A/N: Assume that something brought the Secret Trio (aka Danny Phantom, Jake Long and The Ninja) together as a team in high school and they remained friends (if not close friends, simply because they all live in different states) ever since.

iii.

"Come back here!"

Randy doesn't glance up on his way from class. He's still reeling from an intense hour and a half lecture on the subtleties between Ancient Egyptian and Ancient Greek art.

He appreciates art, okay? That doesn't mean it's not still boring.

"You're not getting away from me this time!"

Seriously, does knowing that the greek kouros revolutionized the art of sculpture actually help anyone in real life? When is he going to use his new-found knowledge of the Palette of Narmer and the canons it set for the entirety of Ancient Egyptian art? When?!

Randy tells himself to forget about all this useless information as soon as possible. He needs the brain space for more important stuff. Like new movies. And new video games.

"I – oh crud! Dude, duck!"

A loud shout jerks him out of his thoughts. Suddenly a dark shape is hurtling towards him. Without his permission, Randy's body executes a lovely back-flip out of the way and lands in a crouch next to some bushes.

Randy didn't even know he knew how to do a back-flip. See, now this is the kind of stuff he should be filling his brain with. Useful things. Flips. Not art.

A flash of blinding blue light explodes across his vision. Someone cries out in a weird echoy way, like they're falling down a tunnel. As quickly as it appeared, the blue light vanishes, leaving Randy to blink orange spots from his eyes.

"What the juice?" He asks the only person he can see left in the courtyard. It just so happens to be a guy...floating?

"Oh, hey, it's you." Floating guy all but sneers.

He wears a black and white jumpsuit, somehow making it gel with his neon green eyes and squint-worthy bright white hair. Even stranger than any of that – except maybe the floating – is that he seems to be putting the lid back on a soup can. Randy remembers his mom packing those things in his lunch with juice or chicken noodle soup somedays, back in middle school – but the floating dude is clearly beyond that age.

Randy squints against the glow the guy is emitting, trying to make sense of any of this.

"Are you a ghost?" He asks, nonchalant and good humored like he's asking if he's just been pranked. "Cause you don't look like a robot or a monster. So it's either ghost or...high tech cosplayer?"

The ghost looks offended at the suggestion.

"Is this you trying to be funny?"

"I don't think so." Randy frowns. "Usually when I'm trying to be funny, I get laughter. From friends. And myself. Why, you may ask? It's because I can recognize genius when I hear it."

"What?" The ghost shakes his head, confused. "Okay, shut up and listen for a minute. I haven't heard from you in almost a year! I know we don't always keep in touch and college is a busy time, but I was worried sick about you!"

Randy is bewildered. Why would a strange dead dude worry himself ill over him? Why is the guy talking like they know each other?

Is this just a crazy dude?

Abruptly, he thinks one thing clicks for him at least.

"Oh! So you're not always that pale then? It's the worry? Cause seriously bro, you need some sun –"

"Stop that!" The ghost snaps. Randy shuts his mouth.

The ghost sighs and puts a hand on his head, rubbing at his temple.

"Sorry. Look, I know you don't like me barging in on your scene –"

My scene? Randy wonders, blinking. Like Norrisville Community College campus?

"–but I heard about a ghost sighting over here and you weren't answering your phone and I thought hey, what a perfect excuse to pop through a portal down to Norrisville and check on my favorite Norrisvillian, you know?"

Randy is certain he does not know.

"And no, it's not like I didn't have my own stuff going on too this past year, and I really thought I wasn't mad at you – but now that I've found you here, you don't look so busy you can't send a text message my way once in a while! So maybe I am mad!"

"What are you, my long-lost boyfriend?" Randy says. Seriously, did he have a forgotten boyfriend in high school who's come back to haunt him? Is that what this is?

The ghost throws his arms wide in exasperation.

"Why haven't you answered my texts?!"

"Maybe because I don't have your number?" Randy suggests helpfully.

"Of course you do! I've had the same number since high school!"

Randy thinks that sounds fishy.

"Why does a ghost need to call anyone anyway?"

That doesn't make sense. Unless...he has ghost friends...and they all have cell phones...

Honestly, though, ghosts are dead, what could they possibly have to say to each other?

"What? Why are you being so –" The ghost stops. He floats closer, zooming in to peer into Randy's eyes. It's too sudden for Randy. It feels like the cherry on top of the weirdest, most mind-boggling hour of his life, and he can't help but trip over himself to get away. He stumbles back and watches the ghost's brow furrow.

Thankfully, though, the ghost doesn't try to come closer again.

"Dude," Randy says, hand over his jack-hammering heart. "Maybe warn a guy, next time?"

"Do you...don't you know who I am?" The ghost asks.

Randy thinks, somehow, he should know who the ghost is. He thinks if he concentrates maybe he can bring the memory back into focus.

"You're...um..." Nothing is forthcoming. "Don't tell me – your name, starts with, uh...I wanna say a T?"

"Wow." The ghost says quietly. His green eyes are wide. "You really don't know. Is this – did you do this to yourself? Or...did that book do this to you?"

Randy isn't listening. He's preoccupied with grasping, desperately, at any speck of memory left in his achingly empty mind. He thinks he catches it once or twice – but both times, anything certain slips through his fingers as easily as Norrisville silt.

"Maybe it's an R...No, wait, I'm going back to T. Trevor? Tom? Timothy? ...No, none of those sound right." Randy, despite the memory gaps, knows for sure that he'd never be friends with a Tom or a Timothy.

"Just, just stop."

Randy reluctantly lets it go. He knows that this will bug him later, though.

"So...I guess I don't know who you are." He admits, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mind telling me?"

"...I-I'm Danny." He says softly. "I think – I think I shouldn't have come here."

Danny is a very underwhelming name as far as scary ghost titles go. Not to mention that his current expression is that of a young hurt guy – it really drags down any scare-factor he might have.

"Maybe you shouldn't have come, I don't know. Sorry I forgot you." Randy offers. He knows that's not enough. "Um...it's not you, though! It's totally me – I can't remember much of high school at all."

Danny's brow is furrowed. He looks stricken. His emotions seem to tug his feet back down to earth, like he's grown heavier in the last five minutes.

"So you don't remember being –" He cuts himself off.

"Being...a high school student?" Randy tries to finish. It doesn't feel correct. It feels like there's a perfect word out there, one that would make him feel complete if he could just reach it.

Danny shrugs at him, hands clenched at his sides.

"Yeah. Sure. Look, this – this was a mistake. I'm...I'm sorry to bother you."

Randy's mind is insisting that this wasn't a mistake, that this is a step towards remembering something critical, but somehow, he gets the feeling that Danny isn't going to say anything else. Danny isn't going to be the guy to push him over the edge of memory.

So, feeling like he's dropping a coin, something valuable, without truly realizing its worth – Randy lets this go.

"Hey, thanks for taking care of that ghost, or whatever. I'm sure Norrisville appreciates it!" He smiles. "And maybe now you can stop worrying about me, right?"

Danny's face says a definite no.

But still he smiles back and, slowly, melancholy-like, takes to the air again.

"Right. ...Bye, Randy."

"Later, Danny."

It takes a few minutes before it hits. When something terrible and wonderful crashes inside Randy's heart and his mind, he has to stumble to a bench, his legs suddenly losing every ounce of strength.

He stares unseeing at his hands for minutes, for an hour. He wonders if he's still breathing.

Gazing up at the sky, he feels, more than ever, the gaping hole inside his chest.

"...I never told him my name."

I really did know him.

A/N: Randy chose Fine Art Appreciation as a class because he thought it would be easy ('I appreciate that and that and what was that professor I get an A?') but... I figured if it mildly sucked for me, it would definitely suck for him.

Also, I don't think I did Danny justice, but I've never written him before so *shrugs* what can you do?

He doesn't remember this, but Randy broke his phone a little before graduation, losing Jake and Danny's numbers (because seriously, no one memorizes phone numbers anymore) and just decided it was easier not to tell Danny and Jake what was going to happen. They all live in different states (I'm assuming) and they all have busy lives and villains to deal with so they often don't talk to each other for months. Randy, pre-mind wipe, just decided to enjoy the time he had left as the Ninja (and honestly, maybe just avoid the drama that telling his hero friends would involve).

That wasn't great of him, but yeah.

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