4.

It was Saturday night, and Daria lie prostrate on her bed, staring at the padded walls of her cell. An evening to herself wasn't that bad, was it? As though she were a stranger to solitude...forbidding her from human contact was hardly a punishment. Somehow her mother did not realize that, even after all these years. Once upon a time she would have bitterly written it off to her mother comparing her to Quinn, doling out punishments that would have been more appropriate for the "normal" one of the family. But now Daria realized more or less that her parents were just at a loss for what to do with her. Often the best course of action just seemed to be to leave her alone.

Daria liked that, usually.

This house arrest would have been perfectly fine by her, except for one kink in the works: Daria found herself actually wanting to go somewhere. She had an itch to get out, to be with Jane or Tom or even...Trent. Well, it was her itches that seemed to be getting her into trouble lately, perhaps even more than she realized. She would sit. She would read a book, or annihilate aliens on the computer, or write.

But she did not move from the bed.

Her thoughts drifted to Tom. Where was he right now? Possibly at home, but possibly he'd gone out. She imagined him sulking in his room, wishing his girlfriend wasn't so careless, and so grounded. Though Tom didn't exactly seem like one to pine, the thought still amused her.

And then an idea occurred to her. Perhaps not a good idea, but an idea all the same. No, Morgandorffer. You'll only dig yourself a deeper hole.

Well, only if she got caught.

What did she have to lose?

Mrr.

Tom sat at his desk reading. He'd been in something of a foul mood for the better part of the day, thinking about what he could have been doing that evening, and the book he would court instead. He wished Daria could be there. They didn't even have to make love...though that would have been nice, (well, more than nice), he found himself more and more just craving to be near the strength of her skin. A light plink against the glass of his window caught his attention, interrupting his thoughts. There it was again. Plink. Plink. Plack.

Afraid the rocks would only get bigger and bigger, Tom went to the window before it could be broken. The most unexpected sight met his eyes, standing down in the yard, clad in all black.

It was Daria.

His heart jolted from a sudden influx of adrenaline. Had she snuck out? For him? It seemed so unlikely...so unlike her. He waved and disappeared from the window, running for the stairs to let her in.

Out of breath, he opened the front door with a wide smile. "Dar¾" Taking him even more by surprise, she leaned into him, lulling him into a slow kiss with those soft lips of hers. Cupping the side of her face, he pulled back to search her expression. What was she doing? This was so...spontaneous. Exciting, but he couldn't help but wonder if it was a joke. Her lips curled in that Mona Lisa smile, mysterious and knowing, tinged with sorrow.

"Do you want me to go?" she asked, and there was just a hint of mockery to her words.

With a groan Tom pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them. Something was different about Daria. He always felt as though that gaze of hers could pierce through any armor he attempted to wear; mercilessly evaluating everything with a cynical but cuttingly accurate eye. So what was different? He realized, with a shock, that it was an absence of something, something always present in Daria to some degree. Tonight, she didn't seem quite so afraid as she usually was. Of him, of human contact, of life. Most would read her own stony shell as strength, and undoubtedly it was, but it was also forged of fear.

"Um...Do you want to go upstairs?" she asked.

Utterly surprised by her forward approach, Tom raised his eyebrows. Daria felt she enjoyed this new juxtaposed dynamic: for once it wasn't her blanching, but Tom. It was amazing what a little self confidence could do...she said a quiet thank you to Trent, and tried to push him out of her thoughts for now. Easier said than done.

In truth, this new found confidence wasn't so infallible as it seemed. It was just another mask, another shell. You're becoming versatile, Morgandorffer, she mused. No longer such a one trick pony. There was more than one way to hide a cynic. She wiped her sweaty palms against her skirt, tangible evidence of the nervous butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach.

"Uh...if you want to," he answered.

"That's not exactly an answer."

Tom laughed, albeit a bit nervously, running his fingers through the brown mop of hair atop his head. "Yes. Yes, I really want to go upstairs. Happy?"

She found she enjoyed leading him on, making him beg, even if only a little. It was empowering, and even a power she never dreamed she could possess. In answer Daria kissed him again, and with an arm around her waist, Tom tugged her towards the stairs.