Author's Note: I wrote this as part of a Double-D/Marie contest run by StarUchiha. It didn't come out exactly as I wanted, but I do think it's better to let these things evolve. It's weird where your stories take you, even when you already have them all drawn out.

And, of course, I don't own Ed Edd n' Eddy or anything associated with the show.

Please review when you're done!

quotidian (adj): recurring daily; everyday; commonplace.

Double D was a man of routine.

Each morning he awoke at precisely six o'clock, made his bed, showered, and dressed in freshly-ironed clothes. After a short observation of his ant colony, he made his way downstairs and gathered a quick estimate of the number of his morning chores, before sitting down to a nutritious breakfast. Each morning, he completed the tasks listed on each sticky note, working the back of the house to the front, so that in the end he would hopefully be rewarded with a view of the sun coming over Rolf's farmhouse. 'Such a small, yet priceless, pleasure,' he invariably thought, 'to take in the beginning of another day full of possibilities.'

Of course, this did not happen every morning. Sometimes his chores would take him until lunchtime, or sometimes it would rain. Unfortunately, there were parts of his routine Double-D could not control. He had resigned himself to that. And the worst, he thought, cringing, was the blue-haired girl who lay in wait behind the dilapidated fence by the lane. Oh, the ambushes were not every day, but the awful, nauseating paranoia he experienced every time he crossed that intersection? That was.

Worst of all, he had grown accustomed to it. To him it was no less a piece of a summer day than the daily pressing of Father's suit, or any number of futile attempts at refining Eddy's grammar, and he'd stewed in self-loathing for three days when he finally realized it. How had he grown to accept the possibility of being kissed senseless by someone as terrifying as Marie Kanker? Was his newfound apathy simply a subconscious defense mechanism to protect his fragile nerves? He wasn't sure.

Either way, he had agreed to meet Ed and Eddy in the junkyard at eleven, and no amount of impending terror would dissuade him from keeping his word. That meant he would have to cross the lane.

He dredged his mind for an alternate route, though years of experience had taught him there was none. In times such as this, Ed and Eddy were accustomed to taking the long way around the entire cul-de-sac, through the fields marked very clearly with "NO TRESPASSING" signs, but of course for Edd that was out of the question. He would rather uphold the laws of his fine community, thank you very much. The only other way was through Jonny's yard, but Jonny's parents had, among a constant stream of protests from their son (complete with pickets and petition forms), constructed a wooden privacy fence that was nigh impossible to scale.

"Curse suburban conformity," Edd mumbled, opening the front door with a slightly trembling hand.

Rounding the corner to the lane, Double-D checked his watch. It was 10:49, which meant he would most likely be early. He'd made it out of the cul-de-sac without incident, save for a sputtering response to Nazz's greeting.

Come to think of it, he had not seen Marie for the past three days. Not that he was complaining—quite the opposite, in fact—but such irregularity drove his paranoia to the brink. She could very well be consciously holding back, waiting for him to drop his guard. He doubted Marie had that kind of patience, clever as she was, but he did not feel safe ruling it out.

WHOMPF! –a hard blow to the side and he flew into the lane. His face smacked the pavement, and for a moment there were brilliant stars before his eyes. Blinking, he rolled onto his back and tried to stand—but deft hands pinned his shoulders to the ground.

Oh, dear God, no…

His heart raced with the awful realization. The sun was hot and white in his eyes, but only for a moment. Then the smirking face of Marie Kanker descended upon him, her one visible eye, sharp and blue, boring into his with sadistic glee. He strained desperately against her iron grip, as if clenching his eyes shut and twisting away would make this all just a dream.

"Hiya muffin," she taunted, her knees grinding into his stomach and upper thigh, dangerously close to his groin. A scream roiled up from within him but no sound came out—only the hot bile of panic filled his throat. Still he tried to wrestle away, using his legs for leverage, but they only pinwheeled uselessly in the air. She cackled at his futile effort.

"Miss me?" she asked, slipping a cool hand behind his neck. His teeth clenched at the awful tingling her touch sent down his spine. Another fearful howl surged up from within him, but his frozen vocal cords produced only a low growl. He knew instantly that this had not helped him in the least.

"Mmm…that's right," she breathed, her grin spreading full and wide across her face, her fingers lazily twisting the stray hairs at the back of his head. "You know you like this."

Do something.

For an instant her knee lifted slightly. With his free elbow he tried to power a hard roll to the side, but she was faster—her knee stabbed his thigh again, higher this time, and now her hold on him was stronger than ever. He felt a brief glimmer of hope when he spotted the patch of mud a few feet to his right, but he had no hope of loosening an arm—besides, he knew he could never gather the nerve to use it.

Her hand shot up his shirt, and with a surprisingly light touch she explored his stomach…his ribs… The world seemed to freeze in that instant. His soul cried out, and hot tears of outrage rolled down his cheeks. This was unthinkable! Had the torment, the incessant kisses, been merely a prelude to this hideous violation, this which made his body scream with horrid, uncontrollable anticipation? For what was next? For a moment he thought he would be sick.

He snapped back to reality—Marie's hand had been still, he realized. He risked a glance upward, and with tear-blurred eyes he noticed her crazed grin had become dazed, almost far away. Her eyes half-closed, she drew a deep breath through trembling lips. Was she…nervous? He was puzzled, but frantic nonetheless. In her strange moment of reverie, hopeless panic ceased and instinct took over—damn his pacifism, damn the fact that Marie was a girl.

In an instant that surprised them both, Double-D's arm bolted out and grabbed the wad of mud. She gasped, twisting with frightening speed. He cried out at last, winding up, and then pelted her squarely in the face. The mud splattered as it hit her, staining her cargo pants and sticking in her hair.

"Good lord, woman!" he shouted, his nerves alive with fury. "Have you no shame? Do you realize your very presence is torturous?" His ire was beginning to frighten him, but he found himself unable to stem the tide now. "Has no one taught you even the basics of human decency?" Wide-eyed, she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"Why you think your predatory nature lends you even a MODICUM of attractiveness is beyond me!"

For a moment there was only silence, heavy and cold, as Marie wiped the mud from her eyes. Edd felt the panic creeping back, and he turned, with the full intent to bolt off—to the junkyard, to his home, anywhere but here…but he found himself pinned in place. Knees trembling, he turned back to her.

Her eyes wide with shock, Marie stared blankly at him for an instant. Then her natural smirk collapsed, and she sat down in the lane and cried.

He stood there a moment, stunned, watching a shimmering tear roll slowly down her freckled cheek. What had he done? Shocked at his outburst, and still shaking, he drew a handkerchief and crept forward.

When his shadow fell upon her, Marie lifted her head. Her eyes pink and swollen, her face hot and hurt, she did her best to shoot him a hateful glare.

"Marie, I…"

"Just fuck off, Double-D!" She sprang up and bolted out of the lane, back toward the trailer park. He watched her go.

Guilt. Nothing but shame and guilt.

Double-D lay back on his bed, with the lights off and his left arm draped over his eyes, making every effort to fall asleep, even though the sun was only just beginning to set. Outside the children still shouted and laughed, but their voices seemed detached, far away. Here was the air of regret, and it rested heavy and thick upon him.

He had plastered on a false smile for the entire time the three of them spent realizing Eddy's vision of a bumper car arena (which had ended in bright, fiery disaster), though he knew he'd done a horrible job of it. Eddy had prodded him constantly to stay on task, but it had been no use. The guilt remained hanging within his chest, ugly and black, and as soon as dinnertime arrived he made a beeline to his home. He couldn't bring himself to emerge. It was as if he had crossed some sort of threshold, away from the decent, upstanding adolescent identity in which he'd taken pride.

The logical motives behind it all, which had seemed so righteous just hours ago, now collapsed. Self-defense or no, there was no justification. He had thrown mud in Marie Kanker's face. He had yelled in her face. He'd made her cry. His mind fixed on that image, the image of her sitting on the pavement in wide-eyed shock, the sobs contorting her soft face. It stung him again and again, so he retained the image to administer his just penalty.

Had he not understood that her aggression was the obvious result of the sham of a home life she and her family obviously lived? That the absence of her own father, as well as the coming and going of various drunkards in the wee hours, were the obvious causes of her confused perceptions of romance? And could he not see that to attack such an unfortunate girl as if she were a monster might just have, in that moment, made him a bit monstrous himself? It certainly felt that way.

Upon replaying the image for the twenty-eighth time, a sudden revelation jolted him. She had blue eyes. He'd just realized that he had indeed noticed the stark hue of her visible eye as she hovered over him. Blue eyes. But why did that strike him? What was the significance?

He didn't know. He wasn't sure he knew anything anymore. All the textbooks in the world could not reveal the elusive significance of iris color—he would have to find out for himself, in due time, what it was that stirred something within him.

Outside the children were still laughing, but by now their voices were nearly inaudible. The sky was darker. Edd was dimly aware he was still in his street clothes, but for the first time in years he was too tired to care. Sighing heavily, he rolled onto his side and waited for sleep to come.

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