Author's Note: I couldn't write the dialogue of the characters doing the cameo. I never watched that show. But I had to mention them.

Disclaimer: I created Lynette Vaughn, Glenn Eichler created Daria Morgendorffer, Joss Whedon created Faith Lehane, and the cameo characters aren't mine, either.

Your actions will follow you full circle round
Your actions will follow you full circle round
Your actions will follow you full circle round
Your actions will follow you full circle round
"The higher the leap," I said,
"The harder the ground.
"

-- Center Stage, The Indigo Girls

X X X X X

"Still against the death penalty?" Dr. Vaughn asked.

"Still. I think. But there's a difference between theory and practice. Again, if this makes me a hypocrite, very well. I am large, I contain multitudes. I'm thinking, though, that even if I end up against it I ain't going to be doing too much mourning for Willard Jay Harbaugh."

"I doubt many people will. He murdered thirteen people -- and from accounts hasn't shown a single speck of remorse. He's not Karla Faye Tucker."

"Ah. The pretty young white Christian woman whom there was the big outcry in favor of. I'm guessing she was executed sometime between my disappearance and reappearance."

"You don't remember?" Doc Vaughn asked.

"Faith Lehane was never exactly big on keeping up with national news," Daria said.

"Yes. Sometime in 1998."

"Thank you. Well, I guess the governor was consistent, if nothing else."

Then Doc Vaughn showed that she hadn't picked up her psychiatrist's degree out of a Cracker Jack box. "You're going to try to figure out your own feelings, aren't you?" she said. "I am large; I contain multitudes is a good soundbite, but I know things have to be deeper than that. You're trying to figure out whether you're being a hypocrite."

Damn, the woman had brains. "Yes. I guess. Partially. You have to remember also that I'm dealing with the memories of killing three people, myself. One was an accident, but the other two weren't. And there was a rush there, Doc. it's one of the reasons Angel was able to reach me when no one else could. He also knew, because of his history. If he hasn't told you, you may want to ask him. But make sure you haven't eaten anything. You may think I exaggerate. Believe me, I wish I was. Anyway, you see why this is a touch more complicated for me than most people. I know what it's like to take joy in ending someone else's life. I wish to hell I didn't. It's a loathsome, vile feeling. And yes, I was 'someone else' at the time, but I still have the memories. I'm not saying I'm the same as Willard Jay Harbaugh. Not in the least. But I can, to a small extent, understand where he's coming from. Hell, I can even get what it's like to know someone else wants you dead."

"Buffy?"

"Buffy," Daria said. "And it ain't like I can blame her. Hell, at the time, Faith was doing her best to get herself killed. Suicide by vampire. Not one of the more popular methods. But perhaps if they had a better marketing campaign."

"You felt guilt," Doc Vaughn said. "That makes you better than Harbaugh right there."

"I wasn't worried about whether I was better than him. Even at Faith's worst I was better than him. It's -- well. If I'm having difficulty articulating it to myself, how can I be expected to tell you? You're right that 'I am large, I contain multitudes' is something of a copout. It's also the literal truth, even if it ain't exactly the way Walt Whitman meant it. But that's one of the benefits of out postmodern society: We're always able to squeeze new insights out of the ancients."

"Like me?" Doc Vaughn asked.

"Not yet," Daria said. After a pause she added, "Maybe in a few years."

"Smartass."

"Are you just now figuring this out? Goodnight, Doc."

"Goodnight, Daria."

X X X X X

The next morning, she grabbed breakfast at a bagel place and took off. Slayers and their appetites, but she'd gulped down two bagels quickly and taken another one she could eat somewhere when she pulled off the road.

Highland was about an eight-hour drive, and she wanted to have time to do more than glance at the headstones before she took off again. She wasn't planning on telling anyone else she was in town. The place had no meaning for her, other than its connection with Jake, Helen, and Quinn's deaths. Which wasn't quite "Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln," but it was damn sure close enough.

With any luck, she'd get there at four, take an hour or so paying her respects, and then be able to hit the open road for a few more hours. That should get her to Livingston tomorrow afternoon

She'd asked to be able to talk to Harbaugh. Freaky, yeah, and the Texas court system had said as much (in legal language as

She'd requested to be allowed to talk with Harbaugh. The Texas court system had said it was unusual, but since under the circumstances she'd never made it to the trial, they were going to let her, as long as he was willing.

Daria'd gotten a call back a couple of days before she left that Harbaugh was willing. What she expected to get out of this, she didn't know. The man had no power over her, not anymore. Maybe she just needed to be sure about that.

She made good time, and pulled into Highland at about quarter of four. She knew better than to drink anything. Last she heard, the bozos who ran the town's idea of fixing the problem of uranium in the drinking water was to do the bureaucratic equivalent of sticking their fingers in their ears and going "la la la I can't hear you." Deny, deny, deny, and when someone shows up with enough evidence, declare bankruptcy and start over.

Place hadn't gotten any better in the four-plus years since she'd been away. She hadn't been expecting otherwise.

She doubted anyone would recognize her; apart from the leather, which she'd worn occasionally here, she looked damn little like the Daria Morgendorffer who'd lived here as a teenager. Eyesight, 20/10, so no glasses. Motorcycle. Leather pants.

Yeah, leather pants. Daria Morgendorffer wouldn't've been caught dead wearing leather pants. Daria Morgendorffer didn't want people to look at her and think, "Yo, check out the hot babe." One of the things Glorificus' merge had done was relax Daria's attitude a bit. Not that she wanted to be judged on her looks. She didn't. But she wasn't going to let that determine how she dressed. Leather pants were practical for motorcycle riding, so she wore leather pants. People would look. She couldn't change that.

She wasn't going to try.

Okay. The graveyard was a couple of miles away. She pulled into a convenience store parking lot. Better to get this out of the way before she went. Last thing she wanted to be thinking when she visiting her family's graves was how much she had to pee.

She was opening the bathroom door when she heard something that made her shut it again in a hurry.

The sounds of two people, laughing stupidly.

Opening the door a crack, she listened.

It was them.

The two stupidest people on the planet.

They were still alive.

And, she noted, still wearing the same shirts. Probably literally.

She'd never hated them. She'd recognized their basic stupidity, but as long as it wasn't affecting her she was more amused by them than anything else.

Still, the last thing she wanted to do was confront them. Not now. Not when she was about to do something so serious.

They were trying to scam the store owner out of nachos, and they were complaining about how MTV, like, didn't have videos any more, and how they weren't, like, going to make fun of CMT, because everything on CMT sucked. Except for Shania Twain. She was hot.

Some things never changed.

Good to know.

Still. She waited for them to leave, quietly made sure they were out of the parking lot, and drove out to the cemetery.