I do not own Ghostbusters.
That right belongs to Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis.
I own Kitty and Angie Reed.


The sun was shinning high in the New York sky this morning, the beautiful sound of car horns and pigeons cooing feeling the sweet autumn air. The warehouse styled window of the five story walk up was cracked just slightly, filling the brand new apartment with the bitter chill reminding them the winter was on its way.

The apartment was a two bedroom, two bath four story walk up in the middle of Washington Heights. The character and charm of the neighborhood drawing Angie in like a moth to a flame. Kitty was just glad to be living somewhere with lower rent and less spooks living in the closet, both of each where big pluses.

Before moving in, Kitty had the boys raid the apartment from top to bottom, making sure that there were no ghosts or goblins, or portals or ancient Sumerian temples hiding in under the couch. They gave the apartment a clean bill of health, having used all their equipment and gizmos after Kitty had begged them to check once more. Peter had to sit her down and explain that there was nothing here.
"Besides," Peter added, putting his arm around Kitty's shoulders as he started to walk towards the exit. "You still haven't paid for last time."

Now on this bright a sunning morning, the sun light peaking through the warehouse windows, the large wooden door had been kicked open by a size nine work boot. Ray groaned as he carried in a large cardboard box with the label 'Angie's Books' in his hands. Through the grunts and groans, Ray finally dropped the large box of books as it hit the already damaged hardwood with a thud. He took a deep sigh, filling his lungs with the still air of the empty apartment as Angie walked through the doorway, the box in her hands saying 'Kitty's clothes'.

"Not so loud next time," Angie scolded, setting the box of Kitty's clothes by the hallway. "Some of my neighbors might still be asleep."

"Sorry, but those book were heavy!" Ray complained, leaning against the wall as he rubbed his back. First saving the world then helping his girlfriend move, at this rate his body would never be fully rested. Angie stuck out her bottom lip, the rosy flesh puckering out as she sauntered over to the tired scientist.
"Aww, poor Ray." She said, snaking her arms around his neck. He returned by wrapping his arms around her waist as he continued to pout. "Is you mean ole girlfriend not letting you take a day off?"

Ray bounced his head up and down as he stuck his bottom lip out.

"Poor baby." She cooed, edging closer and closer to his lips, taunting him with every itch closer. "I promise after we move all this crap in here, you and I will take a much needed stay-cation - how's that?"
"What about the boys?"
"They're not invited."

Peter walked thought the doorway, his features twisting into an expression of disgust as he put the cardboard box that was in his hands down, stacking it on 'Angie's Books'. "Why are we not invited?" Peter asked, putting his hand over where his heart should be. "Do you not love us anymore? After we saved your sister and everything?"

Angie smirked as she pulled herself from Ray's arms, regretting as she did so, to circle Peter, like a hawk circling its prey. Her eyes narrowed at the cocky young man he seemed to have a higher air about him since walking through the door way.

"Now Peter, the reason you're not invited is because I'm going to have hot sex with your best friend." Angie said, her hands firmly on her hips. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ray turn a deep shade of red before covering his eyes from the stares of the other occupants in the room; which at this point were just Angie and Peter. "See, I don't think you'd want to be a part of that – unless your friendship goes deeper than I thought."

"Yes." Peter said, his face deadpan as he looked to Ray, his complexion turned to a deeper and deeper red. "Ray and I are madly in love."

Ray almost fell out of his chair as he heard footsteps coming from the hallway. 'Great' Ray thought, burying his head in his hands. 'More witnesses.' The thick sound of boots on old wood got closer and closer as Winston lead Kitty through the open door to the apartment.

Winston helping Kitty with a heavy box labeled 'Pots and Pans'. As they two of them worked their way into the kitchen, Winston could sense something in the air. With a heavy thud, and a residual jiggle from the metal pans, the box had been placed down on the linoleum floor as the two of them walked back into the living room eyeing each of the patrons in the room.

"What did we miss?" Winston asked, pointing between Angie and Peter as they were in a staring contest. From beyond the staring contest, Peter shouted. "Oh nothing, Angie just invited us all to have a romantic vacation with each other, including a little ménage à trios." Adding a suggestive wink at the end.
Angie grew a rather large smile on her face. "And then Peter confessed his love for Ray."
"Touché, mon amie."

Winston looked back and forth between Peter and Angie, and Ray, who sat in silence as he wished this day would be over. It was ten o'clock and he already wished he'd just go to sleep and wake up tomorrow morning; maybe that day would be better.

"Okay." Winston said, elongating the simple two syllable word. "Kitty and I are gonna go get some more boxes - and maybe warn Egon while we're down there." Winston grabbed Kitty's wrist and pulled her out of the apartment and down the hallway, clomping back down the stair case.

Angie smiled at Peter, finally giving up the ghost, embarrassing him as far as she wanted to embarrass him in front of his coworkers. Peter smiled back, raising his eyebrow at the insanely happy young woman as she passed him, grabbing an unlabeled box and heading to the kitchen. With each step Angie seemed to bounce, almost skipping along as she entered the kitchen and exited the field of sight.

Peter took this advantage, making his way towards the emotionally scarred Ray as he continued to hid his head in his hands. Peter thwaped him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his self pity party. "Come on Ray, you can't honestly tell me that you didn't see this coming." Peter said, sitting on the armrest of that god-awful couch the sisters insisted on bringing to this new apartment. This was the only thing the fire didn't get too, and it was a damn shame.

"I didn't think you two were gonna be at each other's throats like that." Ray admitted, raising his head from his hands as he looked at Peter's confident face.
"That's the way Angie and I communicate!" Peter exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air for exaggeration. "If we didn't pick on each other then something would be wrong."
"But do you have to bring me into it?" Ray asked, referencing the earlier conversation about Peter and him being in love; all while Angie started it, bringing up him and Angie having sex. The idea alone was enough to make him blush.
"You're our link!" Peter explained, patting his friend on the back. "Besides you, we have nothing to link us together. Sure we've got the whole 'I-saved-her-sister-thing—"
"We all saved her sister—"
"The point is that besides you we have nothing to link us together, nothing to say that we even know each other besides a passing glance." Venkman explained. He unwrapped his arm from around Ray's shoulders before putting both of his hands together in front of him, interlocking the individual fingers together. "You, Ray, are the glue that holds this bizarre-o family together."

Ray rolled his eyes before Angie walked back into the room, holding the empty and broken box cardboard box in her hands. She tossed a curly lock of hair behind her ear as she threw the box in the corner with the rest of the all ready opened boxes. "What are you boys talking about?"

"Nothing." They both said at the same time, both with the look of a young child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Angie raised her eyebrow at the two investigators, doubting there childlike story before Peter started off on another rant on Angie.

"So out of all of Manhattan, you pick the crummiest neighborhood." Peter said, rising from the arm of the couch as he strolled around the empty living room. Running his finger down the painted wood mantle, his finger collected dust from the years of vacancy. "You could have left Manhattan, you know? I know I wouldn't mind."
"Thanks for your consideration, Venkie." Angie started, straightening up a throw pillow on the aging couch. "But we needed to stay on the island. My work is here, Ray is here." She wrapped her arm around Ray's shoulders as he snaked his arms around her waist. "And if I lived in, let's say Brooklyn, I'd be too far away from you to make your life a nightmare."

Venkman turned around, over exaggerating his movements as he looked around the apartment. He had a simple answer to his 'Angie' problem. "You know Ang," Peter said, using Angie's even shorter nickname as he 'felt' the room. "I think we were wrong in our first assessment." The color in Angie's face fell, her face now white as a ghost.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes!" Peter exclaimed, waving his arms around the room, wiggling his fingers at her. "I happen to be very psychic, ask Ray." Angie looked down at Ray as he shrugged his shoulders. "I believe - and this is my professional opinion - that you have a ghost."
"No, Venkman, come on!"
"I wonder how Kitty would react, knowing that there is a ghost in her room."
"There is no ghost in her room—"
"He was a confederate soldier." Peter started, focusing his eyes on the distance as he utter with words out in monotone. "He died shortly after being brought here from the battle at Gettysburg—"
"Shut up!" Angie exclaimed, moving away from Ray as she almost cling-ed to Venkman. "If Kitty hears you talking like this, she's never gonna move in here and it's gonna be five-weeks before we find another place."
"What? Do you not like living with us at the firehouse?"
"Oh yes, I love sleeping on that flea-infested death trap you call a pull-out couch." Angie sarcastically resorted, leaving out the part where she would rarely sleep on said couch, opting for a much more comfy spot in Ray's twin bed.

Peter looked down at the young woman, pleading for him to keep his mouth shut. Only once in his lifetime would he have Angie begging him for something, he wanted to remember this moment well for when he'd grow old a senile, when his grandchildren would never come visit him at the home, he'd have this memory of Ray's girlfriend begging him for something, making the old man smile at the look of torment on her face.

Peter's lips curved into an all too familiar figure as he smirked at the young woman. In the back of her head Angie could recall swearing every name in the book, even a few more that she just made up. "I want you to tell me, 'Peter Venkman, I owe you my life.'"
"I'm not doing that—"
"Wait, there's more." Peter said, putting his finger to Angie's lips before she pushed them away. "I want you to say: 'Peter Venkman, I owe you my life and my sister's life. For without your ultimate kindness and consideration, my sister would still be possessed'."

Angie bit her bottom lip. She could not tell Peter that blatant lie and have Peter tell Kitty, which would cause her to want to move out immediately. Or she could just suck it up and bare it, trading in a few moments of despair in for a few months worth. Gritting her teeth, she started.

"Peter Venkman," She said through gritted teeth as she stared dangers at the man. "I own you my life and my sister's life. For without you, my sister would still be possessed."

"A little choppy, resentful, and you missed some key words but okay, I won't tell her." Peter smirked, before resting on the only good piece of furniture in this crummy apartment: the lazy-boy recliner. He sat in the piece of furniture sideway as Angie sighed heavily, being physically drained from saying those words. Like a zombie, she wobbled into the kitchen, opening the door to the liquor cabinet and grabbing the first bottle with 80 proofs on the glass bottle.

Ray shook his head, the words playing back in his head over what Peter had told him:
"If we didn't pick on each other then something would be wrong."
"But if this thing doesn't work I say we let the ghost eat her or whatever."
"But the Koala?"

It was because, somehow, they actually liked each other, Ray theorized, watching the two of them react with each other. They squabbled like siblings would, both trying to get on the other ones nerves, see who reacted first. Maybe it was because they were so alike, the two strong personalities both fighting for dominance.

Peter sighed in annoyance, swinging his legs to the side as the stood up out of the aging lazy-boy recliner and made his way towards the kitchen, towards Angie who was in the vicinity of a number of different knifes. Not quiet his brightest moment.

Angie stood at the counter, a bottle of whiskey sitting on the dated counter top as she slammed back a shot, tipping the small shot glass bottoms up as she swallowed the amber elixir. Trying to stay silent, Peter tipped toed around the kitchen, only to be outed by a squeaky floor board. Cursing under his breath, he raised his hands over his head in surrender as Angie spun around, facing him.

"I'm sorry for making you say those things." Peter apologized, a color that was rare for him as Angie furrowed her brows.
"What?"
"I said I'm sorry."
"Why?" Angie questioned, her eyes narrowing at the scientist.
"Can't you just take the damn apology?-" Peter shouted before covering his mouth. He wasn't here to shout, that's not what he wanted. "It was childish to make you say that, so I'm sorry. I won't tell Kitty." Peter said solemnly, hanging his head as a child would after he was forced to apologize. Angie smiled; a true smile that he'd never seen from her before today. He silently wondered if this was part of a game and she was winning.

"Thank you." Angie said, putting the shot glass back down on the counter top. "For everything."
"I hadn't done anything yet—"
"You did save her." Angie said calmly as she approached Venkman, causing him to back up frantically "You all did. You, Egon, Ray, Winston – you all saved her. I didn't get a chance to tell you that day, but I wanted to thank you then."
"Angie you're scaring me. Quit it." Peter admitted, having now backed up all the way to the opposite side of the small kitchen, sitting comfortably on the counter top, clinging to the cabinets. She unusually cheerful towards him; he didn't like it.

A conflicted look appeared on Angie's face. She looked confused in her own home, her own kitchen, in this very conversation. "I-I don't like this" she admitted, backing away from Venkman as she leaned against the aging refrigerator. "I don't like being nice to you." She said, regretting the words as they left her mouth. That's not what she meant, but something told her Peter understood all too well.
"Yeah. I was actually about to be sick while apologizing." Peter admitted, wiping his chin with his sleeve.

"Why don't we just go back to normal?" Angie asked, biting the inside of her cheek. "Just go back to reaming each other out – like old times sake?"
Peter raised his eyes brow to her, questioning her sanity as she just asked him to be mean to her. Though, it didn't not sound appealing; going back to reaming her out in front of everyone, making fun of her at Ray's expense, all the while she couldn't get mad because she was doing the same to him. It was almost too perfect.

Peter got down off the counter top, taking his sweet time to cross the kitchen as he extended his hand to her, a truce. She smirked at him, taking his hand and shaking it as the unspoken bond had been completed, they could go back to making fun of each other. With a smirk, Peter started back:

"Those pants make you look fat."
"That sweater vest makes you look gay."
"It's Ray's."

With a smile Angie nodded, finally feeling back to normal as the two of them exited the kitchen, earning a strange look from Ray. His eyes bounced from his friend to his girlfriend, watching as the two where better off now, making fun of each other then when they're were supposed to play nice. It was incredible, an actual live psychological experiment and Egon missed it.

Angie exited the kitchen first, smiling as she made her way over to Ray. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders once more, she asked an odd question that took him back a bit: "What's up with the sweater vests?"


Pure.