Flashback
The glow of plasma lanterns pooled over Rick's face as he worked, half-bent over a fragmented quantum stabilizer.
The edges of the rusted walls hummed with both danger and distance, but then the door slid open—quiet and certain.
BugAnne spilled in, her armor still warm from battle. War-tough confidence clung to her every move.
She strode across the metal floor, padded boots soft, and leaned into Rick's workspace without asking.
"Still reverse-jacking Galactic Archives?" she said, voice low, edged with mock accusation.
Rick didn't look up. "Only into locked tombs," he replied dryly.
That broke tension like glass. She smiled—sharp, unguarded. That smile attacked years of solitude in a single glance.
He finally stopped. "You find something worth the risk?"
She reached forward, hands brushing his.
The hum of the tools became a backdrop to harder rhythms.
Silence was no longer peace. It was promise.
Later, they lay tangled under an oil-slick sky full of distant gunfire.
BugAnne rested her head on Rick's chest, her breath slow in the chaos.
There was no planning, no next heist—just two souls leaning into the quiet between gunshots.
- - - - - - - - - -
Back to Calypso-9 – Present
BugAnne moved with predatory ease, each segmented leg clicking lightly against the crystalline floor.
Her compound eyes scanned the room with calculated disinterest until they landed on him. And then—tilt. Recognition sparked.
"Rick," she said in that lilting, insectoid purr.
Each syllable rolled like she was savoring it, antennae twitching faintly.
Rick's grip on his fork tightened. "BugAnne."
Her gaze flicked to the table—Diane smiling politely, Beth mid-slurp on a glowing blue drink, Rod pretending not to watch every micro-expression on Rick's face.
BugAnne didn't know how Diane looks like.
Not yet.
Her eyes lingered a moment too long, curiosity behind the calm mask.
There was an odd… pause, like she was cataloguing facial features she couldn't place but felt were important.
"Didn't think I'd find you here of all places," she said, tone walking that line between teasing and interrogation.
Rick looked at Rod. Looked at Diane. Back at BugAnne.
"F–Fuck."
- - - - - - - - - -
Rod broke the silence like he was slicing through wet paper.
"Well, look who it is. BugAnne."
He leaned back in his chair, grinning like the cat that knew exactly where the mouse trap was.
"So, what're you doing here?"
BugAnne's mandibles shifted into something almost like a smile.
"Dinner. Nothing more complicated than that.
I just didn't expect to… run into you—" her compound eyes flicked to Rick again, "—or him."
Diane, ever the gracious one despite the little alarm bells in her head, glanced at Rod.
"Aren't you going to introduce us?"
Rod looked at Rick.
Rick's eyes widened, shaking his head furiously, lips mouthing No. Don't you dare, kid. Are you crazy?
That only made Rod's smirk deepen.
"Ohhh, okay, Mom," Rod said, his voice dripping with fake innocence.
"Mom, BugAnne. BugAnne, Mom—Diane."
BugAnne's eyes lit with a subtle, knowing glint.
"So you're Rick's wife… but I heard you were gone. Did Rick… succeed in bringing you back?" Her antennae twitched once.
"Aww, I'm happy for you, Rick."
Rick let out a brittle laugh, the kind that sounds like it's trying to escape.
"H-Haha! Y-Yeah… thanks, BugAnne."
Diane kept her polite smile, but her gaze stayed locked on BugAnne just a moment longer than necessary.
Something in their tone, the little flicker in Rick's face, told her this was more than a casual encounter.
A woman's instinct, after all, could smell secrets like blood in the water.
Diane kept her eyes on BugAnne, but her hand rested lightly on the table, fingers drumming.
"You seem… familiar with each other," she said slowly, turning to Rick with that soft tone that always used to precede an interrogation.
"Old friends?"
Rick coughed into his drink. "Y-Yeah, you could say that.
Old… acquaintances. You know—space is big, you bump into people. Sometimes… repeatedly."
BugAnne's mandibles twitched into something dangerously close to a grin.
"Repeatedly," she echoed, her voice velvety and slow, drawing the word out like it was dipped in honey.
"Sometimes more than once in the same night, depending on the, ah… circumstances."
Rod leaned in, already smirking.
"Repeatedly? You mean like over and over again, or like… that one time when you went all in—"
"Kid—" Rick shot him a glare sharp enough to cut a dimension in half.
"—and after that," Rod continued as if he hadn't heard a thing, "you ended up with, what, three consecutive arrest warrants on the same planet? That time?"
BugAnne tilted her head, clicking her mandibles softly. "I still think that one was worth it."
Diane's brow arched. "Arrest warrants?" Her gaze shifted back to Rick.
"Baby, what happened?"
Rick shifted in his seat. "It's… complicated."
"Oh, I bet it was," BugAnne purred, leaning an elbow on the table.
"Especially the part where you had to wear that disguise to get us out of the nightclub alive—"
Rod was nearly vibrating with joy. "Oh yeah, old man, tell her that part—"
"Kid! SHUT—" Rick started, but Diane's voice cut clean through his protest.
"Rick." She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"Tell me. Everything. After I died. No skipping details. No science excuses. All of it."
Rick froze. His gaze ping-ponged between Diane, Rod, and BugAnne.
"Uh… you want, like… the short version or the—"
"All. Of. It." Diane's tone left zero escape routes.
Rod folded his arms, that smug curve tugging at his mouth.
"Oh no, you're not wriggling out of this one, old man.
You owe her the whole story— and me. I already know the scraps, the messy headlines.
I want the uncut version. The director's cut. No science-babble censorship."
Beth tilted her head. "Wait, what are you guys even talking abou—"
"Not now, sweetie," Diane said, eyes never leaving Rick.
Rick's gaze dropped to his drink. "Uh… you really want—"
"Yes." Diane's tone was sharp enough to slice open a portal.
Rod leaned back, gesturing toward Rick with a lazy hand.
"Go on. You've already got an audience, and technically half the multiverse is still shaking its head about the crap you pulled."
Rick stared into his glass for a moment, sighed, then muttered, "Well… first thing I did was—" And then the floodgates opened.
The words came fast and messy, every reckless stunt, every half-insane escape plan, every self-destructive spiral he'd wrapped himself in after losing her.
By the time he got to the bit about hijacking an intergalactic funeral barge and accidentally declaring war on a pantheon of fourth-dimensional jelly gods, Diane's jaw was tight, Beth was staring like she'd just learned Santa was real and armed, and Rod was doubled over, laughing so hard his chair tilted.
"—and that's basically the highlight reel," Rick finished, knocking back what was left of his drink like it might erase the past.
There was a long beat of silence.
"…You colossal, selfish, emotionally stunted asshole," Diane said finally, though her eyes shimmered.
BugAnne lifted her glass in a slow, mocking toast. "Cheers to Rick!"
Rick groaned into his hand.
Diane's gaze flicked from Rick to BugAnne, her voice calm but razor-edged.
"So… you're like his fling? Ex?"
BugAnne hesitated, brows knitting for a moment. "It's… complicated."
Diane's lips pressed into a thin line. She turned toward Rod. "I want to go back."
Rick's hand shot out. "D! Y—you need to understand—"
"Not now, Rick," Diane cut him off, her tone final. "I need a moment… alone."
Rod didn't even blink. With a flick of his hand, a portal shimmered open, and Diane stepped through without looking back.
Rod's voice came low and sharp without meeting Rick's eyes.
"Old man… ARE YOU DUMB? Chase her, you dumbfuck! This is it—the hit-or-break moment.
You screw this up, you might not get another chance.
I already foresaw something like this happening, and this is the cleanest way to fix it. So break a leg, old man—go win Mom's heart back."
Rick froze, caught between understanding and irritation.
"Y—you piece of shit. You think it's easy to console your mom when she's like that?!"
He kept grumbling, but his hands were already on the portal gun, twisting dials. With a curse under his breath, he snapped it open and stepped through.
Over his shoulder, he called, "Take Beth somewhere for a while—I'll call you when Diane makes her choice."
Rod gave a lazy salute.
Beth, still working on her fruit juice, blinked. "Okay… what the fuck!?"
"Language, young lady," BugAnne chided.
Beth stuck her tongue out. "Bwerrkkk!"
Rod laughed. "Sorry, Beth. Looks like Mom and the old man are having a couple fight.
They'll talk—or yell—it out.
Now dinner's ruined. So… want to go on an adventure, little devil?"
Beth's eyes lit up like twin suns.
"Yeayyyy! Where we wanna go? What we wanna do? Can I decide?
No—wait—can I drive your car?!"
Rod just let her ramble, taking her small hand in his as they strolled toward the new portal.
His ride waited on the other side, sleek and humming.
He paused at the threshold and glanced back at BugAnne.
"BugAnne… thanks for coming. In another reality, you might've been our stepmother.
So long—take care of yourself."
Beth waved with both hands. "Byeeee, Aunt BugAnne!"
The portal swallowed them, leaving BugAnne with the lingering scent of engine oil and chaos.
The portal closed behind them with a soft fwoop, and Rod's space car eased out of idle like it had been itching for a joyride.
The cockpit glowed with shifting neon from the console, and outside, the starfield stretched into impossible colors.
Beth immediately hopped into the co-pilot seat, bouncing in place. "C'mon, lemme drive.
I can totally do it. I saw Dad do it a hundred times."
Rod glanced at her, deadpan. "Yeah, and I saw a black hole eat a moon once.
Doesn't mean I'm shoving you into one to test your 'expertise.'"
She pouted, arms crossed. "You're no fun."
"I'm keeping you alive," Rod shot back, flicking a series of switches.
The car lurched forward into a glowing warp tunnel, the panels vibrating under their boots.
Beth's pout only lasted three seconds before she craned her neck to watch a passing stream of comet fragments outside.
"So… where are we going?"
Rod smirked. "Somewhere fun. I'm thinking… asteroid racing, maybe stopping by that space fair where you can eat fried anything—including fried fried-food."
Her eyes widened. "Fried fried-food?"
Rod nodded solemnly. "It's illegal in twelve sectors for a reason."
Beth giggled, but her gaze softened, her voice quieter.
"Rod… Mom's gonna be okay, right? She's… she's not mad forever?"
Rod kept his eyes on the dash, but his grip on the controls eased.
"Mom's tougher than anyone gives her credit for.
And Dad's… well, he's an idiot, but he's her idiot. They'll figure it out."
Beth studied him for a beat, then smirked. "So you do care about mushy stuff."
He groaned. "Don't start."
Too late—she leaned back with a mischievous grin. "Rod loves feelings. Rod loves family hugs. Rod—"
He jabbed the warp accelerator, and the car shot forward, cutting her off with a yelp that turned into laughter.
"See? This is why I don't let you drive."
They streaked off toward the nearest cluster of trouble Rod had mentally bookmarked, the hum of the engines blending with Beth's happy chatter.
The space car zipped out of the warp tunnel and into a jagged asteroid belt lit by neon advertisements hanging in the void like a cosmic carnival.
Rod weaved between drifting rocks with casual precision, deliberately skimming a few just to make Beth shriek and then laugh.
They stopped at a floating bazaar on one of the bigger asteroids—a chaotic mess of alien stalls, floating food carts, and questionable street performers juggling plasma grenades.
In under thirty minutes, Beth had tried an anti-gravity trampoline, gotten into an insult contest with a three-eyed vendor, and narrowly avoided being "adopted" by a cult of sentient plush toys who claimed she was their prophesied leader.
Rod yanked her away from that last one with a half-laugh, half-sigh.
"We're not joining another cult, little devil.
We still haven't gotten the free toaster from the last one."
Back in the car, Rod flicked a few switches and leaned back in his seat.
"Y'know… I just remembered. Haven't been to this one reality in forever.
Used to be a regular stop back in the day. Now that I've got my Beth with me… feels like a good time to drop by for a bit."
"Is it dangerous?" Beth asked, eyes bright with that mix of hope and caution only kids could pull off.
"Dangerous is relative," Rod replied with a smirk.
"Cortana, time dilation between our current reality and Epsilon–Theta 66."
A shimmer of blue light coalesced in Rod's lap, and the hologram's curves were very deliberate.
Cortana, all flawless azure skin and perfectly styled hair, materialized fully before leaning into him with an infuriating mix of teasing affection and smugness.
She traced a finger along his jawline.
(Cortana's image)
"Time flows roughly the same, Master Rod," she purred, glancing at Beth with a wink.
"Negligible difference.
You could disappear for weeks there and come back here without anyone noticing… well, anyone you care about, anyway."
"Hi, Cortana," Beth said, completely unfazed, swinging her legs. "You're still weird."
Cortana laughed like she'd been paid for it, brushing an imaginary speck off Rod's shirt before fading into the passenger-side holo emitter.
Rod glanced at Beth, still smirking. "So. Wanna meet one of my groups of friends?"
Beth tilted her head. "Are they fun?"
Rod's smirk widened into a full-blown devil's grin. "Of course they are."
Beth leaned forward eagerly, and Rod punched the coordinates in, the car's engines roaring to life.
The warp gate ahead flared open!
The warp spat them out over a city that looked like a Saturday morning cartoon had a drunken one-night stand with a cyberpunk nightmare—and then both tried to raise the kid out of spite.
Skyscrapers leaned at impossible angles, their surfaces bleeding ectoplasmic neon.
Streetlamps sagged like they'd given up on life.
High above, ragged green portals gaped, dripping ghost-light down onto the streets.
The air smelled like ozone and bubblegum.
Beth pressed her face to the glass. "This place is… weird."
Rod flicked a dial, making the car dive between two monorails roaring past like angry light serpents.
"Weird? Nah. Welcome to Phantomopolis—capital city for every underpaid, overdramatic ghost villain in the multiverse.
Four of them happen to be very dear, very dangerous friends of mine."
They zipped past a crooked café with a flickering sign: Screaming Bean – Souls in Three Sizes! and came to a stop in front of what used to be an opera house.
The marquee glitched between Haunted Burlesque Night and Closed – Go Away.
Inside, sound hit them like a bat to the skull—half goth rock, half spectral EDM.
On stage, a pale white-skinned woman with flaming turquoise hair shredded a guitar solo that spat sparks with every chord.
She spotted Rod mid-riff, her smirk spreading like wildfire.
"ROD! You piece of space trash!" Ember McLain leapt down, her boots slamming into the floor.
(Ember's image)
She crushed him in a hug… and Rod froze. Something was off.
She wasn't the reckless, barely-twenty hellion he remembered.
Her jawline was sharper, her voice carried a rasp, and the years had etched themselves in subtle ways.
Beth squinted. "She's… old."
Rod coughed. "She's… ripe, Beth."
Ember snorted. "Still hotter than you, kid."
Then she ruffled Beth's hair like she owned her and stalked off to yell at a sound tech.
"Don't dooooo that!"
From a corner booth, Penelope Spectra waved lazily with a perfectly manicured hand, sunglasses still on indoors like she was allergic to sincerity.
(Spectra's image)
Her drink glowed radioactive green.
"Well, well, well. Look who's here, it's our Heartbreaker in the flesh. Took you long enough."
Her eyes flicked to Beth.
"And… this little girl is your daughter? How irresponsible, bringing your cute little sidekick here."
"Daughter!? Sidekick!?" Beth barked, ready to pop off—
—until a swirl of green mist floated toward them. Desiree emerged, bracelets chiming, smile all silk and daggers.
(Desiree's image)
"Ooooh, it's Portal Boy," she purred, leaning in close. "You've been gone… longer than you think."
Rod blinked. "…Wait. Cortana said the time dilation was—"
"Negligible, yeah," Beth cut in. "Guess she lied."
From the bar, Kitty slammed a shot glass down, her cropped jacket still hanging like she just stepped out of a fight.
(Kitty's image)
"HEY SMARTASS! Is this a sad reunion or a rave party? Do I get to hit someone or what?"
Rod raised his hands. "Ladies, please. I came here for fun, not—"
Beth tilted her head. "Hold up… your friends look like villainesses, are all your friends villains?"
Rod's grin went crooked. "Kekeke, the parties become better with them, Beth."
They all laughed—Ember's bark, Desiree's purr, Spectra's low chuckle, Kitty's dangerous hum.
Beth grinned wide. "Okay… I like them."
Rod grinned back—then froze again.
The last time he'd seen them, they'd been wild, reckless twenty-year-olds. Now?
They were… basically his age. And judging by the way they were looking at him, they knew it.
Rod barely had time to sit before Ember slapped her guitar case shut with enough force to make the stage lights flicker.
She stood over him, one eyebrow raised like she was about to lecture a freshman.
"Ten years, Roddy."
Rod blinked. "Wha—No, no, no. Cortana said negligible—"
"Negligible my ass," Spectra cut in, swirling her drink.
"You left without a word, Portal Boy, or is it Portal Man now, hehe.
You're so bad, humph. One minute we're running rooftop chases over the Necropolis skyline, the next—poof.
Gone. No calls. No visits. Just ghosted. Literally."
Desiree leaned over the table, bracelets clinking like tiny warning bells.
"Do you know what it's like to be granted every wish but the one you actually want?"
Her smile didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed. "We all waited."
Beth's gaze ping-ponged between them. "…Waited for what?"
Kitty dropped into the seat next to her, throwing an arm around the kid.
"For him, short stuff. You think we hang out with every half-mortal troublemaker who can outdrive the Ghost King's guards and still make it to karaoke night?"
Rod raised his hands in protest.
"Hey, hey, you're making it sound like I'm some kind of—"
"Some kind of what?" Ember interrupted, her smirk sharpening.
"Best thing that happened to our afterlives? Yeah. You were."
The words hit harder than he expected.
He remembered each of them differently—Ember dragging him into battle-of-the-bands chaos, Spectra running scam therapy sessions while he pocketed her bribes, Desiree tagging along for "wish delivery" runs that always ended in explosions, Kitty kicking down doors just to see what was inside.
Different disasters. Same grin on his face every time.
Beth crossed her arms. "Sooo… basically, Uncle Rod was your fun boyfriend?"
Four sets of eyes turned toward her.
Ember barked a laugh, Spectra snorted into her glass, Desiree grinned like she'd grant that wish for free, and Kitty nearly choked on her drink.
"Not exactly, kid," Kitty said, wiping her mouth.
"But let's just say—we were his crew. And when Rod runs with you, things get loud, messy, and… kinda perfect."
Beth's eyes lit up. "Okay, I wanna do that."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Rod cut in, pointing at her like she'd just declared war. "You are not joining a crew of ghost criminals."
"The most popular rockstars," Ember corrected.
"The richest businesswoman," Spectra countered.
"The genie with the most devotee," Desiree purred.
"The queen of gangsters," Kitty chimed in.
Beth's grin widened. "Yeah, Rod. I'm in!"
Rod groaned, running a hand over his face.
Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, the guilt about leaving these four behind tangled with the thrill of seeing them again.
They'd all said it—the happiest moments of their ghost lives were with him.
And here he was, sitting with them again… plus his little sister, already halfway to swearing allegiance to the gang.
- - - - - - - - - -
Do you get any of that?
YESSIR! It's a Danny Phantom!
Will Rod and Beth fight Danny? Why did he come here before, and what did he do?
That's all guys, peace!