A/N: Yayz for an update! Praise me, mortals, for it inspires me to write more! Muahahahahahaaaa! *Cough* I'm sorry…you didn't hear that. Except for that last part. Reviews are important. A lot of time, your feedback affects my choices – sometimes I'm torn between two storylines that I really like, and it's YOUR feedback that ensures you're getting the story we'll all enjoy better. Not only that, but if it takes me more than…what, a week and a half or so…to update, post another review and remind me to get my butt in gear. I'm going to try and increase my update speed – especially because I have a lot of free time this week. Not sure about next week yet, but I have lots of it this week. Yay!

Chapter #8: Tucker Foley

"Tucker, can you help me adjust the sign out front? Stupid wind blew it off again, and I'm not as spry as I used to be," his father grins, "Old men like me shouldn't be climbing ladders."

Tucker snorts, "You just don't want me in your office."

"You rearrange everything!"

"That's because you're a slob. How can you think in here?!" He jogs a stack of papers, leaving them reluctantly on a corner of the desk to stroll out to the shop-front.

"I know where everything is," Mr. Foley defends, holding the ladder steady.

"Including Mr. Temple's order form?"

His father doesn't respond, instead biting the inside of his cheek.

"I thought so," Tucker frowns, scaling the ladder to reattach the unhooked side, returning the sign to level, "I'm going to organize your office whether you like it or not. If you can't deal with that, maybe Danny can get me into the Grey Laboratories full-time."

"We can't run the store by ourselves, Tuck."

"Exactly."

"…You're just like your mother," he laughs and sighs.

"Funny, she said I was just like you," he replies dryly, falling the last two rungs to the dirt, "Speaking of the labs, I need to get over there by four, which means I have…" he clicks open his pocket-watch – a gift from his master before he left Germany, part of a matching set with Danny, "…two hours to organize that pigsty you call an office."

He smirks, reading the inscription on the inside of the case, To Tucker Foley; may you teach your fellow Americans the meaning of punctuality one precise, German second at a time. You have a gift – do not neglect it or your studies.

Another inscription is carved around the face, in etching so small it's difficult to read unless you look at it beneath a microscope – like Master Lancer had known he would; Please keep watching over young Daniel, and continue to pray that he does not get himself killed.

"Every day, old man," he sighs, closing it properly to avoid damaging the catch.

Master Lancer is the only person – the only living person – who had been told about Danny's…three weeks away. He's a strict teacher – because he cares. Everything was easier once he knew – Danny could relax…well, as much as he could at the time. He'd been sad to see the two boys go, and gave them the watches as a farewell gift, each with a message.

"I wonder if Danny got a secret one like I did," he whispers quietly as he organizes the sheaves of papers – there is where Mr. Temple's order form got to!

He begins sorting the papers into stacks, one for supplies, one for custom builds – he'll need to consult with Danny on those, especially with Mr. Lefevre's passing.

He yawns, his thoughts dwelling idly on Valerie Grey, the beautiful, curvy young woman with sharp green eyes and surrounded by rumors of a sharp tongue. He'd believe them without hesitation. Even when she'd fluttered her dark lashes coyly, he'd seen the determined fire within those green depths.

She'd learn that Tucker Foley is not one to be fooled. She'd know after she thought she'd played him, only to learn that she was the one played.

"The game is on, Miss Grey."

-BREAK-

"The test is scheduled for eighteen-hundred hours!" Danny shouts over the steam, "Tucker should arrive with the final parts at four, so we need to be ready for them!"

"I doubt he'll be here right at four…" the new assistant mutters quietly.

"He will be," Danny assures, flicking open his pocket-watch, "We spent six years in Germany. He knows how to be punctual," he takes a deep breath to steady himself, reading the inscription inside the casing.

To Daniel Fenton; may you never forget your dreams, and never stop inventing.

Another is inscribed around the face, May you never stop being a hero, and never forget that you are not alone, that there are those who pray for your safety.

He smiles softly, calculating somewhere in the back of his head how much longer they have to put in the pieces they need to insert the components Tucker will be bringing later. He suddenly locks his sensitive hearing on his parents' side of the lab, turning immediately to stroll over. It's quiet…too quiet.

"So help me, if you plan on testing that ecto-gun in here," he hisses, one eye twitching, as he swings the door open.

"Danny-O!" Jack Fenton booms, slapping his son heartily on the back, "You need to see this baby in action!"

"I can see it outside."

"The elements could interfere with the experiment," Maddie pouts by the table, "It's not harmful to humans…"

"Oh?" he raises an eyebrow, "Have you tested that?"

"On Ronnie, remember?"

He sighs, rubbing his temples. Ronnie was the last assistant they'd had. He hadn't specified why he was quitting, but Danny's beginning to think he knows why.

"There are regulations on human experimentation…" he groans, falling into a chair, "I hope he doesn't go to the Science Federation with that…"

"Federation Schmederation!" Jack laughs, earning an exasperated glare from his son.

"Take the tests outside, and away from people. We don't know what prolonged exposure could do. You wear the hazmat suits for a reason, right? Just…keep it away from people and waterways," he sighs, exiting their office and surveying the factory once again. Assured that it's moving along as smoothly as it can, he jogs to the stairs, dropping to the basement room that Baron Grey has graciously allowed him to live in. It has a back door that leads to the surface, near the smaller home his parents live in – sleep in, rather. 'Living' seems a bit of a stretch for their little cabin – maybe 'hut' would be more suitable.

A small black dog with red ears bounds from its crate, and he scratches it under the chin before he flops to his couch. It pounces onto his stomach, driving the air from his lungs, and curls there.

"You're not as well-behaved as your brother, are you, Annwyn?" he pants, "He'd at least have the good grace to look sorry," regardless, he pats her head and begins to scratch absently behind her ear.

He hasn't been without a spectral hound since the accident. Nor has he been without the dagger strapped inside his boot. Its presence brings comfort as much as it brings pain. It scares him that he can't let it go.

He shouldn't have something made of Ectoranium anywhere near him. But how could he toss aside his closest companion of that that three-week horror-fest?

"I wonder if Cujo's behaving himself," he muses aloud.

She snorts.

"Yeah, I'm sure he's fine. He's better than you, anyway."

She opens one eye accusatorily.

"I don't play favorites," he defends weakly, but she keeps staring, "Okay, I have a soft spot for him," he relents.

She closes her eye with a huff, and he'd almost swear she's smirking.

"I forgot how much of a brat you are," he frowns.

Her tail flicks.

"But you're better at your job, I know," he admits in exasperation, "Of the Hellhounds I have, you're the strongest – I know. Don't ever doubt that."

She sends him a doggy smile, and he shifts, curling on his side and pillowing his head with a crooked arm. She falls into the crook of his legs, and he feels the weight on the couch increase. Opening one eye, she's morphed into a more mid-sized dog, rather than a puppy, and is resting her chin on his thigh.

Danny refers to her as being Cujo's 'sister,' but she isn't really. They're entirely different breeds. Cujo is a large, green, stocky mastiff, while Annwyn is a wolf-faced beast with fur that curls like smoke, save for her ears and tail, and a few tufts around her paws, which are burning red flames. Her eyes, however, are a chilling blue.

She's the alpha, and she knows it.

"Cheeky brat," he mutters again.

"I'm older than you," she huffs.

"Still a cheeky brat."

"Sometimes, I wonder why I swore my loyalty to you," she prods him with a paw.

"No you don't."

He can sense her ears flick, "If anyone's cheeky here, it's you, Halfling."

"Perhaps," he smiles goofily, ruffling the fur behind her ears. She falls into silence, her eyes drooping in doggy pleasure.

"Perhaps we are cheeky together…?"

"I can support that," he laughs.

Her blue eyes fall from their teasing light, sobering suddenly, "Please don't leave me behind, Master Phantom."

"I won't. Remember, Annwyn, even if I'm ahead of you, even if – somehow – I move on…I'll be just ahead, waiting for you. Just as you waited for me all those years ago. I'm not leaving you behind. I'm forging the path for you. You'll just have to take it."

She crawls onto his chest, forcing him to lay on his back, and plants her head over his heart. He scratches absently at her fur, allowing his consciousness to drift.

"I will. I'll take it as soon as I can ensure the safety of my pack. My loyalty is forever yours."

A/N: I need to draw a picture of Annwyn. I like her. Then again, I've always been a dog person. :D

Cats are for lonely old villains who pine after married women. *wink*