She touched his hand. Trent always had the ideal musician's hands, long-fingered and quick and clever, but for the first time she noticed something else. Her thumb found a long pitted line, and looking down, Daria realised with a jolt that it was a scar, a jagged scar along the back of his hand.

There were similar scars on the hand gripping his beer. Trent's ring finger on that hand was also twisted off to one side slightly.

"What happened to your hands?"

Trent smiled nonchalantly like it was no big deal, but still pulled his hand from hers.

"A permanent reminder of bein' young and stupid."

Trent would have been perfectly happy to leave it at that, but there must have been something in Daria's expression that said she wasn't going to drop it because he groaned and scrubbed a hand back through his greying hair.

"Gonna bring the mood down." He warned.

"Have you met me?" Daria's eyebrows rose. "Trent, that's my reason for being."

He grinned a little at that and sipped his beer.

"Well, you know not long after you guys left for Boston, I decided to cut my losses and head off, yeah?"

"The Mirage thing." Daria said.

"Yeah. We had a line on a couple of jobs, high-profile gigs. We even had a guy from Black Frog Recordings sniffing around."

"Really." Daria tried not to sound dubious, she really did.

Trent heard her scepticism, but instead of getting insulted, he just smirked. "Yeah, got me too. First time he cornered me at a gig, looking all Establishment, I told him we weren't looking at buying any bibles."

His eyes twinkled at her. Daria's lips twitched into a smile.

"A suit was looking at buying?"

Good job at not sounding like a cynical bitch, Morgendorffer.

"Um, well, I suppose Mystik Spiral always had an interesting sound. Kinda-"

"Crap?" At Daria's goggle-eyed look, Trent chuckled. "I'm under no illusions, Daria. Thing is, a good riff can make up for a lot. Slow down a good eighty percent of the junk called music these days, and the lyrics don't actually make a lick of sense. She's as sweet as pie but if you break her heart/She'll turn cold as a freezer. Please."

"I never pegged you as a Katy Perry man." She smirked over the rim of her glass. "Either that or you're still bitter that Juicy J ripped off Icebox Woman."

He smiled at that.

"Wow, you've become a crotchety old bastard." Daria lent back in her chair. "I'm on to you, Lane. You don't want to tell the story." She took a sip of her own drink and frowned. "Has the Mirage thing got something to do with Jane bunking out before finals last year of college?"

Daria had thought at the time that it was a pressure thing. Maybe not.

Trent looked down into his glass like the secrets of the Loch Ness monster, where they buried Jimmy Hoffa, and the location of Atlantis were all at the bottom. "Told her not to do that, that it could mess with her grades, but you know Janey."

"I know Janey." Daria said. "Stop changing the subject, young man, and carry on with your tale of obfuscation."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"Got into a car wreck."

She stared at him. Trent stated it in an offhand way that a normal person would use to say I brushed my teeth this morning or I'm wearing long pants today.

"Oh my God." Daria looked at his hands again, her way-too-vivid mind conjuring up broken glass and shattered bone.

"Yeah, the Plymouth was never going to make it." Trent said sagely. "Kids ran a red light, thought they could make it. Knocked the steering column back into my chest, did a number on my hands."

"Good God." Daria was appalled. "Did you sue?"

At that Trent looked genuinely confused. "Why?" His brows furrowed. "It was just some clueless kids. Insurance covered the hospital. Wouldna helped to destroy their lives too."

"You, Trent Lane, are a bigger man than I." Daria said. "Your karma points must be accumulating impressively."

"If I had enough karma points, I would have been quicker on the brakes."

Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you mean wouldna helped to destroy their lives too?"

For the first time the too-cool-for-school facade slipped.

"I can't play anymore." He sucked in a breath. "Cramps up, first." He flexed his fingers, as if illustrating. "Then, starts – hurting, y'know?"

He shrugged it off like it was no big deal.

Daria knew at once what a crushing blow that must have been. Still was. She reached back over the table for his hand, gripping hard.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's cool. It was all a long time ago now. I can still write, and I'm getting royalty cheques now and then from Jesse, who still plays my music, but-"

"It doesn't make things any more easier." Daria said. "Why didn't Jane ever say anything?" Would I have ever known if I hadn't asked?

Trent shrugged a shoulder. "You know us, Daria. A certain amount of denial goes into being a Lane."

Daria snorted. "I'll believe that."

"Janey needed a certain amount of... stability to function." Trent's face was thoughtful, an expression that Daria honestly never expected to see on him. "And stability for Jane is, sort of, me, I guess. So to get through that last year of BFAC she had to pretend that I'd be back making crap music and hanging around her friends like a creeper in no time. Normalcy of the incompetent." Trent's face folded into a lyrical hey! expression Daria recognised, then it was gone. "By the time I realised you didn't know, the past was past, so what was the point, yeah? Just depress you for no good reason."

Daria frowned, thinking. Trent was Jane's rock, but who was Trent's? Where did he get the stability he needed? "You still could have called to talk. Recovering artist to recovering artist and all that crap."

"Recovering artist implies that it's an infliction that needs to be got over." Trent's brows rose. "But c'mon, Daria."

"C'mon what?"

"We were friendly by proxy, but we weren't really friends. I was just Janey's big brother who was always hanging around like a weirdo. This is the longest we've probably ever talked without a middle man."

Daria opened her mouth to refute him, but stopped to think. Hell, he's right. She liked Trent, and he was fun to talk to in his more lucid moments, but in her mind's eye Daria only ever really saw him as her friend's hot and slightly clueless older brother.

"You got me." Daria smiled wryly. "But hey, we're supposed to be grownups now. Try over?"

He peered at her suspiciously and Daria offered a hand.

"Daria Morgendorffer, current unemployed slacker."

He smirked. "Trent Lane, professional non-starter."

"That's a little harsh."

"Daria, I'm almost forty and a DJ."

"You could always be forty and a bartender. A part-time bartender."

"Heh."

The two of them sat there in a companionable silence for a moment. Daria glanced back into the Zon. Maybe she should get her ass back in there since it was supposedly her birthday party and all, but in reality she had probably been forgotten about the instant the bar opened.

"I used to have such a crush on you."

Christ. Where the hell did that come from?

"I know."

Daria blinked.

"What?"

"It was kinda cute." Trent smirked. "And I mighta played on it a bit."

"You don't say."

"I might have thought you were pretty awesome, too."

"Bull."

Trent swirled the dregs of his beer around his glass. "Yeah. You were cool and easy to talk to and got me like no one else. But five years, y'know?"

Daria sat there with a death-grip on her drink. No, he must have been kidding her, but Trent didn't have the guile to be a kidder.

"Five years isn't that much of a difference." She managed to get out.

"Maybe not now, but when I'd just turned 22 and you were sixteen? I felt like a crusty old pervert hiding in the bushes. Get into my van, little girl, and I'll give you a lolly."

"C'mon, you were never that bad." He coughed a laugh. "Though, we are both in our thirties now."

When he spoke, Trent sounded genuinely perplexed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Daria frowned before breaking into a wry smile. "You know, I don't actually know."

"Hey, kiddo, there you are!" Her dad exploded out of the Zon like he had been launched. "You're missing one heck of a party! Trent, my man, how long have you been nursing that brew? C'mon, Mom wants to cut the birthday cake!"

She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

Disaster averted.

Jake shepherded them both back into the Zon, where Helen promptly ushered Daria away to the cake, giving Trent a suspicious look which the man just shrugged off. Daria guessed that people had been giving him suspicious looks his whole life and probably would be until he was dead.

Instead of just two single number candles, the vindictive witch had thirty four single candles burning on each fondant-covered layer of the three-tiered chocolate confection.

Daria glanced up at the lone fire alarm.

"When do you think the club did their last fire drill?"

Jane shrugged. "Probably decades before we were even born."

Helen wisely chose to hand the knife to Jake first. Completely oblivious, he passed it to Daria.

"Cut the cake, kiddo!"

Hiding behind an obligatory grumpy facade, Daria was feeling pretty good. She was surrounded by exuberant friends and family, and wasn't feeling the burning desire to set someone on fire.

Daria was actually having fun.

Eurgh.

She should have known by now that this was about the time when things decided to hit the proverbial. And by her experience, whatever hit the fan was not going to be evenly distributed.


It started small enough, with Quinn's husband Simon Bassingwaithe sweeping in late to the party, all ridiculous cheekbones and artfully tousled hair in square-jawed, Ken-doll proportions.

"Daddy!"

To his credit, the first thing he did was to zero in on Lex's location so he could give his daughter a hug. Alexis's face lit up like a candle as he bundled her up in his arms.

Lex tucked under his arm, he went over to her to say hello.

"Happy birthday, Daria." He air-kissed her on both cheeks, and Daria suppressed a natural reaction to knee him in the nads.

"Hey, Si. You're looking extra plastic today."

"Daria." Helen said sternly.

Simon just grinned, dimple appearing in his cheek. They'd had this conversation before. "Yeah, I was just recast at the Mattel warehouse the other day."

"That explains your immovable legs and strange lack of junk."

"Maybe they can manufacture a filter between your brain and your mouth."

"As long as I get the Malibu Dream House and the convertible, I'm happy."

It was a strange form of greeting between the two that had carried forth times before. While not friends exactly, Daria had to admit that her brother-in-law had grown on her. Like mould. Or boils. Or a flesh-eating fungal disease. Simon may have been an irresponsible man-child, which Daria once found reprehensible, but she found herself more and more tolerant of the soap star's oddities considering he genuinely loved his kid and was actively trying to be a better parent.

"How are you, Simon? You're looking well." Helen stepped forward for a kiss and a hug, and showing better acting skills than he ever used on screen, Simon looked genuinely pleased that he was there as his mother-in-law squeezed the ever-loving stuffing out of him. Hands stuffed in her trouser pockets, Daria watched the stilted exchange with amusement.

"How's Strange Times in Vampiris Bay?"

"That's actually something I wanted to talk to you about." That Tom Cruise I-swear-I'm-really-a-nice-guy-after-all smile faded, taking on a serious expression that made him look vaguely constipated.

"Er, why?"

"Can I talk to you in private?"

Daria indicated around herself, the darkened club. "You could light a fire in the middle of the floor and start barbequing small animals and I can guarantee that no one would notice."

"Go find Jake." Simon sent off Lex. She pulled a face, but wandered off.

Daria followed Simon to a dark booth.

"Just so you know, my mom warned me about going into dark corners with strange men."

"That's funny, that's exactly what my mom said."

The two of the faced each other across the scarred table, and Daria hoped that this wasn't going to be quite as revealing as her last chat with a man over drinks barely an hour ago.

"I'm leaving the show."

Well, so much for that.

"What? But you love Vampiris Bay."

"Quinn loves Vampiris Bay." Simon said sharply. "She likes the cocktail parties and rubbing shoulders with C-listers that buy stupid crap at her costume shop."

"I thought it was a boutique."

"Whatever. I want to branch out, to be taken seriously as an actor. I've done a few pieces on stage, and a friend of mine is starting his own indie film company, and has asked me to hop on as director. It's going to be a pay cut, but there's plenty in my savings to take care of Quinn and Alexis and sort out college."

"And what do you want me to do, exactly?"

"I want you to write me a script for our first feature."

Daria blinked stupidly.

"I can't write."

"Of course you can write." Simon scoffed. "I've read your editorials for the paper."

"I mean I can't write scripts!"

"It's not any different from what you were doing when you were writing for that awful late night show." He said patiently. "We just need a vehicle for the company, something action and upbeat and clever and with a message and-"

Holy crap!

"And with super heroes. And time travel. And a touching love story." Daria said scathingly. "Are you insane?"

He grinned at her, with a sparkle in his eyes and dimples in his cheeks: a face that had launched a thousand dirigibles.

"Come on, Daria. It'll be fun."

Daria could have strangled him for that line alone.