Exposed 10
Chapter Ten: Danny Makes it Worse (and Jazz Returns)
Mikey's house was spacious—two stories high, somewhat sprawling, located in a suburb twenty minutes from the school. It was in one of the nicer neighborhoods, the buildings specially reinforced to stop damage from ghosts. This was something not everyone could pay for—and something the mayor was only willing to subsidize for public buildings.
Danny had spoken to his friends about what had happened. Tucker was willing to give Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail the benefit of the doubt. They'd come to speak with Danny immediately, after all, and hadn't told anyone. Both good points. On the other hand, Sam was hesitant to trust them so readily. They needed watching, she'd said. She'd looked worried, a furrow between her eyebrows, a slight frown on her purple lips.
Only, they were too busy to watch the three nerds, and while a deep, paranoid part of Danny agreed with her, he felt Tucker made the better argument—for now, at least. That might change should this meeting(for lack of a better term) go south. If he thought too hard about it, though, thought about how easy it had been for them, how little time, how it could've been someone else(someone less friendly—an agent, his parents, a hunter, his other classmates), he began to shake. Began to sweat.
So, he tried not to think about it.
At least Jazz was returning tonight; he could talk it over with her, figure something out. She always seemed to see these situations more clearly than he did. Danny took a deep breath and stepped up to the front of the house. He rang the doorbell and heard Mikey's "I'll get it!" from within. The door opened to reveal the smaller boy's nervous face. "Come in," he said, letting the door swing wide to allow Danny entry. "I think we're just waiting for Abigail, now."
The inside of the house was no less nice than the outside: it was decorated tastefully. From the entryway, Danny could see a man—presumably Mikey's dad—sitting at the dining table, squinting over the screen of a laptop. He glanced over and gave Danny a wave, so Danny waved back.
"This way," Mikey said, leading Danny down a separate hallway. "That was my dad, by the way. He's, uh, working." Danny grunted in acknowledgement, staring at the pictures of Mikey's family hanging on the walls—they seemed happy. "Do you want anything? We have juice and stuff." The boy kept glancing at Danny from out of the corner of his eye, as if he was trying not to stare.
"I'm fine," Danny said, "but thanks." The other boy looked curious, almost fearful—as if Danny were going to change into a scary ghost at any second. Danny resisted the urge to sigh, and instead smiled. "Basement?" he prompted.
"Uh, yeah. It's down here." He opened a door near the end of the hall. It had steps leading down into an already-lit room. The stairs were carpeted. "You can take your shoes off here—Dad thinks we'll ruin the floor or something—" The doorbell rang, and Mikey looked in its direction. "That'll be Abigail. Why don't you just go down, and I'll go get her?" Danny nodded, and off Mikey went.
The half-ghost removed his shoes and walked down, feeling the trepidation rise within like boiling water—hot and uncomfortable. Sam and Tucker are here, he reminded himself. He wasn't alone in this; they'd be with him to explain and to figure out the rest of their game plan. But—three more people knowing? It was unthinkable, crazy. He could still feel the cogs in his mind churning, as if he hadn't completely processed what it meant yet.
The basement itself was cozy. There were shelves of books and games—both video and board—and movies. There was a cool-looking TV-and-console set-up, comfy couches, and a table with chairs—and people—sat around it. Nathan was there, looking both eager and awkward; Sam looking irritated, legs crossed; and Tucker, who was fiddling with his beret.
"I mean, there has to be something we can do—it's just so suspicious," Nathan was saying. His back was to Danny, and he didn't seem to hear the half-ghost come in.
"There is something we did, so drop it," Sam replied. She leaned back and eyed Danny. "And besides, the man of the hour himself is here; why don't you ask him?"
"Ask me what?" Danny slid into the seat beside Tucker, who looked him up and down—no doubt checking for any sign that his injuries were bothering him. Lucky for them, there had been no ghost attacks since the white knight and his group of terrors. Danny hadn't had to go out and fight, so he hadn't done anything that might exacerbate his wounds.
"Oh my gosh," Nathan said, one hand on his chest. "You scared me."
"Yeah, Danny, jeez, you're like a ghost," Tucker teased, smirking. Nathan looked at him with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe what the boy had said. Danny shook his head.
"The joke was funny the first ten times," he told his best friend, "but it's not anymore." He poked Tucker in the arm. "So stop." Tucker batted his finger away, nose in the air.
"My humor is so brilliant, even the great Danny Phantom doesn't understand," Tucker said. Danny smacked the beret off his head, and Tucker yelped, diving to go get it.
"I beg to differ," Sam interjected. "I didn't think it was funny even the first time." Nathan was watching each of them speak like it was a tennis match, turning his head every time a player hit the ball.
"Where's Mikey?" Tucker asked. "I thought he was going to get you or whatever."
"He went to get Abigail." Danny shrugged. "Anyway," he turned to Nathan, "really, what did you want to ask me?" The boy leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, like he was about to explain some brilliant plan to the half-ghost.
"The blood tests tomorrow." Nathan tilted his head. "Is there really no other way besides opting out? They'll interrogate you about it—and, well…" He trailed off. "I was just wondering if there was anything we could do to help. Now that, you know, more people are on your team."
Danny ran a hand through his hair. It was sweet, he supposed, the sentiment of wanting to help. But these three had no practical experience, and the three of them—him, Sam, and Tucker—couldn't afford to try and train any newbies right then. With the GIW, everyone hunting him… They had to lay low. Even when Jazz had come onto their "team," she had needed some practice, and that was with the life-time experience of having ghost-hunters for parents. Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail? Without practice, they would be a liability, and there was no time to help them practice. It was a bad idea to get them involved—not just for Danny, but because they might get hurt.
Fighting took skill. Danny could vividly recall the amount of injuries he'd received from his first few fights, and that was with powers. Even if he would be looking after the three to make sure they didn't get hurt, the likelihood that they would was through the roof. Tucker and Sam and Jazz all knew the risks and had been doing this long enough that they could—and, most of the time, would—hold their own and help him keep everyone safe. Abigail, Nathan, and Mikey weren't like that, however; they didn't understand the risks.
"I…" Danny wondered how he could say all that without hurting Nathan's feelings. "I appreciate it, really. But there's nothing you guys can do, alright?" He met the other boy's eyes and tried to impress upon him how serious this was. Nathan nodded slowly.
They heard creaking on the stairs and turned to see both Mikey and Abigail coming down, arms laden with snacks.
"I figured we could use something to eat," Mikey said. The two dumped their loads onto the table: chips, cookies, fruit, and juice boxes now littered the table.
"Thanks," Tucker said. "I know I can't do anything on an empty stomach—"
"Explains so much," Sam muttered.
"—and Danny still hasn't met his calorie quota for today," he finished, glaring at Sam.
"Calorie quota?" Abigail asked, sitting down next to Nathan. Mikey joined her.
"Ghost powers burn a lot more than you'd think," Tucker answered. "Even when he's just sitting there… Doing nothing… He needs to eat way more than a regular person."
"That explains the eating in class," Mikey said. Danny flushed, dipping his head down. It was odd to have someone other than Sam, Tucker, or Jazz know this much about him, understand him in this way. It made him feel vulnerable and relieved at the same time—because this was him, wholly and truly, but they weren't rejecting it. In fact, they seemed interested. In him. Danny Fenton. He hadn't really thought about it before, at lunch; it had all gone so quickly.
The feeling was bizarre.
Sam and Tucker made sure he had all the food he could ever want—two cookies and some chips, courtesy of Tucker, and an apple ("For the vitamins"), courtesy of Sam. And then, it was down to business.
"We've been talking," Sam began, sipping from the juice box. It was an odd sight—Sam, in all black, with such a serious look, drinking from something bright and colorful and sweet. "And we think it would be for the best if, during school, you didn't really talk with us. Not more than normal, anyway."
"But why?" Nathan asked. "It sounds like Danny could use all the support he can get. And we can help be that support!"
"It could also tip people off that something's happened, though," Tucker pointed out. "Say Dash or Kwan notice—then they wonder: why are the nerds hanging out with them? Why are they suddenly so buddy-buddy? And the wondering leads to questions, and the questions lead to answers, and boom. Danny's secret is out." Danny stared at his cookies, feeling too sick to eat. It had been his idea, to make sure they'd stayed in their own "cliques," but the reality of how easy it had been for them to figure it out frightened him. It scared him like his parents did when they started talking about dissecting ghosts—or him. It scared him like Vlad did when he would take things too far.
"But do you really think they'd notice if we talked at school?" Mikey asked. "We're so low on the food chain." He rubbed his chin, looking deep in thought.
"Think about it," Abigail broke in. "We're low, but we're not invisible. People pay attention to us because they think we're smart—and they pay attention to Danny because they think he's a loser. If we change any of that—they'll wonder why. And do you really think other kids will be able to keep their mouths shut about this?"
"Exactly," Danny added. "If any of you tried to stand up for me, tried to help me, or even spoke with me during school, it would be out of the ordinary. And, right now, everyone's watching for things that are out of the ordinary. Maybe once this dies down, we can consider becoming 'friends,' but for now it's too risky." He stared down at his food, trying to will himself to eat it—it felt like he'd hardly had anything all day. If he wasn't careful, he might pass out again.
"That's why we should be friends in school," Nathan argued. "You really think you can handle Dash and the hunters and the GIW and school work without help?" The notion grated on Danny. They'd been doing their best with what they'd been given, and he hadn't died or been exposed yet, had he? Tucker, Sam, and Jazz were really all the support he needed.
"We've been doing it so far," Sam retorted hotly, scowling. She crossed her arms over her chest. "We've managed all those things without you guys for years—and while we appreciate your help, we don't needit."
"Not very well," Nathan said. "At this rate, he'll have to re-do junior year, and he almost died yesterday, didn't he? You're not doing good enough."
Sam opened her mouth, all the muscles in her back tensing, but Danny cut her off before she could even begin.
"You're wrong," he said softly. They all turned to look at him. "We've been managing—maybe not as well as we would've with more help, but I'm passing all my classes. I'm fine.We're fine. And we're not saying you can't help at all, but it's too risky to be seen, do you understand?"
Nathan frowned, pressing his lips together tightly. Mikey nervously prodded his glasses up his nose, and Abigail refused to look at any of them.
"Nathan," Mikey said, "they're probably right. They have more experience with these types of situations than us. Why don't we just do what they say?" Danny held his breath as Nathan considered this. If the boy didn't agree, he might jeopardize everything—the lies Danny had built around himself to protect him from those who would hurt him, his family's safety, Sam and Tucker's safety.
"Fine," Nathan finally agreed. "For now, we'll do it your way—but we'll talk about it later, and I still want to help outside of school. At least with homework—you shouldn't be just passing your classes."
Danny sighed, rubbing his head, and Sam slumped her seat, seemingly angrier than before. Thank God, he thought. That could've been a disaster. Forget helping—if Nathan couldn't see the danger now, he might never see it, and that in itself would be more dangerous to him than anything else. Delusions, after all, hid reality.
"Now that that's taken care of," Abigail said, "I wanted to ask you something." Her voice was soft, as usual, but held the quiet intensity she was known for. Abigail Rodriguez was shy but not to be angered, everyone knew. Even Paulina didn't mess with her. "About the stealing, and the kidnapping—why did you do that?" Danny ran his hands through his hair. He glanced at Tucker and Sam, who stared back; they were waiting for him to take the lead.
"I don't know where to begin," he murmured.
"Just—summarize it," Mikey suggested. "We don't need to know everything, only that you didn't actually do those things." Danny laughed.
"Well, I didn't actually do those things," he responded. "The stealing I barely even remember—the memories are flashes, really. A human called 'Freakshow' was controlling me, making me steal. He had this staff that could force ghosts to do his bidding, and, as much as I'm human, I'm also a ghost… And the rest you know."
The newcomers seemed to digest this. How could anything control ghosts? They'd always thought of ghosts as scientific—what with Danny's parents—but the staff sounded like magic.
"And the mayor?" Mikey asked. Danny shook his head to dispel the image of Walker from his mind—that ghost needed a serious reality check.
"He was possessed. A ghost, Walker, was trying to frame me, make it look like I was kidnapping him. I guess it worked." Danny gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Every time I tried to explain it, everyone just ignored me, so I stopped trying…" He picked at his cookie, breaking off one of the edges to nibble at it. Talking about this had brought back bad memories—when the whole city had hated him, when nothing he did seemed to be right, when he couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong to make the universe hate him so much.
He was better at beating back the dark thoughts, now, at least in the light and with people. But prodding at all these old wounds… It hurt, he realized. He'd never really spoken about what had happened to him except with Sam and Tucker. It had just seemed a given that everyone else would never believe him, would never support him.
And yet, here they were—Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail.
"How did it happen in the first place, anyway?" Nathan asked. And then there was that—Sam and Tucker had been with him through it all; they never needed to ask about some things. They had never asked how it felt—his screaming had told them. They had never wondered how being so isolated, so different, made him feel—the nightmares he had about, about his parents, told them.
And what did he tell these newcomers, anyway? Did they even have a right to know? It was so private—the pain, like every single one of his nerves had been set alight at the same time. That he could almost feel his tissues shifting, stretching and molding into something alien. That when he first realized what had happened, days later, he'd almost wished the portal had just killed him—because what kind of existence was this, caught between worlds?
"Don't ask me that," Danny whispered. "Not now, alright? I don't think I can…" Tucker put a hand on his shoulder. Nathan blushed, embarrassed that he'd made his hero uncomfortable. Mikey pretended not to see the exchange. Sam pulled out her phone to check on the time.
"I need to be home soon," she said, not even commenting on it; they could discuss it later, if needed. "And I'm dropping these losers off, so we should probably leave."
"Wait," Mikey said. "I know you said we couldn't help in school, but outside of it… If you need us to cover for you, or—or help you with homework, or anything we can do, let us know. You've saved us." He met Danny's blue eyes. "We'll help any way we can."
Danny looked down. Could they even help him? Could anyone? It all felt so overwhelming, sometimes. But they wanted to, and with alibis… It couldn't hurt if it was an emergency. And maybe he could get his grades up, manage to get into a good college.
"Okay," he said. "If I need you, I'll let you know."
When Danny got home, it was to a quiet house; his parents were out. Hunting, no doubt. Or grocery shopping—either was likely. He'd seen Jazz's car out in the driveway, and he was relieved she was finally back from her trip. Inside, he saw that she'd spread out seemingly all of her papers onto the table—it was more paper than table, at this point.
"Danny!" She leapt up when she saw him, rushing forward to hug him. "How are you? Sorry, that was probably a stupid question. I never should've went away—God, everything must've been awful." She pulled him into her arms and squeezed him tightly. Danny smiled into her shoulder and squirmed away.
"Jeez, I'm fine—except I think you broke a couple of my ribs." He mock-winced and gripped his side. She put her hands on her hips.
"Very funny," she muttered, turning back to her table. Danny sat down, looking them over.
"Are you planning a battle?" he asked, poking one that had diagrams of—was that a catapult?
"No," Jazz huffed. "They're just—things, okay? I'm examining our options." She scribbled something onto one that looked like a castle.
"And you needed to draw them out?" Danny questioned. "I knew you were weird, but not this weird."
"You'll be congratulating me after I tell you what I've figured out," Jazz admonished, holding up one of the papers triumphantly. It had some kind of ring drawn on it. "Thisis the key to our success."
"Am I getting married?" Danny asked sarcastically. "I always knew a sugar momma was the answer to my problems. The money makes everything else go away."
"I'm not above hitting you," Jazz said. "I know this is partially you coping and trying to relieve stress—but I am not above hitting you. It's the Fenton Ghost Catcher." Danny raised an eyebrow and squinted at it.
"Where are the bits in the middle?" he asked. "And what—oh."
"And it dawns!" Jazz practically shouted, snatching back her paper. "Separate your human and ghost half, and you'll pass the blood test no issue!" Danny gripped her shoulders and grinned, hope welling inside him. This was the best news he'd heard since that damn caller revealed he was half ghost. A way to escape the GIW was just what he needed—this way there'd be no suspicions, no anything. He could tell them his parents had talked him into it, even though he was still scared of his own blood. Maybe he could even fake a fainting spell, just to really sell it.
"You're brilliant," he told her. "Let's go to the lab and see if we can find it while Mom and Dad are out." She beamed and set her paper down on the table with the rest of them. We'll need to clean that up before they get back, Danny thought, or there might be questions we can't answer.
They headed down to their basement. The portal was closed, and beakers and weapons littered the tables and shelves, some half-built. The locked, ghost-proof filing cabinet—where they recorded where everything was kept and held their blueprints in—was situated in the corner. Danny made his way over to it and pressed the passcode into the keys—3556. It clicked open.
"Is it under 'G'?" Danny asked, thumbing through the files.
"I think so," Jazz replied, peering over his shoulder.
"Ghost Acantha, Ghost Axe, Ghost Bat, Ghost Bazooka, Ghost Cattle-prod—we have one of those? Here it is—the Ghost Catcher." Danny pulled out the plans. Their mother was rather organized and regularly updated the plans. "It's on shelf B2, being—" Danny groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Jazz, it's being upgraded."
"Well, maybe they finished the repairs," Jazz said optimistically. She went back toward the side of the room next to the door, searching for shelf B2, Danny following close behind.
"They would've updated it," Danny told her, frowning. The hope that he could've avoided suspicion had been doused, and the weight of what was going to happen tomorrow was settling back onto his skull. He feared it might crack, the thing was so heavy. He should've known better than to hope, to think his situation might've magically gotten better.
"Found it," Jazz said. She showed him one of the pieces—part of the outer casing. Danny frowned at it before burying his head in his hands.
"Thanks anyway," he said as he put the plans back and re-locked the cabinet. "It was a good idea…" Jazz set the piece onto the shelf and sighed.
"I'm sorry, Danny," she apologized.
"It's fine," he replied. "Like I said, it was a good idea." He made to leave and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "You should clean up your papers before our parents get home; I'm going to go to bed. I have a big day tomorrow."
And, Jazz's sad eyes watching him the whole time, he slowly walked up the dark stairwell.
The next morning, Danny awoke in a daze, as if he couldn't escape the clutches of sleep, its fingers still holding him down in dreamland. He rolled out of bed, leaving himself only twenty minutes to get ready.
This could be the day, he thought. The day to end all days.And if the GIW exposed him, even after he'd found a way around their detectors, even after he'd escaped them and Valerie… He would feel cheated. All of that, and a simple interrogation would be what made him reveal himself?
No. He wouldn't let them. It would just be questions, right? Intimidation tactics. But they were only agents, only human. Much less scary than ghosts, he told himself. It wasn't true, of course—with ghosts, he didn't have to worry about dissection (though Skulker's threats of skinning him did kind of freak him out) or jailing (with the exception of Walker). He knew how they worked: their motives, their fears, their fighting styles. But the GIW, for all their fumbles, were unpredictable—and that made them dangerous. As much as he liked to point out their incompetence, sometimes—most times—they scared him.
The thought of the table, his hands and legs and head strapped down, a gleaming scalpel coming down onto his skin. He cringed and pressed his palms into his eyes, willing the images to leave his mind. He needed to be calm and collected—they could have no reason, none at all, to suspect he was lying or in any way related to Phantom. Anything less than that would be a death sentence. Maybe he wouldn't die, but his life? The lives of his friends and family? He shuddered to think about it, even as he got dressed and brushed his teeth.
His body was on autopilot as his mind raced. He and his friends had gone over the questions the GIW might ask him, and how he could respond, or lie, to make himself seem innocent. And he was innocent, technically; the GIW were unreasonable and didn't seem to understand all he did for the town. Even when he'd been exposed as half-human, they'd refused to see it. At least his parents had decided to treat him humanely, even if they still wanted to jail him or whatever.
He ventured downstairs, hoping to grab something to eat before he had to go. Thankfully, nothing had attacked last night, and his injuries, after so much rest, were feeling much better. He'd been a tad stiff, but after a hot shower and some careful stretching, he felt as good as new. He could hear his parents down in the lab, but it looked like they had made French toast before setting to work. Danny wasn't sure he could eat, but he knew he needed to. So he scarfed down a couple of pieces before Sam texted him that she was there.
He went out to the car and sat down. Both Sam and Tucker could see he didn't want to talk, so they distracted him with music and bad jokes, trying to draw him into some light-hearted banter. As they pulled up to the school, however, the conversation became serious.
"Danny," Sam said, "if things go south in there, if you need us to create a diversion—or help you hide, or anything, you know we're on standby."
"I know," Danny said, staring down at his legs and trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.
"Not that anything will go wrong," Tucker added. "You're basically a master liar now. I bet you could tell everyone your name wasn't Danny Fenton, and they'd believe you." He patted Danny's shoulder as Sam began to park.
"Thanks," Danny muttered. "I… I don't think I've ever sat through someone accusing me of being Phantom before."
"You learn something new everyday," Tucker said mock-wisely, adjusting his glasses. "It'll be exciting."
"Look, we've practiced for this," Sam said. "And Tucker's right: you are a good liar when it matters. You can do this. And if you can't, we'll be a few rooms over ready to help."
Danny nodded. And he'd just managed to get rid of the lump, too. The three of them left the car and entered the line to be scanned by the agents. Danny watched them and wondered if any would be present at his interrogation—if it would be under one of them that he would crack, if one of them would outsmart him and get him to reveal himself. What if he said something only Phantom—and not Fenton—could know? What if they threatened to hurt or kill him? What if they threatened his family?
Danny almost couldn't stand it when the agent ran her scanner over his body; the urge to run was so strong, like primal instinct had totally overpowered his rational brain.Go, go, go, it told him. Away from the threat.But the threat was everywhere—nowhere was safe. And if he ran now, he'd be leaving his hiding place. It would be like a hidden baby deer being so afraid it bolted, only to have the wolf devour it.
Only, Danny was pretty sure a baby deer's instinct to stay still was much stronger than his instinct to flee. As the agent finished, Danny forced himself to slowly—and calmly—walk into the school. His hands, which were shaking, he shoved into his pockets. He was so out of it he even smiled to Dash as the boy passed him, and the blonde gave him an irritated look.
Sam and Tucker walked with him to the gym, where they'd be getting their blood drawn. The section for those not getting it was off to the side, in a separate group of chairs. Danny almost sighed in relief—there were a couple of other kids there, too. They appeared unconcerned, and Danny tried to mimic their air of apathy. One of the agents—a pale, brown-haired woman—sat at the front of the chairs.
"I'll take you one at a time into where we'll be interviewing you," she said to them. "It may take anywhere between ten minutes to an hour—that all depends on you. All we ask is your cooperation and honesty, okay?" She stared at the four of them, her eyebrows pulled together. They stayed quiet. "I said: okay?"
"Okay," a couple of them called. Danny couldn't find his voice, but this seemed good enough for the agent, who sat back down.
"Alright. First we have Julie Anderson." A girl behind Danny stood up, and the agent looked her up and down, assessing. "If you'll come with me, please." The agent led the teenager out of the gym, but the agent was back seconds later, so Danny assumed that wherever the interrogation was, it was close by.
He watched as the other, luckier kids went into curtained-off cubicles to get their blood drawn. Some of them seemed nervous, tapping their feet and rubbing their arms. Others looked angry, and he even heard Dash telling the man who was going to draw his blood that, "You're not going to catch him. Phantom's way smarter than you." The man ignored the comment and led the surly football player into the area regardless.
It almost warmed Danny's heart—except Dash only cared about Phantom, the intangible, infallible hero. Who knew if he'd still support the half-ghost if he knew his human form was Danny? Sure, in the alternate reality he had, but his animosity toward Danny had increased since then. And if Danny's identity were to be revealed, it might be under very different circumstances. Would everyone's image of Phantom be ruined if they knew it was weak, wimpy Fenton standing behind him? Not that he had a very good image with some in the first place.
Julie came back in no time, and then it was "Richard Dodds." Danny knew he'd be next—and then the other girl after him. His palms began to sweat, and he tried to focus on anything besides his impending interrogation—and possibly his impending exposure. What would his parents think? The "criminal" Phantom being their troubled son Danny all along… Would they blame themselves? Blame him?
At this point, Danny was fairly sure they wouldn't dissect or torture or excessively hurt him—but their words could hurt. How they looked at him could hurt. And would Sam and Tucker's families even let him see them again? It had been his friends' decisions to stand by him, even when it meant putting themselves in danger, but would their families see it like that? The Mansons already thought he was a bad influence, and while the Foleys liked him alright, they also adored Tucker, their only child. If they thought that Danny was putting him in danger, they might pull the plug on their friendship. Maybe they'd even move away…
Richard came back far too soon, and when the agent called his name ("Daniel Fenton"), it was as if something else was controlling Danny's body. He didn't want to stand—but that was what he did. He didn't want to follow her—but that was what he did. It was like watching a puppet, only he wasn't the puppet master.
He'd been right; the "interrogation room" was a classroom not too far from the gym. Inside sat a tall, thin man with graying hair. He wasn't an agent Danny had ever seen before.
"Go on and sit down," the woman said, and Danny realized he'd been standing in the doorway, staring at the man. Off to a great start. Danny forced his legs to move, and they responded, even though it was like wading through concrete. The man was sat at the teacher's desk at the front of the room. It was well-lit, with desks and posters and other normal things. It seemed too ordinary to be the place Danny might lose everything.
"Thanks, Agent V," the man said, and the woman nodded, closing the door. Then, the man's dark eyes were on him. They swirled like a storm in the middle of the night, but the rest of his face was impassive, as if he wouldn't let the thing inside control him. Danny let his backpack fall to the floor with a thudand lowered himself into the chair, never once letting his eyes stray from the man—the predator—in front of him. There was one door behind him, two windows behind the man, and a vent to Danny's left—all good escape routes, should the room be phase-proof.
"So, Daniel Fenton, huh?" the agent asked, looking down at a paper in front of him. "I'm Agent R, but feel free to call me Agent." Danny kept looking at him blankly—what? The agent laughed. "The other two did the same thing. It was supposed to be a joke, Daniel."
"Danny," the boy corrected. "I like to be called Danny." He couldn't seem to tear himself away from those eyes. When the light caught them, it was like lightning flashing inside the man. Danny felt a shiver run up his spine.
"Very well then. Danny it is," Agent R said, leaning forward. He steepled his hands together on the desk in front of him. Danny noticed distractedly a sign to the agent's right said Mrs. Harrison. "So, this is how this is going to work. I'm going to ask you a question—as straightforwardly and transparently as possible—and you're going to answer—as honestly and directly as possible. Does that sound good?"
Danny nodded, trying not to scratch the back of his neck—a recognizable sign of nervousness. "That sounds good," he said. He was shocked that his voice sounded so normal; it felt like his very organs were trembling, as if they knew they were in danger. But his voice came out clearly, and he consciously kept his muscles from tensing up.
"Excellent." Agent R sat back. "The first question is pretty easy to pass: why did you exempt yourself from the blood test?"
Because if I hadn't, I'd be caught or on the run now. I might be strapped to a table, you staring down at me and demanding they cut further, just so you can see how I tick. Because my parents would know, and even though I don't think they'll hurt me, they might hate me. Because Sam and Tucker don't deserve to have to deal with this—and I don't want to either.
"I don't like the sight of blood," Danny replied. "It makes me feel ill. I got a cut—when I was younger, you know—one that bled a lot, and I passed out when I looked at it." He hoped the explanation was just right—not too long or too short. He didn't want to tell any unnecessary lies, but normal people who didn't have secrets like his liked to talk about themselves. And, because he was posing as a normal person who didn't have secrets, he too would have to talk about himself.
"Hm," the agent said, writing something onto the paper in front of him. "The other two were exempt for medical reasons. Are you sure you couldn't man up and take the test anyway?" His tone was still light, but it carried a darker undertone, now. Danny could see the storm breaking through Agent R's stone façade in the way his fingers tightened and shoulders tensed. Sam definitely wouldn't have liked the implication—"man up" was something she tried to get rid of in people's vocabularies. After this, Danny couldn't help but agree with her.
"I mean, isn't it a little unnecessary?" Danny chuckled, trying to make it sound incredulous instead of anxious. "Me, the son of two ghost hunters, a ghost?" He spread his arms as if to say, See for yourself. Agent R's eyes narrowed.
"We try not to judge based on background," he said stiffly. "Everyone's a suspect until proven otherwise."
I'm pretty sure it's "innocent until proven guilty," not the other way around. Danny shrugged.
"Well, I don't really want to pass out is all. And needles are painful," he said, trying to act like a whiny, wimpy boy instead of someone with something to hide. He shifted in his seat, as if impatient. "You're not going to keep me here forever, are you?"
"Of course not." Agent R's shoulders relaxed a fraction, and Danny wanted to wipe his forehead in relief. "But as the son of two ghost hunters, you of all people must understand how important it is to have your cooperation. We need to stop Phantom—who knows what kind of damage he might do if left unattended. What if the other kids—many of whom I'm sure don't like needles—also decided to opt out? Where would we be then?"
A guilt trip, then. God, Agent R was like the rest of the adults in Danny's life—Don't you care about your grades? Don't you want to make us proud? Danny had expected to be scared during this "interview," not irritated. But here he was, irritated.
"They didn't, though, did they?" he asked. "And I want to help in any way I can, but I know I'm not Phantom. There's no way me refusing to get my blood tested has this much effect on your investigation." Agent R's lips thinned.
"If you had wanted to help in any way you could, you would've let us take your blood," he argued. "And it's a good thing these other kids understand the importance of our investigation—even though you should've been the first to line up!"
Well, Danny supposed he'd been the one to play the "my parents are ghost hunters" card first. He'd just have to deal with it. He watched as Agent R opened one of the drawers of the desk. He brought out a needle and tube, all wrapped neatly in plastic. Danny felt his face pale, and he wished he had some kind of control over that.
"I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this," the agent said. He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, and Danny's stomach turned, the French toast he'd had earlier threatening to come up. No, no, no. What the hell is he doing? Danny clenched his jaw and tried to stay as calm as possible—he's just trying to scare me. It's just to get me to cave. Big, tall man with a needle, like that's going to make me more cooperative. It would be illegal for him to take my blood now.
Since when do the GIW care about what's legal?
"W-what are you doing?" Danny asked, cursing the stutter in his voice. Though, if he really had been afraid of the sight of blood, he might really have stuttered there anyway.
"I can technically detain you for twenty-four hours. You're acting suspicious, you know—shaking and stumbling over your words. It's clear you're hiding something."
"I'm not suspicious," Danny denied. He hadn't been shaking. Somehow, he still wasn't shaking. How wasn't he shaking?
"But no one else knows that, do they?" Agent R smirked. "I have the grounds to take you to our HQ and hold you there. And maybe something will happen there—maybe something painful." He caressed the needle.
Was he threatening to torture Danny if he didn't comply with getting his blood drawn? Who was this guy? No way would Danny agree. Going with them might mean they'd find his injuries; although they were healing, there were still noticeable burns on his torso. Not to mention that he didn't exactly enjoy pain. But he couldn't exactly give in and let the man draw his blood, could he?
"You're crazy," Danny whispered.
"Maybe." Agent R set the needle down, suddenly serious. "But, Danny, you need to consider your options very seriously. We have to know if you are who you say you are. And if you require a littler persuasion, away from prying eyes, that's what will happen. Or," he tapped the tube in front of him with one gloved finger, "we can avoid all that unpleasantness. Agree to let me take your blood, here and now."
Fuck no.
"And what if I tell people? You're threatening me—my parents won't like that, and neither will the school," Danny said. If this got out, the agents might be banished from the school entirely.
"Who would believe you?" Agent R asked. He smiled at Danny. "Besides, you don't want to do that; then, everyone would ask why you were so adamantagainst getting your blood drawn you refused even under the threat of torture." Suddenly, he stood up and slammed both of his hands on the desk. The tube rattled, and Danny jumped at the noise. "Why are you so adamantagainst getting your blood drawn, Danny?" he demanded.
Danny felt the shaking begin—first in his hands, and then in his entire body, like it was trying to fend off Agent R as it would the cold. He tried to slow his breathing, and his heart thundered in his ears. Agent R was right.
"You think no one would notice that you'd tortured me?" Danny questioned. "Really? Or maybe you think the rest of the world would be okay with you harming an innocent minor."
"It doesn't matter," Agent R said, brushing an invisible piece of lint from his suit. "We'll get your blood one way or another—here and now, with a needle, or later, with something far more painful. You said you pass out at the sight of blood? I wonder how much blood we could get with a knife." The agent leaned closer over the desk, until Danny could smell his minty breath. "And I imagine, with how you're acting, we'll find something in the blood."
"I'm not Phantom," Danny said, crossing his arms. "You won't find anything. You're acting insane!"
"Maybe you're not Phantom." Agent R shrugged, leaning back. "But you've got something to hide. And I, for one, want to know what it is."
And then, inspiration struck. There wasn't anything Danny could do to prevent this—not really, not without revealing his hand more than he already had. But just because Danny didn't have anything on the GIW didn't mean no one had anything to hold over them.
"Try it," Danny challenged. The shaking stopped. Agent R cocked his head, like a dog that had come across something interesting. "My parents are helping you install the shields around school, right? You've been wanting to partner with them for a long time."
"Yes, and…?" the agent said. "I fail to see what this has to do with our investigation." He tapped the tube again, and Danny found he was starting to hate the sound.
"What happens if their precious son—their only son—is tortured or threatened at the hands of the GIW? You can kiss the ghost shield—and my parents' blueprints—goodbye." Danny smiled derisively. I've got you now.
Agent R's nostrils flared, and the within raged on the outside as he balled one hand into a fist and pounded it into the desk. Danny watched him with wide eyes.
"You can't do this!" the agent raged, spittle flying from his lips. The tube flew off the desk and rolled underneath Danny's chair. This only seemed to enrage the agent more, and the man kicked the wall.
"Nobody's ever told you no before, have they?" Danny asked. I am calm; I am relaxed. There's no reason for me to be scared beyond what a normal person would be. He was fine, really. He was. The display of unfettered anger didn't make his insides turn to jelly and paralyze his muscles. It didn't. He didn't imagine his own face as the part of the desk the agent had punched, or his stomach as the wall. He didn't. His breath wasn't coming faster, wasn't ripping through his lungs like each inhale-exhale would be his last.
The agent rounded on him, storming in front of the desk. Before Danny could decide—run or fight—the man had gripped the front of the teenager's shirt, pulling the half-ghost to his feet.
"This doesn't end here," the agent snarled. "You don't getto keep secrets from us!"
If he looks down, Danny thought, he'll see my burn. And then it really would end, this game of cat and mouse. This running and hiding and fighting. Danny wanted it to end, in some deep, dark crevice of his soul. He wanted relief—he wanted to know what would happen, what everyone would think.
But not like this.
"I think it does," Danny said, ripping himself away from the agent. His shirt tore, but Danny paid it no heed. He scooped up his backpack, the agent watching him silently, studying. The storm was trapped inside again.
"We'll be watching you," he called softly as Danny walked across the classroom. The half-ghost opened the door, but paused.
Without turning around, he said, "My parents will be watching you."
Then, he slipped out.
When he got home that night, relieved the week was finally over, he couldn't help but notice the white van parked outside the house. The streetlights barely penetrated the dark windows, but Danny could see inside.
It was Agent R. And, like he said, he was watching.
Watching very closely.
AN: Thank you all so much for the support, and thanks to my sister for editing this. Thank you also to OriyArt for pointing out a plothole. To everyone who favorited, followed, and (especially) reviewed, a special thanks. I'm sorry this is a couple days late, but it's extra long. Check my profile for the next update. So, did you love it? Hate it? Are there things I could improve? Things I'm doing well? Did you like Agent R?