Author's note: I have a specific place in mind to represent Lawndale. Out of curiosity, can anyone figure it out?

Disclaimer: The Buffy characters are owned by Joss Whedon, the Daria characters by Glenn Eichler, and the original ones by me.

X X X X X

From her position in the plane Cameron Kim could easily see and hear Buffy Summers and her friends. By this point -- about halfway through the flight -- most of them were asleep, and the rest were apparently still trying to get their heads around something that only the vampire, for some reason, seemed capable of actually understanding -- and while he seemed fairly bright, Cameron never would have pegged him for the genius of the group.

Of course, she couldn't get it either -- no, wait. She could get it, but she was having trouble keeping it. She almost reached for her cell phone, then remembered A, she was on a plane and it would probably be a bad idea to send the thing plummeting towards the ground. And B, it might clue the Slayer's friends in to exactly who she was, and that was part of the point of her taking this form.

So, that left her eavesdropping, because she hadn't thought to bring a book or magazine along, and the in-flight magazine, like all in-flight magazines, was barely worth the paper it was printed on.

Right now, though, her eavesdropping wasn't getting her anything. Spike was talking in deadly serious tones with Willow and Tara about the nature of the spell that was keeping everyone from grasping the connection between Glorificus and this Ben. Rupert Giles was studying a book -- she couldn't see what it was, but it clearly wasn't Sue Grafton's latest -- and Daria Morgendorffer was talking with the girl sitting in front of her. (Cameron wondered whether anyone thought she was that girl. Not that Daria was giving away state secrets; so far, they mostly seemed to be talking about art.)

While she listened, she also thought about what she'd gotten herself into. This was a lot more public than she liked, and a good deal more violent than she'd expected. Wolfram & Hart had told her how tough Glorificus was, but there was a difference between reading about something and seeing it in horrifying action.

And the scary thing was, Glorificus wasn't even 'evil' by Wolfram & Hart standards. She was just horribly, horribly selfish. She wasn't trying to rule the world, or accumulate power, or make money, or see how many people she could kill. All she wanted to do was go home.

But from that selfishness came behavior as bad as the worst client Wolfram & Hart had -- and more terrifying, because she didn't even care. She was a force of nature masquerading as a human being.

And to think, yesterday morning she'd actually attacked this force of nature.

Cameron would have done it again; it was her job. But seeing what had happened to the Kern County Sheriff's Office put everything in perspective -- how much danger she'd been in, and how much she was still in.

Still, her only way out was to find out where the Key was, get instructions to kill them, and do so. And that was something she very much didn't want to do.

Well, she'd known the job was dangerous when she took it.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn woke up for a minute and saw Daria in intense conversation with the young woman sitting in front of her.

She seemed to actually be enjoying herself, too.

This was definitely good. No, Daria would never be the most social person on the planet, and Lynette wasn't going to try to change her. But she needed to connect with someone.

Maybe this would be it.

Smiling, she fell back asleep.

X X X X X

Glory came to, briefly, in the middle of the airport. "Quickly," she said. "What's going on?"

"It seems the Slayer was telling the truth," Doc said. "A little gentle questioning -- and I do mean gentle, the last thing we need right now is to give the authorities a reason to suspect us -- and I found a half dozen people willing to confirm that the Slayer was headed to St. Louis. I've arranged for us to take the next flight. You and I, of course, will be traveling first class."

"Of course," Glory said. "And little Benny?"

"He's not convinced," Doc said. "But he's not making a scene, either. I do have a bit of good news to report: Just as his conscience is bleeding over into you, your lack of conscience is starting to affect him. He's taking the offer seriously."

"Good. Will we be able to pull off the spell if we're not using my tower?" They'd spent some time building a 100-foot tall skeleton structure with a place at the top set aside for her to bleed the Key and open the portal back home."

"It will require some work, but yes. The most important thing is the timing of your return. The location is negotiable."

"Good. Keep up the good work. Oh, damn --"

X X X X X

"Good to meet you," Daria said, and meant it. "I hope you'll forgive the lack of a handshake. You're not a very physical person."

"No problems here," Jane said. "It would be kind of awkward anyway. My body isn't built to contort that way."

"And people make a case for intelligent design."

"Ha!" Jane said. "I only wish we were designed intelligently."

"And how would you improve us?"

After a second, Jane said. "Prehensile tails. And maybe an additional eye or two so I don't have to keep looking down at my work and then up and whatever I'm trying to draw or paint."

"Hmmm," Daria said. "I was thinking more of how we're clearly not well designed for standing upright, which is why people have so many back problems. And also, there's the little toe. We don't, in fact, need our little toe. Did you know that you could cut off your little toes and it wouldn't affect your ability to walk?"

"I imagine the trail of blood might slow you down a tad."

"After that," Daria said.

"Hmmm." After a second, Jane said, "My ideas are more fun."

"Quite possibly."

"So," Jane said. "Where are you and your friends headed to?"

"I don't know."

"Intriguing," Jane said. "So you were just walking around one day, saw the airport and decided, hey, that looks like fun."

"Not really. More like we're heading away from something. I could tell you what, but then --"

Jane interrupted. "No. Wait. Let me guess. But then you'd have to kill me."

"Actually, I was going to say, but then I'd have to tell you. See, I'm fairly certain you wouldn't believe me. And I'm enjoying our conversation and would rather not do anything to make it end prematurely."

"Oh, now you realize you're going to have to have to tell me, right?"

"Not for anything," Daria said.

Still in a light-hearted tone, Jane said, "C'mon, amiga. Spill. You know you want to."

There was no lightness in Daria's tone when she replied. "Don't push this, Jane. Please. It's something I can't tell you. It's not my story to tell."

"Okay, fine, fine," Jane said. "Truth be told, I'm enjoying the conversation as well, and if the price of continuing is that is that I have to let this slide, that's fine." Then she quirked a smile. "I do reserve the right to grill you about it mercilessly later."

"I suppose I can live with that," Daria said. "So, assuming you're not going to turn my tactics back on me, where are you going?"

"Home."

"Which I would hazard to be somewhere near Baltimore." Jane looked puzzled. "That is, unless you're in the habit of giving your camera rides to places you're not planning on going.

Eyebrows raised in polite astonishment, Jane said, "Impressive memory."

"I also do card tricks."

"Really?"

"No."

Jane smiled briefly, then said, "Well, you're right; home is somewhere near Baltimore -- about 45 minutes away to the north, maybe ten minutes outside the outskirts of Baltimore County. You'd have never heard of it, though. It's called Lawndale." Life was playing a grand cosmic joke on her, apparently. Although it wasn't in the least bit funny. Apparently Daria was letting some of her emotions show on her face, because Jane said, "You've heard of the place? That's surprising. Unless you're a fan of all-year high school football."

"No," Daria said. All-year football? That was a concept. But not one to be delved into at the moment. "We were supposed to move up there four years ago," Daria said. "April 11,1997."

"That would have been towards the end of sophomore year," Jane said. "What happened?"

A natural, logical, and completely unavoidable question. "Do you watch the news?"

"Not often," Jane admitted. "Usually just enough to find out what the weather is, and whether Rio de Janeiro slid into the Atlantic Ocean last night. Otherwise, I find most of it too depressing. At least I can laugh at Sick, Sad World. And it's not like the world is all sunshine and roses anyway. Why?"

"It would have been a simpler explanation if you had," Daria said. "Because I was something of a hot topic of conversation for a few weeks."

"You?" The question could have come across as patronizing, but it didn't; Jane was just surprised. "Why?"

Daria sighed. "Because my entire family was murdered. Hold on; that's not it."

"It's hard to top that."

"You don't live my life," Daria said grimly. "Then, I developed dissociative identity disorder. You may have heard of it as multiple personalities. And my other personality was not a nice human being. Suffice it to say that she ended up in jail, serving a long sentence, for crimes she actually committed. And then Dr. Vaughn--" she pointed to sleeping psychiatrist -- "Brought me out again, which led to a chain of events that ultimately got me released from prison, cleared of all charges. And that led me here."

"I see what you're running away from, then," Jane said. "You're running away from everything."

"Just about."

"Damn, amiga. Sometimes there aren't words. Sorry to make you relive it."

"You didn't," Daria said. "It's a question I'm going to have to answer for the rest of my life -- either that, or people will already think they know all about me. Which they won't. Except, of course, by today's standards, where thirty-second sound bites are enough to give the viewer deep insights into one's character."

"Ah yes. Another one of the reasons I don't watch the news." After a second, she added, "There is something. If you're willing to tell me all that, then what could you possibly not be willing to tell me?" Daria recognized the question as rhetorical, but Jane, apparently worried Daria wouldn't see it that way, said, "No, no. This isn't another way for me to pry. Really. I don't do subtle very well. Passive-aggressive I'm an old master at, but subtle, not so much. I'm willing to push, but right now doesn't seem to be the time or place."

"I appreciate that." Jane seemed to be going through a lot of effort not to offend Daria. Daria suspected it was possible she didn't have a lot of people to talk to.

Well, honestly, once you got past Faith and Dr. Vaughn, neither did she. "I wish other people had that sense of tact," she went on.

"Who's saying tact? I didn't say tact. I'm perfectly capable of being completely tactless, if I have a good reason. But I like you. You're a twisted little cruller, Daria Morgendorffer. I like that in a woman."

"None of what I've said bothers you?"

"No," Jane said." You don't seem dangerous." After a pause. "Interesting, fascinating absolutely. Dangerous? If what you're saying is true, I don't have any reason to worry. And if it's not, well, I've always wanted to hang around with an interesting crazy person I wasn't related to."

"Your family isn't the picture of mental health?"

"Let me put it this way. My older brother Trent has been playing in a band for five years now -- and at the same songs, and at the same talent level. Don't get me wrong; it's his dream, and if he wants to do it for the rest of his life I'll back him up. But right now he seems content just to play occasional gigs in and around Lawndale. Also, he sleeps maybe 15 hours a day, and never uses two words when one will do. And of my siblings and parents, he's the sane one. The rest of my family? Look up 'flighty' in the dictionary. That's where you'll see them. I routinely don't see my parents for months at a time -- and this goes well back into my teenage years. My other siblings have their own problems. Whatever his are, Trent has stuck by me. He's the only one sometimes who seems to give a damn." Then she said, "Of course, compared to your last few years --"

Daria shook her head and said, "If you're about to give me some variant of "I wept because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet,' please don't."

"Not quite that schmaltzy," Jane said, "But that was the general idea."

Daria said, "I loathe that saying. If you have no shoes, meeting someone who doesn't have feet doesn't change your situation in the least. Yes. It stinks that they're footless. But, dammit, you still need shoes," She paused and said, "So while I do appreciate the sentiment, just because my situation may be worse than yours doesn't make yours any better."

"No. No it doesn't. Hmmm. I never thought of it that way. Not that I've ever liked the saying, but I've never put quite as much thought into why as you seem to have."

"I find the philosophy behind the statement odious. If taken literally, the only person in the world allowed to complain would be whoever the worst off person in the world was. That wouldn't be the person with no feet. He wept because he had no feet until he met a man who had no head. So the worst person off in the world could gripe. The rest of us would just have to sit there and take it no matter what happened. And if something genuinely bad happens to me, I reserve the right to complain. And you should be able to as well."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jane aid.

"And now, for something completely different."

"That is an ex-pilot?" At Daria's confusion, Jane said, "Never mind. I thought you were about to make a Monty Python reference. Please. Continue."

"I have a strange favor to ask. I need you to repeat something for me." By continual repetition in the dream state, even while she and Faith were discussing Watchmen, she'd gotten the point where if she concentrated she could remember.

She got around not being able to casually remember that Glory and Ben were -- were -- the same person by simply remembering that there was a connection. From there, she could focus and recall what the connection was.

"Oh wah tah nah Siam," Jane said.

"Not that. Just say the following three words. Glory is Ben."

Seeming puzzled, Jane shrugged and said, "Glory is Ben."