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Summary: Valerie has scars from Dan Phantom, and vice versa. Some of those scars are not so visible. Some of those scars are hard to forgive.
Deliverance
Shot 47: The First Scar
Fourteen-year-old Valerie Gray stood at the window beside the large, entryway door. Her yellow dress glittered, its lines cutting down her curves in ways that her father completely disapproved.
That night was the big school dance—something Paulina and Star had raved about since the posters went up. All three of them had pooled hundreds of dollars into designer dresses, designer makeup, designer hair styles. Valerie had not yet counted the full cost of her shopping adventures, but she knew the yellow dress perfectly accented the tones in her dark skin, and that her makeup made her look a bit older than just fourteen years.
She sucked in her stomach a bit, feeling the slight give in the material. "Kwan's gonna regret not going with me," she muttered vengefully under her breath. She turned her head to look at herself in the entryway mirror, then straightened her shoulders. She ran a hand over her sleekly curled hair, which tumbled down her shoulders and glittered with diamond berets.
I'm gonna make him drool, she thought. That old spark of vanity in her grew, and she raised her chin in awe of her own beauty. She put a hand on her hip and turned to admire her growing breasts and widening hips, which afforded her the increasing hourglass shape of a woman. Stupid Donna won't hold look half as hot as this.
The only problem was her date for the evening—that techno-geek named Tucker Foley, who also thought himself god's gift to women.
Valerie's dark red lips pulled down in dissatisfaction. Tucker was a stupid boy in several ways, and his body was too thin to suggest any kind of physical prowess. Certainly not the prince to her princess.
But she supposed it didn't matter. She'd flirt and laugh with him in Kwan's line of sight. Maybe she'd even kiss the geek to make Kwan jealous. Tucker was simply a means to an end, a puppet in her master plan to win back her crush's affections.
"You all ready, baby girl?" came the soft, amused voice of her father.
Valerie realized she was still posing for the mirror and wheeled around with a bit of a blush. "Uh, yes," she said, trying to pass off her moment of vanity as if she were just readjusting her curls. "How do I look?"
"Beautiful." Her father crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, eyeing her. "A little too beautiful. Who is this guy you're going with again?"
She rolled her eyes playfully. "His name's Tucker. Trust me, daddy, he's nothing I can't handle."
Damon hummed. "I don't know…Tucker sounds like an ornery name."
"I'm a ninth-degree black belt," she deadpanned.
"And you're also my little princess." The father softened a bit, almost nostalgic. "It's my job to worry about you."
She waved a hand in the air. "Then take a day off," she ordered playfully. "This princess can drop-kick any guy in the teeth."
His dark lips stretched wide at that. "Did you tell your date that?"
"No, but if he tries something funny, he'll find out first-hand."
That earned a short laugh. "Very good." The father then moved away from the wall and added, "I'm gonna catch up on some of my office work. Let me know before you leave so I can get pictures of you and your date!"
Valerie smiled to hide a twitch of annoyance. She did not want any lasting proof of Tucker Foley as her date. "Okay, daddy!"
Then he disappeared down the hall of their great house, and she remained by the window, watching for her date to arrive.
The dance began at 7:00 pm, and it was already 6:30—the time that Tucker said he would pick her up. She stood a bit anxiously, waiting for that familiar, lanky form to appear at the steps of her house.
But then 6:30 turned to 6:45.
Valerie still remained standing at the window, staring out at the beginning of the sunset. "Oh my god," she snapped to herself in irritation. "Did that little prick forget?"
She grabbed onto her yellow silk purse and pulled out her cell phone to dial him.
It went straight to voicemail. "You've reached Tucker Foley—T.F. as in 'too fine.' I'm too busy saving the world to come to the phone, so leave a message, and I'll get back to you."
Her hand clenched into the sides of the phone. "Tucker," she said. Her voice was short. "This is Valerie, your date. It's already 6:45, and you haven't picked me up yet. Get your butt over here asap."
Then she hung up.
The time turned to 7:00 with no call back.
Then 7:15.
She tried calling again, beginning to feel her heart pound in a mix of fury and increasing panic. "Tucker, this is Valerie. Again. We're gonna miss the party if you don't show up soon. Get off the video games and come pick me up!"
Then the clock turned to 7:30.
Valerie's initial anger began to waver in the face of her panic and fear. Her heart began to hurt. That hurt curled deep into her chest and her collarbones. And then her lips quivered.
Another half-hour passed, and by then, the party was in full swing.
She was still standing at the door with a call history that repeated Tucker's name several times.
Her eyes, accented by expensive eyeliner, began to well with tears. After an hour and fifteen minutes of trying to get a hold of him, she realized Tucker had no intention of picking her up. He'd stood her up.
And here she was, wrapped in hundreds of dollars of fine material, having spent hours to perfect herself—for nothing. Even more than her fury at the thought of her wasted night of manipulation (she would have made Kwan so jealous) was the simple hurt that she'd been stood up.
Unwanted, by even the geekiest of geeks.
Her father's steps hurried out of the office down in the hall. "Baby girl," he called out in surprise, "I just looked at the clock. Are you still here?"
She sniffled in panic to hide her tears, debating on whether to run outside to pretend like she had a date and had already left, or to face her father—and the truth.
Her moment of hesitation gave Damon enough time to reach the entryway. He found her standing by the window, the prideful lines of her body all hunched in, as if something had broken in her. He said in concern, "What's going on? I thought you were supposed to be at the dance…an hour ago?"
For a second, Valerie remained silent. Then, with great pain, she turned around to face him. "I don't think he's coming," she said softy, voice wavering.
Her father eyed her, taking in the flush of red around her eyes and the uneven way she breathed. Some kind of disappointment—a sorrow on her behalf—flooded him. He sat down at the wrought-iron bench on the other side of the entryway, looking pained. "Baby girl," he said.
That did it. Tears began to streak down her dark face, and she inhaled shakily. "B-but it doesn't matter. Because…I d-didn't like him anyway. And I think I'm just…gonna s-stay home."
In the silence that followed, she leaned down to undo her high stiletto shoes, her fingers shaking, vision blurring. There was no point going to the dance on her own. Paulina and Star would make fun of her for weeks, or possibly even kick her out of the popular group. She'd just come up with an excuse that she got sick from drinking too much before the dance, and maybe that would be acceptable enough to not warrant their scorn.
Something shifted in her thinking that night. It began as a slight flicker of self-doubt, then bloomed into a black stain that would haunt for years to come. How ugly did people think she actually was, for even Tucker Foley to stand her up? Was she not good enough? Did anyone even really like her? Had this all just been some trick to make fun of her?
Her father gave her a pained look, not knowing how to make the world right again for her. "Baby girl," he said. "I'm sure it's just a…big misunderstanding. Did you try calling your date?"
She sniffled. "He didn't answer. Eight times." Her father's attempts to correct the situation only made her feel worse. The problem wasn't something he could correct. The problem was her.
"Do you have friends you could meet up with?" he offered. "Those girls you hang around with—"
"—They have dates," she interrupted shortly. Her voice broke with another sob. "Everyone has a date. It's hopeless."
Her father's expression broke. "Valerie. That's not true; I'm sure we can find—"
"—Nobody wants me, daddy," she pressed, voice breaking. She looked down at her beautiful, yellow dress, feeling like dirt masquerading as gold. A sob made her inhale sharply, and she hid her face in her hands as her expensive makeup began to run down her face. "Nobody wants me."
As she began to cry harder, her father swooped up and pulled her into his arms. She grabbed on tight, hiding her shamed face in the soft material of his shirt.
Paulina waved her hand over Valerie's face. "Chica," she called out. She pursed her full lips in concern. "Chica!"
A twenty-four-year-old Valerie startled from her thoughts, looking wildly back up at Paulina. They were sitting in the cafeteria of the Amity Park Resistance, eating a soup and sandwich for lunch. "What?"
"I've been talking to you for like, three minutes," the woman complained, "and you haven't listened to one word!" She pouted, jutting out her thick, bottom lip. "That's hurtful."
The Red Huntress's face twitched. She clenched her fist around the spoon in her hand. "Yeah? Well, so is talking about stupid dances."
Paulina leaned her cheek against her hand and gave her a raised eyebrow. "Why? Every year, the school has their dance, and every year, you get all upset about it." She pursed her lips. "And every time I ask you why, you avoid the question."
Valerie's sharp face began to tinge red with embarrassment. "We're twenty-four," she said. "Can't you just drop it? I'm not upset about a dance from ten years ago. It's something else. I've got more important stuff to worry about."
The Latina leaned forward a little more. "Oh, you're still upset. I know you."
"It's something about Phantom. How he's probably gonna try to attack the night of the dance, and here you are, worried about ten years ago."
She pointed a carefully manicured finger. "You're deflecting. I'm always thinking about my glory days, but you never act spacey. And you beat back Phantom so hard last year, I bet he won't even show his face today. Come on, chica. What's wrong?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Valerie snapped.
Paulina batted her eyes. "Come on," she begged, knowing there was some kind of juicy secret to be had. "I can keep secrets now. I'm reformed."
At that, Valerie huffed. "Yeah, right."
"I'm serious!" The woman's accented voice turned with a little hurt. "I promise. No telling anyone." She sunk her spoon into the soup with a strange hesitance. "I just…want to help."
Something about that made Valerie's face twitch in a bit of guilt. "You wanna help? Then go on raid duty. Actually do you job instead of poking your nose in my business." Then she stood in a fit of irritation and took her tray with her, leaving Paulina at the table by herself.
The Latina looked down at her food and fell silent, feeling as if she'd been slapped. For a time, she bit her full lip. Then she whined, "But I hate raid duty."
His baritone voice grated against her ear. "I ruined your entire high school experience," he bragged, a glint of satisfaction in his demonic eyes. "Everything you held dear, I corrupted. Even that ridiculous dance of yours."
She stepped back on her jet sled, eyes narrowed. "Dance?"
"Yes, the first and last dance of your life." He tilted his head. "Which you missed. Because your date was too busy being overshadowed by me to care about you."
For a time, a vulnerable line appeared in Valerie's body.
Then her fist clenched. "Oh, you little son of a bitch."
When Valerie discovered Dan had possessed Tucker that night of the dance, her decision to lash out undid all of her progress with him. At 23, Phantom careened between his old self and something that dared to border on a soul. He had become more contemplative and less psychotically violent, his goals for annihilation muddying into goals for…something else.
Instead of temporary pleasure at death, he seemed to gain unending pleasure from their battles, their banter. He had declared once that Valerie was a rebellion worth his appreciation.
Then that day happened.
He'd been boastful and confident—and Valerie had been holding back her increasing black belt abilities and advanced technologies. He'd been expecting a blind, furious punch for his teasing, but in her sudden hatred, Valerie delivered a calculated swipe to slit his throat. The blade had been coated with some anti-ecto-coagulant that even Phantom still did not know.
The silence. He could still remember the silence of shock between them as the blood slipped down.
Now, a single raised scar cut across his strong neck, slashing down to his collarbone.
It had never fully healed. At the time of Dan's desperate escape, he'd thought himself doomed to bleed out. The experience had made him aware that, for all his power, he was still oddly mortal—capable of lasting injury and a second death—just as the paralyzed Johnny 13, the handless Box Ghost, the aging Kitty.
It further bothered him that a single human woman could so permanently damage him with such a mortal mark on his body. He'd gazed at his scar in the reflection of lakes and seas, face in a twist, unable to reconcile his body with his visions of perfection.
He was corrupted now. Imperfect.
Because of her.
A year later, there was a cold wariness between them. Phantom rarely attacked Amity Park—but when he did, he did not smile or greet her as "Valerie dear." He hissed in her ear about annihilating the human race just as he had at 16. And yet his tone was pointed at her, as if to accuse, You did this to me. You ruined everything. I would not even attack if it hadn't been for you.
That was why Valerie Gray had escaped to the farthest reaches of the earth, deep in the Wastelands of what was once a European seaside. She sat by a cliff, her helmet undone and resting in the cool grass. Her armored fingers woven hard into her wild, ringlet hair as she bowed over.
"Dammit," she whispered to herself, voice breaking. A wind cut across the moors, whipping against her weary body.
Things were no longer simple between them now that Phantom felt as violated as she did. She supposed it should have made her satisfied, to know that she'd taken Phantom down several notches. Instead, she felt foolish—as if she'd given up a better way to defeat him simply to get a good slash in.
Just then, the radar on her battle suit arm began to bleep with Dan Phantom's power.
She tensed but did not move.
His powerful form suddenly materialized behind her, the force of his landing so strong as to rumble the ground. Her skin prickled at the sudden drop of the air's temperature. "What are you doing here?" the ghost demanded, crossing his arms. His baritone voice was short, carrying a wariness as it always did anymore. "These are my lands. This is my cliff. Get out."
"Oh, go away," she snapped tiredly, still gazing out at the rough seas. She did not want him to see her upset face. "I'm not here to fight."
The ghost angled a brow, his red eyes roving over her form. It seemed she carried no auxiliary weapons beyond that of her battle suit. She did not wear her helmet, and her ringlet curls tumbled down her armored back, shifting in the wind. It was the most vulnerable he'd seen her since before…the incident.
In paranoia, he touched his collar to ensure his scar was hidden. Then he stepped forward and snarled, "Then go mope in the sanctity of your beloved city. You are unwanted here."
Her eye twitched at his words. "Yeah? Well, fuck you too."
He blurred forward, and the next thing Valerie knew, she was slammed flat on her back against the ground, with Dan crushing his fingers into her arms to hold her down. His red eyes glowed hot with irritation. "Do not think," he hissed, "that you can come here, on this day in particular, and expect me to be tolerant of you."
She breathed a little unsteadily, eyes widening at the lack of space between them. She could feel his weight pinning her down, his strong legs straddling hers. "You sure you wanna be this close?" she threatened. "I upgraded my suit. New weapons."
She did not miss the tightening around his eyes, the second of hesitation.
Then he steeled, narrowing his eyes to slits. "I would almost prefer you finish me off," he snarled, "compared to the shame you've carved into me."
She saw the edge of a silvery, raised scar peeking out the edge of his collar. "Then why the hell are you holding me down, huh?"
His head tilted, which swirled his flickering hair. He removed a hand from her arm to touch her face. "To see your misery up close." His calloused fingers swept against the weary-worn skin of her cheek.
Then his hand dropped to her neck, and his fingers wrapped around her smooth skin.
She stared up at him with no fear.
He held her down with no conviction, instead searching her eyes. "Why are you here? To finally beg my forgiveness after a year of punishment?"
A familiar irritation swept through her, and her face twisted. "No, you idiot." She spat. "I didn't want to be in Amity Park today. You know what day it is."
Dan's thin lips twitched without humor. "Ah, yes. The annual dance. How petty of you, to come undone at such a pointless thing." He leaned forward. "I would have thought I warranted a slit throat for killing five billion humans, not because I disrupted your plans for a high school dance ten years ago. You little, selfish girl. No wonder no one wanted you."
This close, there was no hiding the minute emotions on her face or his. Her eyes welled up in sudden, furious tears. With her freed arm, she grabbed onto his collar and dragged it down, revealing the permanent scar that swept farther down his neck. "You deserved this," she hissed at him. "You ruined my entire life."
"I saved you," he spat. "You were a spoiled brat. Whatever ruination I brought made you far more desirable than you were before."
She began to struggle in his grasp, not out of fear but fury at being touched by him. "Get off me," she hissed.
He released her neck but then slammed her arm back down. "No." His red eyes darkened. "I despise your righteous hypocrisy. You masquerade as a hero because of me. You are loved because I am hated. If anyone cares about you now, it is because of me."
Valerie cried out, twisting her body beneath him. She managed to roll them, pinning him down beneath her. "That's not true!" she snapped, but in truth the black stain in her mind spread wider with doubt. She narrowed her eyes down at him. "That's not true!"
"Can you deny?" he hissed up at her, face in a twist. "Valerie Gray is nothing without Phantom. That is why you haven't destroyed me, despite your obvious ability. Because you need me to maintain your desired status quo as a beloved, wanted warrior of the people—"
"—Shut up!" she snarled, eyes narrowing.
Knowing he'd finally hit on a big nerve, he kept going. "If you regret striking against me," he said hotly, the silvery scar on his neck flashing the light, "it is not out of some moral principle for my lost soul, but out of your realization that destroying me means destroying your little fantasy world where you matter."
Suddenly, she activated a sharp blade in the wrist of her battle armor, and it shot out just an inch away from Phantom's throat. Her voice was shaky. "You son of a bitch. Keep talking. I'll make that scar wider. And this time you won't get up."
"Good," he snapped at her. "I'd rather not be a puppet for your agenda." He leaned his head back, baring his vulnerable neck to her blade. His silvery scar stretched over his muscles. "And if I fade out, then I'll take you with me."
Valerie froze there, her blade inches from the throat of the being who'd murdered five billion humans and maimed more, who had little to no soul, who had destroyed her life and livelihood. She could see the pump of ectoplasm in a large vein down his neck.
Her hand shook as she held the blade against his neck. "You ruin everything," she whispered shakily. "I can't even enjoy this. I'm just playing into your game now."
Dan's strong jaw stretched a bit in a humorless smile, and he twisted his head slightly to gaze up at her. In that moment, his red eyes seemed less demonic. There was an odd turmoil in him. His long, white hair flickered softly against the grass and his neck, brushing against her arm. "I want nothing else."
They fell silent again. Her blade glimmered against the light around them—the rough seas echoing in waves against the cliff side.
When Valerie blinked, her previous fury left her, and in its place came a clarity. "Don't lie to me," she said.
His red eyes held her gaze. "Have I?"
She ticked the blade's flat end against his neck, then turned it so the sharp edge grazed his skin. "Yes," she said, voice raw. Then she retracted the blade and pulled away from him, her ringlet hair moving against her collarbones. As she stood, Dan raised up on his elbows, watching her.
"In what way?" he demanded.
Her hand still shook. "You don't want me to play your game. You don't want me to end you. You want something else."
His red eyes followed her. He said dryly, "And what, pray tell, would that be."
Valerie pulled her red helmet from the grass. "You want to matter too." As she straightened, there was an angry pity in her. "But you don't have anyone in the universe except your enemies—and I'm the only one who would even care to remember you."
In a blur, he was standing before her, peering into her face. There was a tightness again in his expression, almost hopeful behind the massive suspicion. "And why would you remember me, if you were so keen to slit my throat?"
"Because a year ago," she snapped, "before you ruined it, I was beginning to think…I kind of liked the way things were. Between us."
Then she turned away. The silence between them thickened at her confession. Knowing she had admitted something too close, too deep, too taboo, Valerie jumped onto her jet sled and began to buckle on her helmet. She said, voice halted. "And I think you liked it too."
Dan's strong jaw tightened to hide any spark of vulnerability. They'd had several, odd intimate moments before he'd boasted he had destroyed even her first dance. It was those moments that haunted him in the silence of the Wastelands, even when he'd been healing from his near-fatal wound. "How could you possibly think attacking me would soften me further?" he accused. "You ruined it. You flew in a rage against me for a minor offense."
"You were asking for it that day," she snapped back. "Being so proud on ruining people. But it's over, whatever it was. You reminded me why I should hate you, and you've got reasons for hating me. So just…leave me alone."
She gave him a final, hurt glare and then activated her jet sled, spiraling up to the air and leaving Dan Phantom on the cool grass of the cliff side.
He did not follow. Instead, he raised his fingers to touch the scar upon his neck, his sharp face darkening with several emotions. Among them was pain—the realization of loneliness. The memory of Valerie's eyes narrowing to slits in pure, rage-blind hate. The memory of her lips against his.
Valerie returned to Amity Park shortly after the dance began, with all of the parents and citizens of the town commenting and taking pictures of the various high school couples in their nice clothes. The apocalypse had made every small event in the final human city more meaningful. The news reporters took an extra interest, recording the fashions and names of the couples as they paraded down the red carpet into Amity Park's only ballroom. The recordings would eventually go into a vault where the human race hid all of its precious things.
Valerie flew up and toward the resistance building, turning away her troubled eyes. Thinking of the dance reminded her of that fateful night ten years ago—the overwhelming loneliness—then Dan's hissing voice.
"You little, selfish girl. No wonder no one wanted you."
She flinched on her jet sled, knowing that at some point, she really had been a terrible person, and that in some ways she still was. She landed at the main entrance of the resistance building, recalling her jet sled and punching in her credentials on the door's security pad. "Welcome back, Commander Valerie Gray," came a robotic voice.
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered as the doors unlocked and slid open.
The entryway was dark and silent, unusual for the resistance. It seemed everyone had taken the day off to celebrate their daughters and sons, their younger siblings. The silence made Valerie feel smaller. She had no siblings to celebrate. Her own father and the mayor tended to open major city events, which meant even her own family—the entire resistance—had abandoned her.
She exhaled shakily, recalling her battle suit. The red and black metal retracted by panels, their quantum particles sinking back into her blood. It left her in an old, white tank top and faded army pants. Her skin goose-bumped at the cold air.
"You masquerade as a hero because of me. You are loved because I am hated. If anyone cares about you now, it is because of me."
"Shut up," Valerie said under her breath, trying to push thoughts of Dan Phantom out of her mind. The damn ghost had plucked at old wounds—the fear that perhaps no one cared for her outside of her title as Red Huntress.
But as she walked forward, she began to hear an echo of voices. Bright, male and female tones intermixed in excitement. It sounded like a TV.
Her eyebrows angled, and she followed the sound in curiosity. Then she heard crying and sniffling.
She discovered Paulina sitting on the couch before a large TV in the atrium. She was alone, eyes bloodshot with tears, a handkerchief in her hand. "They're so beautiful," she cried to herself. "And young and happy." She wore no makeup and had hidden herself in baggy pajamas and a warm blanket. Her black hair, usually in sleek waves, hung wet down her back as if she'd just showered.
"…Paulina?" Valerie called, concerned.
The woman in question suddenly flinched and turned around on the couch. "Oh!" She began to wipe her eyes quickly and sniffling a bit faster, embarrassed. "Valerie. Hi."
For all of the pain in her, Valerie could not help the huff of amusement and concern that escaped her. "You okay?" She'd not seen Paulina in such a state in years—and certainly not about a dance.
The Latina's lips quivered as she tried to smile, and then she turned her face away in shame. "Lo siento." She raised the TV remote and hit the power button, turning off the newscast of the red carpet. "I am shallow. I know." She tried to wipe her eyes again, only for more tears to fall down her slim cheeks. "I didn't think…anyone would be back here yet, with the dance."
Valerie put a hand on her hip. "You know I don't go to that stuff."
Paulina's breath hitched. "I f-figured you'd be out—saving the world." She blinked several times and then turned to look over Valerie. No cuts or bruises. Everything seemed to be pristine, with the exception of a few pieces of grass in the woman's hair. A sort of relief tore through her. "Not too bad of a day, huh?"
Valerie paused. She rarely spoke to anyone about the specific details of her fights with Phantom, mostly because it was complicated. Some of the events that happened before their great fallout of last year were more intimate than she dared to admit. Her official reports usually skipped the parts about existential crises, philosophical debates, the way he fought her simply to feel touch.
"Valerie dear," he murmured, "you look ravishing in your battle suit today."
The burden of her thoughts spurned her to say, voice halted, "He had a chance to kill me. He didn't take it. I had a chance to end him, and I didn't take it."
The woman on the couch paused then too. A more serious weight bowed her shoulders forward, and she grabbed on tight to the cushion. "He—you what?"
Valerie knew there wasn't a return from what she had just said, but a small part of her already regretted it. "You know what? Forget it. You're missing your news report, and I know you've been looking forward to this all month."
At that Paulina threw the remote over her shoulder, her baby blue eyes wide. Then she patted the couch cushion beside her, unraveling her large blanket to offer a side to Valerie. "You are more important."
"…Why? Because there's no one to fight him if I die?" Her voice turned with a sour note of pain.
"No. Because you are my friend." Paulina may not have studied psychology (or much of anything except men), but she could read people like a book. Her bloodshot, watery eyes narrowed in on her with great thought. "I know something's been wrong for a while. And not just because of today. You're always so…unhappy."
Valerie swallowed hard, and against her every wish, her eyes began to water. She didn't think anyone had been paying that level of attention. "I don't wanna bother you. And you're gonna think less of me—I know everyone will—"
"—Chica," her voice strengthened, "you can trust me; I won't say anything." She held out her blanket again. "Now let's get that grass out of your hair, and you tell me what's wrong."
The next day, the city of Amity Park slept in—except for Valerie.
She flew above the skyscrapers and the Shield, the metal of her battle suit glimmering in the early sunrise. The temperatures were cooler than they had been on those cliffs in Europe, and it hit her with a start that the year was almost over. Before long, snow would begin to blanket Amity Park once more. Another year would go by.
She flew in a daze, unsure of where she was going.
Paulina knew her secrets now—from that fateful night ten years ago to her more darker secrets, including the day Dan Phantom had bartered for a kiss in exchange for not attacking the city. Paulina had listened attentively, her nimble fingers stroking through Valerie's hair.
.
"You don't have to pretend to be a saint," Paulina said, amusement in her voice. "Remember? I thought he was hot for the longest time." She leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. "And when he started building those muscles and growing out his hair? Mmh. I would have volunteered to save the city if it meant a make out with him."
Valerie giggled through her tears, some part of her unburdening. "That's ridiculous."
Paulina hummed. "You're not really around to notice, but he's on the guilty pleasures list of a lot of women here." She threaded her fingers through Valerie's ringlet hair, beginning a soft braid. "You don't wanna know some of the things I've heard in the showers."
Valerie snorted, wiping away her tears. "He killed five billion people in two years. Just cause he's got tight abs doesn't mean I can just…forget that he killed our friends. He tortured my dad and left him to die." Her breath hitched. "He hurt me, so many times. He deserved a slit throat. I should have just ended it all a year ago, and instead here I am, thinking about how I liked it when he called me Valerie dear."
As they spoke, the fire reflected a few of the scars on Valerie's shoulder.
Paulina picked up another lock of Valerie's hair to weave into the braid. "Don't sell yourself short, honey. If he's still got a thing for you after you tried to slit his throat, then...that's a crazy level of attachment."
Valerie's brilliant, teal eyes began to water again. "It's not right. None of it is right."
"Maybe not," her friend shrugged, "but you said he could have killed you today, and he didn't. You said he wanted to matter to you, and he didn't deny it. Maybe he's really changing…because of you."
"He needs to be destroyed. He's bad news."
Her voice was merry. "Well. We were too. Once."
.
As Valerie patrolled the Wastelands around Amity Park, her radar began to bleep. With an increasing heart rate, she looked down at her arm and saw that the source of ectoplasmic power was none other than Dan Phantom himself.
His strong figure appeared as a morning star above the horizon. From this distance, she could not see his face. She drew closer, raising her blaster in warning. After their last encounter, she did not know what to expect.
"Is a slit to the throat not enough?" he called to her, his baritone voice wry. "Or will you shoot me in the heart as well?"
She lowered her blaster hesitantly. It seemed he was willing to banter—a good sign. "Depends on what you're here for."
"How merciful," he deadpanned.
It fell silent between them in that distant valley, the earth cradling them from the sight of the final human city. Dan took a moment to size Valerie up, noting the braid in her hair and the few odd curls that had escaped from the tie. "Your eyes are puffy and red. You have been crying."
Her entire body stiffened, and a spark of horror tore through her before it turned to her usual defensive anger. "No, I haven't. I couldn't sleep."
"Do not lie to me," he demanded, his red eyes narrowing to slits. "I know you as well as myself. If you choose to lie to me now, then it is only because you desperately want to hide something."
Valerie's dark face began to dust pink with a blush. "Dammit, don't act like you care."
"And do not act like you are unaffected." His lips tightened to a thin line.
"Do you want me to be affected?" she snapped, searching his eyes.
Phantom's face twitched. Then he raised a hand, and from out of the air materialized a rather flat-looking black box. He tossed it in her direction with a flick of his wrist.
She caught the box easily, half-expecting it to be some trap. "And what the hell is this?"
He flew forward to float before her, his head tilted. "Something to affect you. Go on. Open it."
"You trying to kill me? Is this gonna open up into darting knives or something?"
"A rather inspired thought," he murmured, "but no."
She gave him a final, suspicious look and then set to opening the box. As she pulled away the top, she noticed there was no weapon inside. No trap.
Only a golden-yellow silk.
In curiosity, she dropped the box top and pulled the material out, retracting the armor around her hands. She'd forgotten the feel of silk. There was quite a lot of it, and so she dropped the other end of the box. The silk unraveled into yards and yards, billowing between them in the early sunrise.
She looked up at him in surprise. "What is this?"
He raised his chin, as if he were about to boast. "Silk from the Forbidden City of China, which as you know, still partially stands. Your bimbo friend—she could fashion a dress from that silk. For you."
And for the first time, she saw a soul flame within him. A strange and wavering soul.
He was trying to give her something.
Valerie huffed in shock. "Why?"
Dan angled a sharp brow at her. "With your legs and chest, a dress from ten years ago would not fit."
"…And why do you want me to have a dress?" she demanded, voice catching a bit as she held the soft silk. Her mind whirled. "It was the date I was missing."
Before she knew it, he was behind her, murmuring into her ear, "We have to work up to that."
The wind whipped the silk against her body and his.
She swallowed hard and turned around to face him. There were scant inches between them again. "I can't accept this. And I don't know why you'd want to give it to me anyway."
His thin lips stretched in a mix of amusement and irritation. "Oh, Valerie. I know there are five billion and three reasons you will accept nothing from me. Lie and say you found it yourself."
"But why?" she snapped quietly, heart beginning to pound. "Why any of this?"
"Because you will not let me matter to you until I've corrected all five billion and three reasons you despise me." His eyes, so demonic and aware, did not break from hers. "But I shall lower my debt to five billion and two, because the scar I now carry should amount to something." His voice turned with anger.
Her hands clenched hard into the silk as she inhaled shakily. This was intimate—all too intimate. "You can't undo what you've done," she said, her raspy voice halted. "And I can't undo what I've done."
"No," he agreed.
"You can't possibly bring back the lives of five billion people." Still raw from yesterday, her eyes began to well with tears. "You can't heal my dad. You can't get rid of the nightmares I still have about you. Or—or the fact that you hurt me for years and…and j-just yesterday said that I didn't matter."
Dan's strong jaw set in an odd way. "You are exhausting," he snapped at her. "I offer you the silks of royalty, and all you have to say is, 'It is not good enough.'" Some sort of great internal trouble began to shadow his face.
"Because it's not good enough!" Her breath hitched. "Don't you get it? Nothing you can do would ever be good enough to fix what you've done."
Suddenly, he snapped, eyes glowing hot orange. "Then what will it take? Would you have me suffer the wounds of my five billion victims? Would you place them on me yourself, like the scar I carry now?" He pulled away from her sharply. "Would it truly require my annihilation for you to think of me without guilt or fear?"
The terrible truth stood between them—which was that Valerie knew she was wanted by her friends and family. Dan had no one and was only beginning to understand the consequences of what he represented.
The silk billowed between them softly, the sun catching it in waves of flashing gold.
Dan began to blink in odd ways, turning away from her. His fist clenched several times. He'd known deep down this would not work. That he had fully destroyed any possibility of ever mattering to anyone again. Of having someone who dared to want his presence.
In that moment, he felt so entirely alone that he may as well have been floating in space, unanchored. The last sentient being in the universe.
His vision suddenly blurred. Panic set in.
He began to dematerialize, sinking into invisibility so he could escape.
"No, wait!" Valerie stepped forward, eyes wide in surprise. She managed to grab onto his arm—and the simply, firm hold of her hand on his elbow solidified him back onto the human plane.
The ghost snatched his arm away from, burned by her touch. "You've made your point," he hissed, voice unsteady with damnable emotion. "Leave me alone."
"Look at me," she demanded.
"No."
"Dammit—" Valerie reached out to him again, this time spinning her jet sled so she floated before him. But then when she saw his face, the words died in her mouth, and shock froze her.
His eyes were bright with glowing tears, despite the hatred twisting his face. "I despise you," he snarled at her, pushing her back. His breath hitched with the level of emotion he felt as something cracked deeper within him. "I hate you! Take all your judgements and go away, or end me now to stop this incessant, pointless existence." He inhaled shakily. "You speak of forgiveness, but yet you deem me too far gone to such. Do not patronize me again."
She easily recalibrated from his blind push, the silk twisting with her and her jet sled. Her eyes were wide in awe as she stared at him.
In that second, she saw herself reflected in him—a child left standing alone, darkened by fear and inadequacy. The knowledge that no one was coming to save the day.
Something instinctive came over her. She reached out to him again, her bare fingers grazing against his face.
He grabbed onto her forearm with a desperation to prove she were there. He fought to contain his tears, but when he blinked, glowing tears slipped down his sharp face, and every line of his body seemed to beg, Do not leave me here. Do not go away.
Ten years of solitude, of no one, wore hard on him in that moment.
Valerie swallowed hard, unable to stop the lump in her throat as her fingers swept lower to his jaw, then his collar, which did not hide the beginning of his scar. Against her bare skin, the scar was leathery. "I couldn't end you a year ago, or even yesterday. What makes you think I could now?"
Dan hesitated to speak, struggling to formulate thought beyond the shame of his emotions and the relief of her touch. His voice was hoarse. "If you never exact punishment for my debts, then you will exile me to the Wastelands forever."
Valerie pulled away from him, her own eyes a bit red. She huffed in a terrible frustration. "God, you are such a—do you even hear yourself? We're talking about five billion lives, how you mutilated my father, how you ruined my life. Do you have any idea what a conflict of interest you are?" She blinked, and her eyes began to well with tears. "Why couldn't you have gotten lonely ten years ago? I could have worked with that then."
His face, still a bit raw with his emotion, twitched. "No, you would not," he snapped. "You desired revenge as much as I did. If you'd had your…concoction that almost bled me out, you would have used it and finished the job." His mouth tightened in a thin line for a bit.
Her voice was halted. "You know I've changed."
"And so have I."
It fell silent between them once more. The rising sun now shed a little warmth in the valley.
She wound her fist into the golden silk, looking down at it. The material was priceless—the worth of it now far beyond anything her old wardrobe could have represented. Given its origins, and now the scarcity of silk, it would have amounted to millions of dollars.
It was probably the closest Phantom could get to healing the scar of her first grievances against him.
"You've hurt me so many times," she murmured, running her bare fingers over the material. "I get so angry with you when I think about it."
The ghost said nothing, watching her with dark curiosity. His cheeks still shined with the few tears he'd shed, and he did not bother to brush them away, knowing that the damage was already done.
Valerie looked up at him, and something in her hardened. "I want you to save five billion lives. I don't care how you do it—but there's still two billion around here and a shit-ton of work that needs to be done. I want you to find a way to regenerate my dad's arm. And give him his sight back. I want you to stop attacking the human race so we can lower our Shields and rebuild. I want you to help bury anyone out in the Wastelands that we missed." She swallowed hard. "If you do all these things, then I'll get this silk made into a dress. And I won't just think of you. I'll spend time with you too. Maybe even let you take me on that date you talked about earlier."
Phantom hesitated. He mulled over her sudden various demands, a little overwhelmed. "…So you are consigning me to hard labor. With all my power, it would still take years to accomplish what you ask."
"It took you years to tear it all down," she said dryly. "I'd say that's fair."
Perhaps it was. He stepped forward in the air, his hair flickering with a suspicion as he closed the gap between them. "And you? Will you remain distant until I have fulfilled such punishment?"
"No," she said. She tilted her chin toward his scar. "You've already paid for my time. I guess."
A half-amused snort escaped him, even as he stared at her in relief. "You guess. And how shall we seal our deal?"
Her full lips quirked in a frown. Tentatively, she held out her free hand for him to shake.
Dan stared at her bare hand, the thin fingers nimble and scarred from their battles. He could remember a time over a year ago those hands had weaved into his hair, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened in awe of each other's taste. It'd been an erratic, spur of the moment temptation, deep in the jungles of what was once South America.
.
Her breath mixed with his. Her eyes were dilated in pleasure. "If I kiss you again, will you not attack for a second day?"
He stared down at her in awe, an innocence drained from his eyes and replaced with lust. He knew what she tasted like now, how her lips were petal soft. How his mind and body suddenly desired her companionship. The thought of attacking Amity Park was so far from his mind that he did not answer her immediately.
"I agree to your terms," he said, voice rough. And then he pinned her against the tree, leaning in as he captured her lips with his, stretching her mouth open.
.
He clasped onto her hand firmly, knowing that when Valerie made a deal, she made a deal. Her hand was warm like the sunlight around him.
And something in his chest lightened with the thought that one day, he could just be a man—and she could just be a woman. And they could just be.
"I look forward to seeing you in the silks of the emperors," he murmured to her. "I hope it is quite revealing."
Valerie reached up with her hand that was wrapped in the silk, touching his face. She felt the vibration of his power in his worn cheek. "You gotta work up to that," she whispered.
Then she pulled away.
A/N: I watched the Parental Bonding episode of DP the other day and wondered what could have happened to Valerie the night that Danny made Tucker stand her up. And then somehow that turned into this monstrosity. with…um, some halfway positive Dan/Val relationship? And a Dan who wants to be redeemed but isn't yet?
I apologize for the gap of time since my last upload. I took a while to read through previous installments in this collection and correct as many grammatical mistakes and typos as I could (although I only made it about halfway through the collection so far). I do know I need to get back to some Aftermath/Karma updates. I will tackle that after I upload my annual Christmas special for this collection.
Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter and any ideas you'd like to see for the Christmas special. Thank you!
