A/N - i ne own danny phantom pas. yes that is french. sort of. oh shush.

ok action actually begins in this chapter...so enjoy!!!!

Three: Help

Sam peered up at the apartment block. It was looming forty stories above her. She was on the – she inspected the key again – twenty first floor. She really hoped there was an elevator.

She scooped up her two shoulder bags and grabbed the handle of her oversized wheelie suitcase. She entered the building and saw, to her relief, an elevator, right in front of her.

She opened her new door speedily with the key, spilling into the room in a mess of bags, clothes and flailing limbs. She stood up, used to her own clumsiness, and collected her various belongings. She righted the black suitcase that had gotten stuck in the door so she could close it. She looked up at her new apartment.

It was nice. Bland, perhaps. It needed some colored paint and better furniture, but it showed promise. She unpacked quickly and showered to rid herself of the traveling feeling that hung around her after flying.

She peered out of her window as she dried her hair with a small towel, a larger one wrapped around her. It looked like a city. She guessed Amity Park was nothing special, apart from being reputed to be heavily haunted. But Sam didn't believe than rubbish. She shrugged and turned around, heading back to her bathroom. On her way she peered at the art deco clock on the wall.

"Shit!" She gasped, dropping the small towel and sprinting into the bathroom, skidding around the doorframe.

She had ten minutes to get to work.

She leapt out of the taxi after thrusting a bill at the driver, clutching her oversized handbag to her chest, her coat billowing out behind her as she raced up the stairs of the FBI offices.

She flew through the building, knowing the floor – 6. The elevator crawled up its shaft as she cursed it in every language she knew to go faster. It did not. When the doors pinged open, she slipped sideways through the widening gap and sped down the corridor, glancing at every door on her way. Unit 601, Unit 602, Unit 603…. She went faster, skidding around corners and sliding to a stop outside her door.

Unit 615.

She breathed deeply and pushed the door open. People peered up at her.

She smiled at them nervously, instantly questioning herself. Was this the right room? Was she on the wrong floor? Was she even supposed to be here? Had she just dreamed up Sarah Herman and her job offer?

A woman detached herself from a trio of people clustered around a computer screen. One of the men was wearing a waistcoat and had a lollipop in his mouth, and the other had slicked back hair and wore a white shirt open at the collar. She did not much like the look of either of them.

The woman approaching her was little better. She wore a charcoal grey pencil skirt and an indigo shirt. Her hair was down, feathered around her face. She looked a little stern.

Scratch that. She looked bitchy.

"Hi," she greeted, stopping to stand with her weight on one leg and her hand on her hip. She eyed Sam up and down. "I guess you're the new girl."

Sam bit back all the comments she could have made in favor of reaching out a hand in greeting. The woman stared at it, then ignored it and turned back to Sam's face.

"Yeah," Sam said, disconcertedly retracting her hand. "I'm Sam Manson. Nice to meet you."

"Jennie Douglas, 'Jennie' with an 'ie'."

"Oh, okay."

Jennie turned. "This is Unit 615." She moved forward, and Sam assumed she was supposed to follow her. Jennie pointed out people as she said their names. There were four men and then herself and Jennie in the team altogether.

"That's Keith Johns," Jennie said, pointing rudely at the lollipop man. "Alex Donavan," she gestured to the man with slicked hair. "And over there are Jake Rogers and Mick Ruddy." Two blond men sat at their desks, but peered over when they heard their names.

Jake stood. His hair was white blond, and his nose was far too small for his face. He eyed Sam in a way that made her need to pull her shoulder bag in front of her body.

"Is this the new girl?" His voice made Sam shiver. Besides, at twenty-two, she was hardly a girl.

"Yeah, this is Susie,"

"Sam-antha." She was about to just tell them her nickname, but for some reason she did not want this man to use it. She fell silent.

"Welcome to the team, Sammy." He sat back down with a smirk.

Her nose wrinkled at the name she hated. Oh well, just another reason for her to hate him.

Her desk was alright. It was in a cubicle, so at least she had some privacy. Her first day was boring. Nothing happened. She was not quite sure how things worked here. After three hours of Tetris, she rose.

"I'm going to get a drink." She walked speedily to the door.

"Hey babe – get me a beer?"

She hoped Jake would just think she had not heard him as she closed the door. She strode down the corridor to the elevator. The common room, she had gathered, was on the tenth floor. She exited the elevator and saw, to her relief, the door labeled 'Common Room' right before her. She entered and went right for the water dispenser.

She downed five cups before gasping a huge breath and collapsing on the sofa beside her. She heard a low guffaw from next to her and her head snapped up. A black-haired man sat next to her on the sofa, his azure blue eyes laughing.

"Stop laughing at me."

"Sorry. First day?"

"Yep. How'd you know?"

"Well, I've never seen you before, and you look," he peered at the cup I had used five times. "Flustered."

I snorted. "Are things always so boring around here?"

"Depends. Which unit are you?"

"615."

"Yeah, I don't think that unit has had much work for about a month now."

"Why?"

His face hardened. "They, had some troubles," he drew out the last word emphatically. "With behavior."

"Oh. Is that why one of them was fired?"

"Pretty much."

They fell silent. Sam picked at her cup while he stared into space. She turned to him again, not reaching out her hand this time, in case he did not take it.

"I'm Sam Manson."

He stuck out his hand. "Fenton."

"What Fenton?"

"Well, everyone usually just yells 'Fenton'. Or 'Fentina'." He added the last part in a slight grumble.

She pursed her lips. "Too boring. I'll call you 'Fentonio'."

"God help me!" He yelped, standing. "Anything but that! My first name's Daniel. Just, don't call me 'Fentonio'." He said the name with a feigned shiver of revulsion, lightening Sam's mood.

She laughed. "Alright. Deal." She could not resist adding it. "Danny." He gave her an amused look, but let it go.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Miss Manson," he said, offering a hand to help her up. She took it and rose to her feet, barely reaching his chin. "And I hope we do so again."

She looked up at him. "Do what?"

"Uh, meet."

"Oh! Right!" she stammered, mentally hitting herself. "Sorry."

He nodded, then turned as she did to throw away her cup. When she moved back to say good bye, he had gone.

"Humph," she sighed. "I don't even know which floor he's on. Maybe he doesn't even work here. Maybe he's a janitor." She sighed again crossly, then marched out of the door and back up to her office.

She peered around the door to her office. She could not see Jake in her path so she sidled in quickly.

"Sammy!" She cringed and halted, wheeling around to face him. She did not want to turn her back to the man for a second.

He was holding a flower. It was a giant orange daisy. She felt herself warm to him a little.

"There you go!" He said, thrusting it at her with a cheesy grin, then walking off cockily. Sam angled her head at him as he left, confused. She shook it off and walked to her cubicle. On the way she passed Jennie's desk, sitting on which she saw a vase of orange giant daisies. As soon as she reached her own cubicle she threw Jake's 'gift' right into the trash disdainfully.

"Dick." She muttered venomously.

She had counted herself at thirteen chair spins maximum on her swiveling chair before the phone rang. She practically leapt at it, desperate for something to do, someone to talk to, anything besides the numbing silence or the grating chatter and cackles coming from her teammates, with whom she was not best impressed at the moment.

"Hello?" She asked, trying to sound cool.

"Hello?" a voice trembled on the line. The woman sounded, frantic, no – terrified.

"Yes, what's wrong?" Sam asked quickly, sitting up straight.

"Please help me. My name is Kathleen Allen and I'm at 45 Lake House." The woman managed to calmly gave Sam the information necessary as Sam scribbled it on a pad of paper, though an undercurrent of desperation and fear tinged her voice.

"Okay, what's the matter Miss Allen?"

"There's a…" her voice trailed off and Sam heard a faint tapping.

"Oh my God!" Kathleen shrieked, her control snapping. "Please! Help me!"

Sam's eyes widened as she heard a scream, a loud thump, shuffling. Then a menacing, masculine voice could be heard. Sam struggled but could not hear the words he spoke. She heard a noise, like metal striking metal, and then a loud manly shout of pain.

"Please!" Kathleen begged. "Help–"

The line went dead.