Disclaimer: I don't own DP.

Thanks to Invader Johnny, starwater09, ZoneRobotnik, Guest, Destiny W, KraZiiePyrozHavemoreFun, Midnights-AM-Child, monsta, SweetestChick, JadeliketheGem, kikicat, Guest, Guest, nanrea, and Guest for reviewing last time!

Shot summary: How Dan Saved Christmas Part 2: Dan has saved Amity Park from starvation. But his deal with Valerie opens people to question not only their relationship but also his own identity.

Chapter warnings: Sexuality, mentions of nudity, and language


Deliverance

Shot 49: How Dan Saved Christmas Part 2 (Epilogue)


Valerie woke up early on Christmas Day to the feeling of calloused fingers running down her bare spine. Her eyes opened to slits.

It took her a second, but then she realized she was lying naked atop one disguised Dan Phantom, her head pillowed by his chest. His hands had swept aside her hair to trace the scars on her back. Without fear, she closed her eyes again, nuzzling into his cool, bare skin, listening to the soft hum of his power core. "What time is it?" she muttered petulantly, still half-asleep.

A baritone voice rumbled through her ear. "Five." His hand traced down her bare side, feeling her ribs and the swell of her waist.

Her sculpted brows scrunched, and she murmured, "You need to leave—they'll know."

"I've a clone sleeping in that other room. No one would suspect me here."

The woman breathed in deeply, content. Dan always smelt of ash and snow. "Is your clone jealous?"

"Hn. Of course."

And suddenly, Valerie found herself rolled over, her back planting against the soft pillows and mattress. She gazed up at Dan with wide eyes, the sleep in her giving way to surprise.

He leaned down on his elbows, his hips sinking against hers. His black hair hung down on his shoulders, mixing into her curls. "He is very jealous," he murmured.

The woman searched his eyes, her breath stalling at the feeling of his body on top of hers. Then she reached up and touched his cheek, still in awe of his illusion. It felt strange to make love to him in such a form—to see blue eyes, red-flushed skin otherwise pale as a peach, increasingly tangled black hair. "You remind me of someone like this," she whispered.

There was a strange twitch in his face. But before she could question it, Dan captured her lips with his, fisting his hands into the pillows beside her head. Valerie's breath stopped entirely as pleasure lit her body with great warmth. She opened her mouth to him. Beneath the blankets, her bare legs spread.

He sunk his hips against hers, and all of his thoughts melted into desire.

But as Valerie's face began to flush red in need once more, her heart pounding as she wrapped her legs around to his waist, a name suddenly came to mind. An image of a young boy from her past. "Danny," she whispered, teal eyes wide.

Dan's muscles tensed, and then he froze fully at the name, looking down at the woman he was about to make love to.

She blinked in great surprise, body stilling. "Like Danny Fenton," she said again, her rough voice suddenly hoarse with awe. "You look like he would have…but all you did was change colors." Her warm fingers suddenly touched his face once more, running over the strong angle of his eyebrows, then the cut of his cheek and jaw. Dan had not altered his own bone structure to achieve such an illusion. He'd easily conjured that illusion as well—especially for a ghost not typically versed in such arts.

An odd expression twisted Dan's face, but he leaned into her touch anyway. "You are ridiculous," he murmured to her and moved forward to kiss her.

Valerie turned her face, her hand slipping down to his chest to stop him. "No." Her eyes were dazed as she stared at the wall beside her bed, her conclusions like a battering ram. Her heart began to pound for new reasons. "You have his image—and you always have." Her voice broke. "Oh my god, you always have."

The disguised ghost turned her chin so they were face-to-face. "After ten years," he said with a dangerous edge in his voice, "most would not look upon me and see him."

Their faces were inches apart, his cool breath like a spring wind against her skin. His blue eyes were hard.

Valerie's vision blurred with confused tears as she stared up at him, their naked bodies still a tangle of limbs. "Danny?" she whispered shakily.

His face tightened, and he hissed, "Daniel Fenton was a past life. Do not mistake me for such now."

Valerie searched his eyes. Her heart pounded so hard in sudden enlightenment and fear, even Dan could feel it through his own chest. She was dazed beneath him, her full lips opening and closing with words. Her legs slipped from around his waist. She blinked away tears, but more came, and for a time, she could say nothing at all.

Danny Phantom. Danny Fenton.

The man suddenly raised up on his elbows and then pulled away. His face was hard with discomfort as he sat up. "What?" he snapped. "Have you nothing to say?"

His actions twisted the sheets with him, exposing Valerie to the cold air. Feeling vulnerable, she sat up as well and wrapped her arms around herself. Her tear-streaked face was haunted to a level that nothing else had achieved. She intimately knew Dan Phantom, down to every scar on his body and feeling of his snake tongue sliding up her neck. His general physiology had always been humanoid—but she'd never seen such similarity to Danny Fenton until now.

Some part of Valerie felt betrayed. Her voice shook as she demanded quietly, "How. Tell me how."

His face twitched. He did not speak for a time, but when he did, his voice was short and halted. He supposed it was pointless to deny truth that Valerie already suspected. "An accident turned me half-ghost. Then after certain events, I determined my human form was inhibiting my full potential. I split and killed that part. But his image remains a part of me I can use at will." He seemed calculating, eyes dark. He was not about to complicate his origins further. "That is the….short version."

It fell silent again between them.

Valerie's breath hitched strangely. "Oh." She looked down at the mussed bedsheets between them, thinking of all the times she'd heard his voice thrum in pleasure against her neck as they made love—of all the times she'd gone searching in the Wastelands for Danny's body. The official records from Vlad reported Danny as missing, having run away before the mansion exploded from an experiment gone wrong. She'd assumed Danny would have died in the first waves of Dan Phantom's destruction.

How strange to think of Danny's body in her bed. Danny's body as Dan's body. Danny as the twisted soul of Dan. Lying to her.

She'd loved Danny, enough to consider quitting ghost hunting for him.

Her vision suddenly blurred again, the sheets and the shadow of Dan's body muddling together in her sight. "You jerk," she said, voice breaking hard. Her fists clenched. "You jerk."

A deep pain and great joy tore through her at the same time. His confession confirmed what she'd always known—that Danny had not survived. And yet Dan Phantom himself carried the image of Danny beneath his own skin, perhaps even more, if his affection for her were an indication.

Dan's false-blue eyes flickered to her. "Do not fight me here," he warned. "These walls barely hide our love-making."

The comment was so entirely inane, she shoved him. "This is serious," she hissed. "I've searched for Danny for years—and the wh-whole t-time—" Words failed her as she stared at him. It was hard to believe she hadn't seen it before.

He looked away, grinding his teeth together in irritation. "I am not him." A small fear had woven into him, which was that Valerie still loved Danny to some capacity. That he would be competing against himself for her attention. That she would no longer desire his true form, but instead his illusion of human skin. "The Daniel you remember is gone."

They remained separated for some time, Valerie clinging close to the bed sheets to cover herself. Their clothes were in piles on the floor—too far away for her to reach. Something about that made her feel vulnerable.

"But you know I loved him," she whispered shakily, her fingers hooking into the soft sheets. She pulled into herself as if in a daze, staring off into space. "In my own way, I did."

He huffed in irritation. "And why is that relevant now?"

"Because it is," she snapped, though her voice held little strength to it. "He'd—he'd liked me too."

Silence blanketed them again.

Dan dared to ask, forcing his voice to be even, "And do you love his memory above me?"

The question was odd enough to twist her face in exhaustion. "Don't flatter yourself." They'd never qualified their relationship as love—she had suspicions that true love, regardless of his form, was far beyond Dan's emotional capacity. "I don't love you."

The ghost tensed. His face darkened incredibly, as if it were disappointment from a deep place in his dead heart. "I do know Danny Fenton never heard you beg to be fucked, nor did he ever touch you so deeply as I have."

Valerie's face began to tinge red with a blush, and she snapped, "We were fourteen. I barely knew him, but dammit, he was a good kid and cute. So sue me."

In the two weeks between their first tryst and Christmas Eve, Dan had odd imaginings of convincing Valerie to his side. Their sexual attraction was a weakness through which to bring down the great Red Huntress—and redesign her to his will. He knew, in some way, she had similar thoughts of bringing him down in a likewise fashion.

He stood up, the early morning light from the blinds catching the muscled edges of his body and the sharp of his hip. Like this, his black hair hung down his powerful shoulders instead of flickering in an other-wordly halo. Valerie's eyes roved over him, unable to look away from him. He was so entirely human like this, almost vulnerable.

Then he turned around, eyes lit in a fury. "I shared my bed," he said, eyes wild. "I shared my body, and you so desperately rode me for release that you nearly cried. Yet I was in my true form. Regardless of what you say now, I know you love me. The real me."

She was not frightened by his display of possessive fury. "I can't love you like I could have loved him."

"Why not?" he snapped.

"Because you just like the sex," she said. "Not that I don't."

He tilted her chin up, searching her eyes. He did quite like their sex. Maintaining his affair with Valerie was his primary reason for agreeing to assist Amity Park at all. Valerie could not make love with him if she were dead from starvation. "If I cared only for sex," he murmured, "then I would not care to ensure your pleasure." He released her chin, his calloused fingers caressing her skin as they parted. "Now take me back to the Wastelands. I've seen enough of your precious community and know I have overstayed my welcome."

She paused at that. "No. Our deal's not over."

Dan had taken again to gathering his clothes from the floor. "Yes, it is. Your people have the means to fend for themselves, and I've discovered what it is that keeps you here in Amity Park—although I do not understand it."

"That wasn't the deal," she warned. "You're the only one who knows the Ghost Zone dimensions well enough to say which are abandoned and which ones have human food…" She narrowed her eyes. "You gotta show us those things first. Then you can leave."

He huffed at her as he slipped his pants back on. "I do not recall that as a stipulation."

"It's part of the means to fend for ourselves," she said dryly.

With a dark look, he said, "And the longer I stay, the more suspicious people will act against you, to see you so attached to one particular refugee."

She bit her lip, then said softly, "Not if you admit you're Danny Fenton. A lot of people know I liked him, back then."

His false-blue eyes flickered to her, calculating. He was not entirely against such a ploy if it meant openly touching Valerie. "Admitting to such an identity—the last Fenton, the missing son—would elevate me to celebrity status. I would be unable to escape this place easily, and I have already overstayed beyond what I intended."

Sunlight from the early morning had begun to seep between the blinds in the window. The lines of their bodies were more defined now, the darkness slipping away.

"You can live two lives at once," Valerie said, tilting her head. There was an odd edge in her voice as she wiped her eyes tiredly. "You're good at that."


Later in the morning, Valerie appeared at the door of her father's office. All of the decorations from the previous evening were still up, streaming across the tops of the wall. Someone had pinned Christmas lights around the office door, and they were still lit. The majority of Amity Park would continue to celebrate the holiday the old-fashioned way. For the resistance, Christmas Day usually meant that the ghost truce was waning, and that Dan Phantom was scheming to attack.

She knocked sharply and called out, "Dad? I gotta talk to you."

There were a few seconds of delay. Then the door unlocked with a green light, and Valerie was able to enter. She found her father pouring over old Fenton maps of the Ghost Zone, his one good eye narrowed. "I'm a little busy, sweetheart. Trying to organize a scavenge for the day after tomorrow."

"Dad," she said quietly. "I know who he is. I figured it out."

Damon blinked, then he looked up. "The survivor?"

Valerie had her hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, her eyes were still red-rimmed. She nodded. And then her breath hitched. "It's Danny."

The father almost immediately twisted his face. He flashed a suspicious eye at his daughter. "Danny? As in the Fenton boy?"

She nodded again.

Damon objected, "But Danny was so…weak and kind. You can't tell me that mental case you picked up is him."

"It's been ten years," Valerie pressed. "Danny's been alone—on the run, fending for himself on the other side of the country. Take away the muscles and the personality changes. Think of a smile on his face, and tell me you can't see a resemblance."

"I hardly remember what he looked like," the father admitted guiltily. "Black hair, blue eyes—sure. But a lot of people have that." He leaned over and patted his daughter's hand. "I know you've been looking for him. I just don't want you to be disappointed."

Valerie stood up, a hand on her hip. "He told me his name is Danny Fenton. He remembers a mother with red hair. A house named Fenton Works. His memories are coming back, and if you digitally aged up a picture of Danny Fenton, then I bet my whole life savings it'd look like the man sleeping in our guest quarters right now."

The father fell silent for a time, staring at his daughter in thoughtfulness. "He told you his name was Danny Fenton?"

"Yep."

He tapped his fingers on the desk. "Well, if this stranger is who he says he is, then I believe we have something for him. Something that can prove he's a Fenton."


The mysterious stranger had dressed in jeans and an old shirt and black coat from the charity pile. His long hair had been swept back in a messy, low ponytail. At that particular moment, his calloused fingers ran down a keypad on a stone wall. Valerie and her father had taken him to a hidden storage unit on the far side of the city.

"Maddie and Jack Fenton," he murmured, his false-blue eyes unable to look away from the names inscribed on the keypad. Beneath that was another small inscription. For our children.

Damon stood beside his daughter not far away, watching with great curiosity. "Phantom destroyed most of their notes along with Fenton Works, but I'd discovered this a long time ago. It's fingerprint-sensitive. Only a Fenton can access it."

The man flickered his eyes to Valerie, then back to the keypad. "What is in here?" he demanded . "Ghost weapons? Another portal?"

"We don't know," the father admitted. "But if you can open it, it would all be yours."

The stranger planted his hand against the pad. A soft, blue light suddenly scanned down his long fingers, then his palm. The computer chimed in a robotic voice fashioned after Jack Fenton himself, "Prints identified. Come on in, Danny boy, and pass the fudge."

The man blinked in surprise, his dark brows angling hard at the sound of his dead father's voice. Before he could think much of it, the storage unit's heavy doors began to unlatch and retract into the walls.

Valerie looked over at her father, her heart pounding. She'd already known who Dan Phantom had once been, but the sound of the doors unlocking made the truth seem even harsher.

Her father seemed to be in a state of shock, having difficulty himself reconciling such a man with what he remembered of Danny Fenton.

The mysterious stranger walked forward, eyes hard at the sight before him. It was a small room with an assortment of boxes. Within them were journals. Copies of various blueprints. On one particular table were two envelopes—one addressed to Jazz, and another to Danny.

Valerie and Damon followed him in, but then something in the mysterious stranger snapped.

A remnant of his dead family still lived in those letters and journals and blueprints. He had half a mind to destroy the storage unit in a blast, but then that would reveal his true nature—which meant he would have to temporarily live with the knowledge that some part of Jack and Maddie still existed in the form of their words and work.

He suddenly turned around, a dark look in his eyes. "I do not want to be here," he said, voice halted. "These memories, these books—I do not want to see them."

Valerie surged forward first, reaching out to him. She grabbed onto his hand and squeezed tightly. "That's okay. We'll just…lock it up for later. Won't we, dad?"

Damon was still a bit dazed as he nodded. "Yes. Of course." He cleared his throat. "If it's causing you trouble—"

"—It is," Dan hissed, narrowing his eyes as he squeezed Valerie's hand. There was a panic in him.

For our children, the inscription said.

For our children.

Dan stormed out, nearly dragging Valerie with him. "Get me out of here," he demanded. "Back to the resistance. Anything."

With their hands clasped so tightly, Valerie could feel the shake in his hand.


News spread fast that the mysterious survivor was the missing Daniel Fenton, the last child of the Fenton line. The news created a sense of completion, as Daniel Fenton could fulfill two great needs. The people of Amity Park had their Red Huntress, but she needed new and better weapons to defeat the infamous Dan Phantom. They had their mini Portal through which to jump dimensions and scavenge for food, but they needed someone who understood the Ghost Zone to lead them.

Valerie watched over the disguised ghost carefully, offering him a cup of hot chocolate as they sat down by the fireplace in the atrium. "You gonna be okay?"

He grabbed for the cup, unable to look away from the fire. "That is a relative question," he murmured distantly, a darkness in his voice.

She rolled her eyes and pulled a blanket up closer around her. "I'm serious."

His fingers clenched hard around the mug, his knuckles bleeding white. "You drag me to remnants of my past," he hissed under his breath, "and then you relegate me to babysit a hundred insects while they scavenge for food the day after tomorrow."

Valerie tilted her head, her ringlet curls slipping against her cheek. "You know why we need you. Dad thought you might want to know you've got an inheritance here too."

His lip curled downward. "I rejected such inheritance ten years ago. And I created a new purpose for my existence—far above that as a shepherd to those you call citizens of this town." He then sipped the hot chocolate, which warmed his throat and felt as a fire down his belly, where his ectoplasmic-infested organs began to break it down into ecto-energy. Damn that the hot chocolate tasted good. To further control his irritation with Amity Park, he pulled a bag of red-hots from his jacket and began to munch on them, crunching hard.

Something about the disguised ghost, as he chewed on the candies, reminded Valerie of a petulant and moody teenager. She reached out and stuck her hand in his bag of red hots, stealing a few for herself. "And here I thought you'd like the idea of ordering people around."

"I've done enough to help your people," he snapped, snatching the bag away from her questing hand. "They are all mostly insipid—with the exception of the one who makes these red-hot candies."

"You mean Margie?" A genuine smirk rose on her full lips as she opened her hand, having succeeded in stealing a few candies. "Aww. You like a little old lady."

"I like what she makes," Dan clarified. "There is a difference."

"Should I be jealous?" she teased, voice muffled as she popped a few of the candies in her mouth and chewed.

He sniffed haughtily and raised his aristocratic nose. "Always."


In the following days, the man known as Daniel Fenton led one-hundred Amity Park resistance soldiers into the Ghost Zone, assisted by the Red Huntress and the Administrative Commander Damon Gray.

Dan had acted entirely burdened by the existence of other humans, but as it turned out, he liked ordering around the human scavengers. He found their reverence of the "last Fenton" almost comical. They clung to his every word as they traversed the dimensions in search of food.

The Ghost Zone, as Dan knew, held millions of abandoned sectors. In millennia past, the ghosts had marked them with the signs of their obsessions—birds, bears, fish, cows. The slippage between the Zone and earth had resulted in such ghosts filling their lands with the plants and animals from their human memories. Orchids. Basil.

It was in those far-distant places that remnants of the fallen earth animal and plant kingdoms lived.

Valerie found herself floating on her jet sled, holding a blaster in the event of a ghost attack. Behind her visor, she hid an expression of relief. The Ghost Zone's green light reflected alongside artificial representations of a sun and moon—an ancient ghost's imaginings as they'd constructed their lair.

The light made her feel she was not so alone in an alien world.

Dan had led them to a lair of birds and bears, with various rivers of pure water streaming off the edge of the miles-long stretch of land. Most of the one-hundred soldiers quickly spread out, twisting silencers onto their guns. Some had orders to capture living specimens for reintroduction to the city.

But one of the recruits, a thin-looking older man who wore a visor obstructing his face, was not so keen to his job. He hid among the bushes and watched the three leaders discuss the future of such Ghost Zone raids.

"My god," the recruit breathed, staring at the strong body of Daniel Fenton. His own clouded, blue eyes were bright with horror.

Vladimir Masters knew only one being could impersonate Danny so well. He raised up an ecto-magnifier of his own construction, placing the false-Danny in the window. He pushed a button, and the window reconfigured to reveal the true form beneath.

His fingers shook under the heavy Kevlar gloves that hooked into the rest of his stolen resistance armor. The window showcased familiar white hair, blue skin, red eyes—all hidden beneath the sheep-skin of a dead man. "My god." He inhaled shakily, lowering his device and turning away before anyone looked in his direction.

A demon was in their midst.

Vlad's next question had to do with why.


After the initial celebrations of the scavenge's success, Valerie and Dan snuck back to her room. It was late in the evening. They had not touched each other for hours but had instead watched the other from a respectable distance. Even if he were Danny Fenton, no one expected Valerie to so quickly become intimate with him.

That made this game of theirs difficult.

Valerie closed her eyes as Dan planted an open-mouthed kiss upon her bare neck, his fingers deftly working to unbutton her top. His shirt was already somewhere on the floor from their earlier ministrations, her fingers now woven deep into his soft hair.

Cold air hit her stomach as he opened her shirt. "Do you enjoy this form more?" he murmured in her ear. "Or do you desire my true skin?"

"What the hell," she whispered, voice a bit breathless. "It's still you—either way."

"Do you derive more pleasure from one or the other?" he persisted, his lips brushing against hers.

She opened her eyes with a bit of irritation that he was ruining the moment. "Just drop your illusion," she demanded. "No one will know from in here."

And so he did, almost with relief. His human coloring dissipated into his inhuman form. His pale skin bled a strong blue that glowed like moonlight. His blue eyes darkened to a blood red as his hair streaked into white flames.

He held her gaze for some time.

Then he kissed her, his cool breath mixing against her hot mouth. The alien nature of her heat—so human compared to his own—was like feeling the desert of Petra surround him once more. He stroked the side of her face with the same fervor he once stroked the gold coins in his hideout. Reverent. Possessive.

For a time, he forgot where he was at. Who they were.

"I desire you," he murmured against her lips, voice tight. "I want to lay with you again. To touch you in my natural form."

She looked up at him and searched his eyes. "Then stop talking and touch me." She guided his hand to the front clasp on her bra, tightening his fingers against the simple metal.

She watched as his red eyes dilated in lust, and she felt his body tighten in desire as he undid the clasp, the material unsettling against her.

"I fully intend to touch you," he whispered hotly.

Her breath began to shudder as his calloused fingers swept aside her opened bra, his hands running over her bare breasts. She squeezed her eyes shut to hide the wave of longing she felt as he touched her. Her legs already trembled in want to spread for him. "I w-want you to stay here." Her voice was shaky. She grabbed onto the bedsheets beneath them, her fingers tightening into them hard. Her back arched up as his hands swept down her bare front, hooking into her pants. "Here in—ah—Amity Park. W-with me."

He pressed his hips against hers. Both still wore clothing on their lower halves, which made their foreplay terribly frustrating.

Then he leaned in, his bare chest scraping against hers. "Why?" he demanded. He planted his elbows beside her head, crushing the pillows with his weight. "So you can have your beloved Daniel Fenton back?"

"N-no. So I can keep an eye on you. This is so much easier than fighting you on a jet sled."

Valerie's fingers, daring in their pursuit, grabbed for the button on his pants but struck a little too low. Dan's face tightened in desire, his thin lips dropping open a fraction. An unsteady inhale came over him as she swept her hand up over the zipper of his pants.

In that moment, all his thoughts of destruction and all his irritation with Amity Park scrambled. The only thoughts left were of Valerie. He suddenly pressed himself hard against her, his body tightening further. "You devil woman," he moaned. "Can you not keep an eye on me in my own lands?"

He held his gaze with hers, pleased to see her own lips gasp open with need. Her hands held tight to the button on his pants. "In Petra?" she breathed.

"Where you could cry out freely in pleasure," he tempted, brushing his lips against hers. "And I could do the same." He grinded his hips against her once more in a sharp thrust.

Valerie's fingers fumbled, and her eyes darkened with need. "I w-won't be able to—get back under the Shield. By myself." But like this, already under the Shield, she could emit an ecto-signature for a few days, and no one would be the wiser.

Dan's head tilted, his flickering hair like a halo. "Ah, yes. The effect of our lovemaking." He leaned forward and captured her lips in a kiss, stretching open her mouth. It was intoxicating to think of Valerie carrying his ecto-signature in her womb as a result of their sex. He lost sight of their argument at the thought.

And it was then Dan realized some concept of community—which was that he had never felt such heights of pleasure until he'd made love to Valerie. Another person. A different soul. His own pleasure increased by virtue of her simple gasps and the tightening of her hands upon him.

Though he held the entire universe in his hand, the experience of that universe was improved, simply by the presence of one human woman.


Vlad was tracking Dan Phantom's signature now with his own radar prototype. He knew undoubtedly it was Phantom's signature, and it was stationary on the other side of the resistance. A secondary signature of it was in close range, which made Vlad suspect that Dan had split himself into clones, perhaps to attack.

Still in his stolen resistance uniform, the older man stole away into the sleeping quarters of the building, half-panicking as he realized exactly where the signatures were at.

Valerie Gray's room.

In fear that this was some kind of trap, he brought with him his ecto-magnifier, which could be magnified to see even through solid objects on the human plane. He raised up his device to peer through the walls, fearful for Valerie's life. "My god," he whispered, waiting for the window to reconfigure. Perhaps Valerie was already dead. Perhaps Dan was choking her right now.

But then the strangest thing happened. The device configured, and suddenly Vlad was looking at a blue-skinned, naked Dan Phantom on top the sheets of Valerie's bed, and a naked Valerie arching up against him, her hands on Dan's hips—

Vlad, for the first time in a decade, flinched, nearly dropping his equipment. He quickly turned away, his clouded blue eyes wide. A deep blush and shock came over him. He froze there, staring at the wall opposite Valerie's room.

The image repeated in his mind. A fully exposed Dan Phantom—with all his blue skin and red eyes and white hair—was rutting on Valerie, and Valerie was enjoying it.

Vlad's face suddenly turned green with nausea and horror. He walked away shakily, staring down at the two iterations of Dan Phantom's signature and realizing that one of them was an infected Valerie Gray.

It hit him suddenly that perhaps Dan had overshadowed Valerie. That this was all some sick, twisted way of exerting control over his enemy. If that were the case, then Valerie would awaken in horror of her rape.

With great tentative action, Vlad raised his device again. He seemed a bit disgusted to do so, eyes narrowed to block some of the image. He lowered the device and increased its range to focus fully on Valerie's face.

Her head was tilted to the side, sweat bulleting down her temples as her whole body moved from the monster rutting on her. But instead of seeing red in her irises, a sign of overshadowing, her eyes were as clear as always.

"Oh my god," Vlad breathed to himself, respectfully lowering the device and feeling distant from himself. Almost embarrassed at his own concern.

She was not possessed. Which meant the real Valerie Gray, in full consciousness, was making love to her worst enemy.

Vlad turned green with nausea once more.


Early in the morning, Valerie stumbled out of her room. Her hair was in a frizz down her shoulders, her baggy shirt and pajama pants rumpled. She looked all of 16 and so terribly innocent as she carried her washroom bag full with a pink towel and flower-scented shampoo, yawning.

Vlad waited for her to turn the bend down the hall before he slipped from the darkness and grabbed onto her arm.

The woman immediately tensed, eyes widening as she wheeled around and grabbed hard onto her attacker's wrist.

Vlad winced at the force of her grip. His thin lips dropped open in a gasp, "Valerie—please."

She released him, her eyes still wide as she stared into his face. "…Vlad?" She suddenly stepped back. "What the hell is this?"

He rubbed his wrist in pain. "An attempt to gather a private audience with you," he whispered. His clouded blue eyes searched her face, still in disbelief of what he knew. This girl looked so innocent, so respectable.

She re-shouldered her washroom bag, uncomfortable. She could feel the tension off Vlad. "What do you want? I'm not even ready for the day."

The old man was gaunt with age, but a fire burned in him. "I want you to know something," he said, voice low and shaky. "I'd loved Daniel Fenton as a son. I've mourned him and what he could have become. I know you loved him too."

By now, Valerie looked a little skittish, her eyes darting about. "…Yeah? What the hell does this have to do with anything?"

Vlad's voice dropped again as he sought to control the forcefulness of his demand. "If you truly loved him, in any capacity at all, why are you sleeping with his murderer?"

Valerie froze, her knuckles gripping the straps of her washroom bag so tightly, they bled white. "What?"

He leaned in, his tall form towering over her. "For some ungodly reason, you've allowed Dan Phantom, masquerading as Danny, into our fair town." His voice nearly broke. "And not only that, but you—our most precious defense against him—have further invited him into your bed?!"

She inhaled sharply, and she began to back away. "You don't know what you're talking about. That's Danny, the real—"

He grabbed onto her bag, searching her eyes. "—Do not dare to lie to me," he hissed. "I know Dan Phantom's signature as well as you do, and you are absolutely soaked with it, according to my radar. You even smell of him, how disgusting."

Her teal eyes were hard with panic, and her dark face slowly began to drain of color. "There was ecto-contamination beyond the Shield—we were both—"

"—Do not lie," he said again in righteous fury. "I'm sure the real Daniel Fenton died a terrible, bloody death, by the hands of that—that demon you brought here. And here you are, risking our lives and your own, for what? Physical pleasure? Is that so far above the value of your people?"

Valerie swallowed hard and said, "Danny's not dead. What the hell are you trying to—?"

"You liar," he snapped. His clouded eyes were bright with tears. "I traced his signature to your room last night. I thought he'd possessed you somehow—that you were a victim of his insidious plans. How else would a competent ghost hunter like you overlook such a threat? Instead, I find you gasping his name as he—" His voice trailed off in embarrassment and flustered fury.

Before she could speak, the old man conjured a device from the front pocket in his jacket. He turned its window to her and flipped a switched.

It was a slightly blurry image, but heavily incriminating. Dan Phantom's body covered her own, but her face was leaned sideways, twisted in pleasure, her legs wrapped around his waist.

The woman's entire body suddenly flushed with horror, and she grabbed for the device.

Vlad held it out of the way, eyes hard. "I thought you once as a daughter," he whispered. "With all the mistakes I've made myself, I'd be a hypocrite if I did not offer to delete this picture in exchange for a simple request. That you end this…affair. And that you end him, as per your duty as the Red Huntress and Military Commander of the Amity Park Resistance."

Valerie stepped forward.

"You don't know what you're messing with," she finally said, her eyes narrowed. Her voice was shaky. "I'm a weakness. He's given us the technology we needed to survive, all because of me. Because he wants me." She lowered her voice, "If I keep him interested, he won't attack this place. Get it?"

"My dear," the old man whispered, "you have so much more to lose in this game than he does. He could betray you to your own people. And if you weren't shot on sight by your own father, you'd be imprisoned and executed, or at the very least thrown to the Wastelands to starve." His bit his lip, tired and frustrated. "That is how Phantom works. He offers a simple thought, a simple exchange, and then he destroys you with it."

"I can change him." Valerie forced herself to stand a little taller, staring her accuser in the face. "He's saved the city because of me. He's helping us."

"He's turned you into a toy," Vlad said tiredly. "Perhaps he's staved off our fears of starvation, but to what end? He cannot love. He cannot think beyond himself. Everything he does is for his own benefit."

"That's where you're wrong," Valerie said shakily. "He can think of me." He'd touched her intimately in ways to heighten her own enjoyment, at times even denying himself pleasure to do so.

Vlad's face twisted. "Oh, I'm sure he enjoys the concept of his greatest enemy begging for him. You are only a chess piece in his desire for control. And you've fed right into his narcissist obsessions by confirming you'd comprise your morals to have sex with him."

The conversation was enough to embarrass the girl. That her accuser was Vladimir Masters further added to her horror.

She blinked and realized that her eyes were beginning to burn. "I know what I'm doing. We have a deal. I know him in so many ways you don't."

"And if that deal does not end in you double-crossing him, then you will discover the depths of his depravity for yourself." Vlad swallowed hard. "Give me your word that you will defeat him and end this madness, today, and I'll delete this photo. I'll even forget we had this conversation and will leave you and him be."

Valerie's breath hitched. "You don't know what you're asking me to do."

"I know exactly what I'm asking. Say you'll accept the deal, or I will be forced to take further action myself."

For a time, she struggled to form words. Then with great hesitance, she whispered, "Deal."

In that very instant, he deleted the photo with a quick push of familiar buttons, unable to even look at it. "I'm sorry, my dear. I know bad men are often…tempting to women." He looked at her with a hard gaze. "But this is for the best. I do not want to see you dead or broken by his hand. Know that I'll be watching."

Then Vlad pulled away, and he turned around to walk off without another word. He left Valerie standing there, holding tightly to her washroom bag. Her breath hitched, and suddenly she looked even younger than before, her big eyes bright with tears.


Valerie sat on her bed, looking haunted. She'd changed into leggings and an old, baggy sweater from the eighties. It had been her mothers. "Vlad knows." Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair still wet from bathing. She'd scrubbed at herself hard, unable to scrub away the part of herself that desired Dan.

Dan was mostly dressed by now, laying back on her bed with his arms crossed behind his head. His dark hair had been tamed into a low ponytail, which feathered across her pillow. But the instant he heard the word Vlad, he bolted up, eyes hard in a sudden, furious panic. "What?"

Valerie did not turn to face him. "Vlad knows," she whispered.

The ghost blurred off the bed, standing before Valerie to stare into her face. He grabbed her shoulders, though not unkindly. "Vlad is dead," he hissed in fear. "That man isdead. The house explosion should have—"

She grabbed onto his wrist. "—He's not." She was troubled by Dan's touch now, duly chastised. She pulled his hands off of her. "Even worse, he had a picture of us, with you in your real skin." She swallowed hard. "He offered to delete it in exchange for something."

Dan's eyes were wild, his mind racing. "Which is?"

"For me to end this. And you." The words settled uneasily in her mouth, and she pressed her lips tightly together.

Dan ran a hand through his hair, messing his ponytail. "How theatric a demand," he murmured in a snarl. "Did he injure you?"

She fell silent for a bit, then muttered with a blush, "Just my pride." She was unable to hold his gaze, feeling odd about everything. She scratched her arm. "His reports said you ran away before the mansion explosion. I didn't think—I thought he'd be like everyone else and not question what you are. I didn't know…he knew."

Dan crossed his arms, expression uncomfortable. "And I'd believed him dead." The late-December wind struck the windows of her room with great force, creating an odd, wailing whistle off the building. Dan's face twitched. "I'll have to kill him, or you will be in danger regardless of what he does with the evidence."

"Kill him?" she repeated, eyes widening as she shook out of her thoughts. "No, absolutely not."

"Vlad's primary modus operandi is blackmail. He never forgets anything."

"And you can't kill him." Valerie's voice hardened. "I'll—I'll talk to him again."

"And I could overshadow him," Dan tempted. "Squeeze his heart until it stops. Everyone would think it a heart attack, which is natural for someone his age. No one would know."

"No." Valerie was so blinded by her own fear, she did not realize that Dan was actively letting her participate in his decisions. "No, you can't do that. You can't kill people here—and not Vlad."

"Why not? You've provided no objective reason."

She sputtered and stood up, "Because he's right! And he deleted that picture right in front of me, on my word that—"

"—Do not trust his deals," he murmured roughly, then he touched her face. His fingers were light despite the dark fury on his face, and he remained there for a time, his fingers sweeping across the soft of her lips to caress down her jaw. "He does not think things through as I do. And this deal you made—do you honestly intend to value his life above me? To re-commence our fights to the death?"

Valerie did not break his gaze, but she leaned into his touch, damning herself for it. "We're always going to fight," she deadpanned. "He wouldn't know the difference. But I don't want him to go to my dad because he's afraid I can't control you."

The underhanded tone in Valerie's voice made Dan's lips twitch. He leaned forward. "And that's what all this is about, isn't it?" he said, tilting up her chin. "Control."

"Oh, like you don't have an agenda being here," she snapped and turned away, focusing on the wall. She didn't want to see him in that moment.

"Of course not," Dan murmured to her, his thin lips brushing against the tip of her ear. "Our deal has been complete for almost a day. I am simply your faithful servant in bed."

The woman closed her eyes, swallowing hard. "Don't pretend with me."

"And don't avoid my question," he whispered. "You do want to control me. Our sex is simply the most convenient way—you've even said as much, you heartbreaker, you." His hands reached for her waist, bunching into the oversized sweater. "But who is controlling whom, Valerie?"

His actions dropped the wide collar of her sweater, revealing a bare, dark shoulder. His cool lips pressed against her skin, his form melting against her.

Her eyes squeezed shut, her body fighting to stand. "Stop it—I've already showered today."

His voice was a murmur against her shoulder as one of his hands dropped lower, slipping to her leggings. He bunched up the sweater again to trace the inside of her thighs. "Afraid to get wet again?" He touched her fully between her legs, only the thin material of her pants between them.

Her breath hitched at his intimate touch. "Damn your puns." She leaned into him, her own body betraying her. Her head came to rest against his shoulder as he ran his long fingers in circles along her most intimate of places. His touch was light, teasing. Familiar.

"I can play you like a fiddle, Valerie," he murmured to her, his other hand moving up beneath her sweater to squeeze around one of her breasts. He breathed in deep the scent of her damp hair. "I can make you so wet that your womb weeps in desire for me."

A noise escaped her—almost like a whine as his fingers suddenly pushed up between her legs and squeezed her breast hard. Her eyes shut even tighter, her face flushing as her lips dropped open. Her hands grabbed onto his wrists, but whether to wrench them away or guide his rhythm, she didn't know.

Against her better judgment, she held on tight.

The muscles of his arms tensed with every calculated stroke of his long fingers. His cold skin was like ice against the heat beneath her clothes. Her breath began to shudder when his hand slipped under her bra, and suddenly they were skin-to-skin.

She could feel his lips stretch against her temple in a smirk. "The fact is, my dear, that I control you as much as you control me. Vlad probably knows that."

Her body began to weaken in will as she clung tight to his wrists, gasping as her sensitive nerves began to fire.

Then, suddenly, Dan stopped, his hands falling away from her in a final caress. She breathed shakily against his shoulder, opening her eyes to the ceiling in surprise at the sudden stop of his actions. Her entire body burned for him in that moment, and it was so strong that she huffed in another whine, "You bastard."

He nuzzled his nose into her neck, grabbing onto her hips to steady her. "You're so easy to arouse," he complained, "and so terribly difficult to bring to release. We'd be here all morning if I did not stop."

For a time, they stood there, leaning against the other as her breath shuddered.

"You," Valerie breathed unsteadily, "wouldn't like it any other way." Then she turned her head to the side, feeling bad that she didn't feel bad for staying in his arms. Like this, she knew he was different. Something had changed in him over the years—even if it were simply that his love of torment had transformed itself into a mutually beneficial form.

The fact is, my dear, that I control you as much as you control me, her mind suddenly repeated Dan's voice a few times over. Such words were half-derisive and yet somehow an affording of respect, coming from his mouth.

It was odd that she suddenly thought of Vlad, and how just earlier, he'd called her my dear as well. No one else called her that.

Dan's voice was muffled, "Vlad still deserves to die, you know." He brushed his lips against her dark neck. Arousing her, he hoped, would make her more open to suggestion. Perhaps touching her would remind her what she could potentially lose. "Allow me to kill him, for he is a threat to us."

She blinked, mind racing to catch up from the tingling in her body, and then she groaned, feeling confused. There was something strange about how secretly Vlad was handling her treason, no matter how much he may have liked her, and something even stranger about Dan ruining a good moment to think of such a man.

My dear.

My dear.

"I'm not gonna let you kill him," she said distantly. There was something Vlad wasn't telling her. "I'm gonna go talk to him. Soon."

She felt Dan's irritation in the way he kissed her neck. "Dammit, Valerie." His hands slid back down her waist, then her hips. "Why make things more difficult? The longer he lives without proof of you attempting to end me, the more likely he will expose us."

Even those slight touches left Valerie feeling raw in want for Dan. It made her feel dirty, her body still uncomfortably primed for making love with him. "He won't," she promised. Then she leaned her head to the aside, allowing Dan more access to the sensitive line of her carotid artery.

"I will hold you to that," he warned, his lips brushing against the heightened beat of her heart.

The two of them hesitated to break away at that as he touched her once more, his hands wandering down the line of her hips.

Valerie, for all of her strength, found herself barely able to refuse him. "I already showered," she finally said.

"You're already wet for me," he murmured. But then he slipped away from her, his fingers catching the baggy material of her sweater in a final awe of its softness.

The silence that stretched between them was tense. Neither said much for a time as they fought to control their desire.

Valerie turned away with a shaky breath, her mind churning with images of what it would be like if they gave in once more. Her voice was distant as she said, "I've got work to do. And I need to get breakfast before the cafeteria shuts down."

Dan crossed his arms. His hands were still warm from Valerie's body. He could smell her scent of exotic flowers and sand permeating his own shirt, his shoulder wet in places from her still-damp hair. He felt marked by her—not unpleasantly. "Very well. But when will you confront Vlad? He will not remain a docile threat for long."

"After breakfast."

"I will go with you," the disguised ghost said, watching her as she readjusted the tops of her leggings and the hem of her mother's sweater. He could not stand the idea of Vlad attempting to hurt her, and he imagined that Vlad was not above attempting to do so.

"No," she said. "You'll stay here." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I can handle him on my own, and you only make things worse."

He huffed at her. "Vlad would kill you if he thought it meant weakening me."

And then her face twisted in odd ways. "I can fight Dan Phantom and win. I'm not some damsel in distress who needs to be protected." She raised her chin, feeling almost defensive against Dan's strange display of protectiveness. "Or did you forget all the times I kicked your ass so hard, you ran away to go lick your wounds?"

Dan's lips stretched, but not in humor. "No," he deadpanned. "I have not."

"Then why the hell are you worried he's gonna kill me?" She grabbed a hair tie from her dresser.

Such a reflective question made the powerful ghost defensive. "Can I not feel worry for you?"

Valerie looked at him searchingly. "No, it's just…"

She fell silent, realizing that Dan Phantom was worried for her.

He was worried for her.

"What's got you so worked up about Vlad?" she demanded. "He's not even half as dangerous as the ghosts I've fought, not including you."

"Do not underestimate him," Dan warned. "He is always three steps ahead."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You make it sound like he's some villain. He's helped me in the past, so why—"

"—I lived with him," Dan interrupted, voice dark. "I know his mind better than anyone else. He does nothing without an ulterior motive, and his favorite pastime is ripping things apart."

There was an odd strain in Dan's face at that moment. It was almost a vulnerable one.

Valerie walked up to him. "Why would you say something like that? What did he do to make you believe he was a bad guy?"

Dan's face twitched, and he looked away. He did not answer for a time. Then he eventually said, "I know you can fight if you need to. I will simply seek a distraction while you are away. But for now, let us go find you breakfast."


Damon Gray had noticed earlier that his daughter resonated with a slight ecto-signature. He had a small ectoplasmic radar—the first prototype built off Valerie's advanced battle suit. When he tested it, the radar identified Valerie Gray as an ectoplasmic entity.

Even more interesting, she resonated at the same frequency as Daniel Fenton, who carried an ecto-signature as well. Both signals currently showed themselves in the cafeteria of the resistance.

The father's gray eyebrows furrowed. He originally assumed it was ecto-contamination from wherever Valerie had found Danny. But the first time she had exhibited such symptoms, the effect naturally faded after a few days.

Now, both Valerie and Danny had a muted, enduring presence on his radar after almost four days away from the Wastelands—with no sign of fading.

"Is it the radar?" Damon murmured, turning it over in his hand. But then that made no sense either, as no one else exhibited a signature. There were only two signatures. If it were malfunctioning, then why did it not malfunction on anyone else?

After a few minutes, he decided to call up the man who had built the prototype to begin with—Vladimir Masters.

Perhaps the recluse would think of something Damon himself could not.

The phone rang a few times as Damon patiently waited for Vlad to pick up.

Then there was a click. "Hello?"

"Vlad," said the father in a bit of relief. "Am I glad I got a hold of you. Listen, I'm having trouble with that radar you built me off Valerie's suit. Have a minute to talk?"

"The radar, you say?" Vlad's voice was edged in a way that Damon did not catch.

"Yes. It keeps showing Valerie and Danny as—" he tried to laugh it off— "well, as ghosts. With an ectoplasmic signature."

Vlad did not laugh in return. He fell silent for a time. "Have you spoken to them about it?"

"Val says they were caught in an ecto-contaminated field. But the effects aren't fading out like last time."

Damon could almost hear Vlad's eyebrows fly up. "Like…last time?" the once-millionaire questioned.

"It's happened before. Earlier this month."

Vlad fell silent again. "Damon, my old friend. I experimented with ectoplasm for decades, and it's highly unstable. It dissipates into the air easily unless it's held in a container. There is no way a field on earth could be ecto-contaminated, and there is no way a human can emit an ecto-signature via airborne exposure. Think of you and all your soldiers in the Ghost Zone. None of you emit a signature, now, do you?"

The father paused. Only Danny and Valerie did. "What are you saying?"

Vlad said slowly. "A human would have to be injected with a high-concentration source to emit an ecto-signature. But even still, the body would get rid of it as a nonlethal toxin. It couldn't sustain a signature over days without a power core of its own or ongoing injections."

Damon began to understand what was going on. "My daughter is not a ghost," he said forcefully. "And it makes no sense that she would inject herself with ectoplasm."

"Ah, but what do you know of her lover, the one you call Danny Fenton?"


Valerie trekked outside alone after grabbing a quick breakfast and ensuring that Dan had a project to keep him busy in the meantime. She found Vlad sitting on a bench in the center of the Amity Park memorial commemorating the dead. A small snow had fallen once more, and the sidewalks had not yet been cleared. The late-morning sunlight glared harshly against her eyes. Everything seemed white. "Figures you'd be here," she called to him, holding a hand over her eyes.

"And it figures you would hunt me down," he greeted her. He wore an old, black trench coat, the edges frayed from a decade of use. Likely, he carried anti-ecto weapons beneath. "Tell me, how fares your other half? I saw no great battles this morning as I'd hoped. I assume he is comfortable in his skin still."

It was cold, their breaths wisps rising to the sky.

"Cut the crap," she demanded. "I'm not here to banter."

His clouded blue eyes hardened with weariness, as if expecting Valerie to drag him off and end his life herself. But their location was open, with several people milling around and their children playing in the snow. If she tried anything, the whole city would know. He patted the open section of the bench. "Are you here to kill me, my dear?"

Valerie hesitated for a second and sat down, sticking her hands hard in her pockets for warmth. "No. But we need to talk."

Vlad eyed her. Her eyes were still a brilliant teal—she was not possessed. He found his own skin goose-bumped in her presence, likely because he knew she was intimate with the killer Dan Phantom. Something about her in his eyes had fallen. "And what is it have you come to tell me? If not to kill me, then to convince me to your side of lies?"

The woman's face tightened, and her cheeks flushed with red—but with fury instead of embarrassment. "Don't be a hypocrite," she hissed, voice dropping for his ears alone. "I don't know what the hell really happened, but you know what happened—that night Danny died. You were there."

Vlad was not prepared for such an accusation. He blinked, face tightening. "No, I don't. He ran away before—"

"—That's a lie," she snarled, fighting to keep her voice down. The sound of children laughing echoed on the wind. "God dammit, you know that's a lie. He thought you were dead because you were there. He never expected to see you alive again."

"And what do his accusations or expectations have to do with you betraying us all for him?" the old man demanded. "I fail to see the connection."

She narrowed his eyes. "Because if you lied about his death, then you know why he is the way he is. And it's something you don't want anyone to figure out."

An odd smile tilted his lips into grimace. "Ah, so what is this? Some attempt at reverse-blackmail to keep me quiet?"

"I'm trying to understand how you and him are connected," she hissed under her breath. There was a desperation in her. "He says my dear the same way you do—I mean, what the hell? Danny Phantom was just a…a trickster for the most part before something happened. I know Danny's friends and family died, but what did you do to him when you were his guardian? It changed how he acted, how he talked, what he looked like."

The bright morning sun fell behind the clouds for a moment. Vlad held Valerie's gaze. He saw an awareness in her that left him feeling terribly exposed. "What do you mean, what did I do? I loved him like a son and took him under my wing. I would have done anything for him."

Valerie poked him hard in the chest, noticing that Vlad wore some kind of heavy-Kevlar vest beneath his coat. "Sure you loved him. Enough to make him some guinea pig for an experiment. A really big experiment you didn't think through."

He stood up to get away from her, his blue eyes troubled. "And what proof do you have?" he said defensively. "For all you know, he is attempting to put a wedge between us—to make you incapable of listening to reason."

Her face shadowed hard. "All it would take is one word to my dad, and you'd be arrested for creating the monster who murdered five billion people."

His voice was shaky with a nervous triumph, "And you're already a suspect in your father's eyes, girl. Commander Gray has more technology than you know, and he has seen evidence that your beloved Daniel Fenton is dead. I'm sure he's confronted your lover now. I hope he's expunged that monster forever."

Valerie froze. "What? What evidence—why would he—?"

"—Do you honestly think I'd leave the fate of the world to your hormones?" he hissed. "I told your father when he asked me why his daughter still had a signature like a ghost."

The woman suddenly failed to breathe. Too many thoughts raced into her head at once. "Oh my god," she said, feeling almost weak. Her father confronting Dan. Alone. "Oh my god. Dad."

Then her battle suit swept over her in a flurry, and she materialized her jet sled, soaring up to the skies to race back to the resistance. In her mind played an image of Dan standing over a mangled, bloody body of Damon Gray and saying without remorse, "It was bound to happen."

Vlad simply continued to sit on the bench, tapping his fingers against his old knees. A spark of his old self wormed into his heart. If Dan had already killed Valerie's father, then that would leave an incredible vacuum of power and authority—which someone would need to fill. A small part of Vlad began to fancy himself stepping up.

And Valerie, if she discovered her father dead, would relearn exactly why she should hate Phantom. Which would mean she'd eventually come crying back to Vlad, saying, "You were right. You were right."


After Valerie had left to confront Vlad, Dan began to work on a little project. The miniaturized Fenton Portal, he knew, would be only a temporary solution. It was a bandage to calm city panic over the sudden loss of a food supply—the humans were fearful of their excursions into other dimensions. By the end of December, most were beginning to look to Administrative Commander Damon Gray for guidance on when their beloved undergrounds would be revived.

As Dan had discovered, the main problem was fixing the generators. Many of the technical engineers for them had died in his own initial rush against the Shield.

And so he found himself in the underground farms—or what was left of them. Several of the tunnels had collapsed and still smelled of smoke. The ground, once rich with golden wheat and red potatoes and raw sugar cane, was now as lifeless as the Wasteland. It crunched with broken glass from the reflective surfaces the people had used to amplify their sun lamps. Only patches of light sunk in from the vents in the ceiling.

Dan's false-blue eyes narrowed as he raised a hand, allowing some of his power to leech through his illusion. A bright, red light appeared in his hand. He stepped forward. There was a large blast section to the left of the visible room, completely swept clean of debris. It appeared that had been the generator location, the ground and earth so warped as to have cooled to the shape of the blast.

"Hn." Under his breath, he added, "If only it'd been a larger blast." But then he nearly rescinded his statement. The fields ran underneath the resistance, which meant Valerie might have died. It'd been good planning on the engineers' part to dig the fields deep and reinforce them with heavy concrete layers.

"I'm doing this for her," he muttered. He had to remind himself that keeping Valerie alive was an important objective. Food sustainability was necessary for her, even if his actions would once again benefit the thousands of insects unworthy of his help.

As he walked through the blast section, he found the warped and melted metal of what was once several energy generators. The lifeblood of Amity Park.

He touched one of the melted generators and felt how cold it'd become. It would take significant energy to repair them—and even so, his own understanding of mechanics and engineering was rudimentary.

If he accessed the memories of one Vladimir Masters, he had vague recollections of what it meant to build ecto-containing chambers and weapons. "I suppose I could build a free-energy converter," he murmured, scratching his chin. "And give it a jump with ectoplasm. Yes, that should do well."

Dan placed his glowing hand on the hunk of metal and closed his eyes. The stream of red light suddenly brightened into a star, energy surging into the ruined device. It super-heated the metal once more in the confined space, the crushed metal expanding out slowly.

He grabbed pieces of metal debris as he worked, spinning them into tight coils for energy storage and soldering them into his new design. In short order, he had a somewhat crude-looking generator in place, its coils gathering enough energy for him to feel a slight pull even on himself. "Should work," he said distractedly. Then he placed his hand on the top once more and unfurled his energy once more in a soft transmission.

The generator began to hum.

After a minute, Dan pulled his hand away from the generator, inspecting his work. It seemed to hold, the generator coils glowing a hot red from the energy. But the use of such power had drained part of his illusion, sparking his blue eyes to red. A glow re-appeared around his body.

It wasn't until he heard a noise that he turned around and saw Administrative Commander Damon Gray lower an ecto-gun.

The old man's hand shook as he stared at Dan in the greatest consternation. Dan stared back, acknowledging that this man was Valerie's father—and to kill him in the name of secrecy would mean the end of making love to Valerie.

Damon's voice, once so strong, trembled. "I knew something was wrong with you." He swallowed hard. "For years, everyone we'd find in the Wastelands would already be dead. I guess it figures you'd be dead too."

Dan tilted his chin at Damon's weapon. He knew the gig was up. "Do you intend to threaten me?"

The father stepped forward, his one good eye conflicted. "I didn't expect to triangulate your position here. And I didn't expect to find you…fixing our generators?"

"Hn." Dan's thin lips began to stretch without humor. "You would not understand."

"Would I?" the father demanded. "You've managed to convince my daughter." There were an edge in his voice that spoke of great fury. "Danny Fenton. Danny Phantom. I should've known it was you."

The ghost's dark brow angled up in surprise. "Ah, you've deduced my true identity, even? Surely not on your own mental power."

Damon raised his gun. It whined with a supercharged energy that Dan knew could tear through his body in a painful way. "You mutilated me," the father said, voice shaking. "You killed innocent people, destroyed the earth. You seduced my only daughter. You deserve this shot."

The two stood tall, facing each other at the short distance. Dan did not move to strike away the weapon, and Damon did not move to lower it.

"Then why not shoot me?" Dan challenged, tilting his head. "Or does your age and missing eye make you hesitate to engage me in battle?"

Suddenly, the old man pulled the trigger with all the nimble accuracy of a sharpshooter. Bang!

For the briefest second, Dan's face flinched as the blast's edge caught his cheek—and then it was gone, the smoke and light clearing away between them. Dan still did not move, feeling his own green blood begin to slip down his face from the shallow graze. He tensed, his body, his red eyes narrowing to slits. "Bad decision."

But instead of shooting again and starting a full battle, Damon lowered the weapon, watching him closely. "Valerie betrayed us all," he whispered, his eyes brightening with tears, "to bring you here. If the people found out, they'd demand she be executed. And that would just be the start. Do you understand?"

The ghost blinked, raising a hand hesitantly to his face. His illusion had purpled his skin around the bloody slit to heal it. "Is that why you seek to destroy me alone, down here? A slow and painful death to defend her honor?"

"Valerie wouldn't forgive me if I ended you," the father said. His voice was halted with several emotions.

Already, the cut on his face was beginning to heal. A terrible smile stretched his lips. "No, she would not. Providing you could even finish the job."

The father fell silent for a time, staring at the man still in a shock. "You've been sleeping with her for some time. That day earlier in December—she returned with an ecto-signature. That was you."

"Yes."

Damon's face twisted, and he demanded out in consternation, "Why?"

Dan's dark brow angled. "Why does she have an ecto-signature? Because I am a ghost, and when I—"

"—No," the father said, his face turning red with fury or embarrassment. Perhaps both. "Why are you sleeping with my daughter, your enemy?! Is this some kind of joke to you?"

"Perhaps we're just enemies with benefits now," Dan said whimsically. "It is a thing. An addicting thing."

"Not with her." Damon's voice strained. "Not with you. So you're going to tell me why this is happening. What are you really after, with seducing her and all the work you've done here?"

The ghost wiped his cheek, staring at the father. "There's something underhanded about you," he murmured. "You seem frail, but here you are, making demands of me."

"I don't want a self-analysis," Damon deadpanned. "Answer my question."

"Very well, Commander." Dan raised his chin. "My intentions are this—that I am incredibly bored, and Valerie is the only interesting life form left. I could not let her die of starvation, and so I've ensured you worker bees maintain the hive for your queen."

The father blinked. His knuckles tightened on the gun. "You infiltrated our city and did all this because you're bored?"

Dan's face stretched with a smile. "Would you rather that I kill your people? I can do so if it would meet your expectations for the day."

"No," Damon said quickly, mind racing. "No. I don't want you to hurt anyone."

"A pity. You have an overpopulation problem here, for which I offer my free assistance in correcting."

His humor failed to entertain the old man. "And Valerie?" Damon demanded. "You can't get her pregnant, can you?"

This time, the smile faltered on Dan's face, strangling into something of irritation and amusement. "Oh, you are such a father. But the answer to that question is between me and Valerie—no one else."

Damon raised his gun and planted it against Dan's chest. "I love my daughter," he hissed. "You understand? I won't let you ruin her life or turn her into some toy."

The ghost raised his hands in mocking jest. "She seduced me. This is all part of her insidious plan to sex me into obedience."

"I should shoot you for that kind of talk," Damon snapped.

"And I should kill you for your insolence," Dan retaliated. "But our binding tie is Valerie herself, who would forgive neither of us for such transgressions."

Something happened then, which was that the father realized Dan had not already killed him simply for the sake of Valerie. He swallowed hard to stomp out his flare of anger and the massive pull of pain he felt. "No," he murmured distantly, "she wouldn't forgive us."

The two remained silent for a time. Then Damon pulled away his gun, face in a twist of sadness and anger. His voice was halted. "So don't give me a reason to shoot you."

Dan tilted his head.

At that second, Valerie blasted in from one of the vents above, aiming her gun at Dan's chest. Under her battle suit, her eyes were wide and she was breathing hard in panic. "What the hell is going on here?" she called out, voice nearly hysterical.

"Valerie," greeted Dan, looking up with little surprise and almost a sense of appreciation. "You just missed a pleasant conversation I had with your father, who I believe has forgiven me of my transgressions."

The woman floated on her jet sled, eyes wide. "…What?"

"I've not forgiven you," Damon clarified, voice strained. "I will never forgive you."

Then he cast the blaster to the ground, and it clattered hard. The father stood in defeat as he stared at the sadistic ghost who'd lain with his daughter and infiltrated his city.

Valerie swept in to her father's aid, jumping off her jet sled. She landed nimbly and reached out to him.

Her father tensed at her touch, even as she retracted her armor and ran a hand down his face, Her eyes were bright with tears. "You're okay?" she asked quickly. "He hasn't hurt you—you're okay?"

Damon pulled away from her, swallowing hard. For a time, he could say nothing to her, feeling an incredible gap between them. Dan Phantom had touched her. His baby girl. And she'd let him, among other things. "Are you?" he whispered.

She blinked, her father's concern for her almost a burn against her conscience. "I'm fine, daddy," she said softly. Her breath hitched, reaching out for him again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—I should have—"

"Oh, please," muttered Dan, rolling his eyes as he leaned against his humming generator. "I can't stand family reunions."

Valerie turned to him, eyes hard. "Shut up. Now is not the time."

Dan's voice was irritated and defensive. "Don't express your anger at me—I tolerated your father and even saved your city several weeks of engineering development. You should be thanking me."

But her attention was already back to her father, whose large hand came to gently wrap around her arm. His calloused thumb stroked her dark sleeve.

Damon whispered, "Did he force you to do all of this? Any of it?"

Her face was tight with guilt. "It was a deal, daddy," she said. "His tech for access to the city. I did it to save us."

"Every single, insignificant citizen," Dan cut in dryly.

Damon ignored him. He stared into his daughter's eyes. "Did you have to sleep with him too?" he demanded in a pained plea. "Good god, Valerie."

"Trust me," Valerie begged. "Just…trust me, daddy. I can handle him."

Dan cut in again, this time with a smarmy smirk. "She can handle me—that's an invitation."

Both Damon and Valerie snapped to him, "Shut up," and then returned to their own conversation.

"I promise," Valerie said, voice low with pain. "Daddy, I promise I won't let anything happen to anyone."

"And I can't let anything happen to you," her father whispered. "You're my baby girl. My only baby girl."

Dan sighed loudly in complaint that he was being ignored. He'd begun to realize that, if he wanted Valerie, it meant sharing her with others who vied for her time. Damon, as her father, so easily commanded her attention and respect.

Community, he deadpanned to himself.

Around that time, Damon turned around. His jaw was tight, his mind racing. When he spoke, his voice was halted. "Do you understand what people would do if they found out what you and Valerie have done?"

Dan raised a brow. "I imagine some would be darkly fascinated to know about our sex life, which I'll admit is quite enjoyable."

"Life would end here," Damon stressed, voice breaking. "Everything would fall apart. No worker bees for your queen, providing someone didn't kill her first."

Valerie raised a brow. "…Queen?"

The disguised ghost stepped forward, peering into the father's eyes with great curiosity. "How odd that you, of all people, are speaking my language. I suspect a deal is on the horizon. Do keep talking."

Damon swallowed hard, looking back at his daughter momentarily. "People would question what happened if Danny Fenton suddenly disappeared. Your cover is too well-known, so I'll allow you to stay here undercover, on four conditions: One, that you obey our laws here. All of them, down to the spirit and the letter of them. Two, that you give me, without destroying or editing it, your parents' work."

Valerie suddenly stared at her father in a genuine surprise. She'd been expecting tears. Lots of tears and screaming and judgment.

Not this collected man whose deals oddly reminded her of her own.

Dan's face twisted. "You would have me return to that forsaken storage unit of their research, simply so you can access it?"

"Yes."

Now that he knew Damon wanted the research, he felt oddly protective over it. "I will not," he said. "It is mine. It bears my name, and you would seek to turn it against me."

"You can keep the letters to you and Jazz," Damon said flatly. "I just want the research—and whether I use it against you depends on how well-behaved you are. My third condition is that you don't antagonize Vlad. I don't care what happened between you two, but I'll work with him to ensure he doesn't spread the truth about your identity. My final condition is that when I ask you to do something—like fix a generator or save a cat from a tree or work on rebuilding our fields, you'll accept and do the job."

This time, Dan backed away, expression dark. "You seek to make me an obedient slave."

The father rolled his eyes. "You'd be in the pay of the resistance, with hours like everyone else. You'd receive a small salary, which I highly suggest you reinvest in Valerie. Whatever she wants."

At that, Valerie crossed her arms. "I can take care of myself, thanks."

Dan huffed. "And what would my work entail? I already tire of helping you all."

Damon's eye hardened. "Well, since you're so good at getting in, why not try to make it a little harder for yourself, huh? A job is part of your cover, and these are my conditions. Take them, or I'll do everything in my power to keep you and Valerie apart."

The ghost's thin lips tightened.

He knew Damon had a strong hold on Valerie's heart, and that if the father wanted, he could use that to his advantage. As it was, Damon was trying to maintain some level of peace between all parties, at the expense of his own comfort.

Dan did not necessarily want to test the limits of Valerie's loyalty to a father who loved her to that extent.

"…Very well, Administrative Commander Gray." His false-blue eyes were dark as he held out his strong hand. "You drive a hard bargain, but I accept your terms."

They shook. Damon's hand was warm with the hot blood of the Gray line, his grip firm. "Don't make me regret this."

Dan's lips stretched in mischief. "I know Valerie certainly won't regret it. Nor will I regret the look on Vlad's face when you tell him you're letting me stay here."

The father dropped Dan's hand, his eye narrowing with a paternal authority. "Condition three. Don't antagonize Vlad."

The ghost still could not help the mischief on his face. "My simple presence will be enough to do that, Commander. But I'm sure Valerie will keep me in line."

Valerie stepped forward. "You got that right." There was still an awe in her as she witnessed her father standing near Dan, neither of them violent. The relief of it nearly made her weak as she looked at her father.

Damon's eye met hers, softening with a love and a great pain.

Then he walked away, leaving one Red Huntress and disguised Dan Phantom in the midst of the destroyed underground fields that, in time, they would rebuild together under his watchful gaze.


A/N: Wow, so this installment really turned into a monster. Definitely the most risqué piece I've written, for better or worse. I've been wanting a story where "Damon knows," and I know several people have requested a more mature relationship between Valerie and Dan (although whether this really applies as mature in all meanings, I doubt it). I'd intended this thing to be maybe ten pages or so, but then the plot continued to get more complex.

Not sure how I feel about the end-product. I wrote and rewrote several places, but this concludes the Christmas storyline. Next up, I imagine I'll be posting one more new one-shot and then will return to an Aftermath or Karma chapter since it's been a while on those.

Please let me know your thoughts, questions, ideas, or constructive criticism! (And for those who celebrate, happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day!)