_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 2, episode 3: "Miss Conception" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis
"A friend in need's a friend indeed, a friend who bleeds is better My friend confessed she passed the test and we will never sever" -- Placebo, "Pure Morning"
ACT 1: YOU STUPID GIRL
"You don't believe in fear, you don't believe in pain You don't believe in anyone that you can't tame" -- Garbage, "Stupid Girl"
Outside the Cullen residence that morning, the sun was shining and a solitary bird was twittering. For a moment, all was peaceful. Then the quiet was shattered, in a local area, by the opening chords of "Everything Zen" by Bush. In the Chamber of Dark Mysteriousness, otherwise known as Lynn Cullen's room, a tiny shaft of light filtered through a gap between the heavy dark curtains...enough to let a hypothetical observer (hi!) see the lump of covers on the bed shift slightly. From under those covers, a groggy, muffled voice made a noise that might best be transcribed as "Aw..." An arm groped out from underneath the covers, finally finding a slim remote control resting on the bedside table. The arm patted the surface of the table a few times, fumbled the remote, then grabbed it securely. Lynn Cullen, owner of the arm, sat up, aiming the remote in her hand at her stereo and turning the music down. She set the remote back on the table and just sat there for a moment, blinking sleepily. Then her face took on a greenish cast, and she scrambled out of bed and bolted out of the room with her hand over her mouth, down the hall to be rather violently sick.
* * *
Later that morning, Daria Morgendorffer, Lynn's look-alike, and A.P. McIntyre, who had once been Lynn's boyfriend and was now, apparently, Daria's, were walking the halls of Lawndale High side by side. They weren't holding hands or anything, but they were close enough for their shoulders to brush occasionally. They stopped for Daria to open her locker, and A.P. continued his narrative. "So she called this morning to ask if my mom could call her in sick. She *must* be bad off; Purple Peril usually has to be on her deathbed before she admits she's sick." "Did she say what was wrong with her?" Daria wondered. "Stomach problems." "Yeah, well, it's been going around. Jane was down with it the other day -- it's a pretty nasty virus." As if summoned by the mention of her name, their artist friend Jane Lane, the non-field-jacketed member of the Flack-Jacket Mafia, came onto the scene. "So where's Lynn?" "Fighting to keep her own stomach lining down, apparently," A.P. observed. Daria started to turn greenish, as if trying to match her jacket (or possibly her codename) better. "That was a little more information than we really needed, thanks, A.P." "So who called her in sick?" Jane wondered. "I thought her mom was in L.A. this week." "She is," A.P. confirmed. "My mom called in for her." "She'd do that?" "For Lynn, yes. It's long-standing tradition. My mom's used to the situation at Chez Cullen by now." Daria shut her locker, and the threesome started down the hall again, Daria now flanked by Jane and A.P. "Do you think we should check up on her?" "*I* should," Jane replied. "You two have so far escaped the dreaded stomach bug and you don't want to expose yourselves to it. Whereas I've already had it." "Yeah," A.P. allowed as, "I guess someone has to do the tea and toast routine." He turned to Daria. "Hey, the dollar theatre's showing _Dogma_. Want to go?" Daria blushed. "Okay." Then her face took on a stern air. "So long as no automotive vehicles are involved." A.P. blushed at the reminder of the motoring mishap he'd gotten them both into. Jane smirked evilly.
* * *
The front door of Chez Cullen opened, and Lynn stood there in black and white checked boxer shorts, purple fluffy slippers, and her gray "F*** 'Em & Their Law" T-shirt. She looked a bit pale, but more frightened than sick. She warily studied the figure that awaited her, then greeted it with a tentative "Hey, Jane." Jane gave Lynn a concerned look. She knew, from words exchanged after the silent protest, that Lynn wore that top when she was feeling particularly down. "Yo. Just checking to make sure you haven't puked your guts out or anything." That met with a weak smile. "No, nothing like that. I've only been sick once, really. Now I just feel...weird." She looked worried and evasive. Art-Smart Scarlet shot her a suspicious look. "So...can I come in? Trent's shaking plaster off the ceiling in the basement and Daria and A.P. are out on a date. They're being unbelievably soppy." Lynn raised an eyebrow at the notion of the words "Daria" and "soppy" being used that close together. "Well, for Daria, anyway." Lynn sighed. "Sure. Even *your* company is better than soap operas and talk shows." "Thanks. I'll try not to let your ever-eloquent praise go to my head."
* * *
Outside the Playhouse 90, Daria and A.P. were standing in line for tickets. "So you know Kevin Smith films..." Daria noted; "how do you think this one will rate?" "Well..." A.P. mused, "it's never gonna beat _Clerks_, but anything that pokes as much fun at the church establishment as *this* movie promises to has got to be interesting at the very least." "If only to see what precautions they've taken to avoid outright blasphemy and how many religious groups try to get the thing banned." A.P. laughed at that, and Daria smirked. Then they heard a familiar pair of voices from behind them. Actually, they heard half the pair first, reading the poster almost letter-by-letter. "Um..._Dog... Ma_." Kevin Thompson thought about this a moment; thankfully, at least for him, he stopped before it started to hurt. "Oh, hey, cool, babe! Dogs!" "Oh, like Lassie!" Brittany Taylor squeaked. "I *love* Lassie; he's so *cute!*" Daria and A.P. rolled their eyes. And then, of course, this being that kind of a planet, Lobotomy Ken and Ponytail Barbie noticed Daria and A.P. "Oh, *hi,* Daria! Did you come to see the doggie movie too?" _Here we go again,_ Daria sighed inwardly as she turned to face her interlocutor. "Brittany, this movie doesn't have any dogs in it." "Boy, Daria," Kevin cheerfully replied, "for a brain, you sure are dumb sometimes. It says right here." He pointed at the movie poster. "`Dog-Ma.'" "Kevin, dogma is *one* word. It means the laws of the Church." Kevin thought that one over -- to coin a cliche, Daria could almost hear the gears grinding and smell the smoke. "Oh. Then, this movie's gonna be, like, monks and stuff? And that old guy in the funny hat?" Daria sighed, out loud this time. "No, Kevin." She, in turn, indicated the poster, with Matt Damon and Ben Affleck under the caption GET TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL. "See the guys with the wings and haloes? It's about angels." There was another pause as Kevin thought *that* one over. "Oh," he said at length, then turned to Brittany. "That kinda sounds like it's gonna suck, babe." "There's a stripper in it," A.P. informed him matter-of-factly. "And one of the angels packs a *very* big gun." This necessitated *another* brief intermission (during which small ice-creams in very large boxes will be sold) for Kevin's brain to take in new information, something it can only do so much of at once. At length, the processing was complete. "Really? -- *Cool!*" "Ick!" Brittany icked, then turned to Daria. "Guys are so... like...*icky* sometimes, aren't they, Daria?" Daria looked taken aback, in her own quiet understated way. "Brittany," she asked incredulously, "are you trying to talk to me about boyfriends?" Brittany did what she does best -- twirled a ponytail around her little finger. "Well, sure! I mean, that A.P. guy *is* your boyfriend, isn't he?" "In a way...yes," Daria blushed. "He *is!* I have something in common with a *brain!* We both have *boyfriends!* -- Does he put his hands up your bra all the time?" she asked curiously. "Because Kevvie says *all* guys do that and he does it a *lot* and--" "Brittany?" Daria interrupted. Brittany twirled her other ponytail. "Yes?" "No offense, but I'm not touching this conversation. I just want to go on my date and be left alone. So I'd appreciate if you and Kevin could go...do whatever it is you two do on a date and let me go back to my own." "Okay!" Brittany replied, seemingly unfazed, and stepped back toward Kevin. A.P. resumed his place at Daria's side. "Well handled, Erudite Emerald!" "I think I've just proven that ignorance really is bliss," Daria noted. "It's useful to be too dumb to understand when someone's insulting you."
* * *
Meanwhile, in the Chamber of Dark Mysteriousness, Lynn was sitting up in bed, staring at a book on _Small-Cell Terrorism for Beginners_ in a manner that suggested to Jane (who was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring outright at her) that she wasn't actually reading it. Eventually, Lynn noticed Jane's regard and looked up. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's not polite to stare?" she asked in tones that would have sounded a lot more annoyed if they hadn't been so weak. "Nope," Jane replied smugly. "So now that I've made you break the silence, you gonna tell me what's wrong?" "Nope." Jane sighed. "Twenty Questions it is, then. Still upset over the thing between you and Trent at New Year?" "There *is* no `thing,'" Lynn replied sharply. "New Year's little incident was a drunken one-nighter, and it killed any romantic fantasies that I may...repeat, *may*...have harbored about your brother." _Especially when he called me Daria._ "Now change the subject." _Okay..._ "Well, *that* was informative. Is this why you went off about what happened to your car? I mean, you don't usually lay such casual blame -- it was Sandi's fault, really." "I know, and in a way you're right -- I've had a lot on my mind and needed a bit of mindless revenge. But I *did* keep off of Daria and A.P.'s been my punching bag of old...and anyway, a bit of venting clears the head. One day in the not too distant future I'm going to make sure Sandi gets hers. But I'm not angry about that anymore, anyway." "Then why so bitter?" "I'm *not.*" Jane got a thoughtful look on her face as she mulled this over. "You were sick this morning and now you're fine." Something about the words "sick" and "morning" had a hand in her epiphany -- a nice cold hand, too. Her eyes widened. "This drunken one-nighter...did it involve a condom at all?" Lynn didn't answer, but the way she slunk down into a fetal curl and pulled the blankets over her head was all the answer Jane needed. In hopeless tones, she went on, "*That* course of action suggests that you're not on the Pill, either." "I'm allergic," came the muffled, miserable reply. Then Lynn sat up a little and showed her face. "Look, it's just a stomach bug or...or something I ate -- I'm fine." "And you don't believe a word of what you're saying." Lynn sank under the covers again. "I don't want to go into this..." That only made Jane angry. "Well, you're gonna *have* to, potential-mother-of-my-niece! You and my idiot brother *both! Dammit,* Lynn, didn't you *think?*" Lynn sat bolt upright -- now it was her turn to look enraged. "Was there *time?* One minute he's kissing me and the next--" "Let's *not* go there," Jane held up her hands with a shudder; "some things a sister should never hear about." There was a brief, frosty pause as the two girls collected themselves. "Jane," Lynn insisted in quietly reasonable tones, "it's probably not that anyway. I mean, stomach flu's been rampant all over Lawndale High lately..." "I can confirm *that.*" "And I've been under so much stress lately that it's no surprise that--" Jane was horrified at Lynn's implication. "You've *skipped?*" "It *does* happen from time to time, Jane," Lynn replied glumly. "Well, yeah," Jane panicked, "but under the circumstances..." She sighed. "Well, I'll come with you to pick up a test kit if you want. You know, as moral support." "I'm not getting tested, Jane. No way. Not yet." "But..." "I can't *handle* this right now, Jane!" Jane could tell Lynn was scared and angry in equal amounts. "I'll do this in my own way and in my own time, so *don't push me!*" There was another, uncomfortable silence. "Lynn..." With a sigh, Jane thought better of it. "Never mind. Are you at least going to tell Trent?" "Why bother?" Lynn smirked weakly. "It's none of his business anyway. He wanted to do it with *Daria.* Bet *she's* not allergic to the Pill..." she added bitterly. Jane looked at Lynn with some concern, but Lynn had turned back to her book. _This isn't over._
ACT 2: ANGRY CHAIR
"And I'm here to remind you Of the mess you left when you went away It's not fair to deny me Or the cross I bear that ya gave to me" -- Alanis Morrisette, "You Oughta Know"
Jake Morgendorffer had moved the coffee table to the end of the living room and was clandestinely practicing his putting into an empty juice glass. He took aim, swung, and missed. As he went to retrieve his golf ball, a magazine on the table caught his eye -- a copy of _Good Parenting Guidelines_ One of the featured articles promised on the cover asked: "Is Your Child Sexually Active? 10 Ways to Know for Sure!" Jake picked up the magazine with interest, golf club still in hand. After a moment, his eyes went wide.
* * *
Daria and A.P. strolled down Glen Oaks Lane toward the front walk of Morgendorffer Home Base, holding hands. "I thought the special effects were *damn* cool!" A.P. gushed. "Could barely tell they were CGI!" "Well, yeah," Daria allowed as. "I was more impressed that the special effects actually *added* to the story, instead of just being tossed in because of some implicit film industry belief that no movie can possibly be worth watching without five or more car crashes and at least two building-leveling explosions." A.P. chuckled at that. They reached the front walk, stopped in their tracks and turned to face each other. "Well, I guess--" "Hey!" Daria was startled. "What?" "Do you realize that this, our second date, went off without a single hitch?" "So it did," she acknowledged shyly, then added dryly, "Unless you count Brittany and Kevin at the movies." "Let's not. Would it be okay to press my luck a little further tonight?" "I guess so..." Daria blushed, and she and A.P. kissed. It lasted a few seconds. It might have gone on longer, but the front door flew open, and Mr. Morgendorffer barged out and came running down the walk toward them, brandishing his putter and shouting, "ALL RIGHT, THAT'S ENOUGH! DON'T MAKE ME BREAK OUT THE HOSE!" Daria and A.P. moved apart, blushing fiercely. Jake reached them and lowered the golf club. He addressed Daria rather sternly. "Well, Kiddo, aren't you going to introduce me to your *ahem* `friend' here?" Daria blushed and looked a bit flustered, but A.P. stepped in, holding out a hand in greeting. "Andrew Philip McIntyre, sir. A.P. for short. Pleased to meet you." Out of long habit, Jake shook A.P.'s hand, then glared coldly, suspiciously, at Daria's boyfriend. "You're that cult boy, aren't you?" "Dad!" Daria groaned, legally mortified. A.P. was confused. "Sir?" Jake hardly noticed, already off on one of his rants. "I don't want my eldest daughter, with so much potential, running around and being drawn into some...some *commune* full of David Koresh *loonies!*" "Dad," Daria interposed, "you're thinking of *Ted.* And he wasn't *in* a cult of *any* description." _No matter *what* Quinn may have helped you think at the time._ "Besides," A.P. blithely interjected, "you've got no problem with your *other* daughter seeing Ted..." Jake was shocked almost into spasms. "Quinn's dating *Brother Ted?*" "He's *not* in a *cult,* Dad!" Daria shot A.P. a death glare. The Psycho-Maverick looked confused and remorseful. "So what *are* you into, young man?" "Computers, sir!" A.P. proudly replied. This seemed to defuse Jake. He smiled and held out his hand again, and A.P. took it out of politeness. "Good boy!" Jake announced cheerfully, as to a small dog. "Wave of the future, those little machines!" He turned to Daria. "Don't be too long, Kiddo." His mood, mercurial as ever, swung back to anger. "I'm going to wait for Quinn and when she gets in..." He turned around and walked back into the house, muttering to himself. After he'd gone, Daria and A.P. stared at each other a moment. "Spoke too soon about tonight going off without a hitch, right?" "Murphy's law," Daria shrugged philosophically. "Look, I'd better get in there and do some damage control before Quinn gets home." A.P. looked suitably shamefaced. "Sorry about that. I didn't realize..." "Don't worry about it. It'll blow over. If Dad gets really tenacious about the cult thing, I'll talk to Mom. -- Good night," she added shyly. A.P. took her hand, kissed it briefly, squeezed it once and let go. "Later, Erudite Emerald." And he walked off. Daria watched him go, blushing bright red but smiling a sweet little smile. Then her mood was broken by a voice from the house. "*Daria!*" Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer snapped. "Why is your father babbling about Jim Jones?" Daria sighed, her smile already fading. Then she turned and walked into the house.
* * *
In her own room now, Jane was painting an abstract work -- deep gray, violet and yellow ochre. It fairly screamed worry. Trent poked his head through the door. "Hey, Janey." "Go away," she replied morosely. Trent looked slightly startled, then entered warily anyway. Jane grabbed a clean brush, dipped it in some blood-red paint and then attacked the canvas with it. When she was done, the painting looked angry and defensive. "Do you listen when people talk?" "You okay?" "Peachy," she replied sarcastically. "Can I help?" "You've done too damn much already," she muttered, not really meaning him to hear. Trent caught it, though, and it only made him more confused. "Huh?" Jane opened her mouth, sighed, and decided to shut it again. "Never mind. Just know that you're a moron." Trent was offended now. "Lay off, Janey! I don't know what I did to piss you off, but..." "Get out of here, you oblivious stooge!" Jane yelled. Having reached the end of her tether, she wheeled to face her brother and flicked out with her paintbrush as she spoke, punctuating the sentence by spattering him with red paint. There was a long pause as he looked at her, honestly surprised. Then he wiped his face with his hand and looked at her quite levelly, considering. More calmly than many of us would have known how under the circumstances, he replied, "Not until you tell me what the hell I did wrong." Jane was still fuming at him. That's the only excuse she had for letting it out. "*New Year,* you idiot! Remember Lynn?" Sir Naps-a-Lot went beet red for a second, then he just looked remorseful. "She's still angry, huh?" he replied sadly. "Not as such," Jane muttered angrily. She thought a moment, then realized she couldn't really avoid telling him now. "Her `friend from Red Bank' didn't show." "Who?" Trent obliviously inquired. Jane sighed with exasperation, realizing she'd have to draw him a picture. "She skipped a period and threw up this morning." "So what does that..." Then the realization of exactly what it might mean hit him, and he went very still. "She's..." "She won't get a test kit," Jane informed him, calmer now. "She says it's probably nothing and maybe she's right. But I can tell she's scared, and frankly, so am I." As quick as her calm had come, it was gone and she was angry again. "Why the *hell* didn't you use anything?" Trent was still stunned. "I--" Jane was too busy to hear him. "She's not on the Pill, either." Now Trent was genuinely scared. "Crap..." "I don't believe you could be so stupid! *Damn,* Trent!" "Janey..." Shocked and broken, he sat down heavily on the bed. Jane finally saw the state he was in and softened. "I'm sorry, Trent. That was too harsh." His voice shook. "Janey..." He sighed. "And she doesn't know for sure?" "No...and I'd give it a few days before you ask. She's not in a good mood." Neither was Trent. "What am I gonna *do,* Janey?" he miserably asked. There was a tense moment. Then Jane sat down beside her brother and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know, Trent. I don't have a clue."
* * *
A.P. cheerfully approached Chez Cullen, headed not for the front door but for the trellis that ascended the front of the house to Lynn's window upstairs. He'd just reached it when he heard a door open. He turned around to see Lynn, dressed in her everyday outfit now, come slamming out of the house. "Hey, Purple Peril!" Then he saw the tight, angry look on her face. "Whoa, what's wrong?" She apparently ignored him, sweeping past him toward the garage. She flung the door up and stepped inside. "Hey...Purple Peril?" She came out again with her brand-newish motorcycle, turned around and yanked the garage door shut. A.P. was starting to get nervous. "Talk to me, Purple Peril. You're freaking me out now." Lynn, minus helmet or kneepads or any protective gear, mounted Amethyst and put the kickstand up. A.P.'s eyes widened and he started to panic. "*Lynn!*" Lynn seemed angry at having to acknowledge him. "*What?*" "Y-you're *not*...d-driving without a helmet!" he stammered. "I mean...y-you...what, do you *want* to d-die?" She gave him a grim, scary little smile. "At this point, I wouldn't say no." Without another word, she kicked the bike to life and took off at just the kind of speed she'd told them, when she got the bike, she wasn't planning to drive at. A.P. stared after her, scared and at a total loss on what to do.
ACT 3: LUCKY
The next day, Daria was collecting her books at her locker, flanked by Jane and A.P., both of whom looked pale and worried. Daria shut her locker and looked around. "Lynn still out sick?" "I don't..." A.P. began miserably, but before he could finish, Lynn walked -- or rather limped -- past the threesome without a word. Both of her knees were badly scraped up, and her purple jacket was torn out at both elbows. "*Lynn?*" they all boggled. Lynn stopped, turned slowly, and managed a dispirited wave. Then she turned away and limped toward her own locker. "She still doesn't look well," Daria noted. Jane and A.P. said nothing, but the worried looks on their faces intensified.
* * *
Janet Barch had been prevented, last semester, from continuing to grade her science classes on a gender-based curve, but that didn't mean she'd stopped baiting her male students in other ways. Right now, standing at the head of the room, she pulled down a diagram of a woman's uterus. "All right, class, today we will be starting the chapter on the human reproductive system -- so you *men* can't claim ignorance and say, `No way, babe, you *can't* get pregnant the first time!'" Kevin looked particularly startled at this -- he'd used that line, and knowing him, he'd probably believed it himself. Lynn went slightly green, clapped a hand over her mouth, leaped to her feet and bolted from the room. After a moment's thought, Jane raised her hand. "Ms. Barch, can I go make sure Lynn's okay? I don't think she's over that stomach flu yet." The Bitter Pill winced, as if remembering her own bout with the bug. "Go right ahead, dear. If she's still feeling that ill, take her to the nurse." Jane stood up and made her way out, while Ms. Barch went on with her lesson plan. "Now, the opportunistic male pig, after an unsatisfying two minutes of fumbling that *he* has the nerve to call *foreplay*..." Jane rolled her eyes and tuned Barch out as she made her exit.
* * *
Jane walked into the girls' bathroom and almost immediately heard the sound of a toilet flushing. She saw a pair of boots under one of the stall doors and stood across from it to wait. _If that toilet wants to talk, I'm here. If she doesn't...I'm still here._ A lock clicked open and Lynn stepped out of the stall, freezing like a deer in the headlights when she spotted Jane. "Touchy subject?" Art-Smart Scarlet inquired. "Drop it," Lynn grimly warned her, "or I'll drop *you.*" "What happened to your knees?" "Ask A.P." This led to a moment of tense silence. "I told Trent." "And your ability to keep a close confidence staggers me as always, Jane." "I blew up at him and it just sort of came out. I'm sorry. Anyway, he does have a right to know." Lynn sighed. "I know. I wasn't looking forward to telling him either, so maybe I should be thanking you." "Well, *he's* sure not." "So he's taking it badly?" "Let me put it this way; he's gone from narcoleptic to insomniac overnight." Lynn winced. "Ouch. I guess I'd better talk to him?" "He'll want to know the score. For real, not just hopes or fears." "Tough crap. *I* don't want to know for real yet. I've got time before the decisions I may have to make are taken out of my hands. I want to be in the right frame of mind before I'm presented with them." Jane shrugged. "Just so you know." Another moment of tension. "...You...won't mention this to the others?" "It's hard, Lynn. Daria's my best friend. She's worried about you." "Well, A.P.'s *my* best friend and *he's* worried too. So I know. But do you really think that Daria will want to know that I might be pregnant after making wild and drunken whoopee with her former crush?" Jane thought about that one a moment. "Now that you mention it, no. But she may have to find out." Lynn's face went pale and a little angry, and she turned away, slamming out of the bathroom. Jane shook her head sadly. _I tried._
* * *
In the cafeteria, Daria and A.P. were sitting across a table from one another. A.P. still looked worried. Daria had gone to shocked. "No protection of *any* kind?" "No helmet," A.P. confirmed, "no leathers, no knee pads... nothing. I think she got off damn lucky, actually." "No kidding. And she won't say why?" "Every time I ask, she tells me to go to hell. I'm really worried." "I don't blame you," Daria admitted matter-of-factly. "It could be fever. Delirium. She still looks sick -- maybe this is all on account of her still having stomach flu." "You think?" A.P. perked up hopefully. "What other reason could there be?" "With Purple Peril," A.P. noted gravely, "you never know. She's the cat who walks by herself, that one." There followed a moment of worried silence. "Maybe we should keep an eye on her somehow. Make sure she doesn't do anything else stupid." "Good luck. She'd brush us off like so many flies and do it anyway." He sighed. Daria reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She was a little surprised at herself, but soldiered on anyway. "It'll be okay." A.P. gave her a grateful smile.
* * *
Trent was in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking blankly at the wall, when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in." It was Nicholas Campbell, the bass player from Mystik Spiral. "Hey, man." "Hey, Nick," Trent replied glumly. Nick perched next to Trent on the edge of the bed. "Man, you look half-dead! What's up?" "You've got a daughter, man. How do you cope?" "Aw, Trent," Nick reproved the leader of his band, "you didn't knock some girl up, did you?" He sighed. "Don't know. No test results yet. But maybe. So how *do* you cope?" Nick had to think about that one. "God, I don't know. It was... well, the whole time Angela was pregnant, I thought, `this can't be happening -- I'm no father figure.' I was out of my mind. You remember." Trent nodded. "Oh, yeah. The weekly anti-reality drinking marathons." "Then I saw little Rachel." Nick sighed. "She was red and wrinkly and squalling like a banshee, but she was just...precious. I fell in love. I'm still in love. That's how I cope. And I really love Angela. That helps a lot." "Of course," Trent morosely observed. "You don't love the girl?" "I *like* her, Nick. I respect her. I probably *could* love her if I tried, but..." "It's not worth it if you have to try too hard, man. The Monique years should've taught you that." Trent smiled reluctantly. "Yeah. But it's beside the point anyway. She doesn't love me either." There was a short silence. Then Nick clapped Trent on the shoulder. "Trent...you'll pull through it. People deal with worse things every day. -- Hey, if it makes you feel any better, not only will I not ask who the maybe-mother is, but I won't even mention this again unless you do." "Thanks, man." Lynn, standing against the wall outside Trent's door, heard every word. She stood there a moment longer, a thoughtful look on her face, then slipped away toward Jane's room. Jane was flipping idly through an old sketchpad when Lynn entered with a determined look on her face. "I get a test tomorrow." Jane looked taken aback for a second, but recovered quickly and gave Lynn a reassuring smile. Lynn sighed wearily.
* * *
The next day in the halls, Jane was pacing frantically in front of her locker, when Lynn approached, her face completely neutral. Jane turned and faced her expectantly. There was a pause, during which the artiste extraordinaire thought she could feel the universe age a little. At length, she simply asked, "Well?" "I didn't get a test," Lynn admitted. Jane was starting to get exasperated by this avoidance. "*Lynn!*" Lynn smirked and blushed at the same time. "I didn't have to." There was a pause while Jane gathered the energies necessary to believe her ears. "You mean..." "I've never been so glad to have cramps in my life." Jane was ecstatic. "*Yes!*" With impeccable timing, Daria approached, looking completely at sea in the face of Jane's joy. With her deadest pan, Erudite Emerald wondered, "Win the lottery?" Jane was flustered, but recovered as best she could. "No...um... Lynn was just saying how she was finally over that flu." She blushed. "I guess I've been a bit worried." "So no more suicide runs around Lawndale on Amethyst?" "Well," Lynn mischievously replied, "I didn't say *that*..." Daria greeted that comment with her trademark Mona Lisa smile. "Welcome back."
* * *
After school at Pizza King, Daria, Jane, and A.P. shared a booth and a pizza. "Thanks for letting me know, guys," A.P. replied. "Hey," Daria pointed out, "I'm as glad as you are. Lynn's weird enough without this sort of thing." "Still think it was the fever?" "Probably. Fevers are weird things. Remind me to tell you about the fever dream I had once about anthropomorphic personifications of the holidays." _Better yet, don't._ A.P. shook his head, bemused. "Weird fevers plus weird people equal *seriously* messed-up subconscious thought." Realizing something, Daria turned to Jane. "Hey, where is Lynn, anyway?" "She...had something to do," Jane evaded that one nicely.
* * *
Trent walked over to Casa Lane's kitchen table with two cups of herbal tea, which he set down as he seated himself. Lynn, sitting across the table from him, picked up her cup and sipped a moment. Then she spoke. "I think we need to talk."
ADAPTOR'S NOTES The Python ref this time out was almost subliminal -- for those of you who missed it, it's the bit about small ice-creams in very large boxes. Personally, I kind of liked "Depth Takes a Holiday." At the same time, I fully acknowledge that it doesn't actually fit into the continuity of most realistic _Daria_ universes. I haven't yet decided what solution I'll settle on for my own universe (coming soon). Just an opinion, worth what you paid for it. Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) Monty Python quotes and characters are copright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The characters of Lynn Cullen and A.P. McIntyre are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose.
Austin, and good day. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD