Remember to review!

Chapter 14; Making Sweet Music Together

She supposed, in some cosmic way, it only made sense.

Daria plodded along the mall of the millennium, ignoring doo-dads and whozits scattered about. In a place so morally corrupt, it seemed as if there was nothing she could do but walk by all the heinous doings of others. And, of course, she eventually arrived at her ideal location. A smile sprawled out across her face for a split-second before dropping back to monotone indifference.

'Wally's Watches and Winches' Daria mumbled, her hands dug into her pockets. Daria didn't know why they sold winches and watches in the same store, but again, she ignored this minor detail and entered the store. With a barely suppressed disgust at the store's overpriced and 'family-friendly' approach to winches and watches Daria began her search.

'Welcome to Wally's Watches and Winches, where wondrous wares wander,' a practiced clerk accidentally spat, a smile plastered across her face. This was going to end badly, she mused. The feeling seemed mutual as the clerk gave a diminutive cough, as if trying to gain more attention than she already had – bright purple uniforms hardly blended into the orange and yellow décor from the 70s.

'I'm looking for a watch -'

'A winch?'

'… Watch.'

The girl seemed puzzled still – of course, the term girl was a little forgiving, as she seemed at least 30 years old. Daria was reminded why she was going to college.

'Watch – y'know…' she looked around and pointed to the first watch she could see. The girl seemed to perk up, smiling like a hungry wolf.

'Oh, a watch!'

'Do you have any simple ones?' Daria asked, searching for the watches section. The girl bustled away, grabbing up a few watches and returning with the same smile plastered even more enthusiastically across her lips. She could smell the blood that was Daria's money.

After about twenty minutes of explaining the watch wasn't for herself (as the clerk had brought over a debauched pink, acidic lavender and other heinous colours), she settled on a rather naked looking, black-strapped watch with a silver face. Daria walked out of the little store with a shudder, vowing never to return – not even if she wanted a winch (or figured out what they actually do).

And, as she retreated for something less wholesome, she could feel the piercing glare directed at her back. The paper bag was clutched in her right hand as she exited the Mall of the Milleni-Dumb, catching the bus back to Lawndale. What a waste of a day, she resentfully mourned; the constant fiddling with the paper bag to remind her it hadn't been a total loss, keeping her from being too agitated by her trip.

---

'Hey Jane,' Daria said with a small inflection in her voice – higher than usual, but only to the trained ear of Daria-talk.

'Someone's chipper,' Jane purred, a sarcastic inflection of her own.

'I'm over the moon,' Daria quipped back, entering the house without much of an invitation. 'Is Trent here?' she asked over her shoulder. As she received a shrug and a yawn in response, the answer was evident. 'He's asleep still?'

'Assuming he came home last night? Yeah.'

'That's just great.'

'Aw, I like you chipper.' A beat passed before Jane shrugged once more. 'Go wake him up.'

'No thanks.'

'Go on, I'm sure your bright little smile might warm his heart – assuming he's not catatonic.'

Daria shot Jane a dark look before wandering up the stairs and reluctantly walking into Trent's room. She knew there was no point fighting Jane about this, seeing as the other girl was hell-bent on making Daria uncomfortable. She hadn't spoken to Trent since – well – the – Daria's mind faltered, her footsteps stopping entirely. She'd managed to repress the whole ordeal up til now – Trent and – they had.

Her mind was shot. It wasn't until Trent made a small noise in his slumber that she realised she was on a mission. Closing the space between herself and the bed, she stood beside Trent and nudged him with a slender finger. After a few moments he muttered something about the jelly doughnuts before rolling over onto his back.

'Trent, get up,' she muttered, shoving the alternate musician with her palm a few times before standing back. 'Damn it.'

'That's no way to do it!' Jane called from the door, flicking the lights on and off before walking over and booting her brother in the legs. Trent sat up at a lazy pace, blinking stupidly up a Daria and Jane before yawning.

'I had the weirdest dream… some jelly doughnut was jabbing me.'

'Mhh, doughnuts always have had a way of invading the domestic America...' Daria sighed and shook her head, the paper bag still tucked under her arm. After Trent had been jumpstarted with a coffee and a few moments of peace, Jane left them to their artistic pursuits for her own artistic pursuit; painting with pigments she'd ground herself.

Daria, on the other hand, was left with Trent, alone since the last time they had spoken and he was conscious this time. She fiddled with the paper bag for a few more moments before shrugging off her own discomfort. She had to put this out into the open before Trent could say anything else. 'I got you something,' she quickly stumbled, the words very rarely coming from her mouth.

Trent seemed to share the same foreign reception to the words. 'You got me something?' he asked warily, tucking his hands into his belt for a moment before carefully eyeing Daria. 'Sure you're Daria?'

'Only if you're Trent,' she joked, the gesture coming too naturally. She stiffened unsurprisingly, handing over the paper bag – Trent had extended his hand – and kept an eye on his expression under the rims of her glasses. A few failed attempts to pre-empt the present ended with a comment of hesitation; 'If you don't like it I'll return it.'

As Trent unravelled the present, an unreadable expression replaced his usual aloofness. 'A watch?' he rasped, tilting his head and picking it up by the band as if it would bite. He examined it for a moment before looking back to Daria.

'You never wear a watch.'

'Because I'm always late.'

'Don't you get sick of being late?'

'Yeah… but I can't change that.'

'… But if you wear a watch, you can keep track of the time. So you won't be late…'

Trent placed the watch back into the paper bag, shaking his head. 'It looks expensive… I don't think I can – y'know, accept it… I mean, I'm not worth it,' he faltered at the idea of berating himself compared to a watch as Daria went to snatch it back.

'Sorry -'

Trent held it out of her reach, noticing how Daria seemed to have switched from her barely noticeable happiness to her usual 'misery chick' persona and thought better of the gesture. Even if he didn't think he deserved the watch… she seemed to think he did.

'How far do I have to go to get a car?' Trent joked, taking out the watch and putting it on his wrist. He was met with a steely glare which made him falter back unnoticeably. The apology was unsaid, but instantly recognised. They seemed to need looks and few words to communicate. 'I didn't kiss you for the watch though.' He peered up at her from under his brow, his head curiously pressed forward.

'No, you did it for the car.'

'That was a joke.'

Daria shifted her hair over her shoulder, her eyes glazing over slightly. 'We have to work on that music…'

'Right… So that's a no to the car?' Trent asked as he began strumming a small tune on the guitar. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daria pull a pillow out of no where. Within a few seconds they were having a momentary battle against the other, attempting to prove a point – whatever point it was. It was a feeble excuse for intimacy, for closeness, and for some semblance of a friendship. Maybe more… Daria thought to herself, but the idea was knocked out of her as Trent knocked her with a thin pillow that was probably older than he was.

---

After a few hours, Trent had managed to chose two chords he liked – two that made up the first ten seconds of the music. Jane insisted it was something to be pleased about, seeing as they had all taken a break down in the kitchen and ordered pizza – they shared their artist's block rather openly, discussing whatever it was troubling them. Jane seemed to be struggling with the texture of her canvas, whereas Trent and Daria were just refusing to acknowledge each other outside of simplistic pleasantries. Jane noticed this, but chose to ignore it – she would only magnify the situation in ways that no one needed if she questioned them.

'So, because the pizza's gone, I'm going back to my attempts at painting…'

'Using me for my pizza?' Daria said with a tilt to her head, eyes narrowed.

'You knew from the start this was all about the ham and mozzarella…' Jane said as she threw a hand to her forehead.

'Makes sense – all those years in Paris meant nothing, then?'

Jane just laughed and exited the kitchen – she had received a pointed look from Trent, assuming it was time for Daria and her brother to actually approach the situation like normal, functioning adults. Or put it off for another few months, as they tended to do. What was another few weeks on top of the year or two they'd spent dancing around one another?

Silence built with each second of Jane's sudden absence. They hummed, picked at the box, twiddled their fingers and coughed a few times… any gesture that could afford them a few moments of distraction. Until Trent purposeful issued a small cough in attempts to gain eye contact with the silent figure of Daria.

'Ever notice how the walls hold the roof up?' Trent wondered aloud, his fingers tapping audaciously against the tabletop as Daria picked cheese off the lid of the box. She had a few strands of the cheese laced across her lips, but removed them with a feeble lick of her tongue – he rubbed his eyes and turned his attention back to the table. 'So how long till we actually talk about it?' His words were rather unexpected, but by this point Daria had tried to adjust to the uncharacteristic gestures Trent had taken to. Perhaps they were entirely characteristic, but a side she was just never accustomed to receiving… it was probably a side he exposed to girls like Monique.

'Talk about what?' Daria gave an unimpressed raise of her right eyebrow, removing her glasses to rub at her eyes. Lately her eyes had been going under hellish strain, trying to cope with her glasses – she needed a new pair, with a better prescription and (what she hoped was) thinner lenses. With this thought in mind, she left her glasses on the table – this way she couldn't actually make out Trent's face, meaning she didn't really have to acknowledge him all that much.

With this gesture, Trent scratched his own eyebrow and examined Daria once more, 'I guess the whole thing between us.'

'Keep going.'

'Why do I have to lead the discussion? It makes me feel – uneasy.'

'I'm playing a violin just for you,' Daria said as she propped her head up on her hand, eyes narrowed slightly. The lack of vision was starting to make her head feel a little lighter, the stress-induced headache ebbing.

Trent stared with pursed lips at his hands, feeling like he was being scolded for his actions. 'It was a spur-of-the-moment thing…' he pointed out, shiftly gazing from his hands to Daria, then back again. 'I mean, if you really didn't enjoy it, I won't do it again –'

Daria felt her hand slip as she fell forward slightly, 'It's not that.'

'You're acting like you're mad or something.' Trent was clearly getting uneasy, rarely ever being forced to place his emotions and explanations on the table. Daria took this moment to tug her glasses back on, her eyes darting start back to Trent as she did so.

'I just meant that it didn't matter if it was sudden or spur-of-the-moment…' she felt red tinge build in her cheeks, her eloquence fading as she tried to formulate thoughts and speak at the same time.

'So you're not mad?' he asked, amused that the situation now had Daria admitting whatever it was she had to admit.

The words 'of course' stumbled from her mouth before she reaffirmed, 'Of course I'm not mad. Just not keeping up with my hormones -' Daria regretted the wording straight away but didn't bother to correct herself.

Trent felt a self-assured smile suppress itself as he peered up at her once more from under his brow, 'Fair enough. Listen Daria, if you didn't like it – why did you kiss me the second time?'

With that, Daria fell a beat-red, and stood up. 'Excuse me for a moment.'

'Daria?'

All that followed was a loud 'eep', the girl now sitting on the couch rather stunned at Trent's ability to recall the second kiss; he seemed out of it more than usual that night, but he'd kept that detail? The very idea had made Daria physically recoil to a dim corner of the house. Her ruse failed, however, as Trent simply swaggered after her, his tousled hair more unruly than ever.

'Wanna we go make some music?' Trent asked from the kitchen doorway, his hip cocked out and his arm slung against the doorway. Her mind raced for a few seconds before she sobered, her eyes squinting in the darkness. Daria shot him a rather dirty look.

'… Not… I meant, actually go make some music. You teenagers…' Trent chuckled with a gentle curve to his lips as he ascended the stairs. Daria followed soon after, her cheeks now a tinted pink and her hands gripped tightly at her sides. He wanted to know what thoughts were running through her mind, but he bet anything it was something he'd never get to find out. It was the way she wanted things, and Daria had a way of keeping the world they way she wanted it.

---

Don't forget to review!