Disclaimer: Daria and associated characters are owned by MTV/Viacom, or whomever has acquired the intellectual property rights. This is fan fiction written for fun and entertainment only. No money or other negotiable currency or goods have been exchanged.
Ah, Hell
Chapter 1
A Leap of Faith
"Okay, kid," sighed St. Peter, "I'd have dropped your sorry butt downstairs, but it seems like your situation is a little more complicated than usual." He rummaged under the podium and came up with a bent wire hanger, upon which hung a pair of luminous white ratty jeans and an equally white, bleached-out Nirvana T-shirt. He handed them to Trent, and indicated a changing room that had materialized to the side.
What the H- bad word choice, I guess- heck happened?
He stepped out of the changing room, noting that his ratty sneakers had somehow turned white as well. What's with all this fuzzy white carpeting?
St. Peter handed him a glowing white harp. "Go on in, kid. Welcome to Heaven."
Trent stared at the peculiar instrument dolefully, wondering how far he could push his luck. Heaven?
"Ah, Hell," grumbled St. Peter. "Can't blame me for trying." With that, he tossed the harp back under the podium and pulled out a glowing white Strat.
"Cool," smiled Trent. He took the guitar, and waited expectantly.
"Ah, Hell," repeated St. Peter, reluctantly pulling out a glowing white Marshall Bluesbreaker combo amp.
"Hey."
Trent whipped around, startled. "Daria?" Yep, it was her, all right, only in a pair of white jeans and T-shirt. And a V-neck, no less. She was carrying a glowing white laptop computer.
She smiled at him. "Yeah, Trent, we're dead, and this is Heaven. Although," she smirked, "St. Peter was backordered on the new Mac Air, so I have to make do with this… Windows… machine until my real computer arrives."
"Good one, Daria," he smiled. God-oops- he loved her sense of humor. He looked at her appreciatively. I always knew she was pretty, but da- gosh darn, she's beautiful. He frowned. Gosh darn? What the f- heck?
A knowing half-smile appeared on her lips. "You can't really swear here, especially the really colorful way." She tilted her head slightly. "Makes writing a little more challenging, since the spell checker on this stupid computer automatically rewrites certain choice expletives."
She set her computer down, a glowing white desk materializing instantly underneath it. She stepped up to him, and with a tiny smile, put her arms around him and gave him a little hug. "They make it up with other perks. You can do certain stuff that you never had the nerve to do when you were alive."
Trent put his arms around her, enjoying her inexplicably familiar scent. She smelled just like he always imagined she would, clean, sweet, and oddly pure.
She was breathing him in too, that modest smile still playing on her face.
"Daria?" he said quietly after a while. "What happened?"
"You fell asleep at the wheel, you narcoleptic moron," came a familiar voice behind him.
He let go of Daria and whipped around. "Janey?"
"Yup, bro. Now say it."
"I am so sorry, Janey."
"Apology accepted, although it's not like I actually have a choice." She grinned at him and mussed his hair. "Wanna grab some pizza?"
"They have pizza here?"
"Yeah, but no beer," smirked Jane.
"She's kidding, Trent.," Daria said quietly, taking his hand and pulling him along.
He turned and looked at Janey. She was grinning, like he kinda expected.
"Yeah, the Polka players are really happy to find that out," she laughed.
They passed through some not-really-there doors into the warmth and aroma of a pizza joint. The girls sat, chairs appearing under them. Trent followed suit, and was pleased to find his bottom on a similar comfortable seat.
"The way things work here is that whatever it is that you truly value manifests itself. So, while we seem to be sharing a common reality, in truth we could each be experiencing this moment in completely different ways." Daria picked up a soda and took a sip.
"So you and Janey are the way you are only to me?"
Daria and Jane looked at each other. "Perhaps," the smaller woman said slowly. "Perhaps it doesn't really matter; we're real to each other."
"St. Peter told me that I'm kind of a special case. He said that if it were up to him I'd be on my way downstairs."
Daria sat back in her seat, which had grown an ergonomic backrest. Jane shot Daria a huge smile.
"Sounds like this is your show, Amiga."
Trent's signature half-smile grew. "So this is your version of Heaven."
Daria thought about that for a long moment, and then slowly reached down, meaning to unlace her white boots. They had turned into comfy slippers. Smirking, she wiggled them off with her toes. A bottle of massage oil appeared on the table in front of Trent. "Looks like it."
Trent reached for the bottle, finding himself in a white void. Daria lay on her side, as though on an invisible chaise; he was sitting with her bare feet in his lap.
"I think I'm going to find something to art, you guys," Jane's voice floated into Trent's ears. "Don't do anything to get us in trouble, okay?"
So I'm here to fulfill Daria's idea of heaven? Trent smiled as he poured the oil into his palm. I can live with this.
"OW!"
"You fucking moron," hissed a voice in his ears. It was barely audible over the ringing from the hard slap upside the head. "What the hell kind of driving was that?"
"Huh?"
"You almost got us killed, you dope," yelled Jane. "Move over and lemme drive!" She looked over as she climbed out of the back seat. "You okay, Amiga?"
Trent looked in the rear view mirror at Daria's frozen expression. Her eyebrows were arched, and her eyes wide open. She had lost her glasses somehow. Ah, shit. He opened the door and stepped out as Jane slid into the driver's seat.
He looked around on the floor before getting in, hoping to find Daria's glasses. Nothing. He got on his knees, and felt around under the seat, reaching as far as he could. His fingers closed around them when he realized that his cheek was resting against her leg.
Great. Just fucking great. She's really going to hate me now. He handed her glasses to her, swallowing as she whispered a quiet thanks without looking at him.
He paused, and then closed the door carefully, backing away from the car. Jane rolled down the window, flipping him off as she drove away.
Crap, I almost killed the two people that mean the most to me. I am such a total screwup. He slowly sat down on the curb. Dozing off while driving. It's never been that bad before; I really need to get this sleeping thing checked out.
He heard the screech of brakes in the distance, and a car door opening and then closing again.
He heard the sound of boots on the roadway. The steps were clipped and determined. He felt her sit on the curb next to him.
"Trent, are you okay?"
The voice was quiet, calm and honestly concerned.
"No, Daria, I'm not. I could have killed you both."
They both sat quietly. Jane stayed with the car, the engine idling, watching the two of them in the rear view mirror.
He looked at her, sitting to his right; her breathing was slow and deep, and he had the feeling that it was something that she was willing herself to do. Who could blame her? What the hell was he thinking anyway, letting these two women ride along with an incompetent like himself?
She looked different these days; her freshman year at Raft had matured her. She and Janey had come back to Lawndale for a visit, Daria because her sister Quinn was graduating from high school. A few weeks here, and then they would be returning to Boston to spend their summer working in order to keep the cottage they were renting together and to raise a little more money for school. Perhaps the jeans she wore tonight were the very same ones she wore not long after he had met her, that time they all tried to get to a rock concert. She hadn't gotten much taller, if at all, but she definitely had matured in her look. He'd always thought of her as a pretty girl, in spite of her trying to hide it.
And really, he had always appreciated her for her cutting wit, intellect, and dry humor. She was the coolest woman he knew, someone he greatly respected for her principles and values. Of anyone, she, perhaps even more than Janey, understood him in ways that were a mystery to him. At one time, she had had an inexplicable crush on him, but he knew that she had grown past that and had moved on.
Still, she was sitting there on the curb next to him, worried about him.
"Go on ahead, Daria, I think I'll walk home. I need the air, and it's not really that far."
She sat there, polishing her glasses with her T shirt, looking at him under the streetlights. God, she had pretty eyes.
He pushed that line of thought away. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, way too good for the likes of him. She studied him for a long moment, and then, putting her glasses back on, she stood and walked back to Jane, waiting in his car. She spoke briefly to her, and then turned and walked back as the car pulled away.
"Let's go, Trent." She stood over him, holding out her hand.
She pulled him to his feet, and the two of them walked slowly towards the Lane house, talking. He, profoundly disappointed in himself, and she, worried about him. From time to time they would stop, facing each other, one or the other gesturing to make a point. Always, they would eventually stop, and then begin walking again. To a casual observer looking out of a window, they were a couple trying to work something out, trying to see if they had some kind of future together.
By the time the two of them came around the corner of Howard Drive, they weren't talking, but as they walked, sleeves and occasionally hands would brush against the other.
Jane was still sitting in the car, waiting for them. She had cooled off. Seeing the two of them in the rear view mirror, she smiled and then climbed out of the car.
Leaning against the door, she watched as her brother and best friend slowly approached, again speaking quietly. Daria was shaking her head slowly, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth.
What the hell were they talking about? And Trent seems to have calmed down.
Seeing Jane waiting for them, Daria stopped, causing Trent to turn towards her. She looked into his eyes for a long time.
"You know, I don't quite know what to make of what you've been telling me. I want to say that it's really your twisted view of reality, but in truth…I can't exactly do that."
Trent frowned. "Wait, what?" He studied the young woman's poker face; a young lifetime of practice betrayed nothing. "Look, Daria…" he began, sliding his hands into his pockets, slouching slightly to maintain eye contact with the shorter woman. "I don't really want to freak you out or anything, but seeing as how no matter how I imagine this story going, I can't see a scenario where you don't wind up walking away from this sorry excuse for a life. Your future is out there, and for the time being I'm still here. So, I'm just going to tell you this now."
Jane was getting impatient, but something was happening between Daria and Trent, and it was for the time being apparently none of her business.
"Daria, I've been kind of hung up on you for a long time now."
She took off her glasses and stepped forward, close enough to look into his eyes without her corrective lenses. Nothing between their eyes to cloud the view into each other's soul. "What," she said quietly, "exactly, do you mean by that?"
He hesitated for just the blink of an eye.
"I love you."
"I see." She looked back, unblinking. "This complicates things."
Without another word, she reached out and took his hand, and resumed walking towards Jane, who stood leaning against the car, mouth open.
