Knowledge of Part Fourteen, "Through Thick and Thin," and Part Fifteen, "The Reckoning," is recommended but not required.

This is only going to be a two-shot, btw. Also, it gets lighter after the first scene. We all could use a break after "The Reckoning."

A Match Made in Hell!

"Does anybody else have a voice in their head that repeats, 'Slap the idiot! Slap the idiot!' No? Just me? Hmm...odd." - Unknown

What started as a simple fly home from work ends with my best friend bleeding in my arms.

Once a famous movie director in the human realm, Hutch Blairman is a ghost with blue skin, close-cropped darker blue hair, and vibrant yellow eyes. Ordinarily, his energy and cheerfulness could give Jack Fenton a run for his money.

Right now, Hutch is whimpering from pain as I fly him to my home as fast as my powers will carry me. He clings to me tight enough to leave bruises, and he leaks ectoplasm from various wounds. The long gashes over his stomach are the worst offenders. His chest is burned but otherwise fine, so his core should be unharmed, and that brings me tremendous relief.

I don't know who or what attacked him. On my way home, I just so happened to look down and see a trail of ectoplasm leading to a familiar figure. Divine intervention, that's what I'd call it.

This is not the first time I've envied Daniel's speed - he clocks in at 136 miles per hour without using his newly developed wings, and 285 miles per hour when using both his wings and his inherent abilities - nor will it be the last.

After an eternity, I phase into my laboratory and lay Hutch down on the examination table. He hisses at the motion, and my core pulsates painfully in response. My Obsession is love, and seeing someone so dear to me in such agony is doing nothing for my core.

(cold table, scalpel, emotionless brown eyes)

"Vlad," Hutch croaks out, gazing up at me with wide, frightened eyes.

"Don't speak," I command. "I'll dress your wounds, and then you can tell me what happened."

Uncaring about the ectoplasm on my clothes, I conjure a duplicate to assist me. We go through the motions of cleaning Hutch up, bandaging his lesser wounds, and stitching those awful gashes on his stomach with phase-proof thread. This is the first time I've envied Daniel's Healing Touch, a power that allows him to heal any wound that isn't his own almost instantly. I'll have to make do. Hutch's form remains solid throughout all of this, which means that he is at no risk of destabilizing. I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn't found him before whatever he was fleeing from did.

Once Hutch is sufficiently tended to, I will away my duplicate. "How do you feel?"

"Achy," Hutch replies, "but it could have been worse. Thank you."

"Of course," I say with the slightest smile.

Hutch has been by my side since I first became half-ghost. He's stuck by me through a lot of twists and turns and horrors. Loyalty like that doesn't come easily. Frankly, I don't know where I'd be without him.

"Can you sit up?" I ask.

"I think so."

He flaps his hand at me when I try to help him. He hisses again but manages to pull himself upright. I keep my eyes on his exposed stomach, but the stitches graciously remain in place. At least ghosts heal quickly.

(exposed flesh, gloved hands touching bones and organs)

I fold my hands behind my back so he can't see them shaking. "Now, mind telling me what in the world happened to you? Wait." It dawns on me that his neck is unadorned, implying that the back of his neck is completely visible. "Hutch, your…your death mark…"

Hutch's eyes widen, and he pats at his neck before throwing his hands down on the table. "Oh, sugar honey iced tea!"

When a spirit dies an unnatural death, they are left with a visible mark, the size and location on the body being dependent on the cause of death. There's no law that says you have to keep your death mark covered, but most of us prefer to.

My heart twists in sympathy. Partly because I know how much Hutch loves the accessory he usually wears to cover the thin black horizontal line on the back of his neck. Even if a hot pink feather boa is the most ridiculous accessory he could have chosen.

"I have a turtleneck you can borrow," I say, switching to human-form now that the danger has passed. "It might be a bit snug," Hutch is not fat by any means, but he has a different body type than I, "but it will do for now. You'll need some new clothes anyway," I add pointing to his torn clothing.

He throws his arms around himself, uncharacteristically self-conscious. "I appreciate that."

He takes my offered hand, and a little thrill zips through me as I help him off the table, resting my other hand on his back to steady him. When I'm satisfied that he can get around on his own, I reluctantly release his hand and lead him out of the lab.

I don't like how quiet he is. Usually when something's on his mind, he belts it out as dramatically as possible. Somehow, the silence is scarier than his injuries.

"Care to tell me what happened?" I ask as we walk into my bedroom.

"I don't really know," Hutch says. He goes on as I step into my walk-in closet. "I was just minding my own business, and suddenly people were shooting at me!"

I snap to attention. "Who?"

He instinctively reaches for his feather boa. He looks terribly sad when it isn't there. "I think they were with the Guys in White. They wore white suits and sunglasses. I can't think of anyone else who would hunt ghosts while dressed like that."

A lot of people, ghost and human alike, have a bone to pick with the Guys in White, but I have a bigger one than most. It began with the final day of Daniel's "ghost puberty," as he often called it, the day when he went on a blind rampage invoked only by his half-ghost biology. Such is the curse of being a halfa, though thankfully that rampage is a "one and done" situation. In preparation, Daniel had recruited the Guys in White to fortify the town against the onslaught. It worked, and Amity Park was still standing in the end, though some damage is still being taken care of.

However, the Guys in White took back all of the shields and weapons that the townsfolk were supposed to keep. I don't particularly care what happens to most of Amity Park's residents, but it's the principle. I have a meeting scheduled with their chief to discuss this matter, and Daniel insists on coming with me due to the…other reason I so deeply dislike them.

(poisonous gas, the trunk of a car)

(I can still feel Operative L's hands inside me.)

Rage boils my blood. If those government agents hurt Hutch so badly, maybe it's for the best that Daniel will be with me at the meeting. I take pride in the control I have over my emotions, but I can't plaster on a professional smile for something this serious.

My eyes lower to where I stitched up Hutch's stomach. "Those gashes didn't come from gunfire."

Hutch shivers. "The blasts knocked me out of the air," he says. "The one guy had this," he curls his fingers slightly and moves his hand up and down, "claw thing. I…" He hugs himself and shakes his head clear. "Sorry. I-I think I'm coming down from the shock."

My heart aches. My core is scratching at my chest, begging me to pull this man into my arms and never let go.

I pull a burnt orange turtleneck off of a hanger and hand it to Hutch. "Put this on. Then, why don't we head down to the kitchen? I believe I still have some of that hot cocoa mix you like."

Hutch gives me a tender smile. "You're too good to me."

As Hutch and I sit on the couch and sip our drinks in companionable silence, we have a visitor. One who makes Hutch perk up instantly.

"Ah, there's the lady of the house!" he coos.

Maddie, my white Persian cat, meows in greeting and leaps on to the couch. She makes herself comfortable on Hutch's lap. He grunts at the contact, still feeling his injuries, but is happy to run his fingers through her long fur. The sight brings a real smile to my face. Those two have always gotten along, and it's nice to see Hutch acting more like himself.

"I used to consider myself more of a dog person," Hutch says. "You may have turned me to your side, Maddie."

Maddie purrs louder. Sometimes I wonder if she understands more English than we think.

Hutch sips his mug and adds sheepishly, "Sorry there are no feathers today."

Looking back, I believe part of the reason that Maddie took such a liking to Hutch was because of his feather boa. He usually lets her play with it a little, but that's not an option today.

Maddie hops off his lap and wanders off.

"I think she's mad at me," Hutch laments.

Or, she's simply being a cat. It's hard to tell sometimes. "She wouldn't be if she knew what happened. They didn't do anything worse than attack you, did they?"

Hutch chuckles bitterly. "What could have been worse than that?"

I drum my fingers along my mug. "I can think of a few things. Experimentation, perhaps. There's also…" I suppress a shiver, "the possibility of being vivisected. Er, dissected," I correct, remembering whom we're talking about. I clear my throat. "Even the most incompetent fool has a moment of brilliance on occasion, and the Guys in White are no exception."

I sip my cocoa and nearly spit it out when Hutch says, "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Well, you know," I say quickly. The sweet aroma wafting from my mug turns my stomach now. "I spent quite a lot of time with them when I was helping Daniel prepare for the end of his reckoning." That ghost puberty I mentioned. "They can be dangerous when they want to be."

Hutch squints at me and purses his lips. He's known me long enough to know when I'm shutting down. "You're withholding information, but alright."

I swallow a relieved sigh. It's been a week since the incident, and I've been trying to put it out of my mind. Easier said than done. Hutch's predicament is bringing it straight to the surface. I am endlessly grateful to whatever deity kept him from suffering the same fate.

Hutch downs the rest of his drink. "If you're asking if I saw the inside of a lab, the answer is no." This time I do sigh in relief. "The boa's a loss, though. I saw one of the agents grab it. Not sure what use they'd have for it."

"Knowing them, they probably took it solely because it fell off of a ghost."

"Yeah, probably. Damn shame, too. That boa was my signature!" Hutch absently reaches for it again then throws his hand in his lap. His dark gray trousers are burnt and ripped, but all my pants were too tight in the waist and too long in the leg for him. I ordered my custom-fit wardrobe without the knowledge that I'd have to lend someone my clothes one day. "I've had that thing since I died. I fear that a replacement just wouldn't feel the same."

"Why a feather boa, anyway?" I have to ask.

"I never told you?" He shrugs. "Not much of a story, I'm afraid. A few weeks after I died, I learned what a death mark was and felt horribly embarrassed when I realized mine had been exposed all that time."

"Not everyone covers theirs," I remind him.

"Yeah, but I didn't know that at the time. Besides, there's no fancy anecdote tied to it. 'So, how'd you die?' 'Oh, I was on-set and discovered that a spotlight wasn't hung properly.' How boring is that?"

"And, the boa because…?" I prompt.

Hutch had been waving his empty mug around while speaking and now holds it with both hands. "To be perfectly honest, it was the first thing I could find." I raise an eyebrow, and he huffs in response. "Fine. The first thing I could find that matched my aesthetic." He bats his lush blue eyelashes and demurely places the back of his hand under his chin.

I smile and shake my head at his antics. "Well, you can keep the turtleneck until you find something else that matches your aesthetic."

Hutch leans over to give me a peck on the cheek. I am used to his pension for affection and "chaste kisses," but I am not used to the way my skin heats up at the contact. "You're a doll, Vladimir. Say, are you going to finish your hot chocolate?"

I hand him the mug. "Not unless you have a problem with backwash."

"I'll just drink from the other side."

"Why are we taking your car when we fly?" Daniel asks me, buckling his seat belt.

I turn the key in the ignition, and the engine start up. "You really want us to fly to the headquarters of what is essentially a horde of overpaid ghost hunters?"

Daniel grimaces then turns away. "Right…"

My meeting with the Guys in White's head honcho is today. I was already a bundle of nerves over it, but after Hutch was attacked yesterday, pure anger was thrown into the mix. I was going to talk Daniel out of coming, but now I think I might need him to keep me on track.

"What's the game plan?" Daniel asks as I pull out of the driveway.

"Initially, I was just going to have you stand there invisibly." Daniel told me that the agents' ghost detectors weren't able to hone in on him when he was invisible in human-form. That's how he was able to get around them so easily. "However, there's been a minor change of plan."

I keep my eyes on the road, mostly because I can hear the sympathy and understanding in his voice, and I don't want a visual of it. "Getting cold feet, huh? Do you wanna talk about it?"

The horror in Daniel's eyes and the soothing warmth of his Healing Touch are still fresh in my mind. It's going to take a long time for those awful memories to fade, if they ever do. "That is not the issue." Not the one I was thinking of, at any rate. "I won't go into detail, but they did something yesterday that really pissed me off."

"Pissed? That pissed you off? You used a swear word?"

I roll my eyes. "I know how to swear, Daniel."

"I-I just never heard you do it before. What did they do? Punch your grandma?"

"What they did is irrelevant. The plan is mostly unchanged. You will stay at my side and unseen."

I picture him raising a suspicious eyebrow. "But…?"

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. "But, if it looks like I'm about to lose my temper, I want you to overshadow me. You read the contract, and I explained the parts you didn't understand. You can get by if you have to."

Silence. Then, "Did they stab your grandma?"

I'm going to be doing a lot of eye rolling during this drive, aren't I? "My grandma is long dead, Daniel."

"The question stands."

I'm about to retort when I realize that his question really does have a reason to stand. Did Grandma become a ghost? Now he's got me wondering.

I push the thought aside for now. "You know I am an expert at keeping myself together. But, even I have a limit."

"So, they did stab her."

"My grandmother is not involved in this. I don't expect it to come to that. I'm only giving you permission on the off chance that it does. Understood? Daniel?" I prompt when he doesn't say anything.

His voice is quiet, gentle. "Did they…do something else to you?"

I battle the soft smile that wants to form on my lips. "Not to me, no."

"Promise?"

That smile wins out. I brush my finger tip over my chest in an X-shape. "Cross my heart."

"Okay. Are we gonna have some kind of code, or…?"

I am going to regret this. "Use your best judgment. I am trusting you to be mature about this."

"Vlad, we're two half-ghosts going into a government-sanctioned building full of glorified Ghostbusters. I'm not an idiot."

His response pacifies me. It's going to be a long drive, likely full of awkward silences, so I turn on the radio. Then I smirk at the mental image of Daniel's grimace when he hears The Buggles' Video Killed the Radio Star playing.

"No, no," he protests.

I smack his hand when he reaches for the dial. "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cake hole."

I sneak a glance at him as he huffs and crosses his arms. "I'm driving on the way back."

"We'll see."

Daniel's strategy of staying invisible while in human-form works. Mostly. I hear some agents muttering about an increase in ecto-energy, but no one is pointing guns at us as their chief leads us to his office. I'd call that a win.

Unease follows me as I walk down halls that are all-too similar to the ones I was pulled through on a rolling table that night. I will never tell Daniel how much of a comfort it is to feel his hand on my back, anchoring me.

The chief, who refuses to tell me his name, brings me - and by extension, Daniel - to an office that is much, much smaller than I'd envisioned. My office in Amity Park's Town Hall is bigger. Or, perhaps it feels that way because of how organized my office is compared to this one. The chief has piles of paper spread haphazardly on his desk, and there are unlabeled boxes scattered about. Some might call it controlled chaos. I remove the "controlled" part.

The only chair is at the desk, but the chief remains standing with the rest of us. He is a man of a lean build and sporting slicked back brown hair and a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks. Like his employees, he wears a white suit, though he has foregone the dark sunglasses the other Guys in White wear even indoors. In their place lies a pair of ordinary prescription lenses. All in all, aside from his wardrobe, he looks like he'd be better suited to a career making video games. But, I know better than to judge a book by its cover.

The chief lowers his head and gazes at me with disdainful brown eyes from above his glasses. Quite a feat, considering how much taller I am. "I hope you know this meeting is a formality at best. You're not getting the equipment back."

This is going exactly the way I thought it would. "Forgive me if I'm beating a dead horse, but our agreement was that the residents of Amity Park were to keep all of the weapons and Ghost Shields-"

"-to protect them from Danny Phantom's temper tantrum." For all of our sakes, I hope I'm the only one who hears Daniel's stifled growl. The chief goes on, so the heavens must be shining down on us. "We allowed you to borrow our equipment, not keep it."

I start to retort, but the chief holds up his index finger and walks over to one of the boxes on the floor. He digs around in there for a moment before returning to me and handing me a piece of paper.

"This contract, which you signed," the chief adds pointedly, "clearly states that our equipment was to be returned to us after the reckoning ended."

I scan the contract and feel the blood rush to my face. "That was not in the contract I signed!"

The chief shrugs, and barely control his expression. He rips the paper from my hands and moves to return it to the box. "I don't know what to tell you other than to work on your reading comprehension."

I've been had! Played for a fool!

Conscious of my rising temper, Daniel presses down the hand that's still on my back. While the chief's back is turned, I look where I think Daniel is and shake my head. I am furious, yes, but still in control.

"Mr. Masters," the chief says once he returns, "you seem like a decent guy. And, you're a multi-billionaire to boot. So, I'm sure you understand how business works."

"Yes, but I make it a point not to deceive people!" There's a warning tug on the back of my blazer that makes me add, "For the most part."

"Well, that's the long and short of it," the chief says. "Besides, thanks to our work with Phantom, our equipment has never been better! You should have seen this ghost we attacked just yesterday. It managed to give us the slip, but we've never made a ghost bleed before!" Daniel tenses against me. "If that's not an improvement, I don't know what is!"

My core is bashing at my chest, trying to direct me toward this man who hurt someone I love so dearly. Seeing my kindly and flamboyant best friend reduced to a scared, bleeding lump haunts me. I want to grab the chief by the shoulders and see how he likes being brutally assaulted.

But, I have more control than that. Though, like yesterday, I have to fold my hands behind my back so that no one - except maybe Daniel - sees them shaking.

The chief is blissfully unaware of what I could do to him if I let my Obsession-fueled instincts take charge. "Sorry you wasted a trip, Mr. Masters."

We stare each other down for a short spell. I make the executive decision to speak first. "This isn't over, chief."

The chief chuckles. "What are you gonna do? Call the president? He's got more important things to do than listen to the complaints of some random citizen."

Random citizen, huh?

Daniel fists his hand in my blazer, as if to say, Don't get any ideas.

Fine. As we've established, I don't particularly care about Amity Park anyway. Though, I am still hopping mad about the little ruse they pulled. "I'll see myself out."

I catch a glimpse of the chief's victorious smirk, and Daniel's presence is the only thing stopping me from throwing my fist at the smirk.

The moment I close the door and see that we are alone in the hallway, I turn invisible and start fast-walking. Daniel briefly removes his hand from my back but replaces it to keep track of me.

"What are you doing?" he whispers.

"I'll tell you what I'm not doing," I reply. "Leaving empty-handed."

Daniel starts to question me, but a few agents file into the hallway. One of them has some sort of detector and creeps closer and closer with it. Daniel and I make ourselves intangible as well when the agent and his co-workers move forward. They pass harmlessly through us, and I grab Daniel's arm and bolt. Even if they can't tell where we are, the agents have figured out that there are ghosts on the premises. If I'm doing this, I need to do it quickly.

On the way to the office, I spotted a room labeled, "Ecto-Infused Contraband (Authorized Personnel Only)." What I'm looking for is probably in there.

Daniel and I don't regain visibility until we phase into the room. It's a small room lined with square lockers. Each one requires a code to open, but since I could phase through the door without issue, its safe to assume I can do the same with the lockers.

"So, they stole something from you?" Daniel asks quietly. "That's what pissed you off?"

"You could say that," I reply. "Stand guard while I search. Alert me if someone is about to come in. Do this, and I'll give you full control of the radio on the ride back."

Daniel frowns skeptically but turns invisible and presumably does what he's told.

I successfully phase my head into a locker and then the next one and the next. There are some interesting things - a machine part, a pile of glowing green bullets - and some useless trinkets - a sock, a yellow marker, an overturned music box with "Property of THE BOX GHOST" written on a line of tape on the bottom. With each failed search, I grow more wary of being discovered with my face literally peeking through the lockers.

The thought of being strapped down again…

I shake the memory away before it can unravel me.

At long last, I find what I'm looking for in one of the lockers at the bottom. I reach in but am unable to pull it out. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

This is bad. There's no telling when someone will come in here.

On a whim, I punch in the numbers, "1-2-3-4." The little screen flashes the words, "ACCESS GRANTED."

Idiots.

I take out the object inside and slip it into pocketspace - a pocket dimension that acts as a ghostly storage system for objects of a certain size - and shut the locket door.

I turn invisible and phase back into the hallway. The only people I can see are two agents casually strolling by, but there's a subtle ripple in the atmosphere, something only a ghost would feel.

I wave my hand toward the ripple and feel Daniel's fingers lock around my wrist. I pull him along as I seek out a place to regain visibility without alerting anyone. I locate the men's room and phase inside. Nobody's here. Perfect.

"Did you get what you came for?" Daniel asks once he can see me but I still can't see him.

"I did."

"And, I get to pick the music on the way back?"

Steeling myself for the incoming rap or screamo or whatever teenagers listen to these days, I say, "As promised. Keep your hand on me so I know I haven't lost you."

Once I can feel his hand on my back one final time, I step into the hallway-

-and am greeted by the sight of two beefy guys in white suits pointing beeping detectors at me. My body is prepped to fight them off, but they only stare at me and then their devices in confusion.

After a moment, I take a chance and feign irritation. "Am I not allowed to make a pit stop before a long drive home?"

I shove past them and am relieved when they don't follow.

Daniel and I remain silent until we are outside and alone in the parking lot. "Well, this blows," he laments when we reach my car.

I climb into the driver's seat and buckle up. "I got one of the things I came for, so at least it wasn't a wasted trip."

Daniel's voice tells me that he is now in the passenger's seat beside me. "Must be something pretty important."

I don't respond because we're driving past the gatekeeper, who checks my ID before opening the gate for me.

After a few minutes of driving, I give Daniel the okay to show himself and buckle up. "Thank you for this," I say. "Even though I could have gotten it done without you."

"Admit it," he says. "You totally would have lost it on that guy if I wasn't there."

"No, I wouldn't have." Much.

Daniel makes a condescending noise. "I better not find out that you overshadowed the president to get our stuff back."

I scoff. "Please. I'm not that crazy. Besides, I've turned over a new leaf, remember?"

"And, I'm proud of you for that." The sincerity in that statement is muddled by the next. "But, you are the fruit loop of Wisconsin, so…" I suppress the urge to smack him. After a moment, he says, "That ghost they mentioned. Is that why you were so mad? You know the guy?"

Know him, love him, hate seeing him in pain. "We've met."

When I don't elaborate, Daniel says, "I'm sorry."

Surprised, I glance at his now-somber form. "For what?"

"I spent months helping the Guys in White with their tech. I was so desperate to protect the town from me, that I didn't consider what could happen to other ghosts."

I shake my head. "Perish the thought. Your goal was to keep Amity Park safe, and overall you were quite successful."

"But-"

"But, nothing, Daniel. The Guys in White are morons, but they are government-instituted morons. Something like this would have happened with or without your involvement."

Daniel sounds pacified, though not entirely convinced. "I guess."

On that note, he reaches for the radio and plays around with it until he finds a song he likes.

"-a ride on your disco stick. Don't think too much, just bust that kick. I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."

Or, a song that will irritate me, I think as some innuendo-filled pop tune assaults my ear drums.

"Seriously?" I ask.

I picture Daniel's self-satisfied grin. "Say what you want about Lady Gaga. At least she doesn't go around killing radio stars."

I have no response to that.