Author's Note:

Wow. So I'm back, guys. Did you think I'd abandoned you? I'm really sorry about how long it's taken me to get this posted, but you know, things just come up... oh life, you keep getting in the way of my twisted little hobbies.

To be fair, though, I have been quite busy. But perhaps you'll be excited to know that I actually wrote an entire other chapter before I finished this one, though the other chapter doesn't occur for a while. Still, it's nice to have a bit of direction while I'm writing. And that's also why I'm so late posting this; I'm getting to the point where I need to decide where this story is going, and this chapter contains the seeds for important events that will unfold later on. So I had to be careful what I included and how I included it.

I also woke up one morning with an idea for a disgustingly sexual Vlad and Danny oneshot (which tells you something about myself). Literally, I shut off my alarm, sat up in bed, and was suddenly like, "oh my god. idea!" Really, I'm sure thinking like that is indicative of something terrible. In any case, I'm attempting to make that work right now as well. I'm sure it will get posted eventually.

But enough of all this. On to chapter five!

V. Vulnerability

It was darkness. But it was something more as well, something thick and tangible that pressed into him, holding him. Like water. It was in his lungs and throat and up his nose; he was choking on it, suffocating…. But no, impossible, because if that was the case he would have drowned long ago, and he wasn't struggling and it didn't even hurt. Maybe he was dead. But perhaps not, and perhaps the answer didn't matter; in a place where his fingertips felt miles away, making any assessment about life and death stretched his mind beyond the threshold of perception. In this weird plane, all he could tell was that he was.

And that he wasn't alone.

He was, and yet he wasn't. There was something else there, something fighting for space and recognition, something… familiar. A memory, or a feeling. A whim. Something he'd forgotten he ought to have remembered that was now trying to catch his attention, to whisper something important in his ear. Because it really was crucial that he recall….

Words.

He was hearing them. Feeling them and seeing them and smelling them as they rebounded through the void and lit up his senses. They were all around him, filling up the vacuum, multiplying and stirring and churning in a great movement of meaning and significance. But he couldn't understand. He was so close to being able to, the answers were right there, all around him. And he wanted to explain, but couldn't, wanted to reach out and catch them, but couldn't, and so in that great chaos of information he was left ignorant, caught up in frustration and despair and anger at what he couldn't do.

And that feeling was familiar as well.

That realization was jarring, and he felt his body fly together and convalesce at the thought, and he found he had a body again and, oddly enough, that he'd been aware of it all along, and suddenly he sensed that he was being watched and had been watched for some time, because the pressure of the gaze upon him was something to which he was accustomed, though he'd only become aware of it at that moment. And now that he had eyes and a face and a neck he turned, trying to see the face of his observer even as the space dissolved around him, and there was a face there but it was only a watery shadow, nothing but the glint of metal and the grim weight of an eternity of absolution and beyond that, far beyond, just the faintest whisper of a sad, knowing smile.

---

Vlad woke up. He was breathing hard and fast, and his chest burned as though he had been underwater and had just managed to break the surface for air. As his eyes fluttered open he became dimly aware of the Fenton's living room, suspended at an odd angle. It took him a moment to realize the angle was due to the fact that he was lying facedown on the ground, his face smashed sideways into the rough carpet. The rough, wet carpet. He was crying. Or at least he had been; slick tears were running down his face, collecting and pooling in the fibers below him. Vlad lay still, unresponsive, trying to think.

Why? What had happened? There was the party, he remembered that, and the drinking, and Maddie kissing him on the cheek, and Jack throwing up on his pants, and Danny… and, and Danny….

And it all came back. Danny touching him, kissing him, and their tongues together, and that frenzy of heat and irresistible pleasure…. And the clone, oh god, the clone, and the accusing and the pleading and the argument and—

Vlad twitched, his thoughts interrupted. Something was missing. Something important.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and, though it made him feel foolish for doing so, found himself looking to make sure both his feet and hands were still attached to his body. Whatever he was missing, it felt that basic, that integral. But there was a hole in him; something had been removed, he was sure. But he was all there, so what was it? What was it? The answer niggled at the edge of his consciousness, flitting away whenever he tried to pin it down. The pounding in his head made thinking even more difficult, and his shoulder was killing him; why did his shoulder hurt like hell? Unthinkingly, he rubbed the spot and frowned—

And then he had it. He knew what was missing. But he didn't want to say it… no… there was no way, simply no way it could be possible. So it couldn't be true. But it was, oh god, he knew it was. But how?

How could his ghost powers be gone?

And not just suppressed, not merely inaccessible… just gone… like he'd never had them at all. Vlad's heart was pounding. He felt a cold sweat break out across his entire body as the icy tendrils of panic began to twist themselves up his spine. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. It wasn't. It wasn't. It wasn't—

Slowly, Vlad raised a hand and pressed it to the couch beside him, focusing. But try as he might, he couldn't phase through it. Why? He could remember how to phase… damnit, he could remember exactly how phase, he could remember how it felt…. But now the talent was lost, and the couch pressed back against his fingers, completely solid and with all the force physics demanded of it. Vlad's hand slid to the floor. This wasn't what he'd wanted. He'd wanted to stop using his ghost powers… but he hadn't wanted to lose them. He'd had them for thirty years, more than half his life; how could he cope with losing something that was such a part of him, and had been for such a long time? And how? How could it have possibly happened?

His eyes roamed across the room, lost. He felt helpless and… and vulnerable. He felt sick. His head was pounding. He was lost and helpless and vulnerable and sick and his head was pounding and god fucking damnit, why did his shoulder hurt so badly? Why….

Vlad's eyes snapped open, breath caught in his throat. Where was it? He moved, hands and eyes searching the floor around him, knowing it had to be somewhere close—

And there it was. Gleaming innocently on the carpet a few feet from his left, neat and clean and bearing no trace of the damage it had done just hours before. The knife. The knife that was a prototype, that wasn't supposed to work. Vlad reached and picked it up, steadying his shaking hands enough to pull the blade apart.

Even without his glasses, even through the fog of panic and hangover-induced discomfort, Vlad could tell it wasn't functioning. It looked operational, and parts of it were, but mostly it was just a pretty show, a lot of lights and wires and circuitry that did nothing but bear witness to a forty-year-old tinkering habit he could never really put down. In theory, the knife worked. But what was theory, really? A lot of guessing and formulae and nights spent hunched over a workbench when he should have been sleeping. Nothing conclusive. Nothing that could have even come close to doing what it appeared to have done. So it shouldn't have, couldn't have, worked. But it had. How?

Vlad needed to think. He knew that about himself. If he couldn't figure his way out of a problem, he simply needed to give himself time to think and an answer would come. So he didn't need to panic; he'd think of something. He couldn't, however, think here. Not at the Fenton's. So that was it; good, he had a first step. He needed to leave.

His planning was interrupted by the sound of footfalls on the stairs behind him.

"Oh, Vlad, you're already up." Maddie's voice. Vlad dropped the knife in surprise, accidentally nicking his finger.

"Maddie!" Vlad remembered what a mess he looked only after scrambling to his feet. In many ways she didn't look much better; Maddie was barefoot and clad in a robe, dark circles under her eyes and her face grey and spent. Her short hair stuck out from her head at all angles. They stared at each other for a moment, both realizing at the same time that they'd never seen each other so out of sorts. Him in his boxers, her in her robe. It was like some kind of twisted morning after. At any other time Vlad would have killed for this… but now, after everything that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours, it was just weird.

"I don't really look… uh… presentable," Vlad mumbled, smiling timidly and running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to flatten it. "Sorry."

"Whatever, Vlad," said Maddie, shrugging the subject off. "Just look at me." She stifled a yawn and started into the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"

"Please." And Vlad followed along behind her, glancing nervously back at the knife as he went. He could only deal with so many things at once.

The kitchen was still trashed from the night before; food and dishes sat in crowded piles on every surface. Vlad noticed, and was a bit surprised, that the wall clock read nearly 11:00. He found a disgruntled Maddie staring at the mess when he entered the room, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. She obviously hadn't remembered just what a state of total destruction the house was in.

"I don't really remember it being so bad last night," she grumbled, turning to Vlad and indicating the mess. "Do you?"

"Well…." Vlad cocked his head to the side, surveying the room but not really talking about the room at all. "Things always tend to look a little worse in the morning, I suppose." Maddie grinned.

"Oh, Vlad, always the optimist," she said, shuffling to a cabinet and pulling out a container of ground coffee and a packet of filters. "Even now." Vlad blinked. Even now? What did that mean? Was she talking about—Could she really mean—She was smiling, but was she actually referring to—?

"Is there, ah, anything I can do?" Vlad asked, squelching the unnerving questions with another train of thought.

"Oh, no Vlad, don't worry about it, you're the guest," Maddie said, dumping a pot of water into the back of the coffeemaker. "Just sit down." She paused. "Well, actually, would you mind getting the paper?" Vlad nodded and turned for the front door.

"You still like cream in your coffee?" she called after him. Vlad paused. She remembered. After all this time, she remembered that one little thing about him.

"Uh, no," Vlad answered. "Black, please." He hadn't put cream in his coffee in years. Maddie nodded slowly, watching the coffee pot hum to life with a furrowed brow, as if the change signified something important.

It was weird. Vlad couldn't keep from thinking it. Ten minutes later and they were sitting at the table together, sipping coffee with the Tribune divided up between them, Maddie scribbling away at the crossword, Vlad, having finally broken down and donned the pair of reading glasses he'd stowed in his overcoat, running an eye down the stocks after glancing at the stories on the first page. They were sitting together. Like a married couple. And it wasn't uncomfortable. It was just weird. Just… just unexpected, Vlad thought, like so much else that had happened to him here. But if Maddie noticed the strangeness of their circumstances, she didn't let on.

"Vlad." She poked him in the arm with her pen to get his attention. "Vlad, I need a six letter word for knickknacks."

"What?" Vlad looked up from the paper. "Knickknacks?" Maddie nodded, not taking her eyes off the puzzle. "Okay, umm…." Vlad narrowed his eyes, trying to think. He'd always liked crossword puzzles but he'd stopped doing them ages ago. He didn't know why. Probably because they reminded him of Maddie, who'd always done them in college.

"Oh!" Vlad snapped his fingers as the answer came to him. "Curios."

"That's it!" said Maddie happily, filling in the blanks. "Thanks. It's nice to have someone to help me with these." She tapped the paper with her pen, flashing Vlad a smile. "Jazz is off at school, you know, she has that internship, and Danny… well, he's just so grown up all of a sudden…." Vlad had to suppress a shudder. Grown up indeed.

"And Jack," Maddie continued. "Well, bless his heart, he tries, but you know… he usually thinks the answers all have to do with ghosts." She was scribbling again. Vlad stared at her over the top of the paper, lost for words. Suddenly her pen stopped. She took a deep breath, keeping her head down. "But he's a good man, Vlad. You know that."

Vlad's blood seemed to congeal in his veins. Because there was something pointed in that last sentence, something she was telling him that went beyond mere words. The seconds ticked by like hours.

"Vlad—"

"Maddie—"

They interrupted each other and paused awkwardly, each waiting for the other to begin again. But before either could they were cut off by the sounds of someone padding down the stairs. They turned to the entrance just in time to see Danny slump into the kitchen, looking tired and rumpled and in the same jeans and shirt he'd been wearing the night before.

"Oh, hi honey," said Maddie, voice warm but strained.

Danny paused, eyeing his mother and Vlad suspiciously; Vlad's fingers tightened on the newspaper he was holding so hard his knuckles turned white. As if this morning couldn't get any worse—

But Danny only yawned.

"Is there any coffee left, mom?" he mumbled sleepily, heading for the counter and peering into the pot.

"Yeah, I made enough for everyone," Maddie answered. "Help yourself. I didn't make breakfast, though, I'm sorry, I just got up and I'm not feeling a hundred percent after last night…." Danny laughed, pulling out a chair to sit down at the table with them.

"Mom, seriously, you don't need to make me breakfast anymore. You know… cereal, milk, I think I can handle it." He took a long sip of coffee. Maddie pouted.

"Well, I know that, Danny. But you're not home very often these days, and I just want to take care of you…while I… can…." Her voice trailed away. "Danny, what is that?" Her eyes were wide and fixed on Danny's neck, fixed on the spot at which Vlad been weakly staring since he noticed it when Danny had sat down. The spot on Danny's neck where a circular red welt and partially healed scab stood out against pale skin. Vlad felt his stomach fall out of him. Danny arched an eyebrow, genuinely confused, and glanced around.

"What?" He looked up at the two adults. "What are you staring at?"

"Y-Your-Your neck, Danny," stammered Maddie. Danny's hand shot up to feel his neck, and he winced as a finger ran against the sore scab. "Is-Is that a… a…." And her face darkened and she frowned at her son, having decided that yes, it was indeed what she thought it was. Danny saw the look and smiled meekly, trying to shrug it off.

"Aw, mom, it's not a big deal—"

"Danny, I told you to behave yourself last night," Maddie interrupted flatly. She paused. "Were you drinking?" She took the noncommittal noise Danny uttered as a yes, and shook her head, rubbing her temples. "Who were you with?"

"What?"

"Who were you with, Danny? Who did—did that?" She pointed to the love bite. "Was it Tucker?"

"No it wasn't Tucker!" Danny practically yelped, gagging on a mouthful of coffee in the process. He glared at his mother. "Tucker's with Sam now, I told you that." His eyes were dark. Maddie frowned as if that was something she wasn't quite able to believe.

"Than who was it?"

Danny paled and hesitated, biting his lip. Vlad couldn't breathe. His hands were shaking but he didn't dare set the paper down; he needed it to hide behind. Because this was it. His entire life was about to be undone, right here, because of one little drunken mistake. This was it.

"Answer me, Danny!"

"Look, I don't remember, okay?" Danny muttered, rubbing the spot and glaring across the table at his mother. And Vlad could tell it was the truth. He nearly laughed as a wave of relief broke across him, but he caught himself in time. "It's not really any of your business, anyways," Danny finished.

"Not any of my business?" Maddie repeated. "You're my son, Danny! What you do is my business! And at your father's party… how am I supposed to trust you?"

"Oh come on, mom!" Danny scoffed. "Everyone was completely smashed last night! And don't tell me you never tried anything when you were my age."

"Danny!" Maddie scolded. Danny turned to Vlad, grinning.

"Okay, Vlad, you were there. Tell me my mom was a saint back in college. Tell me you were. Or dad." Vlad felt himself blush crimson, an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.

"I…." But he couldn't finish the sentence. Danny sat back.

"Okay, yeah, see? No one is when they're my age." Maddie pursed her lips, face unreadable. Finally she leaned back in her chair, sighing.

"Don't test me today, Danny," she said heavily, taking a sip of her now cold coffee. "I'm not in the mood." Danny's shoulders slumped and he moodily nursed his mug, and the two Fentons sat in silence, seemingly having forgotten Vlad, who sat motionless between them, uncomfortable at having been caught in the middle of the family squabble. He was torn between wanting to leave and not wanting to draw attention to himself. After a few minutes, Maddie stood and moved to the sink.

"I'm gonna clean up a bit and then make breakfast, okay?" she mumbled to no one in particular. "Danny, will you show Vlad upstairs and give him some fresh clothes?" Vlad started.

"Oh Maddie, that's really not necessary, I'll… uh…." But what could he do? He didn't even have pants that weren't covered in Jack's vomit. "Well… okay… I suppose." He turned to Danny, who eyed him dully before standing up and motioning for Vlad to follow.

"We should just get out of here for a while," Danny muttered to Vlad as they left the kitchen. "She always cooks and cleans when she gets moody and depressed." Vlad narrowed his eyes. Maddie got depressed? Really? He supposed everyone did sometimes, but it was so odd for him to think of it happening to her. She always seemed so happy…. In his memories, whenever he thought of her, she was always happy. Well, almost always.

Pouting and sullen, Danny stomped up the stairs, and Vlad followed him, though he kept a wary distance. Now that they were alone, the awkwardness of their proximity increased ten-fold for Vlad, and he crept along quietly behind Danny, afraid that any sudden movement, that any conversation at all, would make the boy remember what had happened just hours ago. It was so obvious to Vlad; everything reminded him of it—the bite on Danny's neck, the bruises on his arms, the reddish scratch on his nose from when Vlad had slammed him into the wall, and not just that, but the way the boy moved, the sly grin he'd shot Maddie over the table, his indifference towards sex…. How could Danny not recall a thing?

And yet Danny's failure to remember his encounter from the night before wasn't Vlad's only problem; there was something altogether different about the boy this morning, and Vlad soon realized, feeling queasy as he did, what it was. Vlad couldn't sense him.

He hadn't realized how dependent he'd become on his ghost sense. Now that it was gone, however, it was as if whole layers of the universe, layers that had once been at his disposal to explore, were now closed to him. And it was the truth—years of paranormal investigation had taught him not only that ghosts were everywhere, but that their presence altered the mortal world. He'd learned to detect those presences, and to feel them surround him constantly like a million silent whispers had become customary, routine. But not anymore. Now he felt blind. And, oddly enough, alone.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Danny turned and pushed open the door to his room, leading Vlad inside. The boy tramped listlessly to a nearby dresser, yanked open a drawer, and began rummaging through the mess of clothes inside. Unbeknownst to him, Vlad had stopped short of the door and was surveying the room, stomach twisted up into knots at the disconcertingly peculiar situation.

"Here." Danny shoved a ball of clothes into Vlad's arms. "That shirt'll probably fit. It's bigger than this one," he half-mumbled, yawning and tugging on the fabric of his tight yellow tee.

Vlad inspected the garments. Shirt, boxers, pants… Vlad paused, frowning, before unbundling the pants to look at them properly. They looked about his size, but the style was all wrong—they were faded and ragged around the edges and looked wholly and completely like something a teenager would wear. A teenager. Not him.

"What are these, Daniel?" Vlad held the garment up. Danny stared.

"Uh… pants. What?"

"Do you really expect me to wear these? Look at them! I'll look ridiculous."

"Ooh, I'll look ridiculous," mocked Danny, smirking. "Listen to you!" Vlad frowned. "But no, you won't. You'll look like you've got a fashion sense is what you'll look like."

"I have a fashion sense!" Vlad balked. But very little common sense, apparently, he thought immediately after speaking. Why was he debating this? Danny rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, of like, a fifty-year-old businessman."

"I am a fifty-year-old businessman," said Vlad dryly, peering at the boy over the rims of his glasses. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Well, that doesn't mean you have to dress like it all the time. Ties and suits and all that shit… it makes you seem standoffish. Just lighten up a little." Vlad froze. Lighten up. What the clone had said. He looked at the pants again before balling them up and stuffing them under his arm.

"Fine." But Vlad was still skeptical. It was, however, only a temporary change. He'd find himself a more suitable outfit soon enough. Danny nodded.

"Look, I'm gonna take a shower," he said. "You can too if you want—" Vlad felt a twinge of color rise in the tips of his ears "—there's another bathroom across the hall."

"Mm, well, thank you, Daniel," said Vlad, hearing the strain in his own voice. Of course Danny hadn't meant… that. Why did he even think…. Oh well. Best not to dwell on it. He turned to leave.

"Wait, Vlad." Vlad stopped short.

"Yes?"

"Why do you call me that?" Danny's annoyance was evident even in his tired voice.

"Call you what?"

"Daniel. No one calls me that except you."

"It's your name."

"Yeah, maybe like, on my birth certificate, but for twenty years no one's called me anything but Danny, so that's more my name than Daniel will ever be. Just let that condescension shit die already, man." Vlad narrowed his eyes.

"It's not about condescension, Daniel—" Vlad emphasized the name "—it's about accuracy. Daniel is your given name; that's what I'll call you." Danny crossed his arms, not hiding the fact that he wasn't completely sold on Vlad's explanation.

"Well fine. In that case I suppose I'll call you Vladimir from now on." Vlad could feel his muscles stiffen and his jaw clench at the sound of the name. Danny caught the response and grinned.

"Look," said Vlad, voice low. "I'd really rather you didn't."

"Why not? Vladimir's your given name, isn't it?"

"It is, but—"

"It's not fair you get to have a nickname when you refuse to use anyone else's. What happened to being accurate—?"

"Look, Vladimir was my father's name, alright? Not mine." Vlad growled. Even he was surprised by how nasty the tone in his voice had become. "So don't call me that, got it?"

"Okay, okay, fine." Danny held up his hands in mock defense before he shifted and looked away. "Sorry."

There was sincerity in the last word. It was the way Danny lowered his voice when he said it; Vlad knew the boy understood he'd touched upon a sensitive issue. But even more shocking to Vlad was the fact that he'd just told Danny the truth—he'd never even hinted, much less admitted to, why he didn't use his full name. He supposed it was the way the boy riled him, knew just how to get under his skin… it was the familiarity of Danny that made Vlad vulnerable. After all, they'd fought each other for years, spent countless hours analyzing each other and attempting to get into the other's head. They were out of practice, yes, but by now the art was so refined getting back into the habit was easy. It was dangerous, especially now that he didn't have his ghost powers to fall back upon… but it was almost thrilling.

"Vlad? Helllooooo?" Danny's voice snapped Vlad out of his reverie. He started, nearly dropping the clothes he was holding.

"What?" he barked.

"Oh, you know… you're just standing there staring off into space," Danny deadpanned, arching a brow. "Sorry if that's normal for you or something. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You know, that sarcasm of yours is so endearing," Vlad shot back, gathering himself up and heading for the door. "It's a gift, really. Trust me, it almost makes one forget all your shortcomings. You just about break even. Congratulations." Vlad grinned as he caught sight of Danny's glare from the corner of his eye. It felt good to have the last word. He'd almost reached the door across the hall when he heard the sounds of Danny stumbling after him.

"Okay, Vlad, wait." Vlad turned, expecting a retort or some other form of verbal abuse. Hadn't the boy ever learned to just accept defeat? But when Danny emerged from his room Vlad was surprised see him looking not upset but sheepish, almost embarrassed. His eyes were glued to the ground.

"Yes, Daniel?"

"Okay, look, this is gonna sound weird… but did you, uh…." Danny winced, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Did you maybe… happen to see who I was with last night?" The last half of the sentence spilled out in a rush, and Danny blushed slightly as he spoke, glancing up at Vlad before quickly looking to the ground again.

Vlad blinked. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. If losing his ghost powers didn't kill him, he was sure the irony of this situation would. Danny, asking him. Danny, after having been so brazen and willing the night before, after having made the first move, after having acted so… so experienced. Where had that boy gone? And who was the boy standing before him now, the boy who was so suddenly fearful, who was reduced to a nervous wreck at the prospect of having made a mistake and disappointing his mother? Because that was the Danny Vlad remembered, the boy whose sarcasm and nonchalance was merely a cover for an ultimately sensitive soul. So had the years really changed the boy, or was last night's Danny just a con? Sure, the boy was drunk, but was that really the whole story? It was as if Vlad was dealing with two Danny's, not one.

But what to say? The truth? No. No, Vlad himself was having trouble stomaching that. If Danny didn't remember, thought Vlad, it was for the best. Telling him would be the worst thing to do. Better to just cut his losses and move on. So just lie, he thought. Just say you don't know. And yet something kept the words from coming.

"Look, if you don't know it's okay," Danny mumbled, turning away. "It doesn't matter. I don't really care." They both knew that was a lie. But Vlad let it go; he didn't feel much like tormenting the boy on this particular subject.

"Okay, Daniel," Vlad murmured, and he turned away as Danny retreated into his room, each gladly leaving the other alone with their thoughts.

It felt good to shower. Vlad hadn't been aware of just how disgusting he'd felt until the scalding water started to sear away a day's worth of grime and inner turmoil. The rising steam helped to clear his head; Vlad used the opportunity to rethink his situation. He refused to believe that his ghost powers were simply gone forever. So he tried to work out how and why he'd suddenly come to lose them, and what he he'd have to do to get them back. The answers lay with the knife, he was sure, and he puzzled over several possible scenarios, attempting, albeit unsuccessfully, to understand why, in stabbing a clone with it, he'd done such serious damage to himself. Vlad had given the knife to Jack as a gift… it appeared now he was going to be needing it back.

And his mind wandered further.

Wandered to Jack, and how the man didn't seem to have changed at all, to Maddie and her hidden meanings, and then, inexplicably, or so he forced himself to believe, to Danny. Danny, who drank, who smoked, who started things she shouldn't have with people who should have known better. Who wore yellow shirts and black jeans and scarves and that damned incessant smirk, who embarrassed his mother in front of her friends… and who seemed split down the middle, unsure if that was the person he wanted to be. It was a struggle with which Vlad himself could sympathize….

No wait, no it wasn't. He didn't struggle with all that introspective whatnot. He was Vlad Masters, successful and powerful and so on and so forth—he'd been dealt a cruel hand but he'd made something of his life. And he was proud of that. So it all evened out.

But the clone said—

Oh fuck what the clone said. Didn't I decide that wasn't me?

Than who was it?

….

Who was it?

It-It was…. Fuck, just shut up!

He was talking to himself, which wasn't a good sign. And he was telling himself to shut up, which was even worse. Scowling, Vlad turned up the temperature of the water in an attempt to drive the thoughts from his mind. It worked.

But the heat made his thoughts return to Danny.

Danny, who was also showering now… which meant that every inch of his slender, angular frame would be wet and slick with soapy water, running in rivulets down the crevices of his body….

Who would see Vlad standing there in the doorway, watching him, and his long fingers would deftly brush a lock of sopping wet hair from his eyes, pale eyes that would glisten with devious delight because he wanted to be watched, loved to be watched….

And perhaps he would purse his lips coyly and act innocent, like he didn't know what to do; he'd be such a tease, but he wouldn't keep the act up for long, couldn't keep it up for long, because he knew what Vlad wanted and he wanted it as well…. Already he'd be leaning into the tile wall, that wicked little mouth of his hanging open in a fight for air as his hands slowly worked their way down his body, tracing the outlines of his sinewy muscles before finally going where they both really wanted them to be, down between his legs to run along his already hardening cock—

Vlad gasped as his body slid back against the shower wall. He hadn't meant for his mind to go there so easily, and he certainly hadn't meant to get so worked up at the thought of his little fantasy. But he had, and now he was fighting the desperate urge to touch himself. It was pathetic; what was he, seventeen? Couldn't he control himself better than this? But apparently not, because his hands had found their mark and he hissed in pleasure, groaning as he pressed himself further into the wall. Nothing was really going to happen between him and the boy, right? So it was okay… it was okay to just pretend....

Vlad closed his eyes and saw Danny, who cried out, head thrown back at the sensation of his fingers on himself. He'd be panting now, and he'd be trying to go slowly, but Vlad would see how difficult it was for him; he was such a sensitive little thing, after all. Still the boy would try, face flushed but determined, and his back would arch against the wall as he saw Vlad begin to move towards him, pulling off his own clothes and letting them fall carelessly to the floor….

And Danny would smile through his pants then, pleased his little show captured his lover's attention, and his lidded eyes would be so pleading, so caught up in lust and desire he could hardly think, would be begging Vlad to finish what he started the night before, he needed it so badly, and Vlad would step into the shower and lean into the boy but hesitate, staring at Danny as he writhed and moaned and mewled beneath him, loving the tortured look on his face, wanting to drink it in as long as possible. But neither could resist the urge for long, and they would relent, collapsing into one another in a hot, tangled mess of pulsating ferocity—

Vlad had to grit his teeth to stifle a scream as he came, head flung back against the tile, breathing fast and hard. He rested against the wall as the waves of elation subsided, feeling the water beat into him with its dull rhythm. It had been a long time since jacking off felt that good. And as he washed his body off for the second time, Vlad had the sinking feeling that it was the new player in his imagination that had brought about the change. He shut the water off, drained, his conscience conflicting and stormy.

He didn't pay attention as he pulled on the clothes Danny had given him. Everything hugged his body tighter than he would have liked, but he ignored the feeling, oddly anxious to be dressed. It was only after he'd started brushing his teeth with a new toothbrush he'd nicked from the medicine cupboard that he stopped to look at himself in the mirror.

He looked younger in the clothes. And not just like an old guy trying to appear younger, which is how he'd half-suspected he'd look. Just younger. It was weird; he'd spent so much time in suits and ties and collared shirts he'd almost forgotten what he looked like wearing something more casual. He resumed brushing his teeth, lost in thought. So Danny had been right. He wondered what that meant.

A few minutes later Vlad emerged from the bathroom, barefoot, dressed in Danny's clothes, with his own clothes balled up under his arm. He'd left his damp hair down to dry after running his hands through it a few times to remove the knots, and put his glasses on, figuring that he might as well just admit that he needed them to see. He actually didn't mind wearing them so much this morning; before, his glasses made him look older. Distinguished, maybe, but older. Now they almost made him seem… edgy. Like they were part of an ensemble and not merely a crutch for his failing vision. Still, he'd stood in front of the mirror for nearly a minute, taking them off and on, off and on, trying to decide what looked best. He'd finally just given up and left them on.

The hallway was cold. Rubbing his arms to quell the array of goose bumps that sprang up across his skin, Vlad started for the stairs but stopped short as he caught sight of Danny in his room. The boy was fresh from the shower, dressed, and standing before a full-length mirror, neck craned to the side as he gently ran a finger over the love bite there. His face was riddled with intense focus and frustration, and he bit his lip, looking as if he was trying to—Vlad's breath caught in his throat—as if he was trying to remember who had given it to him. And that was bad. Really, truly, unbelievably bad.

Vlad's first instinct was to use his ghost powers, and it took him a panicked moment to realize why he couldn't make a damn thing happen. But even when the realization came rushing back, he found himself at a loss. He knew he should do something to distract Danny. Anything would do; the boy was classically temperamental and so it wouldn't take much. An offhanded comment, a bit of sarcasm, anything. But nothing came. Vlad couldn't even move; his legs were rooted to the spot, eyes glued helplessly to Danny's face as he struggled to recall the past night. Suddenly, Danny rolled his eyes.

"Damnit, Vlad, I know you're there, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't stare at me, you freak," the boy muttered, shooting the man a cold glare before turning back to the mirror. "You're so easy to sense. It's so… obvious…."

And Danny's voice dried up in his throat, and his face paled, and his eyes went wide and didn't move from the glass. And Vlad's world seemed to fall out from under him, because he knew, just knew it in his soul: Danny had remembered.