Chapter Text
Danny fidgets in his seat, blue eyes darting around the office, and you sigh, shuffle the papers in your hand before flicking though them.
He’d seemed like the kind of students all professors wanted. He turned his work in on time, or asked for extensions with legitimate excuses, and participated in class to everyone’s benefit. You can say you quite like the kid, a funny gangly thing that seems to haunt the department at all hours, that you’re excited to see him go places once he graduates. You’ve yet to meet anyone who’s had anything to say contrary to the bright character seated in your office.
It’s a horrific sort of disappointment that you find yourself being that first person.
Plagiarism. And on the paper that consists the biggest chunk of his final grade in English. Not to mention the intellectual property theft the engineering and physics departments brought to your attention. But. But, you’re jaded enough to not let it get you too down. You have enough students come begging and demanding help in the last three week every semester, every year. You’ve had students get expelled before too, thinking that they’ll get away with stealing the ideas of dead people, of nearly obscure people. Sometimes they’re not even that clever.
Gotta give him props for trying harder than most, at least.
You pull his paper from the stack, and lay it to rest between you both. The red marking coats the crisp print liberally and mares the corner with a big, bright zero. Dr. Okeke had brought it by, thought you’d get a good read out of it, knowing you as he does. You would have, if anything had been sourced to their owners.
“Mr. Masters, I just want to say that I’m very disappointed, and that plagiarism of this scale has to be reported to the university. There’s nothing I can do about it,” you say, even as you think There’s nothing I would do about it. “Is there anything you’d like to say?”
His eyes go wide at the use of his last name, and then the color drains from his face. “W-What?” he laughs, nervously, and sits forward, gaze falling to his paper. “But, but I didn’t, Dr. Fong. Plagiarize anything, I mean.”
Disbelief curls your fingers, but also a rare fledgling of hope. “Oh? So you claim to say you wrote The Good, the Bad, and the Ghostly? Or built that pocket lazer you submitted to the university?”
He shakes his head. “Well, not really, the laser, but I just, um, improved upon an old idea,” he says, hands clutching tighter at his knees.
“That’s still theft to a degree, without permission,” you say, and frown, becoming a touch apprehensive at the wild look entering her eyes. “I’m sure Jetsam F. and the late Fentons would not approve—”
Danny flinches, recoils as if hit, and. You pause, stumbling to a halt. “You… You know about them?” he whispers, after a long moment, face turned away and hair hiding his eyes.
Well. You’ll admit the study of ghosts doesn’t have much to do with mathematics, but the works published by the late Fentons and Jetsam F. make for good idea fodder in creative fiction. You’re still a a year or two away from publishing, but legitimate work and study on Ghosts is a very, very small field. Which, of course, meant Dr. Blau, as your co-author more interested in physics and engineering, would have known about the compact lasers they built, the weaponry meant to harm and corral ghosts, unlike you.
So, slowly, you say, “Yes,” unsure, and watch as Danny takes a shuddering breath, and nods.
Blurts, “I’m adopted,” in such a rush you almost miss it. You blink, astonished. “I, I took my guardian’s last name, but… but my real last name,” he continues, and seems to struggle with it,” my last name was Fenton.”
Oh.
That. That makes you want to believe, but. “I can’t take your word for it,” you say, gently, “If you can submit proof for the laser to the university, they’ll not penalize you for that, but that doesn’t explain your English paper. ”
“I wrote the book,” he admits, miserably, “under pseudonym. I still study ghosts on break, but I didn’t… didn’t want anyone to know while I was in college.”
You so dearly want to believe, but. “You should have taken a moment to submit proof, instead of assuming it’d be okay. It’s not too late to do so, but it looks bad, Danny.”
“I didn’t think about it,” he whispers.
Forward thinking, not the easiest thing when it dregs up what no doubt had to be horrible memories. You’d read briefly about the explosion, the Fenton’s passing. Hadn’t really remembered until now, but they did have a son. A Danny Fenton.
“Don’t worry, just, just go home and get what you can to help prove it and I’ll be here tomorrow with the paperwork,” you say, and he jerks to attention, tears lining his eyes. “I’m sure your, erm, guardian will help you too, won’t he?”
They hadn’t looked alike, the few times you’ve seen Danny, and, well, not his father, together. You’d just assumed they were father and son regardless, but. Well. He cares for Danny, so that’s all that matters.
Danny nods, slowly. “Yeah, yeah he’s really looked out for me since. Since then. He’s family, old friends of my parents. I’ll have to convince he not to threaten a lawsuit, though…”
You just barely withhold a wince. Your degree is in calculus, but you’re not sure whether either side would really have a leg to stand on, but it wouldn’t be pretty, regardless.
“Tomorrow, bright and early,” you say, and give him an encouraging smile.
You like to be proven wrong, on occasion.
This time, you dearly hope you are.