A/N: Hi. This... was supposed to be up around Christmas. Somehow I forgot to finish it and then completely forgot about it. Warning: shameless DxS fluff :)


72. Mischief Managed

A little hesitantly, Sam pushed open the front door of the Fenton home. Not that she was ever worried about entering the house, not anymore, not since that first time when a very nervous Danny had invited her over for some gaming, apologizing about his insane parents and his overbearing, curious sister all the way up to his room until she had assured him it was fine. It was just the time of the year, or rather, the Fenton's extreme reaction to it, that had her on edge.

She stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind her, not bothering to lock it. It hadn't been locked in the first place, and in fact, the Fentons never bothered locking it either. For all their anti ghost shields, ecto-gun-trigger-happiness and general ghost paranoia, they were quite lax in more mundane things like, say, locking doors.

Maybe they were right, Sam mused, as she carefully made her way through the empty living room, making sure she didn't step on something that could suddenly come to life. Something that looked like a disassembled ghost bazooooka was on the coffee table, bits and pieces neatly grouped together, which suggested it had been the female rather than the male ghost hunter who had done this.

No burglar in his right mind would enter this house. In fact, most normal people in their right minds wouldn't either. Which - and she silently congratulated herself for it – proved that she herself wasn't entirely in her right mind. Of course, she wasn't the only one. A grin appeared on her face as she spotted the face of one of her best friends, suddenly appearing in the door way of the door to the kitchen.

"Hey Sam," Tucker said happily, "It is you. I thought I heard something. Come on, you gotta see this."

Another voice came from the kitchen, and Sam's grin grew even wider.

"Cut it out, Tucker, I'm doing just fine. I'd be doing even better if you weren't trying to help me."

Well, at least he didn't sound depressed, like last year, Sam mused, as she walked into the kitchen, only to stop on her tracks when she caught sight of her other best friend, scowling at the remains of a burst open bag of flour on the floor. She brought her hand to her mouth and managed to suppress a giggle. After all, Sam Manson did not giggle. Not even in the week before Christmas, uncharacteristically happy as it might make her otherwise.

He looked adorable. For some reason he was dressed in black cargo pants and a black t-shirt, covered in a thin layer of white flour. Flour in his hair, on his hands. Flour on the tip of his nose. And of course a thin layer of flour covering practically the entire kitchen. Tucker, somehow miraculously not covered in flour, grinned.

"Makes him look like a ghost, don't it," he said.

Danny looked up and his expression softened a little when he caught sight of her. Irritably, he wiped the flour from his nose and started patting his clothes, causing a cloud of flour dust. Tucker and Sam started coughing.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, when the air had cleared somewhat and she had managed to suppress her coughing.

"Baking a cake," Danny said, managing to make it sound like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time, Sam took in the rest of the kitchen. All the usual appliances were still there, the ecto oven, the ecto-toaster, the ecto dishwasher – she shuddered, remembering a nasty incident which involved sharp knives and angry forks – and the refrigerator with the glowing green padlock. All were untouched.

Instead, a second oven was placed on the counter, powered by a long cord running out of the window. A bowl and a mixer on the counter. Butter, eggshells, sugar, and flour. Lots of it.

"Why?" she asked.

Danny shrugged and his face darkened again. Tucker answered for him, as always unfazed by his friend's Christmas antics.

"To show us he really isn't Mr Grumpypants and can actually make an effort to spread the Christmas spirit despite his parent's continued Christmas... um... disagreement."

"Oh," Sam said. She looked around, and then back to the living room, listening. All was quiet. She turned back to Danny. "Where are they? Your parents, I mean?"

A smile crept onto his face which, combined with the frown he seemed to have permanently stuck to his face, gave him a slightly evil look.

"Across town," he said, "Seems there was a ghost fight there. Lots of destruction. Lots of traffic, too. Should take them hours."

"Yup," Tucker said happily, "And that gives us all the time we need to get this house properly decorated, and since Danny can't really be trusted with the Christmas decorations, Jazz ordered him to bake a cake." He pointed a the oven on the counter. "Using the neighbor's oven. And to be on the safe side, using the neighbor's electricity. With ingredients we personally got from the store ourselves."

"You bake cakes?" Sam asked.

Danny shrugged, then suddenly smiled, a more genuine smile this time, lighting up his face. "Actually, I used to bake cakes with my mother all the time when I was younger. Before all this..." He pointed at the slightly glowing kitchen equipment, "Got... um... ecto enhanced. I know what I'm doing."

"OK," Sam said, not entirely convinced. She gestured at the now almost completely settled layer of flour covering everything. "And you decided to decorate the kitchen with flour because...?"

Danny's smile vanished and he glared at Tucker, who grinned sheepishly. "He threw me the bag. I wasn't prepared for it."

Tucker started laughing. "Oh, you were prepared for it alright," he said, "Your reflexes are amazing." He turned to Sam. "He blasted the bag. It exploded. That's why..." He stopped and added a vague hand gesture to finish the sentence.

"And why are you not covered in flour dust?" Sam asked, now interested.

"Danny's reflexes aren't the only ones that are amazing," Tucker said, "I ducked." He pointed at a spot right behind the table that was almost dust free.

The scowl was back on Danny's face, and suddenly Sam felt sorry for him. For fourteen years, he had been absolutely miserable at Christmas, and it had only been last year that he had lightened up a little, realizing that he shouldn't let his parents get to him like that and more importantly, that he shouldn't try and ruin other people's Christmas just for the heck of it. He was making an effort here. She should support him.

"Can't you use some ghost power to clean this all up?" she asked, looking around, "You know, before your parents get home. Or Jazz, for that matter. Where is she, anyway?"

"Getting a tree," Danny said, "And no, I don't have a cleanup ghost ray. I usually destroy things. You want fireworks, I'm your guy. Cleaning up, not so much."

He blew his hair out of his face, causing a small dust cloud. He stared at it, pensively. "Of course," he said, trailing his finger over the counter, drawing a neat straight line on it, "I probably could ignite a dust explosion. That'd burn all the dust in an instant."

"Yeah, and everything else," Sam said. She stepped closer to him and started dusting him down, ignoring the blush that crept on her face from this seemingly intimate activity. "Come on, hotshot, get the vacuum cleaner. You can do the ceiling." She turned to Tucker. "You go get a new bag of flour. And for God sake, don't startle him like that again. I thought you knew better."

Tucker laughed, mock saluted her and quickly left the house, muttering something in passing to Sam that suspiciously sounded like 'There's still some flour on his nose, go for it!'

She wasn't entirely sure she had heard him right, but just in case she had, she punched him in the arm anyway. Tucker looked hurt, but fled when he saw her glare. She turned back to Danny and noticed that, like Tucker had said, there was indeed a tiny spec of white on the side of his nose. She turned scarlet and quickly looked down, berating herself for almost giving in to the sudden impulse of stepping up to her best friend and wiping it off.

Tucker slammed the door behind him and an uncomfortable silence settled over the house. Neither Sam nor Danny moved. When she finally dared to look up at him again, slightly unsettled by his unusual silence, she found him staring at her with a strange look in his eyes. She cleared her throat.

"Uh," she said, and then, hesitantly, pointing at her own nose, "There's... something..."

For a moment, he didn't seem to understand, but then he blinked and brought up his hand to wipe it off.

"Oh, you're right," he said with a cracking voice. Then he coughed, cleared his throat and turned away from her, a helpless look on his face. "We'll never get this cleaned up in time," he moaned.

"Of course we will," Sam said, glad he offered an opening to get back to business. Handling whining teenage boys was something she did well. "Go get the vacuum cleaner. I'll start on the stove and the counter. Go on. Shoo."

He brushed past her, flashing her an awkward smile, but then stopped in the doorway. Placing his hand on the door frame, he looked over his shoulder at Sam, who was already halfway on her way to the kitchen counter.

"Sam?" he said, and again his voice cracked.

She stopped and looked at him, silently wondering why he seemed to have so much trouble with his voice that day.

"Yeah?" she asked, a little impatiently.

He opened his mouth as if wanting to say something, but then closed it again. Sam waited.

"Thanks," he said, finally.

"For what? We haven't even started yet."

He stared at the floor and shuffled his feet, then looked up, past her at the counter. His eyes wandered around the room nervously, until they finally settled back on her again. For all his casual behavior, Sam could see the strain on him.

"For putting up with me," he said.

Sam laughed. "I've been putting up with you for years, you dork," she said.

A hesitant smile broke through on his face, and he shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Thanks for cheering me up though."

Still he didn't leave the kitchen. The expression on his face darkened again however, and she wondered if he was in fact sinking back into his old ways, lashing out at anyone who so much as dared to take the word 'Christmas' in his mouth. She stepped closer to him to intervene and placed a hand on his arm.

"Come on Danny, you're doing great. This is just a minor setback."

It was nice, standing so close to him. And there definitely was a speck of dust near his nose. She looked at it, looking up at his face and then looked straight into his eyes. And froze. She felt the muscle in his arm tense under her touch. He looked down at her.

"I...," he said, "I... Ghost powers, you know. Very good hearing. I... heard..."

"Tucker," Sam said, annoyed.

She wanted to pull back and move away, but before she could even begin to lift the hand off his arm, he had grabbed it.

"Don't," he breathed.

Her heart started pounding. She stayed where she was, uncomfortably close to what was supposed to be her best friend, albeit male best friend. His hand held her wrist in an iron grip, and she wouldn't have been able to escape had she wanted to. But she didn't want to.

"Don't..." She cleared her throat. When had her voice become so raspy? "Don't what?"

"Stop moving away from me," Danny muttered.

He was very close now, leaning forward a little. She could feel his warm breath on her forehead. Tilting her head backward, she stared into his eyes. Danny moved even closer, his hands suddenly finding their way around her waist, while her hands inexplicably found themselves placed loosely on his upper arms. He was taller than she was, but not much. He only had to bend forward a little...

Movement. A bright flash. Another flash, a hard shove against her chest and Sam was falling backwards on the floor. Then coughing, lots of coughing and dust, white dust, everywhere, making it almost impossible to see. Sam started coughing too. A loud voice, yelling, "Aw, man!"

It was impossible to see anything in the kitchen. Thinking they were under attack, Sam quickly scrambled to her hands and knees and scrambled in what she thought was the direction of the door, but actually was the direction of the kitchen counter, which she discovered only when she bumped right into it. It was silent in the kitchen after the first two blasts though, so she waited, straining her ears to listen. Then it dawned on her that they weren't in fact under attack.

The dust settled somewhat, and so did the coughing. Sam pulled herself up and looked around in the now completely white kitchen. Her eyes locked onto a vague figure wearing a red cap, trying to dust himself down.

"Tucker!" she exclaimed, feeling the anger rise, "What on earth did you think you were doing? What part of 'don't startle him' did you not understand? Gah!"

The figure wearing the red cap stopped dusting himself down and looked at her, and then nervously at Danny.

"Taking a picture," he said defensively, "It's not like I've never done that before, and you two looked so cute together."

Sam was glad Tucker couldn't see her red face through the dust cloud. She looked at the dark figure leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, in a pose that seemed to be conveying indifference. She knew better though. Danny was pissed.

"I can't believe this," she said, "This is the second flour sack you've ruined. Not counting the ones you ruined for that school project. And look at all this!" She waved her hand in the air. The dust swirled around her hands. "How are we supposed to clean this all up?"

"The same way you were before," Tucker said, "You guys hadn't even started. I can't believe how much time you two spent gazing into each other's eyes. I went all the way to the store and back."

"The store is just around the corner," Sam snapped, glancing at Danny, who had remained eerily quiet.

"And totally jammed with people. Seriously. I could hardly get in, and I got into a fight with this old lady..."

"We get it." Arms still crossed in front of his chest, Danny seemed to be struggling to keep his temper.

Sam raised her hands and stepped forward, placing herself between Tucker and the fuming half ghost, wondering how to salvage this. Jazz's plan, which had sounded like a good idea before, seemed to have backfired. She glared at Tucker, who shrugged and muttered, "Since when can't he take a little joke like this..."

"Since forever, this close to Christmas, Tucker. And now that he's got these super awesome powerful ghost powers, it might be a good idea to lay off a little."

"I'm standing right here, you know," Danny said.

Sam turned, suddenly fed up with both of them. "I haven't forgotten. Go. Get. The. Vacuum. Cleaner. And quit behaving like a four year old on a temper tantrum, which is annoying in a fifteen year old boy and outright dangerous in a half ghost."

Danny stared at her. The slight green glow coming from his eyes receded. His shoulders shagged. The scowl drooped into something that might be considered contriteness. In the silence, more of the dust settled, making it possible for Sam to see the other side of the kitchen again. The front door slammed.

"Hey," Jazz said, entering the living room.

Danny turned around, arms still crossed. Tucker and Sam joined him in the door frame, effectively blocking Jazz's view on the kitchen's interior. Jazz dropped several packages on the couch and straightened. Then she stared at the three flour covered friends. She blinked.

"Everything under control there?" she asked brightly.

The three friends, as by silent agreement, nodded in unison. Jazz stepped closer.

"So... you wouldn't mind me coming into the kitchen then?"

She was met with a stony silence. Danny glared at Tucker over Sam's head, who was standing in the middle. Sam looked both defiant and embarrassed. An interesting combination, Jazz decided, and she looked at her brother to see what she could read from his face. He looked back at her and blushed.

"Oh, like that, is it?" Jazz smirked, catching Tucker's grin from the corner of her eyes.

She approached them, then stood on her toes to peer over Sam's head into the kitchen.

"Oh my," she said, "And there I was, thinking giving you a simple, safe job would keep you out of trouble..."