A/N: I probably should apologize for not updating in ages. Key word being probably. But I just ran out of candy and left my House DVD set at my Dad's house, so I'm in no mood to say sorry.

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.

Monday passed and Monday went with no sign of Danielle's father, as had the weekend. Tuesday came along in the same, Mr. Frietzen-less haze that had become Johnny's days since the phone call. It wouldn't be such a problem, Johnny decided, if he hadn't found himself becoming so accustomed to the girl. Every morning she had come out of her room shortly after seven AM, sometimes make herself some cereal (Johnny realized she had quite a fondness for Froot Loops, even though he found them to be rings of sugar and nothing else) and then she'd walk to school. Johnny would drive her, and occasionally Squee, if he was up for it. And then, around three-thirty she would come home if she was walking, or he would pick her up, and the rest of the evening would pass by, usually without a hassle. And as much as he would hate to admit it, he liked her company, not that he would let on. And, he came to realize over the days where there wasn't a peep from her father, Danielle liked his company, too. So when Wednesday came and Danielle's father rang, Johnny found himself ready to attack him.

'Hello?' he said automatically when the phone rang that morning. Danielle was long at school and the only sounds in the house was the faint wailing of one of his victims in one of the upper levels of his basement.

'Greg.'

Mark Frietzen. Holding back a sigh, Johnny pulled a crate underneath him, sat down on it, and stretched his legs out in front of him. Not bothering to correct the man on his name, he placed a hand on his thighs, and leant back on the wall.

'Yes?'

'Glad you're home,' replied Danielle's father, 'I thought you would have been at work. Unemployed, I presume.'

Johnny's lips twisted into a grimace, eyes narrowing on a speck of dust on the floor.

'Not quite,' he heard himself saying. 'I'm what you could call a public servant.'

This seemed to catch Mark off-guard, but his initial surprise wore off quickly.

'Public servant or not, that doesn't excuse you from not being at work. May I ask what department you work for?'

Musing over the question, and finding one that wouldn't be suitable, Johnny stood and shoved a hand into his pocket.

'Cheryl's not here,' he finally said, kicking the floorboards. 'She's at work. And I didn't pass on your message, so you know. I don't think she'd be interested, anyway, what, with your prison time and criminal behaviour. On that note,' he continued briskly, hearing Mark inhale and ready to interrupt, 'I highly doubt Danielle would want to move in with you. The family law courts always keep the child's best interest in mind, and are more likely to allow custody to the parent the child wants to move in with. Danielle has voiced her opinion to me, and she would rather live with me than you. On top of that, as I previously said, your prison time and criminal record go against you. And despite getting out of prison early for good behaviour, that does not excuse what you did to get in there. I'm also sure your lawyers would advise you for filing for custody as court is a long a timely experience, plus very bad for your wallet. I know lawyers are self-righteous cows who charge fifty dollars every five minutes, or whatever the going rate it is these days, so I don't think you have the bank balance to go for it at the present time.'

A pause and Johnny could hear Mark breathing on the other line. Several seconds passed in which Mark didn't say a word. Wrapping his arm around his stomach, Johnny shifted his weight, getting a bit grip on his phone at the same time. When the other male still didn't say anything, Johnny rolled his eyes, casting them to the ceiling.

'I'd appreciate your input.'

'When will Cheryl be home?' the other man finally asked. Johnny opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He knew the truth would come out eventually, and whenever he did decide to tell it, it would be a problem. And while Devi had been very good with helping Danielle and the sort, he couldn't just go up to the purple-headed girl and say "jolly good day, innit? Would you mind impersonating Danielle's mother for me?" Not only would that be incredibly rude and incredibly stupid, but Danielle's voice was much more huskier and deeper than what he recalled Danielle's mother had been, plus he suspected Mark would remember what she sounded like, even if he had spent quite a bit of time in jail. And Johnny did so hate lying.

'She's dead.'

As the words came from his lips, a thought suddenly popped into his head: Danielle's birthday was tomorrow. He hadn't bought her anything, either. Picking the phone up, the ear-piece caught between his head and shoulder, and started scrambling around the room. Mark was going on about something that included "fuck" and "what?" and "you're kidding, right?" but Johnny wasn't interested. Finding a clock that had fallen off the wall he glanced at the time- eleven forty-three. Mark's sudden yell brought him back to reality.

'What the fuck do you mean she's dead?'

'I mean she's gone. Dead. Deceased. Passed on. Six feet under. She's blinked for an exceedingly long time. I'd quote "Patch Adams" here, but I never liked the movie.'

Mark murmured something that sounded an awful lot like 'fuck'. Johnny had found his bag and swung it over his shoulder.

'So, where's she buried?'

Peering into wallet, Johnny pressed the phone closer to his ear. 'I'm sorry?'

'Cheryl. You know, my ex-wife, Danielle's mother. Where is she buried, I'd like to pay my last respects.'

'Oh. Um…' Shaking his head, Johnny shrugged, and gestured with his hand, back swinging around and hitting him in the side. 'Somewhere out west. I don't know, should it matter? You divorced her and now she's dead and you've been harping on about trying to get custody of Danielle. Now I'm going to go now, it's Danielle's eight birthday tomorrow, in case you've forgotten, and I'd like to go get her a cake and some presents and the what-have-you. If you give a rat's ass about her, which I don't think you do, you'd probably do the same instead of getting down my back about her and… I don't know, taking me to court, because I sure as hell have a lot of shit to do, being a single father and all.' Walking to where he had left the rest of the telephone, the cord stretched out as far as it could go. 'If you give me a call tomorrow, I may even let you come over and give her your present… that is, if you get one.'

He heard Mark scoff on the other line, but paid no attention to it.

'Anyway!' Johnny said, his voice going cheery suddenly. 'I must be off, it was a blast talking to you again. Ta-ta!'

Hanging up, Johnny opened the front door, and headed to his car, ideas for Danielle's birthday present buzzing around in his mind.

Birthday presents for eight-year-olds were surprisingly easy to buy, Johnny had decided. Finding the right cake was harder. It took him three and a half hours to find the right one, and when he returned home, he had just placed the gooey, chocolatey, sugary mass of dessert in the fridge when Danielle returned home from school. That night passed without a hassle, Johnny trying to unsuccessfully help her with Spanish (honestly, who taught eight-year-olds Spanish? French was Johnny's second language, merci beaucoup). Danielle went to bed with a bounce in her step that could only be interpreted as a child excited because their birthday is the next day. Not even living with Johnny and a possible custody battle could take the child from her.

Danielle got up surprisingly early the next morning. It was just before six in the morning, and Johnny, insomnia still effecting him horribly, had been up all night, reading a Jodi Picoult book, was shocked to find her standing beside him, reading over his shoulder.

'What's that?'

Looking over his shoulder, Johnny recovered quickly from the initial shock of being interrupted. 'A book,' he replied, 'by some… author. It's called The Pact.'

'What's that about?' she asked, Lola grasped in one hand. Johnny stuck a thumb where he was, and flipped the book onto its back.

'The Hartes and Golds have lived next door to each other for eighteen years. They have shared everything from family picnics to chicken pox – so it's no surprise that in high school Chris and Emily's friendship blossoms into something more.

When the midnight calls come in from the hospital, no one is prepared: Emily is dead at seventeen from a gunshot wound to the head, inflicted by Chris as part of an apparent suicide pact. He tells the police the next bullet was meant for himself. A local detective has her doubts. And the Hartes and Golds must face ever parent's worst nightmare and question: do we ever really know our children at all?'

He looked up at Danielle expectantly.

'Is it good?' she finally asked. Johnny shrugged.

'S'okay,' he replied, 'all her books end the same – badly.'

Johnny glanced down at the page number, and closed the book. Turning to Danielle, he grinned, and stood.

'So, do you feel old, being eight?'

Danielle giggled, patting her Barbie's head, and shrugged.

'I guess.'

She dug her toe into the floorboards, and without a word, Johnny scampered out of the room. Entering his bedroom, he picked up the roughly wrapped-up birthday package, re-entered the lounge room, and handed it to Danielle. She tucked the doll under her arm, and looked at the present. It was almost to big for her arms and Johnny wondered if it was a good idea to shove all the various knick-knacks he had bought in one or if he should have wrapped them in different piles.

Danielle kneeled down, and set the present on the ground. Sitting Lola next to her, Johnny crouched in front of her. The small girl glanced up eagerly at Johnny, then down at the present, and started unwrapping it.

'Be careful!' Johnny said, holding a hand out. As she tore the paper away, a porcelain ballerina figurine tumbled out. Danielle caught it, and held it up. The clay doll was in a pale blue leotard, pulling on her tights. Her painted, blonde hair was done up in a bun, her eyes half-closed. It was small, but finally made, hand-painted. Danielle cooed softly, staring at it.

'It's beautiful,' she whispered. She set it down on the ground, and turned to the rest of the package. Next was a knee-length, pale pink dress. It was lacy, with a chiffon top.

'I remembered your size from when we went to get you… stuff,' Johnny explained when Danielle flushed, her eyes wide.

'I see' she replied. She soon grinned, however. 'It's beautiful!'

The last item in the present was a box. Taking it out, Danielle stared at it, before opening it. Inside was another. On the front was a painted horse, with a Barbie on it. Squealing, she ripped into and pulled the plastic animal out from the box.

'A Barbie horse!' she cried. Grabbing Lola, she put her doll on it, and started to make it gallop around the room. 'Go, Lola, go!'

Hiding a laugh with a cough, Johnny stood and walked out the room, leaving Danielle to play with her new toy.

A/N: Go me. Update, woo!