**Back to Trent's POV**

Oh Shit- I Hate Math

December 10th, 2012, 10:56 P.M.

Oh shit.

Whoa, is she trying to tell me … she can't be serious … this has to be a sick joke on her part. No way, no fucking way would even she be so evil as to keep something like this from me for a so long …

I got up as calmly as I could and walked out of the lounge, while motioning curtly for Daria to follow me. On auto pilot I walked over to the tour bus, completely shut off from all of the people still hanging out in the halls and the parking lot. Throwing open the door I jumped in, checked that there was no one else in the bus, and then slammed the door behind Daria once she got inside.

Do the math, do the math, god how can she stand there looking so calm? Ok, get a hold of yourself. Hunter is six. But we broke up more than six years ago, right? Fuck … I hate math. I don't know; I don't keep a fucking calendar with shit like "ate pancakes this morning, had my heart broken today, went to the park afterwards" in it!

"Daria, tell me what's going on here. Spell it out for me, because if you're hinting at what I think you're hinting at I'm going to be pissed."

"What do you think I'm talking about?" she said with a bitter tone in her voice, like she couldn't believe I hadn't gotten her riddle yet.

"Hunter. Way I see it, there are too options with this little game. One: you are trying to tell me that you got over me pretty damn quick after we stopped seeing each other, which would hurt like hell … or maybe worse. Maybe you got over me before the breakup? Two: you are trying to tell me that he is … mine … and you neglected to mention that little fact for six fucking years! Neither option looks good right now so please, tell me what's going on. We've only spent half an hour together and I'm already sick of the games."

A sad, almost pitying, look came across her face as I waited to hear whatever words that were going to come out of her mouth and destroy my illusion of her one way or another.

Please Daria, tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm crazy to think either thought.

"He's yours, Trent."

I suddenly found my foot stuck in the splintered cabinet door in the kitchenette.

Huh. That should hurt. How did my foot get through there? I thought those panels were supposed to be oak? Damn tour bus company said that they were oak when they sold this thing to us …

Just as suddenly as I found my foot through a piece of furniture, I found myself being pushed down onto one of the couches. Daria was suddenly hovering over my leg, ripping the torn denim of my jeans up to the knee with an open first aid kit by her side, and tending to some nasty looking gashes and cuts on my ankle and calf. How the hell she found a first aid kit in the mess that was our shared living space when I didn't even know it was on the bus amazed me.

I must be in shock. That's what this must be. My brain trying to protect itself from something. What was it? Oh yeah, right. Daria's trying to tell me that Hunter is my kid. Thank you brain for the protection, but I really need to be lucid enough right now to get some god damn answers.

"What … Daria … what did you say?" I asked in a daze.

"Forget about that right now Trent, I need to stop this bleeding; I should probably go grab one of those EMTs from backstage, this looks bad."

The second her fingers finished tying up a tight bind on the last wound, she tried to turn around to go get help. With a speed that amazed me I snapped my hand out and grabbed her wrist, refusing to let her go. She struggled a bit to free herself from my grip and in the back of my mind I tried to remember not to hurt her, but all I wanted to do was shake her until she admitted to lying moments before.

"Trent," her steady voice warned as she stared at my hand like she was going to break it if I didn't let go, "I understand that you are mad, and probably in shock, but if you don't get your hand off me right now you're not getting it back. You understand?"

"Don't go yet. I don't need the paramedics."

She looked around slowly; my fingers still latched onto her wrist, before turning her calculating gaze on me and just looked down at me. Staring at me with those deep brown eyes, eyes that I used to lose myself in for hours, as she decided how to respond. Eyes that always held such conviction and principal in them that I never thought she could do any wrong as long as she stayed true to herself. Apparently, I was so fucking wrong it hurt.

"Fine, that drummer from Def Leopard managed to play with only one arm, so I guess you can keep going with only one leg. Just don't say I didn't try to help."

I let go of her hand gently before mumbling an apology, eyeing the bottle of Jack Daniel's on the counter across from my seat. She spotted my gaze and turned to pick up the bottle.

"You need a shot of liquid pain reliever? Or is it for courage?"

"I have never before in my life needed a drink like I need one right now, but I can't," I said on edge as I shook the drink-lust from my eyes, "been sober for a year. Never had an issue with alcohol, but when I drink I'm more likely to … forget that I need to stay away from anything harder."

"Oh," Daria murmured as she carefully set the offending bottle back on the counter and slowly lifted her eyes back to mine.

"So … you wanna run that last bit before the property damage by me again? Because I'm pretty sure that I never got a 'congrats daddy!' postcard six years ago."

"You are Hunter's biological father Trent," she tried to say with a calm and level voice.

"No see, I can't be, because he's six and … fuck me, I don't remember the exact time frame we broke up or his birthday or anything!"

"His birthday is in November. We conceived him in February 2006. Does that give you a better idea of the time frame?"

2006 … February 2006 … that was important … work you stupid drug-damaged lump I call my brain … work!

Then it hit me. In that year, in the middle of March, is when the band finally joined up with a professional music festival and began touring. We had been signed to a small independent label the year before and put out an album, thanks in large part to Daria and Janey's influence and pushing. It was Daria's senior year in college and we had been together as a couple ever since that night in the strip club, but we had only moved into an apartment together maybe 9 months before the guys and I went out on the road.

I remember how hard it was to get her to agree to change up her life to live together, even though I was the one making all the big changes to be with her in Boston. But god, it was so good while it lasted. I got to see the side of her that even Janey didn't know was there. Not to mention having the most amazing sex nearly every chance we got. Then, when we knew we would be apart for six months, we double-timed it. Almost as if we could stockpile our "special" time together before the drought the tour would bring us.

"We were careful though, weren't we? How can he even be here? Even if you did get pregnant, I guess I always assumed …" I trailed off as I realized exactly where my uncomfortable ramblings were leading.

"Assumed what, Trent?" she asked in a tone that told me I needed to tread VERY carefully.

"Well first off, I guess assumed you would fucking tell me about it! Is that so unreasonable? I don't know," I deflated a bit after the outburst, "I guess I'm surprised you would go through with it more than anything. I thought you didn't want kids. You barely wanted to think about a future that included living with me, let alone multiplying with me. Yet there you were; alone, pregnant, still in college, but you decided to keep the baby? And not tell me about it?"

Daria took a deep breath before sitting down on the couch next to me, staring at her hands in her lap for a while.

"You know that I never had a problem with the idea of abortion Trent. I always thought, no … I knew … that I would never be stupid enough to get pregnant accidentally. I was up on that high and mighty ego-trip that I was too good for this to happen to me. Even if it did happen, I was so sure that I would have no problem terminating the pregnancy … but we did everything right, we were careful, we didn't even have one slip-up and I still got pregnant. I remember how frustrated you would get every time we had to slow down and put the condom on," she chuckled quietly to herself as her eyes told me she was lost in the past.

"As I learned at the doctor's office when the results were confirmed and I told them they had mixed up the tests, condoms are great but not perfect. Even when used exactly the right way there's still a chance of pregnancy … and most people don't use them perfectly and then the statistics jump. I thought for a long time about my options but …"

"But you kept him, obviously. Why?"

"I went to the clinic. I went every day for a month. I would get out of class, head straight there, and sit in the waiting room till they closed and kicked me out. The people who worked there noticed my daily vigils and had a councilor talk with me, but I didn't know what to say. I was on the verge of finally starting my life, being free to do absolutely anything … and then I was smacked in the face with this. Not to mention the unpleasantness of our recent break-up. I had no moral opposition to terminating the pregnancy and I had everything to lose, but I couldn't do it. All I could think about was how happy I was, how happy we were, when we made this life and how even though I no longer had you it didn't mean that I stopped loving you. Stopped wanting to feel that way. I just wanted a piece of that I guess …," she trailed off.

We sat there for a while, both of us soaking in her little speech. I was still trying to come to terms with the idea of being somebody's father, but it really wasn't sinking in yet. When it finally got to the point that it felt like if one of us didn't speak then we would be stuck like this forever, I tried to say something. Anything.

"I should hire your mom and sue Trojan or something. I feel a little violated by the condom manufacturers."

"I wouldn't risk getting in touch with my mom if I were you. It took a lot of effort on my part to get her to not come after you the second she found out I was pregnant; she still holds a vendetta against you."

We sat there in silence for a bit, letting her soft laughter over her unspoken memories of her mother's reaction peter out. The thought of exactly what plans Helen had by this point concocted to do to me caused me to cringe.

I really am surprised Daria was able to keep her mom from coming after me actually. The first thing Helen told me when we said we were moving in together all those years ago was "You get her pregnant before she graduates college and you can say goodbye to the possibility of ever having children again." I guess I should be grateful for that small kindness of not having to face an angry mother-bear of a lawyer but …

"I wouldn't go through with it, like I said I only feel a little violated by them. You on the other hand? I feel a lot violated by you though."

"I know. I'm sorry, Trent."

"I can't believe this shit," I huffed and jumped up, ignoring the pain that screeched at me from my banged-up leg, and began pacing the bus.

"Sit down; you'll make the cuts worse," Daria ordered me with a worried look trained on my injuries.

"I can't! I need to get up and away from you before I do something stupid like hit you! Did you really think I deserved to not know about my own son? God Daria I'm so angry at you and all you can do is sit there and say 'sorry'?"

She sat there; silent, eyes lowered like she was a little kid taking her chastisement for something she had done wrong. I tried to speak calmly, to elicit a response from her, but I found myself getting louder and angrier with every word out of my mouth.

"Daria, I have a six-year old son that I didn't even know about before. How could you do this? I knew you didn't like people, that you delighted in the ironic misfortunes of others, but I never thought you would screw with my life like this on purpose!"

"Trent …," she tried to calm me down.

"Can you just tell me why?" I shouted.

"Hanlon's Razor," she stated simply as if it was the obvious answer that I wasn't seeing.

"What?"

"It's a saying … well, technically it's an eponymous adage …"

"For fuck's sake … we both know that I may have flashes of intelligence here and there, but there is no way I'm smart enough to know what the hell you just said."

"Basically … it means that you shouldn't attribute the actions of others to malice when they are obviously caused by stupidity," she took a deep breath as if she was having a really hard time getting the next words out, "This all snowballed from me being a stubborn, stupid ass … and I'm trying to fix it now."

Well at least she isn't try to blame this on somebody else.

"Can you tell me why? Why am I just now finding out about this," I asked as I felt myself deflate and sat back down next to her on the couch, "You own me that; at the very least you owe me that."