"They say that when good Americans die they go to Paris," chuckled Sir Thomas...

"Really! And where do bad Americans go when they die?" inquired the Duchess.

"They go to America," murmured Lord Henry.

- The Picture of Dorian Gray

This chapter is a bit fluffy. I hope that's okay. Things will start moving more quickly soon, I promise.

-Daphne


"Mr. Fenton. Mr. Fenton." Lancer's voice came towards Danny, as if from a distance. The world swam in front of his eyes, as if he were seeing it through thick rose colored glass. "Mr. Fenton!"

"Wha...?" Danny shook his head and focused on his teacher. The classroom zoomed into clarity, the glass melting away and the distance between himself and reality closing.

"Mr. Fenton, if you're going to doze off in my class, at least do us the favor of looking like you're asleep so I'll know to wake you up." Mr. Lancer stood at the front of the room, pointing at Danny with a piece of white chalk and wearing an agitated look on his face. "Now, would you care to answer the question?"

It was bad enough having Mr. Lancer for English his freshman year but having the man again for the same subject his senior year was pure torture.

"Um, I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"Is Dorian responsible for corrupting himself or is Lord Henry to blame?"

Danny's eyes scanned the blackboard looking for a hint of the answer. He saw three subject headings labeled "gothic," "symbolism," and "morality tale," but no information that helped him.

"It's Dorian's fault?" The response came out more as a question than an answer.

"Why." Lancer demanded.

Danny thought quickly. He'd barely skimmed the bizarre story over the weekend. "Because ultimately we're the only ones responsible for our own actions."

"All right, does anyone agree or disagree with what Mr. Fenton said? Is Dorian responsible for his own actions or are other forces to blame?" Another girl raised her hand. "Yes, Ms. Byer?"

"I think Dorian is a result of circumstances that Wilde sets up in his story..." Danny let his mind wander again as the girl droned on. He'd felt like he had the day before when he saw the man and light. Maybe he should tell Tucker and Sam. On the other hand, they would only worry. It would probably be better to talk to them after he'd at least partially figured out what was going on. It might be that he was just tired.

"And don't forget, that's five pages, double spaced, font size no larger than twelve, and on my desk by Friday."

And about to get even more tired, apparently.


"Ms. Kunst said my art project was too dark and that I had to pick a new subject." Sam slammed her lunch tray down in front of Danny. "She said it wasn't appropriate for high school. Can you believe that? What about freedom of expression? What about my own artistic vision? Hell, what about the first amendment? She can't..." Sam stopped herself mid rant. Danny was sitting perfectly still, his eyes glazed, his jaw somewhat slack. "Danny? Are you okay? Danny?" He blinked but didn't move. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. "Goth girl to ghost boy, come in ghost boy. You are really freaking me out here." He blinked repeatedly at the small hand in front of his face, recognition dawning in his eyes. Danny smiled and gently placed Sam's hand on the table.

"Sorry about that. What's up?"

"Are you okay? I was raging about my art class and you were totally blanked out. It was pretty creepy." Sam stabbed a fork into her salad, a worried look on her face.

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"This doesn't have anything to do with what happened last night does it? You sort of had the same look on your face."

"I'm cool, I swear." Danny picked up his sandwich and took an enormous bite. "See? Hungry, just like a healthy, growing boy."

"One, eww, you're talking with your mouth full and I can see everything. Two, I hate it when you do this." Sam stabbed her salad again. She had yet to eat any.

"Do what?"

"When you won't tell me what's going on."

"I told you, it's nothing. Can we drop it?"

The pair stared at each other across the table, tensioncrackling in the air.

"Fine."

"Fine." They ate in silence for a moment and Sam found herself wishing that Tucker had the same lunch period instead of the one before. "So, do you want to hear about what horrible Ms. Kunst did to me or not?"

"I thought you loved Art."

"Not this semester. I don't know what changed but she's been being awful." Danny listened as Sam launched into her rant for the second time that afternoon.


Danny and Sam lay their backs on her queen sized bed. She was propped up on a pair of pillows, while he lay perpendicular to her, using her stomach as his own pillow. They both held thin volumes above their faces, while Sam read out loud.

"'You and I are what we are, and will be what we will be. As for being poisoned by a book, there is no such thing as that. Art has no influence upon action. It annihilates the desire to act.'1 What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

Danny dropped his book on Sam's dark purple comforter. "I have no idea." He rolled over to face her, his head still on her stomach. Sam put her book down as well and met with the blue eyes staring up at her.

"What?" she said, running her hand through his dark hair, in a protective gesture. Danny was thinking something and it bothered her not to know what.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Danny curled up and squeezed her middle, pushing his head into her stomach. "I just like this better than studying."

"You are so cute," Sam said, amused at the boy so actively cuddled up against her.

"Mel, more buniful." Came a voice muffled by her shirt.

"What?"

Danny released his grip on her slightly and looked up at her amethyst eyes. "Well, you're beautiful."

Sam felt her face grow slightly warmer. Damn, that he still has that affect on me, she thought. Danny grabbed her left hand and kissed the palm of it, his eyes never leaving hers. Sam shivered slightly and stroked his cheek with the complimented hand. He smiled in response, then turned to her stomach and began leaving small kisses on the flat surface. She let her hands rest in his hair, loving the sensation of it as he made his way to her solar plexus, pushing her shirt up just below the breasts. He leaned forward slightly and softly kissed her right breast through her shirt.

"I think I like this one best."

"This one what?"

Danny ran his hand up her side and cupped the small breast in his left hand. "I like this breast, I think it's my favorite."

Sam giggled. "Your favorite breast?"

Danny leaned over and kissed the left one, shifting himself so that he was on top of her now and holding the left breast with his right hand. "Of course, I really like this one, too." Sam giggled again. Danny looked up at, with a faux innocent look in his eyes. "Can I keep them?"

"My breasts?" Sam laughed.

"Yeah, I think they're nice." He squeezed them lightly. "Not to big, not too small."

"What am I, Goldilocks?" She said, pulling his hands away and slipping them into her own. Danny removed, one hand and ran it through her hair.

"Not even close, Miss Spooky McDarkpants."

"Now that's a nickname, I don't want to keep."

Danny leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Well?" He said grinning mischievously.

"Do I get to keep them?"

"I'll tell you what," the girl said, pulling him in for another kiss. "I'll let you borrow them, sometimes."

"Woo." He whispered softly, making them both giggle again as their mouths met.

Something was still tugging at the back of Sam's mind but she let it slip for now. It was hardto think when her body was doing it for her.


1) The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, chapter 19.

This doesn't need to be M, does it? I wasn't really planning on fluff but the teenagers got away from me. Oh well, they're young. Let'em have fun.