Chapter 5: The Veiled Moon
A sensation of floating, drifting, flying...
A tug at her solar plexus. A silver cord of some sort emanating from the middle of her chest. Anchoring her to something. Something she doesn't want to be attached to.
A figure, lying prone on a bed. Dead? No, asleep (in a coma). Who could it be?
Looking closer. It's a mirror image of herself. Or actually, herself, but not in the mirror like she's always seen it. Kind of a strange feeling, really.
The cord is sick. Pulsing, but only slightly. Frayed in some places (can a living cord be frayed?). Glowing only dimly. Needs batteries...
Voices near her. A feeling of annoyance; hadn't she said no visitors (where was she)? She didn't want people seeing her this vulnerable (why was she vulnerable?), especially when she's asleep (if she's asleep, how can she hear voices? Dreams never do make sense).
People nearby. A medium-sized man in a white coat with a clipboard and a stethoscope. Looks like a doctor. A tall, black haired man with an arm around a slightly shorter black haired woman. They look like each other (brother and sister?). Another man standing a little apart from the two; longish brown hair, a bloody nose, and a briefcase...probably a businessman. Looks like he's been fighting. All three of them look sad; the woman is crying.
Words are distorted. She can't understand them. Concentrate...the doctor is speaking.
"She's lost too much blood. If she doesn't get a transfer within the next few hours, she'll die." Who is he talking about? The woman looks fine. Sad, but fine.
"Have you called the blood bank?" The dark haired man has a deep, purring voice and a worried expression (what's the matter?).
"Yes, but O type blood is tricky," the doctor says. "You see, the advantage to it is that it doesn't have any antigens, which means any patient can receive it without the body rejecting it. Unfortunately, the reverse is also true; any other type of blood will be rejected by a person who has O type. Consequently, the blood banks are in constant need of it. I'm afraid there aren't any with enough O type blood that can get here fast enough."
"Then she's going to die?" The woman speaks, and starts crying again. Why is she so sad? Who's going to die?
The doctor's head moves from side to side. "I'm afraid it doesn't look very good at the moment. Unless we can get someone with O type blood to volunteer for an emergency transfer."
The taller man shakes his head. "Janey and I both have B type."
The doctor looks sad now. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lane." (Isn't that her last name? Common name...) "I truly am. I wish I had better news."
The brown haired man, who has been quiet before now, steps forward. "I can help."
The black haired man shoots a mean look at the brown haired man. "What can you do?" he asks, like he's talking to a bug.
The shorter man is unruffled. He turns to the doctor. "I have O type blood. I'll volunteer for the transfer. If it'll save her."
The doctor looks at the man. "I must warn you, it's a risky procedure. She needs a lot of blood. If something goes wrong, it could leave you in the same position she is."
The man swallows hard; she can see his Adam's apple bob. "If it'll save her," he repeats. The black haired man wants to say something, but the first man stares him down. "You're not the only one who loves her."
The doctor speaks to the taller man. "As next-of-kin, I'll have to ask you to sign the release form. We won't have time to screen the blood for every virus. There are plenty of risks involved."
The black haired man looks upset. He obviously doesn't like the other man, but eventually he sighs and slumps his shoulders, defeated. "If it'll save her," he echoes.
~~~~~~~~
Daria opened her eyes, blearily taking in her surroundings; or what she could see of them, at any rate. Which, at the moment, wasn't much. Several blurry shapes went in and out of focus. Eventually, however, a semi-recognizable face swam into view, and with some effort, she focused on it. It was Trent.
"Hey, love." Trent's face was overwhelmed with emotion, worry and relief and most of all happiness at seeing her awake. He enfolded her in a warm embrace that Daria never wanted to end.
"Hey, hey, hey, don't suffocate the poor girl," Jane's voice interrupted their hug. Sitting down next to the bed, she grinned at Daria. "It was a close thing, but you pulled through. With a little help."
"Help?" Daria's thoughts were swimming; the last thing she remembered was telling Trent she loved him, and then a lot of pain in her abdomen, and then...nothing. Which was precisely how said abdomen felt at the moment; no pain, just... nothing. "What happened?"
"You miscarried again. Lost a lot of blood. Nearly died," said Jane matter-of-factly. "How do you feel?"
Daria winced involuntarily. "Sort of a cross between a hangover and the aftereffects of being subjected to the tender mercies of the Marquis du Sade." She sat up slowly, trying to get her bearings. The room spun around her slowly for a moment, but eventually settled firmly into place. "I do feel better than I did before I blacked out. Thanks."
"You'd think just about anything would be an improvement from that," Jane remarked. "But you shouldn't thank us. We weren't the ones responsible for your recovery." Jane pointed to the other side of the bed. Tom was standing there, smiling, but quiet.
"Tom?" Daria was suddenly acutely aware of Trent's embrace, which had become rather stiff. "What happened?" she asked again.
"You needed a blood transfer, but they didn't have any of the right type of blood," he said. "So I donated some of mine."
"Oh." Daria didn't know what to say; what did you say to someone who had just saved your life? "Thanks."
He smiled again. "It's enough of a thanks just seeing you awake and alive, Daria."
There was an awkward moment where no one seemed to know what to say; then Jane jumped up and said, "I don't know about everyone else, but I'm hungry. How about some pizza to celebrate the return of our friend to the land of the living?"
Daria smiled weakly. "All right. But it'd better just be cheese for me. I don't think I could stomach processed animal innards right now."
~~~~~~~~
Daria lay on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. Although she felt much better, the staff had insisted she stay overnight for observation. She had protested minimally; after all, nearly dying tended to take a lot from a person.
It was ironic, in a way. Here she had been in a coma and nearly died from blood loss, and now that she was feeling better, she couldn't sleep. She wondered if it was because subconsciously she was afraid she wouldn't wake up again. All she knew was, it felt like her adrenal glands were releasing a slow but steady stream of adrenaline into her bloodstream; not enough to get her totally riled up, but enough to keep her restless and awake.
Trent turned over in the portable bed the nurse had set up for him. She could hear his peaceful, rhythmic breathing. She wondered what he was dreaming about. She wondered what had happened when he found out about her and Tom.
Which brought her to another question. What would she do about Tom? She had been purposefully steering her thinking away from that question, not sure if she was ready to deal with it yet. But now, here it was, in all its grandeur and simplicity. What was she going to do about Tom?
In an effort to procrastinate that decision for a little while longer, she turned to her old hobby of counting cracks in the ceiling. It was an excellent activity for numbing one's mind; she used to do it to take her mind off things that she didn't want to think about. Tonight, however, each crack seemed to represent something in her life; the gulf between her and Trent, the dissimilarities between her and Tom, her differing feelings for them both.
She loved Trent. Really she did. She loved Tom too. He loved her, and had risked his life to save her. She knew she could be happy with either of them. But whichever one she went with, she left a broken heart. It wasn't something she wanted to be responsible for.
Daria had never been a praying person, or really even a believer in God. She had never actually given it much thought. Always having prided herself on her self-sufficency, she hadn't ever felt like she needed divine help. But tonight, lost in a haze of self-doubt and indecision, her thoughts turned to prayer, or something like it, almost against her will. Please, God, she thought, if you even exist, give me an answer of some sort. Something to point me in the right direction.
But things remained as they were; Trent's peaceful breathing, the sounds of the nurses in the hallway, the moon coming in through the window of her room, her turmoil of thoughts. The night stoically refused to give up its secrets. It figured.
~~~~~~~~
Trent woke up to sun streaming through the small hospital room window. It fell across the room and illuminated Daria's face. Although she was still gray from her ordeal, and looked as if she hadn't slept in a week, Trent thought she was beautiful. And with the sun haloing her face and burnishing her hair a dark red-bronze, she truly was.
Deciding not to wake her just yet, he pulled out his notebook. It was something he and Daria had in common, both being writers of a sort. She kept hers for story ideas; he kept his for lyrics. Looking again at her beautiful face, he scribbled down a few lines.
Awhile later, he saw that Daria's eyes were open and watching him. "Good morning," he said, putting down his pen and flipping his notebook closed.
"Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" she asked tartly.
He smiled; she definitely was feeling better. "Nice to have you back, love."
"What were you writing?" she wanted to know.
"Just a few of my thoughts," he said, and let it go at that. The time would come to read them to her, but now wasn't it.
She didn't pry, either. "I feel better."
"Good." He got up and went over to her bed. "I've been waiting for a chance to do this since we got married."
"What--" she started to ask, then protested as he lifted her up, "I can walk for myself, you know."
"I know," he said. "But I never did get a chance to sweep you off your feet."
She smiled slightly at that. "All right then. But just this once." She wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed him to carry her to a chair, where he proceeded to help her dress, amidst protestations and complaints that she wasn't a child or a doll. But he would have none of it. Eventually he took her in his arms again and carried her out to the front desk, where a wheelchair was waiting.
"Oh, honestly," Daria said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not an invalid." But Trent gently set her down in it, and after signing the appropriate paperwork, wheeled her out of the hospital and to their car.
During the ride home, they were both quiet. Trent glanced at her from time to time, but she seemed intent on staring out the window. What was she thinking about? Was she sorry that they were together now? Did she want to live with Tom? Thousands of half-formed ideas and thoughts swirled through his head, to the point where he found it hard to concentrate on driving. Finally, though, his mind settled on one question: Was there any chance he and Daria could get back what they had when they were first married?
He was about to ask her what she thought when he looked at her again. She was still staring out the window, apparently lost in thought. Her body language didn't seem to be inviting conversation, either. He decided to ask her later. Things could wait.
~~~~~~~~
The next night, Daria was still sleepless. Trent's breathing was still there beside her; the moon was still coming in the window; if she closed her eyes, she could very well imagine herself back at the hospital. But that wasn't the problem. There was something bugging her, something which she couldn't put her finger on, but that niggled at the back of her mind anyway. Every time she almost had it, it slipped away from her again. Thoughts were like cats -- the more you chased them, the farther you got from them. You had to let them come to you on their own.
Getting up, she went to the window. The moon was on the horizon; looking at the half-finished side of it, she realized it would be full within the next week. She hoped it would be clear that night; the latent romantic in her loved full moons. Maybe her thought would finally come to her then, and she would be able to deal with whatever it was. But until then, she was doomed to sleeplessness.
Turning her head, she gazed at Trent's sleeping form. He slept on his stomach, face buried in the pillow; something which he had done since teenagerhood. Daria often wondered if it was the lack of oxygen which made him so hard to wake up. He looked so...innocent, almost, like an overgrown child. She wasn't sure what gave her that impression, but there it was.
She turned back to the window. Although they were sleeping in the same bed again, she hadn't let things go beyond a few kisses and cuddles. She still felt a little guilty about sleeping with Tom, and was still a bit uncomfortable around Trent. He had been understanding enough, for which she was grateful.
Sighing, she went to the bed and lay down gently, trying not to disturb him. He stirred slightly though, put an arm around her and whispered, "I love you."
A single tear traced a shadowy path down her cheek. She didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve the care and attention he gave her. She couldn't even say "I love you" back to him. Not yet.
~~~~~~~~
The next few days brought a measure of security back into her life. She fell back into the daily routine of work, home, eat, and sleep without too much trouble. Things were still at a standstill with her and Trent, though. There were plenty of things that needed talking about, but neither of them were particularly good at talking or even wanted to broach the unpleasant subject. So they pretended it had never happened. Something inside her said that this was exactly what had driven them apart in the first place, this lack of communication, but she pushed that thought down. If Trent really loves me, he'll wait until I'm ready to talk about it.
Her insomnia was getting worse, though. She was lucky if she got more than two hours of sleep a night. Something kept bothering her, and because of it, she couldn't seem to lose herself into the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness. Several of her co-workers, including her friend Eric, expressed concern over her haggard appearance, but she waved it off as aftereffects of the miscarriage. She had taken to spending nights in the windowseat, staring at the moon, trying to absorb some of the peace it seemed to exude.
Things came to a head, as she had hoped, on the night of the full moon. She was looking out the window early that evening, wanting to watch the moonrise. Unfortunately, it was overcast for the first time that week.
Trent seemed to sense that she was disappointed. He came up from behind, put his arms around her, and looked out the window. "No stars tonight, it seems."
"No." She snuggled back slightly into his warmth; she hadn't realized until then how much she missed his physical contact. "No moon either."
"Hm. Too bad." They rocked slightly, from side to side, still looking out the window. "The full moon gives off incredible vibes. That's why artists get inspired by it."
Daria smiled slightly; in many ways, he hadn't changed since she was a teenager. It was one of the things she found most endearing about him. "Trent?" she said, watching his reflection in the glass.
"Hmm?" His eyes were downcast, almost closed, looking at her hair.
I love you, Trent. "Thanks for taking me to the hospital. You saved my life."
"I love you, Daria." He kissed her hair. "I'd never want to lose you." He slowly moved downward, nibbling her ear, moving her hair aside and kissing the back of her neck. "You're so beautiful..." he breathed, kissing the side of her neck, up her jawline, and eventually coming to her mouth. They went from gentle to deeper, more passionate, more urgent. Daria could feel his pent-up hunger as he put his hand to the top button of her blouse--
"Don't," Daria said, putting her hand against his. "Please, just...don't."
"I'm sorry." Trent withdrew his hand immediately. "It's just...hard." His voice was hoarse. "I love you so much..."
"I know." Daria turned back to the window. "I know."
~~~~~~~~
That night turned out to be the worst so far. She didn't feel the least bit tired, even though every muscle in her body ached for rest. She sat fully clothed in her usual place at the windowseat, listening to Trent breathe, wondering when she would be comfortable with him -- hell, with herself -- again.
Watching the sky, she looked at the place where the moon was hidden. It was shining brightly, none the less, the light scattered and filtered through the cloud-cover.
Just then, a gust of wind blew the clouds away from the moon. For one bright, shining instant, the full moon was unveiled and glowing in all her glory.
Daria drew a sharp breath then, realizing what it was that had been eating at her for the past week. Standing up, she went to the door quietly, taking one last look at Trent's sleeping form. "Goodbye," she whispered to him, and then left. She wasn't sure yet if she'd be back or not.
~~~~~~~~
Tom sat, looking out the window, gazing at the same unveiled moon that Daria had been a moment ago. It was late, he needed sleep, but he couldn't seem to get it. He had the mail in his lap. The letter on top was addressed in a flowing hand, and had "Pictures Enclosed - Do Not Bend" stamped on the front.
He sighed. No use putting off the inevitable. Slitting the envelope open, he looked at the enclosed pictures. They were all of an adorable, happy nine year old girl, engaged in a variety of activities. Some of them also had the girl's mother, a beautiful blonde woman. Her daughter had sandy blonde hair and the same smile.
Looking through the pictures, Tom couldn't help but smile himself. They looked so happy. He loved them both. But things hadn't worked out too well...
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was past midnight. Was there some sort of emergency? Had somebody died?
Going up to the door, he opened it. Standing there, holding on to the doorframe for support, was Daria.
"Tom," she said, her voice wavering, "We need to talk."
He was immediately concerned. They hadn't seen each other since the morning that she woke up. He had sensed that she needed to be alone with Trent, and had therefore backed off. But here she was, looking in worse shape than the day she had told him she was pregnant with his child. There were dark bags under her eyes, her hair needed brushing, and he could tell she was exhausted. He quickly ushered her in before she collapsed on his doorstep.
He fiddled with things nervously, sorting through mail, organizing things on his coffee table, little things like that. She didn't seem to notice. "What's the problem?"
Silence for a moment. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. Finally she asked point-blank, "Why did you do it?"
He was momentarily confused. "Do what?"
"The blood transfer. Save my life. When I'm not even sure it was worth saving."
Ah. Now he understood. "Of course it was."
She got up and started pacing. "No, it wasn't. My marriage is screwed beyond belief. I can't sleep with my husband because I feel too guilty. I can't talk to him about it either. I nearly had a child by a man who I wasn't married to. My work and my health are both deteriorating; I haven't been able to get more than three hours of sleep per night. I'm not helping anyone. I'm not bettering anyone's life. I'm just dead weight." She laughed mirthlessly. "Why didn't you let me die?"
Tom thought for a long moment about how to answer. Daria was obviously guilty and hurt. He didn't want to say anything that would upset her further when she needed to calm down so badly. "Do you think it's my fault?"
"That I'm alive? Yes. That my life is so screwed up? No. That had nothing to do with you. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time."
He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "What do you want me to do?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" she exploded, whirling toward him. "You can't do anything. I don't expect you to. I just want to know why you saved my horrible, screwed-up, worthless life!"
Tom decided it was time to be a little more assertive. Standing up, he put his hands on her shoulders, holding her still. "Daria, your life may be messed up, but it is most definitely not worthless." He sat her down on the couch, then took the place next to her. "I love you. But I've been doing some thinking about you. About us. And I want to show you something."
She nodded, the fight going out of her. Without the adrenaline running through her system, he could see how tired she really was. Tom reached over to the coffeetable and picked up the pictures he had been looking at earlier. Silently, he handed them to her.
She looked through them, then looked at him. "Is this your daughter?"
"Yes." Tom took them back and put them away. "The woman's name is Laura. When we were in college, she and I were a couple. I loved her, really and truly. However, when we slept together, something went wrong, and I got her pregnant." He closed his eyes; dredging up this memory was painful. "When my parents found out, there was an uproar. Being the powerful and influential family that we were and still are, my father was worried about how this would look to our clients as well as our rivals. So he gave me two options."
"Marry her or break up with her?" Daria didn't need long to figure it out.
"Yes. The usual. The thing of it is, I was only 20, and what with having my whole life in front of me, I decided I was too young to get married. So, even though I loved her, I told Laura goodbye. She wasn't happy about it, but she understood my feelings. Now you can see what my wishy-washiness has gotten me." He gestured around himself. "An empty apartment. An addiction to work. A constant feeling of emptness that I keep trying to fill."
Daria wasn't sure where he was heading with this. "So the reason you saved me was because it gave you some misguided sense of importance?"
"Partly. But mostly, it was because I realized that it wasn't my freedom that was most important in life. It wasn't work, or material things. It was the people that I love."
Daria raised an eyebrow. "Why does this sound like some overmoralized, melodramatic TV special?"
Tom laughed at that. "I don't know, really. It does sound cliched, but to tell the truth, it's taken me this long to figure it out. So here I am, with a kid I've never seen except in pictures, a woman I love deeply who already has a boyfriend, and a woman I love also who's married. To someone she loves." He shrugged. "Luck of the draw, I suppose. But what I most want for you, Daria, is to be happy. And to tell the truth, I think you're married to a man who would make you much happier than I could. Don't feel guilty about what happened with us. Don't feel like you owe me anything, except perhaps your friendship." He smiled at her. "Who knows, maybe if Laura breaks up with her boyfriend, I can call her up sometime."
Daria gave a small smile in return. "Thank you, Tom."
"Sure," he said. "But to settle a more practical question, I don't think you should drive home in your condition. You look like you haven't slept in a week."
"As a matter of fact, I haven't. This kept eating at me, you know? But I feel better now. Do you mind if I crash here?"
"Not at all. If you're sure Trent won't mind."
"I think he'll believe me if I tell him it was innocent enough." She yawned hugely. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."
Going over to the closet, Tom pulled out a blanket and pillow and tossed them at her. "Sleep well."
She nodded slowly, more to herself than to him. "I think I will."
~~~~~~~~
Daria pulled the car into her driveway. It was funny, actually; she was coming home at about the same time she had that fateful morning over a month ago. Except this time, she was glad to be home, and also, she wasn't dreading the confrontation she'd have when she got in the door.
The door opened before she reached the top step. Trent stood there looking at her, not with anger or malice, but with love, and more than a little happiness. It was a look he hadn't given her in a long time, but it still melted her heart, and she met his eyes.
"Hey, love."
This time, she knew exactly how to respond. "Hello, love."
"We need to talk."
"Yes, we do."
She went inside, hung up her coat, and sat down on the couch. Trent went into the kitchen and brought something out: an arrangement of a dozen deep purple roses, her favorite.
"Welcome home."
They talked. And they talked. About her guilt, about the baby, and about the future of their marriage. When they came to a lull in the conversation an hour later, Trent reached for his acoustic guitar.
"Remember that morning in the hospital when you wanted to know what I was writing?" he asked. When Daria nodded, he said, "Well, this is what came out of it." And with that, he began to sing.
Thank God I nearly lost you
For it made me realize
How much you really meant to me
When I looked into your eyes.
I could kick myself for all the times
I've been so cold to you
Not appreciating what I had
Never saying how much I love you.
You lay there, begging me
To keep you from death's door
I felt so helpless and alone
Seeing you dying on the floor.
Thank God I nearly lost you
For it made me realize
What I truly had in you
When I looked into your eyes.
Looking into her eyes again, he smiled. She smiled back, feeling the love between them flow once again without obstruction. "I love you, Trent."
"I love you too, Daria."
And this time when he kissed her, she didn't stop him.
Epilogue
Tom looked at the soup row of the market aisle, and found that they were having a sale on his favorite kind of soup. Whistling absently, he tossed a few cans in along with the rest of the week's shopping.
Turning the corner of the aisle, he saw the Valentine's Day display on one side, everything marked 50% off. Not surprising, considering that it was Valentine's Day. Not that he had a sweetheart to send chocolates to this year, but it was still nice seeing people happy.
A familiar voice interrupted his musings just then. "Tom? Is that you?"
Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Daria and Trent coming toward him. Holding onto Trent's hand was a dark-haired girl who looked about 8 or 9.
It had been over a year since he had last seen Daria, although Jane had kept him up to date on how things were going. She looked quite happy, too. He felt a small stab of envy, but quickly quashed it as she came up to hug him.
"Hey, Daria. Long time no see. Who's the kid?"
Daria picked up the girl, who seemed curious but shy. "Anita, meet Uncle Tom. Tom, this is Anita."
"Hello," she said.
"Hello," he greeted her.
They made small talk for awhile, catching up on news and each other's activities. Finally Anita, who had been staring at Tom the whole time, blurted out, "Daddy, he doesn't look like an overdressed asshole!"
Trent suddenly seemed overwhelmed in a fit of coughing. Tom laughed it off, though. "Nice seeing you again," he said to Daria, and they went their seperate ways.
Once at home, he went to check his mail. There, hidden among the bills and advertisements, was a letter addressed in a flowing, feminine hand. Going inside, he took it inside to read.
He leaned against the counter, looking down the page. There were the usual greetings and pleasantries at first, but as he went down the page, his eyes widened slightly...putting it down, he did something that he knew he should have done a long time ago.
He picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello, Laura? This is Tom..."
The End (at last!)
Whew, it's finally over. Finally! And now for the thank you's...Louis Reneau from Casablanca Round up the usual suspects. /Louis Thanks to Barb for telling me how horrible this story really was in it's first draft (and probably still is). Thanks especially to Brian Taylor for keeping me writing during the periods when I got stuck in the doldrums, as well as for introducing me to Blue Oyster Cult (it really is pretty inspirational, especially when mixed with insanely large amounts of caffiene). And to Cincgreen, if you're out there in cyberspace reading this...thank you for the candy cane, and feel free to flame this to ashes. I'm already working on a new one (see shameless self-promotion below) that will probably make your stomach churn worse than C_________'s series evil grin. See you all next time!
Shameless Self-Promotion:
COMING SOON FROM FROZEN ROZE STUDIOS
{image of a crystal rose with icicles dangling from the petals}
Magic. Mystery. Intrigue. Death Eaters. Quiddich. A new year at Hogwarts,
this time with...
Daria and Jane?
{Big band music plays}
Coming this holiday season, an adventure through the heights of
magic...
{A youngish Jane points a wand and yells "Expelliarimus!"}
And the depths of sarcasm...
{A younger, still deadpan Daria says "We're two Albanian princesses who
got tired of cooking for the dragons who had captured us."}
With plenty of surprises.
{Jane trying to open a trunk. Daria, looking bored, says "Have you considered
trying "Open Sesame?" Music stops as trunk pops open. Jane looks at Daria
and says "That was so predictable."}
{Music starts again}
Coming soon to a website near you.
{Youngish Jane talking to youngish Daria. "Physically we look 11, but
mentally we're 17." Daria replies, "When Mom's friend Willow told me I had
an old soul, I don't think this is what she had in mind."}
Overlay in Harry Potter title font: (Hopefully by) Thanksgiving 2001