Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

Anathema's Abode

Chapter 3

Introductions

The gentle pattering of water on a shower floor was the first sound Sam heard as she slid languidly into consciousness, as she felt herself overwhelmed by the fact that it felt incredibly wonderful to just lie there, without having to exert herself. Her brow furrowed, as she attempted to recall the events of the previous night. She was certain something important had happened. Sam yawned, unperturbed when nothing came to mind. She would have plenty of time to think later. For now, rest was her utmost priority.

The second thing that came to her attention was that this wasn't her own bed. She drew the soft, pleasant smelling sheets closer to her body, finding the bed's scent unfamiliar, but soothing. Lavender eyes fluttered open, surveying her foreign surroundings. If she wasn't in her bed at home, and she wasn't at her bunk in the brotherhood's quarters, then where was she?

The ghost hunter found herself suddenly bombarded with memories of the previous night, as she abruptly recalled jumbled flashes of blackness and vivid green spectral energy intertwined with pain. She started, suddenly wide awake as dull panic began creeping in. What had happened to her? The ghost hunter placed a hand on her forehead as she sat up, massaging her temples.

She glanced downwards, and was surprised to note that she was no longer in her ruined stealth suit, but a large grey t-shirt that probably belonged to a male. Someone had taken the liberty to clean her up, and don her with fresh clothes. The person in the shower perhaps? Whoever had saved her was not of the brotherhood.

Sam massaged her wrists, not used to the absence of the twin silver bracelets that extended into her ghost gauntlets. She felt vulnerable without any weapons to protect herself. The ghost hunter cursed her luck. The gauntlets also doubled up as a tracking device, so that the brotherhood was capable of locating her at all times, in emergencies such as last night. She hadn't recalled losing them in the fight. Then again, her memories of the previous night were hazy to say the least.

It wasn't long before she noticed that the splashing of water had stopped. Whoever had been in the shower had now gotten out. Sam paused, unsure if she was ready to meet her rescuer just yet.

The events of the previous night left Sam with a feeling of dread and filth. She was sure her host wouldn't mind if she took a shower. Sam surveyed the foot of the bed, where a fresh towel had been laid. The gesture was invitation enough.

Sam rose her eyebrows, surveying her surroundings with greater attention to detail as she stepped into the shower. The ghost hunter allowed herself a contented sigh as the comforting warm water trickled down her body, feeling an upsurge of blind affection for her host at his hospitality. This apartment really wasn't half bad. She frowned, a thought suddenly occurring to her. Why hadn't she run into her host when he had exited the shower? Sam reached for the soap, unconcerned. She probably just hadn't been paying attention when he left the bathroom.

-

Feeling refreshed, Sam was in a considerably better mood when she stepped out of the shower.

The ghost hunter entered the kitchen, coming face to face with a tall, white haired stranger. He was dressed simply, in dark jeans that were showing signs of wear where they were frayed at the ankles, and a white shirt that he yet to button up completely. She paused as he noticed her presence, unsure what was expected of her.

"I was wondering when you were going to get up," he greeted, running a towel through shocking white hair.

Sam returned the smile, feeling awkward that she had intruded upon his home.

"Feeling better?" Her host grinned, the friendly tone of his voice possessing a likable quality that made Sam immediately warm to him as she nodded wordlessly in reply.

"What happened?" The ghost hunter ventured, not entirely sure she wanted to know. If she was lucky, perhaps the events of the previous night had been nothing more than a really bad dream.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" He queried, genuine concern on his face. "You hit your head pretty hard."

"Yeah. I think the Night Police tried to kill me," she frowned, massaging her temples, willing herself to recall the events that had taken place the previous night. There was no point denying that she had been attacked. The stranger probably knew more about what had happened to her than she did. After all, her recall of the events extended to blur of flashing spectral energy and pain, amidst the recurring memories of glowing green eyes and flashbacks of shocking white.

He nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

"Weird thing is, I swear another ghost saved me," Sam conceded, confused. "How did I end up in your apartment?"

"I brought you here," he informed, favouring her with a significant look. "I would've thought that a member of brotherhood would have known better than to singlehandedly attempt to take on the Fright Knight's minions."

Sam started, on edge with newfound wariness. How much did the man before her know about her affiliation the brotherhood? Word occasionally reached civilians of a syndicate of rebels, but the exact details of the resistance was information that members guarded with their lives. The fact that her host seemed to be well versed with the workings of the brotherhood was more than unsettling.

"I haven't told anyone, if that's what you're worried about," he assured her. "The exposure of the brotherhood does not interest me."

"But that must mean..." Her head swam, as it was suddenly filled with memories of the man before her attacking her assailants with animalistic savagery amongst vivid flashes of green.

Sam took a step back, as she tried to find a way around the impossible conclusion that she seemed to have reached. "You're a ghost," she whispered, disbelieving.

"I saved you last night," he raised an eyebrow, displaying his surprise. "Don't you remember?"

"You were wearing a cloak last night," Sam struggled to access her memories. "I didn't know ghosts wore normal clothes."

"That's just to hide my face when I leave my apartment," he replied, amused. "I'm not that melodramatic."

"Why do you have an apartment?" Sam asked, wincing immediately as the question left her lips, suddenly aware of how stupid she sounded. Why had she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind?

"Where did you think ghosts lived?" The corners of his lips quirked upwards in mirth.

"The ghost zone," Sam glowered. "Where they belong," she added more forcefully, as the ghost hunter attempted to reclaim some of the dignity she had lost in her shock, banishing the imagery of ancient castles and various other haunted locations that immediately came to mind.

"I prefer it here," he shrugged. "Even with the brotherhood, there are a lot less enemies in the human realm trying to kill me."

Lavender eyes fluttered shut as she drew a long, shuddering breath, dread leaden in her stomach. What had he done with the apartment's previous inhabitants? She caught the scent of his towel dried hair, recoiling as she realised the source of the bed's pleasant smell.

"Where are my clothes?" She demanded hotly. "And why was I in your bed?"

He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. "I haven't tried anything on you, if that's what you're worried about."

She folded her arms, doubt evident on her features as she subjected him to a glare of glacial standards.

He raised his hands in surrender. "I slept on the couch."

"What did you do to me?" She asked again, as her fist clenched around the hem of the over sized shirt she was wearing. She had already been humiliated once by Pariah's men. Sam refused to allow it to happen again. The mere thought that a ghost had laid hands on her in that manner made her feel sick.

"I didn't do anything," the stranger shrugged, unperturbed by her concern. "Your clothes were ruined, so I destroyed them."

"Just because my clothes were bloody was no excuse to dispose of them," her eyes narrowed.

"I wasn't going to let you on my bed without cleaning you up first," he countered, annoyance entering his voice. "You also had a tracking device on you. I removed it."

Sam bristled. "You had no right-"

"I had no intention of being discovered by your kin," he finished coldly. "What I do not understand is why you fail to be grateful for the fact that I rescued you from your assailants. You would have been long dead had I not chosen to intervene."

His words stung. Despite the fact that he was the enemy, Sam knew that gratitude was in order. But she failed to understand how he had managed to remove her gauntlets in the first place. The weapon's defense mechanisms should have left him with a severe ectoplasmic shock. He shouldn't have been able to touch them, much less remove them. This ghost was powerful, and he knew it. It was best not to goad his temper. If he decided to attack her, Sam knew that she would be incapable of stopping him.

"Where are we?" She asked meekly, her previous anger replaced by guilt.

"I'm not going to tell you," he replied flatly, pouring himself a mug of coffee. "You'll bring the brotherhood to my doorstep, and my days of peace will be over."

She paused, suddenly remembering her injuries. There was no way the pain hadn't been real.

"How badly was I hurt last night?" The ghost hunter asked, modesty preventing her from lifting the shirt to observe the state of her abdomen.

"Pretty badly," he informed, his voice still laced with frost. "When I first observed your injuries, I wasn't sure if you would survive."

"But my wounds are gone." Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. She had to have been unconscious for at least a month in order for her injuries to have healed. "How long have I been asleep?" The ghost hunter queried, anxiety evident.

"About fourteen hours," he shrugged offhandedly. "I fixed you."

Relief flooded Sam, until an ugly thought occurred to her. "What do you mean, you've fixed me?" The ghost hunter's eyes narrowed, as images of her mentor's current condition came to mind. The mere thought of contamination repulsed her.

Sam flexed her fingers, observing them for any sign of spectral energy. At least she wasn't floating a foot off the ground. Then again, neither was he. In fact, Sam couldn't bring herself to accept how normal the ghost before her seemed, the stark white of his hair the only feature that bore reflection to his true age. Apart from his arrogant, imperious demeanor, he could have easily passed as a typical human being.

"What are you going to do to me?" She questioned, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. The ghost hunter was painfully aware that she was completely at the mercy of her host.

The ghost favoured her with a look of incredulity, as if unable to believe that she still thought that he wished her ill. "Feed you, then send you home."

Sam suddenly realised that she was ravenous, as her stomach chose that moment to let out a rather undignified rumble. The ghost hunter flushed as her host lowered his head, in an attempt to hide the slight upturn of his lips.

"Let's see what food I have," he opened the kitchen cabinet, frowning as he withdrew a solitary box of Cheerios. Reaching into his near empty fridge, the ghost removed a half used carton of milk, which he offered to her.

Sam was about to protest, before suddenly remembering that her host was a ghost, who obviously did not require human food to survive. Nevertheless, her initial indignation did not go unnoticed.

"Sorry," he grinned ruefully. "Apart from coffee and the occasional bowl of cereal, I don't eat much."

"I can see that," she grinned in reply, surveying his empty shelves, glad that a truce of sorts had been established.

An awkward silence ensued, in which Sam found herself completely at loss at what to say. Then again, she never thought she would ever be trying to make civil conversation with a ghost, apart from exchanging death threats. Perhaps she ought to thank him for saving her.

"Attacking the Fright Knight's men was stupid," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he shrugged, unperturbed. "It was pretty stupid."

"Aren't they going to come after you now?" Sam's brow furrowed in concern. She wasn't about to let anyone, not even a ghost, suffer on her behalf.

The ghost rolled his eyes, a gesture that surprised Sam. The ghost before her didn't seem to have any respect whatsoever for the hierarchy of his kin. It was a wonder that he hadn't yet been slain.

"In all likelihood, yes. The Fright Knight is one of the last remaining midians." The white haired ghost let loose a derisive snort. "A fool who still clings to the old ways. To him, there is no greater insult to a liege than to attack his subordinates."

"Are you a midian?" Sam queried. She fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, tugging it down so it covered more of bare thighs. Her host had already proved himself enough of a gentleman, but she still wasn't comfortable with the exposure.

"Sorry," the ghost replied, as he looked her straight in the eye. "I'm not going to answer that."

"Can you at least tell me how old you are?" She pressed. "Some of the things you did last night, I'd never seen a ghost do before."

"Older than you," his lips quirked upwards as he sidestepped the question.

Sam glowered, unimpressed by his attempt at a joke. She had known that discovering information to relay to the brotherhood was a difficult task, but her host's refusal to cooperate was making it nearly impossible. Perhaps she should attempt a different approach, beginning with less intrusive questions to first gain his trust.

"Why do you eat anyway? It's not like you need to." Sam folded her arms, adopting an impassive expression in an attempt to conceal her motives.

"I don't really know," he shrugged. "I guess it gives me something to do. It gets boring keeping a low profile."

"A ghost who doesn't enjoy fighting?" Sam asked, skeptical.

"I dislike conflict unless I cannot avoid it," his lips pursed into a grim line. "Violence has never solved any disputes."

"You've fought the Fright Knight, haven't you?" She pressed. "I know you have. Ghosts as old as you and the Fright Knight are bound to have crossed paths at least once in the past."

"That was a long time ago," he stated flatly, as though recalling an ugly experience.

Sam continued her interrogation, unperturbed. "Where's the rest of your clan?"

"Clan?" He repeated, confused.

"I heard you talking about some truce with Pariah."

"I have no clan," the ghost's unsettling green gaze seemed to harden. "The truce is mine and Pariah's alone."

Sam barely stopped herself voicing her disbelief out loud, as she schooled her features blank. The ghost king was upholding a truce to a single ghost? How powerful was he? It unnerved Sam, how the being before her who could appear so fearsome and imperious before his enemies was also somehow capable of acting, at moments, almost friendly towards her. It had never before occurred to her that ghosts could have personalities, much less subject her to kindness.

"You going to eat anything?" The ghost offered. "Unless you're convinced I've poisoned it," he deadpanned.

The ghost hunter ignored the jibe, as she grabbed the cereal box from the kitchen counter.

"Why did you save me?" She asked, discountenance evident as she poured the miniature hoops into a bowl.

"I didn't," he informed, placing a mug of hot coffee before her. "I was merely defending my territory. You just happened to have the fortune of our paths crossing."

"Why aren't you fighting for Pariah Dark?" Sam questioned, bringing the mug to her lips. "I bet he'd love to have someone as strong as you serving under him."

"I've kept out of this war for as long as I can remember," he replied stiffly. "I don't intend to start fighting on the King's side now."

"Aren't all ghosts loyal to him?"

"Fewer than you think," he shrugged noncommittally, as Sam allowed herself a moment to digest this new piece of information.

"Are you done interrogating me?" The ghost queried wryly, changing the subject.

"No," she persisted, frustration mounting. "Since you're not going to answer any of my questions, what are you willing to tell me?"

"Nothing," he maintained firmly, and Sam glimpsed a second flash of annoyance crossing his features that she could have sworn was coupled by the faint flickering of his green eyes. "If I could help it, you wouldn't even be in this apartment right now."

The ghost hunter flushed, abruptly remembering that she was in no position to be demanding anything of her host. Her host, sensing her discomfort, made another attempt to instigate conversation.

"I bet this is the most pathetic dinner you've ever had," he chuckled ruefully, pushing white hair out of his eyes as he gestured to the cereal.

"Dinner?" She frowned.

"It's practically evening," he pointed out. "I drew the curtains so you wouldn't be able to figure out our location."

Evening?

Sam's eyes widened. The rest of her team must be worried sick. Not to mention she had no idea what condition Valerie was in after the attack.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But I have to leave. My friends will probably be worried." She rose from her seat, heading towards the door.

"Your audacity is commendable," he maintained. "But you're not going to get to see the outside of this apartment."

"How am I going to leave, then?" Sam challenged. "Surely a ghost of yourcaliber is not going to employ the usage of something as crude as a blindfold."

He shook his head. "As far as humans go, you're a smart girl. Even then, I wouldn't put it past you to memorise the way back to this apartment."

"As far as humans go?" She echoed, outrage evident in her voice.

"Would you not agree that your kind was inferior?" He asked, genuinely intrigued, his voice devoid of derision.

"No," she glared. "If anything, we're above you, ghost scum."

"How could you claim superiority if you are physically, and in many cases, mentally inferior to my kin?" The ghost raised an eyebrow.

"You may have monstrous abilities," Sam conceded, although the glower did not leave her features. "But we are in no way mentally inferior."

"Your actions last night certainly reinforce your point." Despite his condescending tone, there was no malice in the retort. Sam shook her head, bewilderment replacing her previous indignation. Was he teasing her?

"I need to leave," she insisted. "Now."

"Very well," he shrugged. "If you would, milady?" The ghost grinned, adopting a thick English accent as he extended a hand.

Sam took his hand, inwardly smirking as she concealed her self satisfaction. The ghost had given away more than he had known. A little research into ancient English ghosts, child's play on Tucker's part, and she would discover his origins. So much for their greater intelligence. The ghost hunter supposed old habits died hard.

"Hold on tight," the ghost warned, and Sam's train of thought was cut short as she felt her self abruptly jerked across the air through his grip, rematerialising in the alleyway where he had encountered her in a bright flash of white light.

"I believe you'll be more than able to make your way back from here." His voice cut through her disorientation, as she shook her head to clear it.

"Are you okay?" He asked, brow furrowing. "I've never teleported a human before."

"Yeah." She frowned as he set her down. "I'm Sam," Maddie's apprentice proffered, suddenly aware that she had failed to introduce herself.

"Phantom," he replied simply.

"Thank you, Phantom," the ghost hunter acknowledged, kicking at the ground with the toe of her combat boot. His name felt strange on her tongue.

"Despite the boundlessness of your curiosity, I enjoyed our meeting, Sam," he grinned, and for a moment, the ghost hunter could almost forget that the man standing in front of her wasn't human.

"Me too," Sam blushed, unsure what an appropriate response in her situation would be, especially when her savior was a ghost.

"I suppose it'll be pointless to ask you to keep this meeting to yourself," his expression sobered as he hooked a thumb into the pocket of his dark jeans, a casual gestures that somehow reinforced his humanity in Sam's eyes. "I never intended to allow the brotherhood to learn of my existence."

"Do you wish that you hadn't saved me?" Sam asked, sounding almost apologetic. The ghost seemed to be harmless to humans, but she was bound by duty to report her findings to her mentor.

"Maybe," Phantom shrugged. "But I've been bored lately and you'll be interesting to keep an eye on. I'll outlive the brotherhood, anyway."

"You're not going to be stalking me, are you?" She asked suspiciously.

"Don't flatter yourself," the ghost replied dryly. "It is the activities of the resistance that interest me."

Sam flushed, unable to decide which prospect was worse.

"Curfew begins soon. I suggest you return to the brotherhood before then," he turned to leave.

"Wait," she hesitated, taken aback as she realised that a part of her didn't want him to go. "Will I see you again?"

"In all probability, yes," Phantom replied. "I need my clothes back."

"But how do I find you?" The ghost hunter asked, her fingers subconsciously curling around the material of his shirt. Perhaps their next meeting could be turned to her advantage.

"You don't," he replied, smirking as he slowly dematerialised. "Unless I want to be found."

Author's Notes: Phew. I do hope that was up to your expectations, and that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Many thanks to the lovely: EmeraldCalling, Fulcon, Sasia93, Angelic Kittens, FunkyFish1991, hydraling110, firemuse, vladimir's disease, Secret Spy Guy, bloodmoon 13, b4k4 ch4n, uula, Manyara, Hachi, Sweeten19, Grumbles and Vanalivi for their wonderfully encouraging reviews that kept me going where motivation failed.

Thanks must also be extended to the amazing Sasia93 and Chaos Dragon for beta work that never fails to purge the last vestiges of doubt from my mind:)

Kindly leave a review if you enjoyed the chapter!:D

Hugs and Kisses,

Twisted Creampuff