A/N: And this chapter is me completely blowing any expectations I had for actually continuing the story... again. Filler... bordering on fluff. In fact, I think it somehow managed to cross the line. But I think it's okay. It's... kinda important. In an unimportant way. *sigh*

I really like the dynamics laid down, though. If not the fact that I actually wasted an entire chapter here. Next one is back on track, I promise. I was extremely tempted to write the story behind the little snippet at the end, as I have one in mind, but I think it looses it's effect that way. And it would be way too long besides. I might possibly write it as a seperate oneshot for it, but I kinda like to leave people guessing. I'd love to hear your version of the story. ;)

Anyways, enjoy. We will be back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow. Oh, and I'm upping the rating to T because I can't seem to stop mentioning alcohol and I'm paranoid like that.

His lair. He wasn't sure why he'd been drawn to this place over any other, but what was once a hunk of rock had become his hunk of rock. Unlike Ember's lair, where music was always blasting and every inch of wall space was filled with something music-related, or Aragon's, which was a massive medieval castle that had been, at one point, removed from time, or even the Box Ghost's, crowded with all manner and size of empty boxes, his was still practically empty. A small hovel-like cave structure with a fairly flat rock outcropping in front, almost like a yard, that floated aimlessly in what felt some days like the only part of the ghost zone not polluted by suspended doors.

Inside, a bed had made its appearance, and a scene akin to the night sky could always be seen splayed across his ceiling. Various bits of mostly-outdated ghost weaponry were piled in the corner, next to the fridge that never ran out of food. A few chairs and a table sat in the middle out of necessity (the small lair had been the birthplace of many a peace treaty), but other than the familiar blue bed and the starry ceiling, it could have belonged to anyone. Without the bed, he probably wouldn't even have claimed it as his own.

With the workings of lairs, it could have been a massive hangout, his bigger-on-the-inside dream house. But he'd never gotten comfortable in the ghost zone. He didn't want to belong there. The 'lair magic', as it was usually called, worked for him, hence the existing furniture and the always-full fridge, but he was only so okay with it.

The only thing that truly, truly marked it as his was the air. To any ghost (or half-ghost) with half a sense, the atmosphere itself was perceptibly full of Danny Phantom's energy. It was his lair, and that was enough for him to sleep there. Or, at this moment in time, float about near the ceiling in an imitation of pacing as he fretted over what to do next.

"Whoa... Phantom, you actually in here?" Ember's familiar voice drifted into his hovel from the door, tinged with. "What's up? Couldn't sleep?"

"Something like that," the halfa replied, halting midair and dragging his hands across his face. He turned to face Ember and floated a little closer to the floor. "What about you? Fighting with that scrap metal boyfriend of yours again?" His eyes narrowed at the thought of Skulker; even after all these years, he still carried an almost irrational grudge against the battle suit-laden ghost.

"Naw," Ember shook her head, leaning against the equivalent to a door frame. Hovering about a foot off the ground, her arms were crossed over her chest, and her guitar was, as usual, strung across her back. "Not yet, at least. We'll see about tomorrow," she rolled her eyes with an expectant sigh. "It's my deathday party tomorrow, and you know how bad he is with dates. That's what I wanted to tell you, actually. Keep a lookout for Desiree and all; I know you never managed to get on good terms with her. Figured I'd remind you, since you're even worse with dates than my beau."

"Thanks," Danny said with a half-smile, ruffling his hair a little. "But I still don't see how you can keep track of what day it is when there's no sun or moon or even stars."

Ember laughed, shaking her head in a motion that also flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. "It's the human in you. It'd probably help if you actually slept like you're supposed to. Or, I don't know, got a watch. Maybe spring for a calendar."

"Ember Mclain, mother hen." Danny joked, and there was a rare moment of easy laughter between the pair. The laughter lasted a few short seconds, but the pause lasted much longer. It was a strange night (for, at the moment, though Danny didn't know it, it was indeed a few minutes past ghostly midnight), and both were content to just wait around for a minute. The ghost zone was a place where eternity was a more valid concept than gravity, so lingering was a commonplace practice. Even with immediate deadlines looming, it was just hard to work up any sort of rush. "So... deathday party, huh?" Danny asked at last, still hovering randomly in the middle of his lair.

"Yeah; it's gonna be great. Half the ghost zone's gonna be there—the less annoying half, that is—and I've actually got a DJ this year so I don't have to spend half the party playing my own music. There's plenty of room for it all to go wrong, and don't expect any small amount of chaos from me if it does, but things are looking good for now. No use spending all night worrying."

"Hmm... sounds fun," Danny offered, finally fed up with floating awkwardly in the middle of his makeshift home and floating over to the fridge. "Johnny and his Shadow invited?"

"No way," Ember's eyes went wide and she shuddered, "not after last year." She practically spat as she referred to the incident. Danny hadn't been there, but he'd had to help with the cleanup. It hadn't been pretty.

"Then things shouldn't be too bad." In reality, there was no chance whatsoever that the day would be without hitch, considering the lot that was invited, but so long as the worst had been weeded out, he was reasonably confident that it would be much better than last year.

Opening the door to the fridge and perusing for a minute before grabbing a soda, he called back at Ember, "Want one? So long as you're here?" and brandished the can over his shoulder.

"Sure," Ember said, moving away from her spot and slinging the guitar off of her back to rest it against the wall. "Thanks, Phantom. You're... in a strange mood tonight." She plopped down in one of the rarely-used couches and hummed appreciatively as she sunk down into it. "I don't know why you never hang around here; it's still a mystery to me how your lair manages to make the couches so much comfier than mine."

Danny handed her his soda and sat down in the similarly comfy recliner. "I just happen to like my furniture overstuffed. It's a human thing. And I'm always extra-nice when I want something." He popped his can open, savoring the hiss it made before taking a huge swallow.

"Uh-oh, here's the part where my big day gets ruined before it even starts." Ember quipped sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she took a swig of her own drink. "What do you want this time?"

"Think I could crash the party tomorrow?" He asked casually over the rim of his can.

Ember raised an eyebrow, surprised, and lowered her soda. "You ever drink ghost booze?"

"Once," Danny replied with a cringe, lowering his own can at the memory, "I'd say I'm not likely to forget, but I'm afraid I already have. Don't worry, I'll stay away from suspicious liquids."

Ember shrugged it off, then proceeded to swirl her can around just to feel the weight move. "Can you and Skulk-baby play nice?"

"Doubt it."

"He's not that bad, you know," Ember said, staring contemplatively at her soda. "Just... a lot of bark."

"You're not the one that's been bitten," Danny corrected with a cringe, a shiver traveling down his body.

Laughing, his guest finished off the rest of her soda before she raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you."

"Eugh!" Danny protested after he swallowed his own gulp, immediately crossing his arms over his face as if protecting himself from the thought. "Yuck! Never mind! I don't want to know. Please, please don't tell me!"

Ember laughed, crushing the can in her hand and then watching as it sizzled seemingly into nothingness. "So you really want to come to my deathday party tomorrow? The great, high-and-almighty Danny Phantom wants to come to a party in the honor of a lowly rock star?"

"Why not? Puts me right where the action's likely to be, and besides, it sounds fun."

"Okay," Ember said, shifting to get a clearer view of Phantom, "What happened?"

"I suppose... Got a little sense shocked into me. I've just finally been snapped out of it." Nostalgic, he went to take another sip of his soda, and found that he'd drank it all already. Instead of crushing it like he normally would've, he just set the empty can down on the coffee table.

"It?"

He took a deep breath, kicking the recliner back and putting his arms behind his head. "Yeah. Don't know if you noticed, but I've been in a bit of a funk for a while."

Ember's barking laugh startled him out of his comfort, and he furrowed his brow at her. "Noticed it? Danny, I'm the only one who still comes to your place of my own free will."

"Yeah, why is that, by the way?" Danny asked, settling his head back into his arms again.

"I don't know," Ember said contemplatively, "I did always like to mess with you. That, and I was one of the first ones to make my peace with you. Guess, somewhere along the line, you made a friend. Go figure."

"Some friend, not even inviting me to your deathday." Danny scoffed, faking offense.

"Hey, you asked if you could crash. Now you want an invitation?"

"Well, I didn't know I was a friend earlier. I feel like I'm entitled to certain rights."

Ember rolled her eyes, floating up from the couch and over to retrieve her guitar. "Ugh, I shouldn't have said that. Now it's just gonna go to your head." After she slung her prized possession back over her back, she turned to see Danny giving her the puppydog look upside-down from the recliner. With a groan, she caved. "Fine. You can come to the party as a guest. You better be on your best behavior."

"Me?" Danny asked, wide-eyed and feigning innocence, "Why, whatever would I do?"

Sighing as she slipped out, Ember muttered, "I'm going to regret this..."

-S-P-A-C-E-A-N-D-T-I-M-E-G-A-P-

"Ms. Manson, you're going to regret this..."

"How am I going to have time to regret anything? I'll be dead."

"...Blunt as ever, Ms. Manson. But don't you think you would like to leave something in the Manson family?"

"Where?" Sam asked, frustrated and doing her best impression of an impatient teenager for the family lawyer. "My parents are both dead, and I couldn't stand to be near them most days anyways. I'm an only child, the only family member I ever felt proud to say I was related to was my Gran, and she died before I was out of college. The only living family members I have are only distantly related to me; I've only ever met them once and when I did, I hated them. Who, out of that wonderful pool of candidates, am I going to leave a few million dollars to?"

"Again, your second cousin Ophelia..." The lawyer, a tall stick of a man with wire-rimmed spectacles and a very nervous demeanor, attempted to interject once again, but Sam was having none of it.

"Is a stuck-up snob whose parents left her more than enough money when they kicked the bucket. Can we just get this over with, already? You're stressing a sick old woman, and the doctors here aren't above knocking you out for my sake. They've gotten rather attached to me. So, for the millionth time, the name I want written is Tucker Orville Foley. I leave six million dollars and thirteen cents to my best friend, Tucker Orville Foley, who was always there for me when I needed him. I've already written him into my memoir, I just need you to confirm the amount."

Giving in at last with a labored sigh, the lawyer began to take notes. "Six million dollars, fine. If you want to throw away your fortune, I suppose that's your own business. But... thirteen cents?"

"It's... a long story. Involving a bet. It doesn't matter. Not to you." The stubborn set of her jaw brooked no arguments, and the stick of a man from her past finally stopped trying to drag the rest of it into their conversation.

"You said something about a Jasmine Fenton, yes?" His posture was completely broken as he raised the pencil from the paper to await the next ludicrous instruction.

"Yeah... she's still working, old as she is, but I think good old Jazz could probably use a million... after all she's done for me, it's the least I could do."

-S-P-A-C-E-A-N-D-T-I-M-E-G-A-P-

"An' when I die, Imma... imma leave you... a city! Tha's it! A city! 'S least I could... could do."

"Phantom! Put the bottle down!"