Previously in "Shift:" Vlad brings the Fentons disturbing rumors of an underground GIW faction on the rise. With the Portal activation upcoming, Danny is understandably more than a little worried, especially when Vlad also informs everyone that Operative L, who once captured Phantom for the GIW, was hired at Vladco and seems to be the ringleader. Later, Sam and Tucker go behind Danny's back and learn about his brief captivity. When they reveal what they know, Danny gets upset enough he leaves Casper High in the middle of a school day. Sam and Tucker follow him home to apologize, and there are repercussions for Sam: her mother bans her from attending the Portal activation.

And so we go. :)

The Domino Effect

There are people downstairs.

Danny's eyes flew open, and he scrambled up in an ungraceful flail of fabric and limbs. His bedroom was dark, a hint of muted light spilling in from underneath the door and from the streetlight outside. Disoriented, he fumbled for his phone.

It was nearly five in the morning, and through his haze of confusion and exhaustion, it took him a moment to remember why he was awake at this cursed hour.

Today was the day.

And naturally, he'd overslept.

Because of course he did.

The fog threatening to drag him back into sleep dissipated instantly, and Danny fumbled around his room. He collected his HAZMAT and underclothes, cursing under his breath and turning invisible as he darted from his room and across the hall to the shower, which was blessedly unclaimed. He passed Jazz on the way. She stared through him with bleary eyes and, having just seen his bedroom door swing wildly open and shut, raised her coffee mug in his general direction, a silent "good morning."

Guests and his parents' colleagues weren't due to arrive until seven, with the broadcast beginning at eight, but Danny had wanted to be awake before the camera crew and security guards showed up. He'd totally meant to oversee the final preparations and help set up. Judging by the growing noise and thudding of heavy equipment, he was very, very late.

After taking what had to have been the quickest shower of his life, Danny flew—literally—down the stairs, securing the last of the straps across his chest and shoulders as he went. The HAZMAT and the utility belt, full of FentonWorks weaponry and tools, were kind of redundant considering his powers, but Danny had decided late last night that, barring any emergencies and despite public expectation, Phantom would not be making an appearance today.

The Portal was the ultimate expression of his family's passion for the paranormal sciences, as well as a revolutionary piece of technology, and today, Mom and Dad meant to showcase and share that with others. Today was his parents' day. It was FentonWorks' day. Despite the Portal's role in his creation, Phantom had no place here, and he refused to let Phantom's popularity outshine his parents. Today, Danny was a Fenton, first and foremost. He wouldn't let anyone forget it.

He just hoped he wasn't making the wrong choice.

(Judging by the expression on Vlad's face when he saw Danny, he certainly thought so).

Danny had to skirt around a few hustling people to make it to the kitchen, where his parents had set up a spread of bagels, fruit, and breakfast pastries for everyone. Vlad was seated at the table already, watching the commotion as he picked at a plate of food. His lip curled when he saw Danny headed his way, eyes sharp and assessing.

"I don't want to hear it," Danny said immediately.

"Perhaps you need hearing it," was Vlad's response.

Danny scowled and ducked his head into the fridge. "No thanks."

Danny didn't need to have Vlad in his direct line of sight to know the other halfa's eyes flashed red. He could sense the minute shift in the temperature in the room, a light chill lacing down his arms.

"Don't let your abominable pride get in the way of what's truly important here, Daniel," Vlad lectures.

Well, we're off to a great start, aren't we?

Danny bit his tongue, withholding a number of retorts, and emerged from the fridge with the milk jug. He raised a brow. "Is there something you haven't told us?"

Vlad made an annoyed tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth. "Of course not."

"Nothing new?"

Vlad's frustration grew. "No."

Danny sighed. There really was nothing more frustrating than feeling helpless and a step behind everyone else. He was used to that, at least: it was kind of his constant state whenever he was up against a new ghost or a new villainous plot from one of the usual suspects. Vlad, however? Vlad was often the brains behind said plots. He was clearly well beyond his usual realm of experience. Danny would have found the irony amusing, but as it happened, his nerves were doing enough somersaults for the both of them.

But that was neither here nor there.

"Then put the hackles away, and let's focus on getting through today," Danny said absently, reaching up into one of the cabinets for a glass and pouring himself some milk. His main attention was back on the people outside the kitchen, and on his mom, who was directing them into the lab, where he figured his dad was supervising. She was in her element, her attitude both professional and personable. In her hand was the Fenton Ecto-Wand, which his parents built to recognize ecto-residue or any ecto-powered machinery. With all the movement and equipment passing hands, it would alert them if anything unauthorized—or potentially destructive—was being smuggled into the lab.

Danny took a deep breath and released it slowly. He'd done enough worrying, he'd realized, and now that today was the day, it wasn't worth it anymore. What was going to happen, was going to happen. It was kinda like coming to the conclusion that cramming the night before a big final was a bad idea. No amount of last minute studying could truly help him anticipate what might be on the test: he'd just have to depend on what he'd learned in the past, his common sense, and any studying he'd done beforehand and trust that that'd be enough.

You're better than good enough, his dad had said the night after his first interview with Lance Thunder, the night his nightmares returned.

You're better than good enough.

"And that includes behaving as normal as possible," Danny added to Vlad. "Just like we discussed this weekend. Can't draw the GIW out if they suspect we're on to them, right?"

"I'd rather we engage and eradicate without all this cloak and dagger business," Vlad admitted in a dark undertone.

"That's funny, Vlad," Danny responded drily."The hypocrisy here is hilarious, but, hey, welcome to my world." He raised his glass in a mock salute and chugged to the last drop.

Vlad merely rolled his eyes. With a dismissive flap of his hand, he turned his attention back to his food and said, "Why don't you go make yourself useful and sniff out what you can from our crew out there, hm?"

"I'm not a dog."

"And thank Pariah for that. Dogs are disgusting, slobbering—"

Danny walked out on him, swiping a doughnut as he went. The moment he left the kitchen, he felt better, and he was nothing but grateful when his mom caught sight of him and flagged him over.

"Oh, good! Danny! We could use some help over here!"

Danny stuffed the last half of his breakfast into his mouth and jogged over to the entrance to the basement, where several crewmembers were struggling to manipulate a bulky piece of equipment through the door. When they saw him approaching, Danny heard the volume of their voices lower.

"...shouldn't bother your son to—" one of the men was saying to his mom.

"Nonsense," Mom said in response, brushing off his concerns. She smiled brightly over the man's shoulder and gestured Danny closer. Danny came to a stop next to her, gaze tracing the door and the positioning of the equipment. Whatever it was, it was oddly shaped, and it caught against at least three different places against the doorframe. "Danny doesn't mind."

Even if he did mind, he most certainly didn't want to listen to Mom bemoaning a wrecked doorframe in their months-old house. "I don't," Danny agreed easily.

The first man didn't flinch, but he hesitated long enough that Danny could sense the distinct wariness wafting from him.

Here we go, Danny thought wearily.

"Hey," said someone from the other end of the equipment. The man was a fair bit leaner than his colleague—younger, too—and he stood straddling the first and top stair, his knuckles white around the metal in his hands. What little Danny could see of his face was reddening rapidly. "We either need to move or set this down, dude. No in-between."

"No, really, Raj," the uneasy man argued. "We could go back around." To Mom, he asked, "You mentioned a garage-level entrance, ma'am?"

"Are you fu—reaking serious, Dave?" Raj snapped. "And get this back through the front door? No. I veto."

"Okay, fine. Fine. Maybe if we twist it, we can—"

The thin man's eyes went dead. Absolutely desolate. Danny exchanged a look with him, and without waiting to hear Dave's full plan for fitting their monstrosity through their basement door, he brushed his hand against the metal, transferring his intangibility as he did.

"Bless," Raj immediately sighed in relief. Dave, for his part, yelped at the odd sensation, a visible shudder rolling down his spine. He would have dropped his end of the equipment, had Danny's powers not also reduced some of the load.

"Sorry," Danny said cheerily, feigning complete obliviousness when Dave realized what happened and his face drained of color. He cast a wild-eyed and panicked look in Mom's direction. For what? Danny couldn't say. Mom wasn't paying a single iota of attention as it was, and Danny's grin became a little sharper. "May feel a bit cold."

"Who cares?" Raj asked, his mood significantly improved. He leaned around the equipment to peer at one of the spots where it disappeared into the wall. His smile grew. "Look at that. This is so wild. Dave, Dave, isn't this wild?"

Dave didn't respond. In fact, he looked like he was about to be sick. Danny would have taken a little pity on him and moved them along, but Raj's simpleminded delight was catching, as pure and unbiased as a child's. "I don't understand how we're still able to hold it up when it's...whatsit called?"

"Intangible?" Danny supplemented. "Easy. Because I've made you intangible, too."

Dave shot a baffled look in Danny's direction, and then cast his gaze over himself and the metal in his hands. His body language screamed not normal what is happening not normal don't like.

"But then how are we standing?" Raj asked excitedly. "Why aren't we sinking through the floor? Are the soles of our feet still tangible? Are—?" A look of realization crossed his face, and he gasped. "Noooo. Dude, are we floating?"

"Uh, I guess we're sort of—"

It was a rhetorical question, Danny supposed, because Raj continued to chatter over Danny's explanation, the stick and snap of his chewing gum accenting his words. He started to move backwards down the stairs, forcing Danny and Dave to follow. Danny's feet left the floor, and he hovered through the wall in order to maintain contact with the entire party. He listened politely to Raj as he marveled over ghost physics, offering 'hmm's and 'oh, for sure's at appropriate intervals.

"You don't have to listen to him," Dave muttered to Danny about halfway down the stairs. Danny couldn't tell if Dave was apologizing for his partner's overwhelming enthusiasm or if he was commiserating with Danny for having to listen to him ramble. Perhaps it was both. Or neither. Dave's attention seemed to be less focused on where he was placing his own feet and more on the fact Danny wasn't placing his feet anywhere. His uneasiness wasn't so pungent now, off-set by a hint of hesitant curiosity and secondhand embarrassment. "He'd go off on a barnyard door if it meant he could hear himself talk."

"No worries," Danny said amiably, half-distracted by the sight of his waving father, who was standing with Lance Thunder on the observation deck. Dad wasn't usually a morning person, but his energy was at an all-time high. Danny smiled his good morning, warmth flooding him when Dad's pride-bright eyes lit up and he mouthed, alright, kid?

Danny was just about to nod in response when Raj said, "—both of us were in Chicago when it all went down, you know. It was—"

"Raj," Dave interrupted in a hiss. His mildly thawed demeanor went frigid again, and Danny came to a dead halt, a little taken aback.

"What?" Danny asked. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Raj said happily. They'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and Danny's feet hit the floor. A few other members from Thunder's crew flocked over to them immediately to offer their assistance. There were several grunts of surprise as Danny withdrew his power and the equipment's full mass rematerialized in their hands.

Raj watched with wide-eyed fascination, but after wiping his hands on his pants, he focused again, grabbed Dave by the elbow, and grinned. "Us camera men got pretty close to the action," he continued, jostling Dave's arm. "A lot of storm-chaser types were put out there to cover the battle. We were the only ones who had the balls to do it. A lot of amateurs volunteered, too! It was really neat to work with them."

Danny's interest piqued. After the Shift, he'd talked to all manners of people, but he couldn't say he'd spoken to many of the cameramen or photographers who'd been out there right alongside him and the other fighters.

"That's absolutely incredible," he said honestly. From his understanding, these people had gone out there without weapons, without gear—armed with their wits, their cameras and tape recorders, their ambition and spines of steel—and all in the name of providing people with news real-time. "A lot of people depended on you guys, you know. Especially once it was clear they had to make a decision to evacuate or stay put."

Raj beamed with pride. "Definitely. I was on the ground crew. Dragon detail. Dave, though? He was up in the—"

"Raj."

"—'copters," Raj finished. Noticing Dave's disbelieving glare, he shrugged and said, "What? It's hardly a crime to talk about the roles we played. We're here now because of it! Watching history in the making! And to think, you were supposed to be off today!"

Dave fidgeted and muttered something under his breath, but Raj was distracted by a sharp command from another colleague. He skipped away with a flippant apology and a promise to catch up later, leaving Danny alone with an increasingly awkward Dave.

"Well," Danny said, a little stiffly. "I'm going to go see if my mom needs any more help. You good?"

Dave started and offered a nod, but as Danny moved to pass him by and head back upstairs, the other man said, "Wait."

Danny halted, turning with a sigh. Dave's fidgeting was even worse than it was before, and Danny didn't know what to make of it, let alone any of the other odd behavior he'd portrayed in the last few minutes. Danny wasn't sure he wanted to know. And considering the fact Danny didn't believe the guy had any truly malicious intent, he didn't really want to care.

How people felt about Phantom and his abilities was their business.

"Look," Danny said, as kindly as he could, "I really should—"

"I need to apologize," Dave blurted, face flushing.

Danny blinked and took another second to survey the cameraman closer, allowed his senses to expand.

It wasn't extreme wariness Danny Sensed, like he'd initially thought. Or fear, necessarily. No, Dave reeked of regret. Of anxiety and sleepless nights and something weighing heavily upon him. So heavily, Danny could taste the deep exhaustion fogging his emotions.

Suspicion rooted before Danny could stop to think rationally. The hairs on his arms began to rise, and he knew Dave could feel the impact he was making on the room, too. The man took an unconscious step back, his courage failing, and it was then—when Danny caught himself liking that a GIW suspect was responding to him that way—that he realized what he was doing.

He backed off immediately, disgusted with himself. He wasn't any better than the GIW, jumping to conclusions like that. "I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I didn't mean..." He stammered for words before settling on a weak, "I just don't understand why you're apologizing?"

Dave shivered, shaking off the cobwebs of cold Danny'd cast over the room. "I...you really don't know?" he asked in a quiet, nervous voice.

"...Am I supposed to?"

"Oh," Dave said. "Um." He shuffled his feet a little, looking as though he wished he could borrow Danny's intangibility and sink through the floor. "I...I was the cameraman."

At first, Danny didn't get it. He wondered, wildly, if Dave thought he was dumb or something, or if maybe Dave was a little touched in the head. Of course Danny knew his occupation. Raj had just mentioned it, for one, and Dave wouldn't be here, unloading what looked like half of Lance Thunder's studio, if he wasn't one of Thunder's crew. What in the world...?

But Dave kept talking, the words spilling from him now that he'd unlocked them. "I really wasn't meant to be here today. I'm covering for someone else. I didn't think I'd even have the chance to ever...I mean, I probably could have reached out to you, but I—the studio had my name kept out of it entirely, and when my boss offered me legal protection, just in case, I took the out. I guess that makes me a coward, for letting my fear of retribution get in the way of what was right. And—"

"Oh my God." The pieces started fitting together. Danny wasn't sure how he was feeling. What to feel. He was at a loss for words. "You—you were the one who...? You were that cameraman?"

"We were filming live," Dave admitted. "I didn't realize what was happening. What exactly I was filming. Not until..."

"It was too late," Danny finished lamely.

This was surreal. This man was accidentally responsible for everything. Had his camera been angled a different way, had a stray ectoblast nicked his lens, had any number of tiny things happened to interfere with that camera...They wouldn't be here. Now. In this moment. And Danny's secret identity would have still been just that: secret.

Danny had never expected to be confronted by this person, not because he totally understood why Dave would actively avoid him and his family but because it never once crossed his mind.

The world couldn't be that small, could it?

"Yeah," Dave agreed, voice trembling. "I..." He licked his lips and made a valiant attempt to meet Danny's eyes. "For what it's worth, I am truly sorry. All I wanted was to see it happen. To see the Ghost King go down. Everything else was..." He shook his head. "It...was supposed to be a victory. For all of us. I never intended...all this. I never wanted to get acclaim for it either. Not like this. And never at the expense of a kid. Every time I see that damn clip play, I'm forced to remember that your life changed irrevocably because of me, and I'm so, so sorry."

He must have said everything he wanted to say. His shoulders slumped downward as he heaved a relieved sigh, and a sense of peace had descended over him, his guilt assuaged by satisfaction that he'd done all that he could.

It really ate at him, Danny realized, amazed. He means it.

"I forgive you," Danny said, and when Dave looked up at him in surprise, he could only offer a helpless shrug. "I don't...There is nothing to forgive, in the end, is there?" he tried to explain. "I mean, my life changed the moment I became Phantom, and yeah, it changed again after everyone saw what you filmed, but..."

"I—you don't blame me?" Dave asked when Danny trailed off, incredulous.

Danny stared past Dave, toward the yet-to-be activated Portal. It looked almost exactly as it did the day of the Accident.

The Portal and Dave. A sleek, gaping hole in the wall and this random dude. Two felled dominos previously lined up along the same weird, ectoplasm-infused track that was his life.

Funny thing about dominos. Their fall could be inconsequential or spectacular, but no matter how hard the push bringing them all down, you had a choice: you could leave them in ruins...

Or you could build something new.

If anything, I should be thanking him, Danny thought. He probably should say so, but the emotions behind the words were too big, too important, to give away.

"Why would I?" Danny asked, numb and tingling all over simultaneously. A piece of himself had been unlocked, unshackled. An odd sensation washed over him, and he couldn't keep the revelation from his voice when he said, "My life wasn't ruined, you know? What happened up on the Tower wasn't your fault. I can't even say the blame rests entirely on Pariah Dark's shoulders either. I was the one who decided to do what I did, and no one could have predicted what'd happen after that, least of all me or you. Besides," Danny added, "it really was only a matter of time that I was outed, anyway. If not by you, then by someone else. We're cool. Truly."

Dave stared at him for a moment before gracing him with a real smile. It was a little weak with lingering nerves, but he looked like a completely different person when he smiled. "You're something else, kid."

Brushing off the compliment, Danny started back up the stairs, with Dave following behind. "You know what the weirdest part of this is actually?" Danny asked over his shoulder.

"Feeling as though I might be able to sleep through the night again for the first time in months?" Dave asked, deadpan and blunt. "Or maybe seeing my elbow disappear through a wall earlier? That was pretty weird."

Danny laughed. "Not quite."

"Enlighten me, then. What's weird to a Fenton?"

"I never—" Danny admitted with a grin "—never in my wildest dreams—thought the person who blew my identity to the entire world would be named Dave."

"We're about to leave."

"Okay."

Tense silence reigned, thick and interminable. Sam's spoon clinked against her cereal bowl. There was maybe a raisin or two left swimming in the almond milk. It took some effort to remain focused on her breakfast, to keep herself from turning to her mother and offering her something more than passive disinterest. It took even more effort not to think about the prototype Danny had given her, as though even thinking about it and where it sat in the bag at her feet would alert her mother to her plans.

"...I expect you to be home directly after school today."

"Okay."

"I..." Her mother hesitated again. "Do you need a lift? We can—"

"I'm taking the bus."

Pamela paused, and Sam didn't understand why she was still hovering. Why she didn't just go. Perhaps her mother didn't trust her—which, fair—but, really, this was starting to feel genuinely awkward. Whatever her mother needed to say, it wasn't like her to hold back. Especially in the wake of a big argument.

It was weird enough that Sam's skin leapt and crawled. She wanted to break her cold shoulder and ask, but that really defeated the purpose of being mad and maintaining her position in said argument.

Perhaps this was a new tactic to get Sam to bend. If that was the case...it was extraordinarily effective.

Sam resented it.

"Alright." Pamela's keys jangled in her hand, but she still didn't move from where she stood. "We'll see you later this afternoon."

This time, Sam couldn't ignore the hesitation. If Pamela was going to leave without addressing the elephant in the room—or extending the olive branch or whatever this was—Sam would spend the rest of her day wondering, and she didn't want that, even if it meant starting another fight about the Fentons or the ghosts or the Portal or anything, really.

She spun around before she could think twice. "Can I help you with something else?" she asked, a little more ice in her voice than she fully intended.

Pamela's eyes narrowed at her tone, but to Sam's surprise, her mother didn't rise to the bait. Her long, manicured fingers fiddled with her purse strap. "I'm just waiting for your father."

Sam called BS, so she decided to poke the tiger. With a very audible scoff, she slipped off her chair and took her dishes with her. "Whatever."

Pamela bristled visibly, but after a deep breath in, the incensed expression on her face smoothed, and she sighed. "I don't want to fight, Sammie," she murmured, exhaustion roughening her voice. "I'm so sick of fighting with you."

Sam's attitude dissolved in an instant, and she looked up from the sink. This was no trick, she realized. Pamela looked tired. She was dressed to impress, her pantsuit more befitting of a board meeting presentation than the Fentons' Ghost Portal activation, and her eyeliner was on point, lips painted and perfect, not a hair out of place. But even Pamela's usual chic armor couldn't hide the fact there was a light missing from her eyes.

Cautiously, Sam dropped her defensive shields. "I just..." She struggled to find words and settled with, "Mom, seriously, please tell me you're going to apologize to the Fentons before you invite yourselves into their home today."

Pamela removed her sunglasses from where they were propped on her head and spun one of the temples back and forth between her fingers. "I...I intend to."

"What?" Sam asked, uncertain if she heard correctly.

Her mom's lips twitched a little at Sam's flabbergasted reaction. "I've been thinking about what you said last night."

This wouldn't be the first time Pamela tried to find common ground with Sam after a fight, and usually it ended up with another point of contention coming to the forefront and opening yet another can of worms. Sam braced herself for disappointment. "Okay," she said, a little hesitantly.

"It's—I realize I may have been a little out of line yesterday," Pamela admitted. "You have to understand: when we got the call that you hadn't been in school, can you imagine what kind of thoughts were going through my mind? It wasn't just ghosts. It was pedophiles and kidnappers and ransoms and a whole manner of dark, dark things. You scared me, Samantha, and when I found out how mundane the real reason was...I'm afraid I lost it."

"Maybe a little," Sam agreed.

It was meant as a light joke, and maybe it was risky, considering her mother never responded well to jokes made at her expense, no matter how subtle, but Pamela took it with good grace, a hint of self-deprecating humor twisting the quirk to her lips even further. "I may not approve of everything the Fentons do and what they represent," her mother continued, "but it was unfair to take it out on them." Her eyes moistened, and her voice became tremulous. "I can't lose you, Sammie."

Sam's chest felt as though it was being cracked open like an egg. This was familiar—this overprotectiveness. They'd come close to reconciliations like this one so many times before. They'd given and taken and compromised, reached some level of understanding only to backslide again and again, but this time...

This felt different.

Was her mother possessed? What in the world...?

"You won't," Sam promised, not for the first time.

Pamela snorted wetly, rolling her eyes to the ceiling to collect herself. "No one can make promises like that, Sam. Not even the ghosts, for all their permanency."

"But we can prepare," Sam said. She closed her eyes, a tension headache beginning to form between her brows. God, she was tired too. She'd been tired. Tired of the same old song and dance. Tired of being misunderstood, of defending herself day in and day out. Of every last variation of this argument and every last time it all blew up in their faces. "We can train. We can accept change. We can stay vigilant and be the best we can be. We can do everything right, and you're right, maybe it won't be enough, but at least we'll have been out there, giving it our damnedest before we're taken down."

"I suppose," Pamela murmured. She tossed her hair back so that it fell behind her shoulders. "Personal safety isparamount."

Sam didn't have the energy to put any vitriol or poison in her tone. It was impassive when she pointed out, "But only on your terms, right?"

Pamela didn't respond, but the look on her face was enough. She was upset, rather than angry. "And so we go in circles again. I'm getting dizzy, Sam."

Then stop spinning the carousel, Sam wanted to say.

But isn't that what you're doing too? another part of her whispered.

"Me too," Sam ended up admitting quietly. Something like guilt curled tightly in her gut. "Mom, I—"

"Hon?" came a sudden call from the front of the house.

Her mom dabbed at her eyes and sniffed, setting her shoulders. She was perfectly collected by the time Jeremy popped his head into the kitchen.

Sam's father was no fool, but he was wise enough not to address it. "Ready?" he asked.

"Of course, dear."

Pamela turned back to Sam, a mildly apologetic smile on her face. Clearly, Sam's punishment wasn't being alleviated, but it was enough that Sam understood, maybe for the first time, that her mom never liked grounding her.

"We'll talk when I get back, okay?" Pamela said, and in that moment, her tone reminded Sam of Mrs. Fenton.

"Okay," Sam repeated softly.

And that's how Sam found herself wrapped in a bony hug.

This is a fresh start, Sam thought, somewhat stiff and stunned in her mother's arms. A new beginning. For real, this time.

"I promise," Pamela reiterated, squeezing Sam lightly and releasing.

Sam watched her retreat to collect her things. She didn't know how to feel about it, or why this time it was so different, but this...this was a good thing, wasn't it?

No, it was. Definitely. It had to be. Sam should be ecstatic, exuding gratitude, and sending every prayer of thanks she could to the Lord above for this new hope. She shouldn't want to question what happened in the last twelve or so hours to shift her mother's perspective on its axis just so.

(But it did mean she needed to question whether or not it was worth the risk to sneak out now).

It physically pained her, but this truce was too fragile, too new and too honest. Testing boundaries now, right after this conversation, would ruin whatever budding understanding was developing. Her mother had made an effort—a genuine effort to avoid their usual head-butting—and the very least Sam could do was return the favor.

And assuming she went to the Fentons' and did get caught? There was no telling how that would impact their relationship now. If Sam thought it irreparable and broken before, there'd be no salvaging it if she went through with this. Not this time.

That didn't change the fact Sam needed to be there for the Fentons. It was more than a desire to see the Portal. More than scientific fascination. This was about her friend, as well as Amity Park and the Ghost Zone as a whole.

Whether you lived inside or outside Amity; whether you were ghost or human, the GIW was a threat to everyone.

Maybe...maybe if Sam explained the GIW situation to her parents...they'd be lenient?

"Wait," Sam blurted, mind scrambling to find a way to succinctly and effectively convince her mother.

Pamela was already halfway out the door. With her purse slung over her shoulder and sunglasses at the ready, she turned back around and pulled her hair back behind her ear. Her sleek Bluetooth headset caught the sunlight, glinting.

Sudden annoyance flickered through Sam at the sight of it. Surely her mother didn't have work so important that she couldn't leave the headset behind? Jeez-us.

"I won't be convinced to let you come, Samantha," Pamela said without prompting. The apologetic look was back, but her tone was unyielding. "I know it means a lot to you, but you're still grounded."

Sam bit her lip. "And I understand that, but—"

"No 'but's. I'm sorry." She flipped her wrist to check her watch, cursing under her breath. "We have to go," she said to Jeremy. "We're already running late."

"Just waiting on you, dear," Jeremy said in a long-suffering tone.

Pamela sent Sam a look that clearly read can you believe this? before waggling her fingers and escaping from the kitchen, unwilling to stop when Sam tried, once again, to call out, "But there's something I need to—"

"We'll talk when you come home from school, Sam!" Pamela promised again over her shoulder.

Frustrated and absolutely certain her mother wouldn't respond well to being chased down, Sam turned to her father. One last attempt. "Dad, please, I think there's—"

"I'm sorry, Sammie," Jeremy said, rummaging around in the pantry and emerging with a bagel clenched between his teeth. "We' 'ee ya wa'er!" he tried to say through a solid wall of bread, and after a wild scramble for the jacket he had hanging on the back of a kitchen chair, he flung it on. In his haste, he knocked something out of his ear. He reached up to the side of his head and stuffed it back into place.

Pulling the bagel out of his mouth, her father tapped his ear and said, "Whoops. Can't lose that. Your mother'd kill me."

Honestly? Sam wondered, completely baffled. Him to?

"I thought you hated those things," she blurted. "When'd you get it?"

True to form, Jeremy pulled it back out of his ear and gave it a little grimace. It...wasn't like any Bluetooth device Sam'd seen before. It was smaller. Unobtrusive. More like a wireless earbud than an actual headset. "Recently," Jeremy answered with a shrug.

"Why, though?" Sam asked, completely uncomprehending.

It wasn't that uncommon for her parents to bring work with them wherever they went, and very often on days off, but surely at least one of her parents meant to pay attention to the Portal activation? Hadn't they wanted to go? Made a point of going, even?

And they couldn't tell their coworkers they were going to be "away from their desks" for it? Seriously?

Anger spluttered and popped like hot oil, but she tamed it down and tried to focus on what was important here. Potential GIW sabotage definitely overruled her parents' work-alcoholism and lack of common courtesy.

"Well, that's a funny story, actually. They're new tech, and the other day, we were—"

"Jeremy!" Pamela called from the garage. "Let's go!"

"Shit, sorry, I'll have to tell you about it later, Samantha."

"Wait," Sam said, a little desperately, "I really need to talk to you about—"

But her father was gone before she could finish. "Coming!" Sam heard him shout halfway down the hall.

"Shit," Sam echoed in a hiss. She kicked out at the nearest table leg in pure, childish irritation and half-screamed a groan.

What was she going to do now?

She spun on her heel and squatted to reach for her bag and hunt around for the invisibility prototype device Danny had given her. She pulled it out and twisted it between her hands, staring at it as though it could give her all the answers.

A pro/cons list began compiling in her mind. Danny had said the device was glitchy and far from perfect. Would there be enough people at FentonWorks to hide her in plain sight if necessary? Probably not, given what she remembered of the Fentons' guest list. Even with the additional police officers, security, and newscast members staffing the event, it was a huge risk: there still weren't enough people there to assume she could successfully use a crowd to her advantage.

And assuming the device didn't fail, how much use would she really be to the Fentons if she had to stay invisible the whole time? And should all this stress and anxiety about the GIW prove to be unwarranted, would she even be able to enjoy herself and learn a thing or two from the Fentons about their work?

Sam gnawed on her inner cheek, and she sat back on her haunches, resting the prototype on her lap.

She...she told Danny last night she wouldn't miss it for the world.

For a fleeting, selfish moment, Sam cursed her mother for deciding to choose now, of all times, to call another truce. It was making it impossible not to feel bad about going behind her parents' backs. She couldn't maintain any sort of moral high ground when the decision she wanted to make would most definitely weigh on her conscience.

She needed to decide soon. If she left any later, she wouldn't make it in time.

Still frustratingly torn, Sam gritted her teeth. She surged to her feet and set the FentonWorks prototype down, swiping her empty cereal box off the counter with the other hand. She toed at the foot pedal of the trash can as she removed the plastic bag from the cardboard.

And froze.

The box slipped from nerveless fingers, a spray of tiny bran crumbs exploding at her feet.

Personal safety is paramount, her mother had said.

Staring up at her from the top of the trash, half hidden by a grapefruit peel and some coffee grounds, was some black packaging and an envelope emblazoned with a single, distinctive insignia.

A stylistic V.

Well, it's a funny story, her father had said.

Vladco.

Not sure if you guys are aware, but this fic is now on AO3! If that is your preferred platform, feel free to switch over and read over there!

I can't thank you ENOUGH for all your support and patience. I know I say this every time I go months without updating, but I mean it every single time I say it. My excuse for the delay? I started and finished a fic for the Young Justice fandom called "Come Alive" (which is only posted on AO3 at the moment), and I was totally blindsided by how much I would end up writing for it. Understandably, my preoccupation with "Come Alive" most definitely cut into my motivation and inspiration to write "Shift."

Anyway, I hope, after all this time, you enjoyed this chapter! I'm aware there are probably plot holes upon plot holes, but I'm going to do my best to tie them up this year (because 2020 is my year FOR SURE, lol).

Thank you so much for reading, phandom. *hugs*