A/N: Recently, I've found a few fics popping up similar to mine. While I don't mind this much- I did enjoy Raven Evil Weasel Mistress' 'Along Came a French Girl', but there have been some others that have… well… grated on my nerves. And not just because they are stealing- okay, 'borrowing- my idea, but because they haven't credited me. Fair enough if it's not my story that influenced them, but I should think it's a bit obvious with all the similar fics that they could take the time to say 'oh, so-and-so's fic got this started' or 'this is my take on John Doe's story 'Jonny getz girl child and adoptzzz dem' etc etc. This is probably something petty, but all the same I started this story nearly fifteen months ago and have put a lot of time into it. I don't want someone thinking that some half-assed story is the original. And no, Raven Evil Weasel Mistress, I'm not talking about you. I like Annette and I like your story )

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters that are owned by Jhonen Vasquez. Because I'm not him, bless his soul. But I do own any characters you don't recognize, such as my original character.

Warning: Wow. I don't know. This contains violence and swearing… And probably some other things that I haven't thought of just yet.

Friday drifted by lazily, the night before dragging on until Danielle announced she was going to bed. Johnny didn't see her the next morning, he having gone out for an early morning walk, and not returning sometime during the early afternoon. As he arrived back into his shack-like home, he felt a pang of guilt from Thursday afternoon's antics and his not being there that morning. However, being as he didn't want to grow attached to Danielle, he tried not to think about it too much.

It was difficult, not growing attached to her. After all, she wasn't his daughter, in both a legal and biological sense. He had no power over her, no control. If he hadn't picked up her mother those many weeks ago, and slaughter her before the eyes of her daughter, he wouldn't have found himself in such a situation. Danielle's father was now out of prison, and he could take her away. Even before he was let free, Danielle could have gone off to a relative's place- a distant aunt or uncle, for example- or she could have been placed in foster care. There were many other options. Johnny had just relied on instinct that moment he saw her staring at him, fear so prominent in her eyes. Spontaneity was not his forte, and he never said it was.

Danielle was just a child, and if she were anything but he would have killed her on sight. That was the worst thing about it. Johnny didn't want her to be a child at first; he wanted her to be an adult, a teenager, anything. He could kill her then without the worry of guilt or self-hatred. But she wasn't, she was a child, just like Squee and Pepito, who he had only seen once, before Danielle turned up in his basement. Johnny wouldn't kill Squee, or Pepito, or Danielle.

Johnny was worried when Danielle grew up she would turn into one of those arrogant, self-righteous bastards he took upon himself to rid the world of. Part of him knew she wouldn't- those types of people were like that when they were younger- but he couldn't help but worry she would. And on that same line, he knew she wouldn't because she had grown up in environment where those people were looked down upon and spat upon and killed for being like that. Danielle was sweet and wise and slightly pedantic. She cared for others, and, unlike Johnny, she looked out for the best in people. She was slightly secretive, but not to the point where she was uncommunicative, and quite possibly insane. But Johnny didn't like to think about that.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised she was growing into what the Devil had told him- she was like a wastelock. As this revelation dawned upon him that Friday afternoon as he was heating up a bowl of microwave spaghetti, he dropped the empty tin he had been holding. He cluttered onto the floor, spilling spaghetti sauce everywhere. Johnny didn't notice, though. He stared at the wall where one of his victims had tried to get away from him- there was a slight hole in it, with scratches where they had broken off their fingernails in an effort to run away from their Grim Reaper.

The microwave beeped loudly, and he turned to it stiffly. Pushing the button to open it up, he grabbed a tea towel and took the bowl from the microwave, the towel keeping the heat from burning him. Setting it down on the sink, he crouched, picked up the empty tin and threw it in the near-by bin.

Danielle. A wastelock. It made no sense. Actually, it made perfect sense, but Johnny didn't want to think that it did. The short, content ('happy' didn't suit Danielle) girl, with her large, bright eyes (her eyes were actually a muddy brown, but he didn't think of them like that) with long, thick hair (her hair only came up to her elbows, and when it was plaited it was even shorter. Her hair was also kind of thin) that was said something intelligible (that was true) a wastelock?

'Not possible,' Johnny mumbled as he snatched a fork and dug it into his meal. He took a heap, shoved it in his mouth, and leant against the sink as he ate. Danielle was nothing like Johnny when he was a child, from what he could remember. Johnny was, to his recollection, picked on needlessly. He did nothing but study, and had no friends. Danielle wasn't bullied, she did her homework but didn't obsess over it, and she had Squee as a friend. From what he gathered, before she moved she had several friends' back in her hometown. Maybe, Johnny thought, he was the reason she had changed. She was probably much more social before she moved.

'Maybe her father is the reason…' he murmured around a mouthful of spaghetti. Licking his lips, he twisted his fork around the spaghetti, and lifted it to his mouth when his phone rang. Narrowing his brow, he stared through the open doorway to where the phone sat on a crate in the living room. Setting the bowl down on the sink, he crossed the kitchen slowly and approached the phone. Still ringing, he let out a groan, and snatched the handle off the crook.

'Hello?'

There was a pause on the other line, the sounds of paper rustling and then a loud curse.

'Hello?' Johnny repeated, this time louder, his tone bitter and snappy. 'What the fuck do you want?'

'Shut up, you bastard,' came the gruff response. Johnny realised it was Danielle's father.

'Oh, Jesus Christ shit on a stick, how the hell did you get this number?' Johnny yelled, knuckles turning white as he clutched the phone.

Danielle's father replied in a similar manner. 'The same place I got your address, you asshole. Danielle's school! Now I called for one reason and one reason only, where is Cheryl?'

Johnny didn't answer his question, and slammed the phone down on its handle. Mumbling under his breath, a string of words including "bastard" and "think he can ring any time he likes" as well as "kill him dead" escaping his mouth. He marched back into the kitchen, grabbed his spaghetti, and started eating it once more. He had barely made it through two mouthfuls when the phone rang again. With a sigh, he returned to the living room and picked the phone up abruptly.

'What?'

'Bastard!'

'Fucking Christ.' Johnny paused as Mark Frietzen's voice ended up on the other line. Licking a drop of sauce off his lower lip, he waited a moment while Danielle's father collected himself.

'Look, man-whore, where the hell is my wife?' Mark snapped on the other end.

'I thought you two divorced…' Johnny replied slowly, ending his rhetorical question with a snort. He set himself down on crate, long, too thin legs stretched out in front of him, his steel-capped boots glinting in the mid-day sun which peeked through his boarded up windows.

'We did, but I am still allowed to call her that.' Mark grunted. Johnny shrugged, although Mark couldn't see him, and waited for him to continue. 'Now, where was I…? Oh, yes, I was demanding to speak to Cheryl.'

Johnny rolled his eyes, and slouched forward on his seat. 'I'm sorry, but you can't speak to her.'

'What?' Johnny could almost hear Mark's eyes bulging. 'Why ever the fuck not?'

'Hm…' Johnny paused over this question- he didn't want to tell the truth and risk getting in trouble (and also risk loosing Danielle), but he didn't want to lie, either. 'She's… incapable of talking to you right now.'

Mark hissed loudly. 'Listen, jerk, I'm currently staying at some two-star, cockroach infested inn, and I want to get out of here as fast as I can. My parole officer is getting down my back and wants me to get a job soon, and I certainly don't want to get one in this hellhole. Now, where the fuck is Cheryl?'

'She's…' Johnny looked down at his floorboards, imaging Danielle's rotting mother in the tunnel linking his house to Squee's. 'In a spot of bother right now.'

'Oh. I see…' Johnny didn't think Mark could see much because his head was so far up his backside. 'Well,' he continued, tone snappy, 'When she gets herself out of this so-called "spot of bother", tell her to give me a call'

'Why would I do that?'

Mark halted. There was the sound of shuffling papers from his end of the line, and Johnny found himself straining to listen to them, as if they would go out and say what was upon them.

'Well, you see, man-whore- '

'My name is Johnny, I would prefer it if you called me that' Johnny cut in, annoyed.

'Okay, Greg, whatever you say.'

'Johnny.'

'Greg, I got it, no need to tell me twice,' Mark replied, ignorant. Johnny rolled his eyes, and stared out his open window. 'Now, Greg, when my wife finally is able to contact me, tell her that I have some papers in front of me detailing that I want to take her to court.'

Johnny slowly sat up, worry crossing his face and mind. 'Take her to court…? Why?'

Mark clucked his tongue. 'I was getting to that, you dumbass. I plan to take her to court to gain custody over Danielle.'

Oh, shit, Johnny thought, his fears confirmed. Custody? Over Danielle? Oh, God…

, Johnny thought, his fears confirmed.

Closing his eyes, the words striking through him like a bolt of lightning. His conversation with Danielle came back to him.

'Your father. I'm… pissed off because your appears to have come out of the blue, and I think he may want to have you in his custody.'

'Custard-dee?'

'Custody. Meaning he would have guardianship over you. Your father would become your custodian. He would be your guardian.'

'Meaning I wouldn't be able to live with you?'

'No, you wouldn't.'

'Um… What if… Cheryl didn't want to go to court?' Johnny asked, knowing he sounded like an idiot.

'I would expect a man of your age would know that if- and when- I file these papers she would be forced to. You'll pass this news onto her, won't you?'

'Yeah… sure…' Johnny stood up, hugging himself, feeling as though he was about to cry.

'Oh, and, Greg?'

Johnny sighed, and nodded. 'Yes?'

'I could also sue you for attacking me.'

Frowning, Johnny stared at the phone. 'Yes, but I don't think your case would stand because you just got out of pri-'

He cut himself off, realization coming to him. 'You may not get custody of Danielle.'

'Huh?'

'You just got out of prison. That could come against you in the court.'

Mark snorted. 'Maybe so. But Cheryl isn't that fit of a mother, is she? Living in such a dump with a violent man and a six-year-old girl?'

'Danielle's seven. She's turning eight next week.'

'Oh. Whatever, doesn't matter, a minor. Don't worry, you bastard, I'm going to get custody of Danielle.'

Johnny snarled, and slammed down the phone.

'No, you won't, you prick…' he growled to himself. 'She's mine.'

A/N: I can't believe I updated so fast.