Hello again, and happy Friday! I'm kinda relieved that I got reviews for the last chapter. When I didn't get any for 82 I got worried that I had accidentally said something offensive, or that I had massively screwed up the plot or something... Wow. That sounded needy. DON'T LET ME PRESSURE YOU. Sorry. Argh. You can tell that I do the stream of consciousness author notes, huh?
Question for you guys: So, when I'm writing the ghosts, even Danny, I'm trying to make them just a little bit eerie. A little bit off of normal. Not quite sane by human standards. Is this coming through, or am I missing the mark?
MsFrizzle: Thank you for reviewing! Your reviews are always so thoughtful, and they make me think of what I've written in a different light. I'm going to try to answer your reviews in order by chapter below, okay?
75: I put an unreasonable amount of effort into figuring out who had what blood type, so you noticing makes me super happy. That is more or less what I intended, but I was trying to throw some Deliberate Values Dissonance in there as well, on the part of the ghosts. They weren't even considering using Maddie as a donor. Even though they do know how treat humans, their systems, regulations, etc, are designed mainly for ghosts, and ectoplasm donation is way, way different. With the number of bullets, I screwed up. I made Jazz's mistake.
77: Thank you for your well wishes! The cough is still hanging on, but overall I am much improved.
78: I really love mythology, so I do kind of stick it everywhere. But then, so do a lot of other authors, which is why I know so much in the first place. So the thing with Inana's husband is because in the original myth, he was the one taken in Inana's place when she was brought back to life. I think that the original reason for that, in the myth, was that, when she came back, she saw that he wasn't properly mourning for her, so she said for the 'demons' of the underworld to take him. Then she felt bad afterward. Or something. I actually hadn't heard about the sleep thing, but it's very interesting, thank you for sharing. :)
79: Yes, I thought I was being clever. It's just, we have all these true stories, urban legends and kind of sort of folk stories about mailmen doing their thing come hell or high water. You have to think that at least one of them would become a ghost, if for no other reason than to finish delivering whatever mail they had on them.
81: Well, Libra's trying to be speedy because there are humans involved. They're also aware of Danny's obsession, and they don't want to cause him too much distress, which an extended trial would do.
82: Yep. I wanted to have a 'realistic' risk to this kind of 'surgery.' It's like with brain surgery, you can seriously screw someone up. Clockwork is saying that if he was a jerk, or if he screwed up, he could essentially kill Danny's ghost half doing this.
83: I'm glad that this experience was effectively communicated. Like I mentioned above, I do want ghosts to come across as somewhat alien.
Feedback is always appreciated! I love reading your reviews!
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Chapter 84: Rubber Ducky
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Sam and Tucker were not allowed with Danny while he was being operated on. This was normal, this was reasonable. They understood. They knew that they couldn't, shouldn't be with him.
That didn't mean that they liked being shut out.
They were put in a nice room, given nice food, and visited by some of the younger members of the Far Frozen. 'Younger' being a relative term. They were children by the standards of the Far Frozen, and by ghostly standards, but to put their age in terms a human would understand, they would be hundreds of years old. The older ghosts were giving Sam and Tucker space. Care and understanding, and all necessities, yes, but also space.
They needed it. They were exhausted.
"You know what this always reminds me of?" asked Tucker, gesturing vaguely at the icy ceiling. Sam looked up. The ceiling was patterned with a mandala of periwinkle, mint, and frost colored lozenges.
"No," said Sam, quietly, laying on the fur-covered bed. Normally, she would be upset about the fur, but ghosts were weird, and skinning an animal didn't always destroy it. In any case, she had seen the giant hairy ice snakes that burrowed through the glaciers of the Far Frozen. These covers could be made from their shed skins. Of course, there were other ghostly animals that the furs could have come from. Sam just didn't really care. It didn't seem important right now.
"That ice hotel thing. You know, the one up in the arctic circle, that people go to for weddings."
"Yeah. I guess so," agreed Sam. "This is cooler, though."
"Probably colder, too," said Tucker, hugging his borrowed coat closer to his body. This particular room wasn't terribly cold, but it was chilly. The yetis had made sure that this room was human habitable, but they couldn't make it warm. This was the Far Frozen, after all.
Sam groaned. "You've hit Danny's level and you're still digging."
"Good," said Tucker, a little mulishly. "Someone needed to lighten the mood, even if it meant hitting it over the head with a shovel, and burying its corpse."
"That didn't make sense."
"Ghosts are lighter than air," groaned Tucker.
"When did your sense of humor get so morbid?"
"Well, it all started when I became friends with a spooky, pale-skinned, dark-haired, pushy, death-obsessed, weirdo, and my other friend died screaming in a freak lab accident."
"Ha-ha. Very funny."
"I thought so."
"Ugh. I'm so tired."
"Yeah, me too."
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There were no hot springs in the Far Frozen, but there was a bathing complex. The temperature of the water in it would have given a human hypothermia within minutes, but it was more than comfortable enough for cold-core ghosts.
Danny- neither of them- were exactly human, anyway.
Human Danny (Fenton?) sat in the warmest of the pools, leaning back against the tiled wall, letting the water, which would feel frigid to just about anyone else, relax his muscles. He had his eyes closed. Behind him, Clockwork was shampooing his hair. The little Danny (Phantom?) was playing deeper in the pool, flopping around enthusiastically, splashing and making noises.
Fenton was making little noises of his own. Like he said, he liked being fussed over, sometimes, when he was feeling poorly, and he had felt very, very grimy.
Clockwork poured water over his head. Fenton hummed, and slouched, sinking deeper into the pool. Clockwork had rolled up his sleeves, and removed his gloves and watches. His fingers were long, his fingernails were short-cut, clean, with white ends, and his palms were more pale teal than royal blue. Danny, both of them, had found them fascinating.
(Danny had seen Clockwork's hands before, but it was such a rare occurrence that he was always fascinated. It was the same with Clockwork's hair, or feet, or, really, most of Clockwork's body parts. Seeing them bare was like seeing double rainbows. Danny always paid attention.)
"Could you duck under for a moment?" asked Clockwork, voice pitched so that Fenton knew that it really was a request, not a politely phrased command. "To rinse the rest of this out."
Fenton complied, slipping under the surface, eager to please.
A few seconds later, Clockwork was pulling him back up. "Not so long," said the ghost, concern apparent in every syllable. "You haven't recovered yet," he continued. "You need to breathe."
The little ghost, Phantom, was floating on his back in the water beside him, peacefully staring at the distant ceiling. Fenton allowed himself to be distracted by the child's appearance again. It had changed, just slightly. There were scars on his skin. Or, perhaps, he should say that there was a scar on his skin. The one that described Danny's death. Fenton looked at his own skin, his own scars, easily finding the one that matched the one on Phantom.
He jumped a little when he felt a comb going through his hair, then sighed.
Clockwork moved on to Phantom next. The little ghost had expended his childlike energy rapidly, and was now quite content to sit still, although he kept trying to hold onto Clockwork's hands. Fenton murmured at the little ghost, not sure what he was saying himself. The little ghost mumbled back. Again, Fenton had no idea what was said, but it was... Good? Maybe. Some kind of deep information transfer between two halves of the same soul. Danny sighed. He felt better.
Fenton pulled himself out of the water, onto the icy pool ledge. The thought that he should be freezing crossed his mind. Even like this, he wasn't exactly human. Phantom reached out to touch his foot, which was still under the water. His veins and arteries lit up, briefly. Fenton gasped, but didn't flinch, or pull away.
He noticed that, despite the shampoo, Phantom was staring straight up at him with wide, brightly glowing eyes. (And perhaps if Danny was a different person, he would have found it eerie, but he didn't. It was cute, in Fenton's opinion, how attentive the little ghost was.)
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It was unbearable, waiting. Even with Jazz there. Although, in truth, Jazz's presence might have made the wait even more unbearable. She was unhappy with Maddie, and Maddie supposed that she had every right to be. Maddie had done unspeakable things to Danny.
"You said that Libra was going to come get us," said Maddie, finally, unable to stand the silence any longer. "Do you know when?"
"No," said Jazz.
That was the end of that 'conversation.'
Maddie tried again. "You mentioned earlier that you were studying ghost psychology?"
"Yes," said Jazz. She rolled her eyes. "You want to know-"
The door opened. "Hello," said a smooth-skinned woman in a white doctor's robe. "I am Doctor Moon. I am here to examine you." She stepped through the door. Her skin was green, and her head was shaved.
Maddie blinked. "We aren't injured."
"Ah. You misunderstand. I am a psychologist. As you are in the hospital, we believe that it is prudent, to examine you thus, before we hand you over to Libra."
Maddie scowled. "I do not need a ghost to-"
"Mom!"
There was another knock on the door. Two more women poked their heads in. "Hello!" said the one, a petite blonde with a pixie cut. "Are you Jasmine Fenton?"
"Yes?" said Jazz, inquisitively.
"Hi," said the woman, walking in and extending a gloved hand. She was wearing a neat suit and a knee-length black overcoat. "My name is Nettle, and I am an advocate. I was hoping that you would allow me to represent you in the upcoming trial." She smiled, revealing sharp teeth. "I know that this is awfully presumptuous of me, and that this must be a very difficult time for you, but you must understand the need for representation."
"Uh, yes, but, um," Jazz was shaking Nettle's hand, but was staring over the woman's shoulder.
"Oh, that gremlin back there is just Ivy."
"Hey!" complained the red haired woman.
"Believe it or not, we're partners," continued Nettle. "Nettle and Ivy, Advocates at Arms."
"What?"
"It means that we do trials by combat, too," explained Ivy, still half behind the door. "But not in the high courts. We aren't Champions. Just if you wind up on the bad side of a Realm's ruler, or court system. A small Realm's ruler, or court system. It's a case-by-case kind of thing."
"I see. Um," Jazz glanced at Maddie. "I don't suppose that you have anyone who could represent my mother?"
"We might know a guy or two," said Nettle, cheerfully. "Let's go discuss how you want the trial to unfold." She dragged Jazz off, out the door.
"Well," drawled Maddie. "That was convenient."
"It was, was it not?" said Dr Moon. She smiled dryly. "Except, I must say, that it was not a coincidence. I was hoping to speak to you alone, get an idea of how you think." She sent a significant glance towards the orderly, who nodded, and stepped out. "You were about to ask your daughter about ghost psychology," continued the woman, pulling a chair out so that she could sit directly in front of Maddie.
"You aren't going to take notes?" asked Maddie, crossing her arms. Recent events might have given her cause to reevaluate her stand on ghosts' morality, but she didn't appreciate being questioned, psychoanalyzed, by a ghost.
"No need," said Dr Moon, "I have a perfect memory. I will transcribe our conversation at a later time."
Maddie frowned, but fell silent. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I am a doctor. It is our duty to make sure that all those under our care are healthy, and leave healthy. Your body has already been examined. Now we examine your mind."
"Why?" asked Maddie, again.
Dr Moon tilted her head. "You have recently been through a rather, let us say, upsetting experience. It would be unusual for you to emerge well. Also, you are about to be detained concerning what one might call a disturbing crime. Even we ghosts have a certain requirement of sanity, when trying someone for such a thing."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. Do not mistake me, mad or sane, all must account for their actions, and all must make account equally. Still, the mad are given consideration, and those that may be cured are often given... less final punishments. Those who cannot be cured are given less painful ones."
"And exactly what counts as sanity among ghosts?"
Dr Moon grinned. "You have hit the problem exactly. No, we do not use the same standards as humans do. Nor can one use the standards of, say, the Deathless, to determine the sanity of the Dead, or the Undying. The Dead alone... Ha! Psychology is a complex practice."
"You'd think that being obsessed with one thing to the exclusion of all else would make things easier."
"Not at all. Obsession is only one facet of our existence, even if it is the most important one. The most vital one, if you would. Our country is made of diverse kinds. Like I said, take the Dead alone."
Despite herself, Maddie was curious. She was... Concerned, perhaps. Danny counted himself as being dead, and she had no idea what that meant to him. He had said that he acted like the Dead, in most circumstances. Maddie trusted Jazz, but she wouldn't say anything bad about Danny, and Maddie doubted that Jazz actually knew all that much about ghost psychology. She was still a teen, after all, and she hadn't even believed in ghosts until a few years ago. On the other hand, this person knew a lot about ghost psychology, or claimed to, but Maddie couldn't trust her at all.
"What about the Dead?" asked Maddie.
"Well, in the very broadest of strokes, for the newly Dead there are those who avoid new experiences and the unfamiliar, and those who actively seek them out. Why do you think that is?"
Maddie shrugged, unwilling to give anything of her thought process away.
"The first cling to nostalgia. They would have lived for what they already had. They had good lives, mostly. Lives that they enjoyed. Or at least lives that they would have wanted to keep. Things that they wanted to keep doing. Lives that they want to reclaim. Then, for the other, they had things that they still wanted to do, to see. They feel cheated in death, that their time was cut short. Or, they feel the need to make use of their second chance. To seize life, much like someone who had a near-death experience. Of course, as with all psychology, this is a sweeping generalization, and with time, all the Dead move past this." Dr Moon drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "I see that this means something to you. Your son?"
"That's none of your business," snapped Maddie.
"Hmm," hummed Dr Moon, the spectral harmonics of her voice making the hair's on Maddie's neck stand on end. Maddie was beginning to wonder if that particular sound was some kind of ghostly habit, or if it had some kind of meaning. Danny, as well as the shadows, had made similar sounds. "You do realize that the sooner you speak to me, the sooner you can acquire an advocate and be updated as to the condition of Phantom."
"Danny," said Maddie.
"Hm?"
"His name is Danny. Not Phantom."
Dr Moon raised an eyebrow. "I would say that it is both, and more. He has chosen to wear more than one name, and that is his prerogative. His choice. Would you not respect it?"
Maddie's lips twitched. "His name is Danny."
"Very well."
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It was a tall, broad, yeti, Dr Iceclaw, who picked up the newly clean Fenton to put him in the wheelchair. Frostbite, who was, after all, the chief of the Far Frozen, hadn't stayed for the bath. He had other responsibilities, and the other yetis were more than happy to supervise.
Fenton wasn't terribly enthused about the wheelchair, but he had proven earlier, back in the operation room, that he couldn't be trusted to walk on his own. There was something broken in his ankle that hadn't been located earlier amid all his other injuries, and even without it, the bruises, cuts, and other fractures had made him unsteady. Not to mention the concussion he was still suffering from.
So, wheelchair.
Phantom was deposited in Fenton's lap a moment later, and burrowed into the teen's robe, squirming around so that he was tucked securely under Fenton's arm. Fenton, for his part, made room for the small ghost. He felt less hollow like this, with his other half curled against his side.
(Phantom felt less exposed, curled safely next to his other half.)
Fenton pulled his bathrobe closer to himself and his companion, shrinking inwards, making himself small and inoffensive. It was a defense mechanism. He only fully relaxed once Clockwork came to stand by him again. (He wondered when Clockwork would be leaving. Surely, the Ancient had responsibilities to attend to, just as Frostbite and Pandora did. He didn't want Clockwork to leave.)
"Here we are," said Clockwork, having finished putting his gloves back on. He had phased the water out of his clothes. He slipped behind the chair, and patted Danny on the shoulder. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes," said Fenton. He shivered as Clockwork let a touch of intangibility wash over him, taking the last of the moisture with it. His hair stood on end with static. Clockwork smoothed it down and began to push Danny forward. "Can we see Sam and Tucker."
"Yes," said Clockwork. "But only for a moment. You need to sleep. Under medical observation."
"Okay," said Phantom.
After a few minutes, they reached a hall, and Fenton started to hear Tucker's voice echoing towards him from an ajar door.
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"Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah? What?"
"Those agents..."
Sam groaned, and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes.
"They were dead."
"So what?" said Sam, harshly. "They were trying to end everyone in the Zone."
Tucker rolled over and got up on his elbows, staring at Sam. "You'd think that you'd be a little more, I don't know, concerned about all of this, considering that you do the whole, you know, life is sacred thing every time I eat a hamburger."
"That's different," said Sam, annoyed. "Animals are innocent, and, well, we don't need to eat them to survive."
"We killed people, Sam," said Tucker, sounding haunted even to himself. "Like, really killed them. They're dead now." He paused. "You don't think that they'll, you know, come back to haunt us? Like, literally, not metaphorically."
"That's unlikely," said Clockwork smoothly, entering the room. "Hatred does not, in fact, make a good basis for Obsession. It is not something you live for, it is something you kill for. In any case, even if they were to return, if their primary Obsession was their hatred of ghosts, they would be compelled to destroy themselves. Their Obsession would literally tear them apart. Breathe, Daniel."
Danny gasped. His hands were wrapped around the armrests of the wheelchair, completely white. His eyes were huge, glassy. Tucker could tell that, whatever else had happened, whatever else had gone through Danny's head, he either hadn't realized, or hadn't processed, the fact that he had killed people.
(Tucker barely registered that there was a tiny Phantom sitting next to Danny in the wheelchair, staring up worriedly at the teen. That was something to cover when his best friend wasn't freaking out.)
"Oh, jeez," said Tucker, pushing himself into a sitting position, and then swinging himself off the bed. "I didn't- It isn't- I just... Danny, you didn't do anything wrong. You were protecting us. They were going to kill us, remember?"
"They were going to kill everybody, everywhere," said Sam, also standing, and cautiously approaching Danny.
The little Phantom stood up in the chair, and leaned forward, balancing himself with Danny's shoulder. "They weren't really people," he said.
"Thinking like that," said Danny, his voice breaking, "slippery slope, that- That's- Killing one person to save two- that reasoning, it isn't right, I- I don't- I shouldn't- Where would it stop? And they were people, I know that, I just... I don't... I killed them and I wanted to, I just..."
"Daniel," said Clockwork, his every movement and word exuding a kind of careful gentleness, "was that really your reasoning? It doesn't sound like you, does it?"
"Attacked without warning..." Danny had his hands in his hair now, and he was half doubled over. "I- I didn't even-"
"Daniel," said Clockwork again, this time more sternly. "Think back. The question isn't how, it is why."
"I was protecting the Core. I was protecting everyone. That's what we were doing," said the little Phantom, now hugging Danny.
Danny's breathing slowed, became more even. "I was... I was protecting. They were going to hurt, hurt the Core. I just... Oh."
"If they had gone away, I would have stopped. I would have let them," said Phantom.
"There you are, Daniel. You weren't trading lives. You weren't weighing them on scales. You were protecting those that you hold dear. That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Danny, looking and sounding a lot calmer. "That's what I'm supposed to do." He breathed in deeply. "Yes. Okay. I'm... Okay." He closed his eyes and leaned back.
"So," said Sam, after a moment, "I know that you said that you were going to do the second body thing and all, but seeing, um, you two like this is kind of surreal."
The little Phantom giggled. Danny (Fenton?) opened his eyes again. "Yeah, not sure how I feel about this yet." There was still a strained quality to his voice.
"You're a cute little thing though, huh?"
The reactions of Danny and Phantom were nothing short of fascinating. Danny turned bright red, and, because he was only wearing a bathrobe, and the bathrobe had been knocked open somewhat by Phantom, Tucker could see the blush travel all the way down to Danny's waist. Phantom, on the other hand, blinked twice, smiled nervously, and then hid. Tucker burst out laughing.
"Too tired for compliments right now," muttered Danny, not looking at Sam or Tucker.
"You certainly do need to rest," said Clockwork. "You three will be able to talk more come morning."
Tucker sobered. "You aren't sleeping here?"
"No," said Danny, shaking his head and looking apologetically at Sam and Tucker.
"He has to be under medical observation," explained Clockwork. "That means that we must go back to the infirmary. This is not, after all, a common procedure. There could be unforeseeable complications."
"Couldn't you, you know, foresee them, though?" asked Tucker, frowning.
"Unfortunately, no," said Clockwork, "and that must be a story for another time. Sleep well, Samantha, Tucker."
"Bye, guys," said Danny, waving weakly.
"Bye, Sam," said Phantom, peeking out from inside the robe. "Bye, Tuck."
"See you soon, Danny," said Sam.
"Yeah," said Tucker. "Sleep well, and all that."
