A/N: I just saw Phantom Planet. I think, at some point, every author in the DP section of FFN is going to be saying that. In a word: it rocked. Also? Over two hundred thirty reviews? I think I might have a heart attack.
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this. And because I've forgotten to say this before . . . I don't own any of the Beatles lyrics I've used in this story, nor am I making any money off of their useage.
Chapter Seventeen
I didn't manage to go to sleep that night. My head was buzzing, and I couldn't wipe the grin off of my face. So I just stared at the clock above my bed, watching it switch from 03062005 to 03072005.
I figured Jane would come around ten in the morning, or something. I could get her to take me to the HNA, and . . . that would be that. I'd go home. Goodbye Mt. Ivory.
Then . . . At 9:00AM on the dot, I heard a loud rapping on the door. I jumped up immediately, my eyes widening.
It opened, and a brusque woman walked in. I instantly recognized her - she was the Head of Nonhuman Affairs, the very person I had needed Jane to take me to. About four GIW agents stood behind her, and I backed up slightly, unsure.
"You're applying for a probation, correct?" she said, dropped a briefcase on the ground in front of me.
I nodded. "Um . . . yeah."
"Dr. Thomas Kowalski has confirmed to me your biological status, and your therapist has confirmed your mental stability . . ." she continued, barely acknowledging that I'd spoken. "However, before we can send you back, we must restore several things. Name, social security number, and whatnot."
"Okay."
She reached down and pulled out several papers and a pen, and handed them to me. "Fill this out."
I took them, and looked down. It was full of relatively basic things, and didn't take me long to fill out.
I handed them back to the HNA. "The rules will be explained to you by Dr. Jane Redd. You will complete one more session with her, and returned to the address you listed on your form tomorrow. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," I said, kind of in awe at the simplicity of the process. Weren't these things supposed to be long and bureaucratic? "I mean, yes. Thanks."
She looked at me. "It's the law. Nothing to get gushy over, Mr. Fenton." She leaned in. "I just happen to have a son in Amity." With that, she walked out, and the GIW guard behind her followed. I blinked for a second, and then realized with a great deal of satisfaction that she'd called me by my last name. Which meant, of course, that once again I had one. Surnames, I thought, freaking rock.
I sighed happily and glanced up at the clock. All of that had taken only fifteen minutes. Jane would be there in forty-five, and I was sure that all would be well.
- - -
The rules, too, were surprisingly straightforward and not nearly as restricting as they might've been. No endangering normal people, no attending political functions (my nonexistent dreams of attending the State of the Union were dashed), no criminal activity, blah blah blah. Jane read them to me in this über-important legal voice, explained them, and then broke into tears.
"I'm so happy for you," she had cried, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I just wish I hadn't let you walk out two months ago . . ."
I smiled awkwardly, and patted her hand. I didn't particularly want to tell her I had disliked our sessions.
After maybe five minutes, she straightened herself up, wiped her eyes, and looked at me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm your therapist and, well, I was violating protocol."
"Protocol doesn't mean much in a place like this," I said. It honestly didn't matter to me. Jazz would freak, sure, but I'm not her. "I'm just glad I had someone who didn't hate my guts, well, there was Toby, but . . ."
Ms. Redd, of course, had no idea who Toby was, and just nodded. "Good luck," she said. "It's not going to be easy, you know that, don't you?"
I smiled. "Of course I do. Look," I said, "go. It's nearly eleven, and I'm sure you have someone to talk to."
She nodded, smiled, and patted me on the shoulder again. "I've got to do better about protocol," were her parting words. I never saw her again. I didn't hope to. Jane was nice enough, and she'd given me more information than she probably should've, but she'd also made me feel terrible about myself on more than one occasion. All the same . . . I had to thank her. If she hadn't intervened, I'd probably be dead.
So. All that was left was to go home and face the music. I didn't imagine I'd sleep much that night.
- - -
I didn't. I was glad of this fact when, at six in the morning, a man in a tell-tale white suit burst in through the door. I sat up, immediately wary. Nothing, it seemed, had gone wrong thus far, so I reasoned something had to eventually.
"Daniel . . . Fenton?" he asked, hesitating on my last name.
"Yeah?" I said, sliding off the bed.
"I believe you are scheduled to be transported to Amity Park, Illinois at this time."
"Um . . . yeah," I confirmed. "I'm pretty sure."
"Follow me."
He began to walk out the door, and I slowly followed.
"I'm Agent 480, numerical level, obviously, of the Guys in White," he began as we walked through the hallways. I nodded, having no clue what he meant by numerical level. It didn't really matter.
"And I'm Danny Fenton, ex-prisoner of this hellhole. No handcuffs? Seriously?"
"You're not a prisoner anymore," 480 responded, shrugging.
"Mm. That's a nice thing to know."
We entered the elevator in silence. It barely registered with me that we were going back down to level two.
480 guided me through the portion of the building I had spent the majority of my time at Mt. Ivory living in. I recognized the hall leading back to the apartments, and saw the door to the gym. I wondered briefly if Toby was there then.
We passed by the HNA's office, and finally we came to a place I hadn't paid much attention to the first time I saw it. The entrance. Or, hoorah hoorah, the exit.
I felt a smile tugging at my lips and didn't try to fight it as 480 shoved me through. I breathed in deeply, a feeling of calmness overtaking me. I was out, dang it, I was out.
"Car's this way," 480 said. I hadn't quite noticed we were standing in a parking lot. "It's one of the white sedans."
We neared the car. "Nondescript," I commented when I saw it. And it was; it was just a simple white car. There were dozens like it in the parking lot. I wasn't sure how he knew which one was his.
"It's supposed to be. Get in." He held open the door to the passenger seat. I slid in, pulled my seatbelt over my chest, and watched him walk around and get in the driver's side. "Enjoy the ride," he said dully, and I smiled. I was sure I would.
Despite the fact that I knew it wouldn't be all peaches-and-cream once I got back, I couldn't help but only keep the happy thoughts running through my head. Home. I'd talked to Mom and Dad; I knew they still loved me. At the very least they, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker would be happy to see me. Of course there was Valerie . . .
Erk. Valerie. That was one of the depressing thoughts that I did my best to ignore. She could end up being a small problem (she hates me), or a large problem (she hates me and wants me dead). There was the small probability she would forgive me, also, but I didn't let my thought process go far enough to reach that point.
If there was one thing I'd learned from my stint at MI - avoid the negative things and you end up feeling better.
So I kept myself focused on the fact that I was going back to Amity, and that I would be able to set things right at last.
It was, in fact, a freaking long drive (about five hours, by my estimate - we got there at about eleven thirty, and I woke up at six, so . . . is that math right?), and it became relatively difficult to keep thinking happy as I began to see the city in the distance.
Who could blame my worry? I'd been gone for three months, and who knew what had happened in that time . . .
Finally, we pulled up over one last hill, and I got a decent look. The place certainly lacked its old luster. The streets were dingy, and more than one building looked like it had been through a low-level tornado. I could've sworn I saw Valerie, on her hover board, flying after some ghost. Or ghosts. But it was hard to tell, and, on top of that, I knew that it would only be a couple more minutes until FentonWorks would come into view.
As Toby would probably say . . . here comes the sun.
A/N: Before anyone asks:
- Yes, I will solve the mystery that is Toby.
- Yes, I know everything went by just too smoothly. Don't worry. There'll be an explanation.