call him the Grim Reaper since he likes to use a scythe in sparring. But 'Eye Thief'? What the hell does that mean?"
Ghostwriter, his pain forgotten and mostly reduced to an irritating throb in his toes, gaped at Danny in disbelief.
"You…you don't know?" He rasped, releasing his bookshelf and gingerly lowering his foot to the ground. "You don't-? Did you never read about the history of the Ghostzone?"
Danny gave 'Writer a deadpan look. "Ghostwriter, I'm still working on dragging my grades away from the edge of a cliff, you really think I should trade in my human world history books for Ghostzone history 101?"
The 'Writer blinked, cheeks flushing a faint green color. "Ah…right, point taken. But that's not the point! I mean…" 'Writer suddenly looked up and around, as if waiting for something to jump out and slit his throat. "You're friends with Clockwork? Like friends with-wait, you spar with him?!"
Danny groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "Okay, clearly I missed something. What's up with you? What is it about Clockwork that's making you freak out like this? Have you met him before?"
"I would certainly never hope to!" 'Writer exclaimed, hunching in on himself, eyes swerving around his library in obvious paranoia. Danny frowned, suddenly concerned.
"Dude, 'Writer, calm down…" he said, squeezing the other's shoulders. "I don't know what you heard or read about, but he's not going to come down on you like a Kamikaze and eat your books."
Danny withheld a wince as his friend seemed to blanch. "Okay, bad choice of words, I'm sorry. But I'm serious! He's a smartass, he's not evil."
Ghostwriter made a strange face, "How can you say that about him and still be alive…?"
"Technically, I'm only half-alive," Danny corrected, hoping to lighten the mood. "And I mean it, 'Writer. What is going on? Where did this sudden fear of him come from?" Danny paused, cocking his head. "…he didn't actually eat one of your books, did he?"
"Wha- NO!" Ghostwriter pulled away, raking his hands through his hair. He seemed to be calming down though, but he still seemed apprehensive. "I just…I'm stunned. I…I need a minute. Could you get my coffee?"
"Um, sure…" Danny stepped back as the 'Writer shuffled to the couch near their table, and sat heavily on it. The Halfa picked up the mug of coffee, finding it cold. He cast a glance at Ghostwriter, who was rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses, and quickly flew into the kitchen to heat the coffee again.
Ten seconds later, he returned and sat beside the Ghostwriter, setting his mug on the coffee table in front of them.
"So…" he started uncertainly, "You know Clockwork…?"
"Not personally…" 'Writer said, picking up his mug and taking a sip. "You know he is an ancient ghost, yes?"
Danny nodded. "I kind of figured, the whole 'Master of Time' thing considered…"
"Right…" 'Writer took a breath and released it in an exhausted puff. "Alright…so, you know he's ancient. So you shouldn't be surprised to hear that he's been at least mentioned in numerous history books written here in the Ghostzone."
Again, Danny nodded, and the 'Writer continued.
"There is one particular historical event though where he is not just mentioned, but appears as the main focus of the event," he said. Danny blinked.
"You mean…like, the main character of a story? He was physically recorded being a part of something?" He asked. Ghostwriter nodded.
"Indeed, and it is the only known event he was personally involved in. Past witnesses can testify to that," he rasped, sipping his coffee again.
"Okay…so, what? Did he do something terrible?" Danny asked, feeling a sudden wave of defensiveness coming over him for his mentor.
But to his surprise, Ghostwriter shook his head. "No, quite the opposite actually…"
The novelist waved his hand, and a thick book suddenly appeared and fell into his hand. He handed it to Danny, who looked it over and read its title.
"The Fall of Pariah Dark…?" His brows shot up and he looked at Ghostwriter, "He was a part of that?"
"Indeed, he was…" Ghostwriter's tone was a testament to his sudden mental and physical exhaustion, exasperated by his sudden freak-out apparently. "He was not just a part of it though. Turn to chapter ten, paragraph six."
Danny frowned, but did as he was told. Checking the index, he quickly jumped to chapter ten, and skimmed down to the sixth paragraph. He began to read aloud.
"Pariah Dark's reign would end at the urging of the Ancients and the Observants," he read, "But the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep would not be enough. Pariah Dark would need to be soundly defeated, and his downfall would come to him at the hands of the Master of Time himself, Clock-…holy shit, Clockwork defeated Pariah Dark?"
"Yes, he did," Ghostwriter said.
"Well, that's cool! I mean, that's not too surprising actually. The guy kicks my ass in sparring every time…" Danny groused, "But why did you freak out earlier? It was a good thing he got rid of Pariah Dark, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was!" Ghostwriter sniped, "I will not deny that, never in a million years!"
"So then, what's the problem?" Danny asked, still understandably confused. 'Writer swallowed, eying the book hesitantly. He sighed.
"Chapter eleven, paragraph twelve…" he said softly.
Danny hesitates for only a moment, flipping to the mentioned chapter and paragraph. Quirking a brow at the Ghostwriter, he turned to the book and began to read. Green eyes skimmed over the sentences slowly at first, taking in each and every word. But eventually, his eyes grew wider, flying over the words in disbelief. The book nearly pressed to his nose, Ghostwriter sat and waited patiently and with a growing sense of dread. Maybe he should not have showed Danny the book…
But it was too late now, especially when Danny turned the page and read the next sentence. His jaw dropped.
"Oh. My…"
~s~S~s~
"You gouged out Pariah Dark's eye?!"
To his credit, Danny did not sound nearly as disgusted or outraged as he thought he was. And despite the topic, and the undertone of accusation, Clockwork was unsurprisingly calm.
"To be fair, he tried to take my eye first," he countered evenly, unconsciously scratching at the scar over his left eye.
"Wow…" Danny rasped, fiddling with the cookie in his hand. And this was the guy who made the best peanut butter cookies in the world…
Clockwork shrugged, "It was ages ago, and not one of my prouder moments. People change though…"
"So…what, you weren't like this before?" Danny asked.
"You could say that…" Clockwork said carefully – he was being oddly tactful in what he was saying. Which was unusual, given how he normally gives zero shits about what others may think of him and his opinions.
Danny bit into his cookie, reclining back in the couch he sat on next to Clockwork.
"Okay, seriously though…" he started, "What the hell happened?"
"Language, Daniel."
Danny withheld a sarcastic comment that would have involved the words 'Mother Time'. He picked up another cookie from the plate on the coffee table.
"Sorry. What the heck happened?" He rephrased. Clockwork rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.
"You read the book, didn't you?" He asked.
"Not the whole thing." Danny said, "And I know you weren't the one who wrote it. I checked."
Clockwork's lips twitched in the faintest smile. "And you want to hear my side of the story?"
"Uh, yeah? It's not every day you hear that one of your friends defeated what was basically ghost-Hitler and came out with a souvenir." Danny scoffed.
Clockwork withheld a snicker; he would never tire of Danny's swift, morbid humor.
"Alright then…" he said, reclining back into the couch, sorting his thoughts. "As you know, the Ancients and Observants wanted Pariah Dark gone for obvious reasons. And while the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep would be their best asset in containing him, there was still the matter of weakening him enough to lock him up."
"Like how I can't just suck stronger ghosts into the thermos without weakening them…" Danny speculated. "They'd break out otherwise."
"Exactly. But the problem with this is there was no ghost strong enough, or willing enough, to weaken Pariah Dark so he could be sealed away." Clockwork explained, "But there was one asset the Ancients and the Observants had that no one knew about, and this asset could defeat Pariah Dark."
"You?"
"Me. But there was a…slight issue with that," Clockwork said, again taking a moment to consider what he would say next. After finding that there was no 'gentle' way of saying it, he sighed and decided to be blunt.
"Daniel, I'll be honest, I wasn't exactly the nicest ghost back in the day. I'm still not, in all honesty," he said. Danny cocked his head in confusion.
"You seem nice to me…" he said.
"That's because I happen to like you. And I don't normally 'like' anyone." Clockwork said, before he quickly put the subject back on track before Danny could dig further into his softer side. "But anyways, back then, I also held a more precarious position with my bosses and the Ancients. Due to circumstances that I, at the moment, am not ready to disclose, I was considered a great danger to everyone – ghost, human, everything. There was quite a heated debate between the Ancients and the Observants when the idea was brought up."
Danny swallowed, suddenly a bit unsure, yet dangerously curious. He noted a bit suspiciously how Clockwork had said he was, 'not ready to disclose' some elements of his past. Danny found that odd, but let it go for now.
"So then…?" he probed.
"Leaving out a few details, the Ancients and Observants decided there was little they could lose in the end, and came to me with a proposition," Clockwork continued. He suddenly reached over and picked up a cookie, but he didn't eat it just yet.
"I accepted their proposition, and they let me out of the tower to go and take care of Pariah Dark." He said, "It was a short, but violent battle. I held little to no care for what happened to the few patches of land, or anyone who happened to find themselves in the crossfire."
Despite Clockwork's words, Danny was having a very hard time believing what he was saying. Clockwork was not unfriendly, but rather he was stoic and a little distant. He had a very human-like reservation towards people he never met personally, and to Danny, that was just sensible. All-knowing or not, Clockwork liked to keep his distance and observe someone or something new. It was eerie at times, especially when Danny started coming to the temporal ghost more often – without the desire to go back in time for anything, he quickly learned his lesson there. But just like a particularly distant human, he quickly warmed up to Danny once the Halfa made it clear that he was not going to be dissuaded by his aloofness.
And this was why Danny was having a hard time seeing Clockwork as vicious or cruel. Once he warmed up to Danny, he opened up a bit more and let his guard down. He was kind to Danny and had an endless patience for the Halfa that was otherworldly. He seemed to relax more when Danny was around, and whether they talked, sparred, or did nothing at all, Danny never saw any hint of a cruel nature in Clockwork. His personality was a quiet one, unobtrusive, but it also drew people in – there was simply something in his energy and aura that drew Dann himself to Clockwork without feeling any apprehension. He was a smartass at times, sure, but he always meant well, and he always seemed genuinely concerned whenever Danny was having a problem and needed a little guidance. He had been especially supportive when he and Sam had given the whole 'dating' thing a try, only for it to end it on less than agreeable terms. To this day, Danny still couldn't think about that event without feeling angry or sad.
Danny made his dubiousness known. "I'm sorry, but I can't see you like that. I can't really imagine you being…careless in anything. Well, except when talking to the Observants."
Clockwork chuckled. "Yes, they will always be an exception in that regard." He finally bit into the cookie, quickly swallowing, "Regardless, it's true. I was a reckless and chaotic entity back then. And to this day, I am a little ashamed to admit I enjoyed dragging out Pariah Dark's defeat, and therefore the pain he must have been in during our battle."
Danny was, again, stunned and in disbelief. He could not for a second believe Clockwork would have such a dark, sadistic side to him. But then again, he had never seen Clockwork in darker situations, so maybe he was biased. But it still didn't change the fact that he refused to believe Clockwork was someone cruel – almost evil.
"The fight was short, like I said, but I still drew out the blows. I played with Pariah," Clockwork said. He considered the now crescent moon shaped cookie, and deciding it wasn't worth it, placed it on the edge of the plate away from the whole ones. "The area we fought in was obliterated, and there were casualties. I would have dragged it out longer, but he attempted something that greatly angered me and sealed his fate."
Danny winced, his left eye squinting somewhat in sympathy. "He tried to…?"
Clockwork hummed in the affirmative. "He managed to pin me for a moment, and seeing the opportunity to gloat, he pointed his sword at my eye and said, "Your pretty, all-seeing, garnet eyes would look better encrusted upon my crown"."
Again, Danny cringed and hissed, shuddering once.
"He only got as far as cutting my cheek and eyelid, scarring me with his sword. This was a grave mistake on his part though." Clockwork said, eyes narrowing only slightly, "I was suitably angered that he would dare try and damage me in such a way, that he would dare take something that was mine."
Danny swallowed, but understood the palpable ire. As he had observed before, ghosts were possessive of the few things they had. This included parts of their bodies. And considering who Clockwork was, and what he did, it was understandable that he didn't want someone taking his eyes of all things.
"I managed to throw him off, and armed with my scythe, I pinned him as he had me," Clockwork said, "I didn't bother with words or gloating – he proved just how grave an error that could be. I simply took the blade and returned the exchange in full."
Danny blinked. "So…he scars you, you take his eye?"
Clockwork shrugged. "He made a mistake, and that is what made the price so much heavier. If he had only intended to scar me without hesitation, I would have done the same and let him keep both eyes. But he attempted to steal from me, and he failed. The price of that failure was his eye."
Danny was oddly reminded of the penalty for stealing in some cultures. If one was caught stealing, the hand that stole would be cut off. And even if those thieves had only been trying to feed themselves or others, their greatest mistake was not the stealing, but the getting caught. Pariah Dark's mistake, it seemed, was his arrogance, and his failure to steal from Clockwork.
"So what Ghostwriter called you is…common?" He asked.
"Not common per se, but I certainly earned that particular title," Clockwork said evenly, "After I incapacitated him, the rest was quick work. I relieved him of his ring and crown, and with the sources of his powers gone, it only took a split second to down him. The Ancients took custody of the Ring of Rage, and the Crown of Fire, and he was sealed away. His reign ended, and everything returned to mostly normal."
"Uh-huh. And, you?" Danny probed.
"Me? I went home and continued my job, under the new guidelines and contracts the Ancients and Observants propositioned me with prior to Pariah's defeat – after they scolded me for 'going overboard'." His tail flicked once, not unlike an anxious cat's tail, "And as they say, the rest is history."
"Wow…" Danny said, still disbelieving. "Wow. I mean…wow."
Clockwork smirked, "I never took you for the type to be into war stories."
"Apparently I have a thing for morbid, gory details. And irony." Danny said with a wry grin, picking up another cookie from the plate. "You're called the Eye Thief and bake like an angel. How freaky is that?"
Clockwork scoffed, but he was obviously amused.
"You do not think any differently of me?" he asked – both genuinely curious, but there also seemed to be a bit of worry in his tone.
Danny paused, considering his words. Did he think differently of Clockwork? No, of course not. Despite what he was told, he didn't feel negatively towards Clockwork. He wasn't scared of him if that was what he was asking, and he certainly didn't feel anger or disgust. Fascination maybe, and certainly a newly heightened sense of respect and awe. There was also a growing curiosity of what else he did before Danny came along. Ghostwriter had said that Clockwork was only ever mentioned in history texts, with Pariah's downfall being the only known exception. But Danny had to wonder if there were records of history removed from the public that only Clockwork knew about. It would explain the 'off limits' section of Clockwork's personal library.
The Halfa did not voice this though, and decided to save such questions for later. For now, he smiled at the time keeper reassuringly.
"Nah, you're still the same know-it-all, holier than thou jerk the Observants love." He said.
The slightly startled, though quite amused bark of laughter Clockwork released was a bit surprising. But it had Danny grinning widely all the same.
"You never cease to amaze me, Daniel…" Clockwork said, shaking his head.
"It's why you keep me around. You'd be bored to tears otherwise."
"I won't deny that."
Both laughed briefly, before a comfortable silence fell over the two. But something nagged at Danny, and he looked back at Clockwork curiously.
"So wait, what did you do with it?" he asked.
"Pardon?" Clockwork inquired, looking over at Danny in confusion.
"The eye. Did you like…keep it?"
"That would be grossly unethical…" Clockwork deadpanned, before he looked off to the side evasively. "That said, I think it's still floating in a jar around here somewhere…"
"Oh my god…!" Danny placed his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. "That is so gross!"
A pause.
"…you want to see it?"
"Hell yeah!"
~s~s~S~s~s~
A/N~ I literally wrote this in twenty minutes (not counting breaks and going to get lunch) so…basically an excuse to showcase my headcanon that Clockwork was the one who took out Pariah Dark's eye. It actually somehow evolved to include a couple other headcanons, such as 'name etiquette', and the possessiveness of things and people to ghosts. Plus, I love a little Danny-Clockwork bonding, I think the familial relationship they could have is adorable.
I might (MIGHT) make a series of this, with other headcanons for Clockwork coming to light in them. I have so many projects though…! QwQ
And just FYI, the waitresses who worked in the English Lyons Cornerhouse tea rooms were called 'Nippies'. I shit you not.
If anyone has any ideas on what a 'part two' should focus on in relation to this one-shot, let me know!
Enjoy folks!
~S~