5 Minute Fiction: The Ballad of the Birthday Burden (3.5/3)

(set between "Jane's Addition" and "Partner's Complaint")


It was Daria's birthday. She found it hard to get excited about the anniversary of her birth at the best of times. Even when she wasn't feeling particularly depressed or cynical, it seemed ridiculously arbitrary to assume that just because the sun had risen and fallen three hundred and sixty-fiveish times that she should suddenly become wiser, more mature, automatically deserving of gaining responsibility and losing innocence. There were still parts of Earth where it had yet to be her birthday, and places where it had already been gone. It was all meaningless if you looked at it logically.

Especially when you were feeling particularly depressed and cynical, which she was.

***

Her birthday fell in November and that year that month had seen her reality turned upside and inside out. Jane had a boyfriend now. A smartass called Tom who thought he was better than other people and had the wit to point it out. Daria might have liked him if he hadn't snatched the only friend she had out of her life and made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her.

This was all clearly some ridiculously tortured metaphor for how Daria's clinical detachment was simply untenable in the long run when faced with human society and its environment.

Or just another reminder that she was stupid to assume even Jane Lane could ignore some primitive rutting instincts for her supposedly best friend. Oh, and Trent had made it unspokenly clear he wanted nothing more to do with her. She didn't get him, apparently.

Daria had tried to be very calm and mature about things. She'd stopped picking fights with Tom (which was surprisingly difficult, given every smug word out of his stupid mouth was to gloat how she had no one and he had Jane) and gone out of her way to avoid Casa Lane. Leave the two love birds together to fly or crash and burn.

She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of letting them blame her for when it all went wrong.

***

Daria had woken up early as daylight crept through the windows of her bedroom, turned the dull grey padding into a slightly paler, more wasted shade of pointlessness. Daria lay in bed, staring at the ceiling she could barely focus and tried to sense any difference in the world since midnight.

Nope. Everything sucked as much as it did yesterday, with a confident promise it would get worse.

She held up a hand as far as she could while keeping it in focus. It was as blunt, graceless and unfeminine as ever, but she was sure once it had been softer and smoother. A dozen years of cruel reality hadn't improved it. What good did those hands do? They hadn't created anything, improved anything, even though they were easily enough to throttle Quinn. How long before they were gnarled, wrinkled arthritic claws even more useless than they were now? One day, one birthday, she'd not have to imagine.

What a wonderful thing to look forward to.

"Happy birthday, kiddo!" boomed a familiar voice from outside. "How's my sweet daughter feeling on this wonderful day! I'll make waffles if you like!"

"Sure, thanks," Daria grunted.

That was the peak excitement for the morning.

***

The waffle mix was out of date, so it was toast for breakfast. Mom had left early for some case but found enough time to embrace her daughter, kiss her on the head, wish her happy birthday and left.

"Oh, and don't forget to let us know if you want something special!" her father offered as he left for work with a wave.

She hadn't asked for anything, and painful experience had taught her parents it was a waste of time and money trying to surprise her. She'd got a printer earlier in the year, so nothing obviously useful and practical was on offer.

Daria didn't complain. That would sort of imply she'd expected anything else. Something better.

Quinn said nothing to her that morning. Not a word.

"Is this your special gift to me on this happy day?" asked Daria as she munched her birthday lukewarm toast. "Sparing me your voice."

"Something like that," Quinn croaked. Even Daria wanted to wince in sympathy; the girl sounded like her larynx had been replaced with sandpaper.

"Well, I was hoping for a card for your favorite cousin, but it's clear you have more important things to deal with. Still, at least you're not wishing me a happy birthday because we both know that would be an utter lie."

Quinn glared at her but said nothing.

"I'm sure your silence will provide plenty of allure with your suitors. Now, I must go before jealousy over your full and happy life drives me to despair."

***

"Hey, amiga, wait up!"

Ah. This is what happens when the person you're trying to avoid goes to the exact same school as you on the exact same street at almost the same time and can also easily outrun you.

"Something happen?" Jane asked as she caught up with Daria. "You didn't come round to my place to kick me out of bed. Did Russia launch missiles or something?"

"I just wasn't sure you'd want me round there."

"And what undermined your normal steadfast certainty?"

"Well, Tom might not have wanted you kicked out of bed and given me one of his withering, soul-destroying put-downs for daring to get in the way of his life."

"Worse, he might have wanted a threesome," mused Jane, stroking her chin. "And I know how selfish you are in bed, Morgendorffer."

"Then it was a narrow escape for all concerned."

"You wouldn't have interrupted Tom anyway."

"Already run off now he's got his oats, huh?" said Daria flatly. "Men, they're all bastards."

"He didn't stay over at my place, Daria, and we definitely didn't do the forbidden mommy and daddy dance. We do have some hygiene standards you know."

There goes that birthday wish, Daria thought. "Well then I guess I'm just young and naive, since I don't know what it's like to be in love with a fine and upstanding man."

"If that ever happens to me, I'll let you know," Jane promised. "As long as you're not avoiding me."

"I like to think I'd be better at it than this," Daria replied. "Plus, Tom made it clear he would enjoy your company more than mine."

Jane sighed. "Come on, Daria, he doesn't mind spending time with you," she insisted.

"But he's not dating me. He's dating you. So he prefers you to me."

"Yeah, I guess..."

"So, giving him more time with you is a nice thing to do, isn't it?"

"True. Which makes me all the more suspicious about your intentions."

"It's a new year's resolution."

"I think your calendar needs fixing, amiga."

"You're right. There's nothing special about today."

"Well, you're apparently trying to spread joy among other people. I think you could call in sick. Mind you, defining 'sick' to the teachers as opposed to your normal mindset would be difficult."

Daria thumbed the straps of her backpack. "Besides, what would I do with today off? I should save the sick day for a special occasion."

"Your call," Jane shrugged.

"Exactly. What's the date today?"

"You ask me this while the sun is still up? I'm barely awake as it is. I think it's near the start of the month..."

"Well, there's nothing this month to be interested in, is there?"

Jane shrugged. "Unless you know something about the Mayan Calendar I don't..."

"No. Nothing this month. So, I trust you and Tom had a good time the other night?"

"You would not believe what happened at the Arcade!"

"But you're not willing to risk it."

And Daria listened patiently all the way to school about how awesome Tom was and how happy he made Jane. Tom had told her he wasn't taking her friend away and Jane always talked about Daria to him.

Well, maybe they had.

In fact, she almost felt well-disposed towards Tom right now. She hadn't expected him to remember her birthday. And no illusions he would give a damn if she'd reminded him.

***

Classes. Bells. Hallways. A bathroom break. Lunch in the cafeteria. It was raining outside, so even sitting under a tree reading a book was off-limits. Jane told her about Tom. They discussed the idiocy they encountered in students and teachers alive.

Just another empty day, creeping inevitably to its conclusion.

"So, any plans for tonight?" Jane asked.

"I have a vague objective of being alive tomorrow, but easy come easy go." Daria sighed. "But don't worry, you're free to get pizza with Tom."

"Hey, despite what those gutter tabloids keep insisting, I have a life outside my stunning hunk of a boy toy, you know," Jane scolded her gently.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to overcome that obstacle given enough time, effort, and leather restraints."

"It's a Monday, Daria, and even I need a break from some wise-cracking sarcasm master screaming for my body and begging to get into my underwear. Still, you do bring other things to the table."

"Including a gag reflex."

"No one's perfect."

"Apart from you and Tom of course."

"I try not to fly in the face of public opinion. Is this about Trent?" Jane asked suddenly.

Yeah. Why not?

"Definitely."

"I thought we'd forgiven him about screwing us over with the music?" Jane frowned. "Damn it, are you saying we're supposed to be mad with him and all this time he's getting away with it..."

"Trent was quite disappointed with me."

"With YOU?" Jane was shocked. "Oh, I am just gonna love the explanation for this one..."

"He was upset I didn't understand how he thinks and that, deep down, he could never get together with me."

"On student projects or as star-crossed lovers?"

"Either. Both." Daria took a deep breath. "It's just awkward being around him."

"A huge tonal shift from your normal dynamic." Jane's voice became serious. "Daria, you know you can still come round anytime, right? Screw Trent. Well, I guess that's not an option now, but... I'll talk to him, Daria. I put up with a lot of crap with him, but he is not going to make you feel unwelcome."

No, no, you and Tom did that. Casa Lane is up there with a leper colony on Three Mile Island on places I feel safe and welcome now.

"Well, it'll save you time trying to pair us together," Daria said casually. "You can pour that into cementing your new relationship with Tom."

"Screw Tom. No, wait, forget I said that." Jane winced. "This is a Tom-free zone is what I mean. You know I still have the incredible feminine multitasking ability to hang around with you even though I can now claim to have a boyfriend on my CV."

Daria forced a small, fake smile. She thought about how within weeks of meeting Jane, the artists had ditched her at a party for some guy. And then there was the track team. Or Tommy Sherman. How often had Daria come crawling to the Lane household trying to get back in Jane's good books?

Trent doesn't want you. Tom doesn't want you. They are a Venn Diagram, two circles overlapping and the intersection is Jane. How much does Jane want you? Seriously? What do you bring to the table, Daria?

"You're not feeling neglected, are you?"

"No I think I'm getting all the attention I deserve, give or take a polygraph and a tracking device."

She doesn't need you to help her with school, she's never wanted advice on class. She definitely doesn't need your input on social interaction. Or inspiration for art. You're no good as a potential sister-in-law. You're miserable company, apparently, and her wonderful new boyfriend can buy her all the pizza she wants and shelter her from her family.

"So, what are you up to this fine evening then?"

Pity, that's all you're good for, Daria. A grudging sense of responsibility. She's used to looking after Trent and her nieces and nephews. You're just another charity case she's too kind to turn away, but it doesn't mean she wants you there.

"Generic stupid family thing," said Daria simply. "It'll probably drag on for a while."

"You don't need to be rescued?"

"I'd only end up seeing them again within 24 hours," Daria shrugged. "You probably need some alone time. Work on your artwork without distraction."

"Hey, us artists need a constant supply of heartache, misery and nihilistic despair to carve their canvas into meaning. How am I going to do that when I've only got my jolly Pollyanna personality for company?"

"Guess you shouldn't have chosen a boyfriend that makes you creatively sterile."

"Well, I'll show him! I can get very creative with a pair of eyebrow tweezers..."

"See? You're already inspired."

"Good point. Okay, but as long as you're not blowing me off for your own incredible adventures."

"Name one incredible adventure I've had without you."

"How could I? I wasn't there."

"Damn, there's no fooling you, is there?" Daria yawned, suddenly wishing more than anything else in the world she had a hip-flask and the opportunity to drain it dry. "You're a good friend, Jane."

"You're only saying that because your standards are ridiculously low."

"If they weren't, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Is this the bit where I say you're a good friend too?" Jane checked. "Or do we leave it unspoken as a clearly obvious fact that doesn't need saying?"

"Never let it be said I put words in your mouth."

"Not now you know where that mouth has been."

"Gross," said Daria amused, thinking of Trent walking away from her and Tom smirking in contempt at the idea he (or anyone) would ever want to be friends with her. Of how upset Jane got around her lately.

"As long as we know where we stand."

***

Art class was the last of the day. Jane stayed behind to talk with Ms. DeFoe. She didn't even notice when Daria left, not that Daria was eager to draw attention to herself.

Let her wean herself off you. She's already happier and better off now than when you met her. Her mom would tell you not to stifle her.

"If you love it, let it go," Daria said aloud as she trudged home. "If it comes back, then it's lost."

Maybe I'll call Aunt Amy. She doesn't need friends. Or maybe she does. Maybe she has lots of friends and can tell me the secret handshakes. Maybe I can go back to being my own best friend. Or at least someone who tolerates me. What has being the Misery Chick brain ever done for me anyway?

I bet Brittney never feels like this. She never thinks of herself as some malignant tumor in a world of healthy cells. She never feels like a burden on her friends. She'd have high-fived Jane and been genuinely happy for her. She'd never be miserable on her birthday party. What's the good of intelligence when all it does is qualify and quantify how unhappy you are?

Wow, it's interesting that emotional pain translates into physical pain. It feels like steel rods are in the veins in my arms whenever I think of Jane ditching me. Least I know exactly where to...

Daria stopped as she reached her house.

On the front doorstep was a small golden parcel neatly gift-rapped in green and brown ribbons. A little card said "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARIA. NEVER FORGET THAT YOU ARE LOVED. XXX." The handwriting wasn't familiar, the words in block capitals. It was unsigned.

Daria picked up the parcel. It wasn't very heavy, but more important - who the hell would leave a present for her on her front step? Her family would leave it indoors and who else even knew it was her birthday?

Her heart faltered in her chest.

"Jane?" she whispered hopefully.

***

The rest of Daria's birthday was as unspectacular as any other Monday night. Given her typically low-key desires, it being a Monday night and other such matters, this was no surprise. Her parents arranged a small chocolate cake with a candle shamed as DM as was traditional (and, as was also traditional, Daria remarked with surprise she didn't know it was Danger Mouse's birthday as well) and piled up her presents.

It was mostly books. Aunt Amy had sent a paperback compendium of Tanith Lee's spookier stories. Marianne had found an illustrated graphic novel of the works of Edgar Allen Poe. Her dad had found a battered copy of the Reader's Digest Character-Naming Sourcebook along with another Modesty Blaise book (which she already owned, albeit in a different printing). Her mother provided video tapes of "Sick Sad World - Obscenity You Can't Unsee" and "Black Books" and a new edition of When Bad Things Happen To Worse People. Quinn provided only some coupons to the Mall of the Millennium, but together with her losing her voice, Daria was content.

Until her dad ruined everything.

"So what did Jane get you?" he asked brightly as he served out the lasagna. "Some terrifying ironic painting huh? Or some sculpture that looks really embarrassing until you know what it is? Or one that's only really embarrassing WHEN you know what it is?"

"Nope," Daria replied calmly. "She's decided to provide me with performance art of Girl So Into Her New Boyfriend She Forgets Her Friend's Birthday."

Her family stared at her.

"I could be wrong," Daria added and saw them all slightly relax. "Girl So Into Her New Boyfriend She Forgets Her Friend Period is probably what it's called."

"Oh, Daria, I'm sure Jane hasn't forgotten your birthday!" said her mother confidently. "But you know what these struggling artist types are like - she may not have enough money to get you a present."

"I bet she's planning a party or something," her father agreed. "Going to make a real night to remember. You, uh, going to see her tonight, kiddo?"

"No," Daria replied. "I guess she needs more time and space to prepare my birthday celebrations and doesn't want me around spoiling things."

Jake rubbed his chin. "That does make sense..."

"Daria," Helen said, frowning, "have you girls got into a fight over this boy?"

"Only passive-agressively. You know what bitches girls can be."

"Daria!"

"I admit, I was being selfish to want to monopolize Jane's time. I apologized to her and her new better half and they wished me well in my new solitary existence. So long and thanks for all the fish."

Helen's eyebrows raised in concern. Her daughter had only made one real friend since arriving in Lawndale - one real friend ever - and now it seemed she felt she'd been abandoned for someone else.

"Hey, Daria," said Jake before she could speak, "just because Jane has a boyfriend doesn't mean you can't be friends. I had plenty of friends, boys and girls, and we stayed friends when they found other people."

"Hence your overwhelming social calendar."

"Daria, that's not what your father meant and you know it. Will you still be best friends and constant companions with Jane in thirty years time? I don't know, and it's possible you won't. But that's no reason to assume that she no longer wants to know you right here and right now, is it?"

"Her boyfriend doesn't like me."

"I'm not surprised," Helen muttered.

"Excuse me?" Daria asked coldly.

"You're Jane's best friend, sweetie," her mother said quickly. "The one thing Jane's guaranteed to care about more than him. Boys can be very insecure, Daria, especially when they know the girl they like has an intelligent and protective best friend as you."

"And it's not like he's not letting Jane see you, is it?" her father agreed. "He's not cutting her off from all her friends and ensuring that life is meaningless except for the aim of pleasing HIS LUNATIC WHIMS FOR HIS OWN SADISTIC PLEASURE? Crushing the spirit of ALL INDIVIDUALITY to leave YOU COMPLETELY DEPENDANT ON AFFECTION YOU'LL NEVER EARN..."

"Jake!"

"Sorry, honey."

"That said, your father raises a point. Is this new boy likely to be trying to control Jane?"

Daria sighed. "No, she's too smart and stubborn to be controlled like that."

"Well, then," Helen concluded, realizing she was running short of excuses. "You know how Jane's family are, all bohemian non-conformists. Remember how little Jane cares about her own birthday - and would you expect her to treat you differently?"

"No, but even among the Lanes of Lawndale a simple 'Happy Birthday' or nearest approximate is considered polite."

"She forgot your birthday?" asked Jake, eyes wide.

"It's the impression she's giving."

"So what did she do when you told her?" asked Helen.

"Told her? Why tell her? What would she say apart from some awkward apologies, a hastily-bought stocking filler gift and some guilt-ridden promises to make up for it? What good would that do?"

"It'd remind her just how easily it is to overlook important things when blinded by the novelty of a new love!" said Helen firmly. "Daria, how do you think Jane will feel when she finds out not only did she forget your birthday but that you didn't feel comfortable reminding her?"

"You're right. The best thing is she never finds out."

"Wouldn't she notice after the first few years without a birthday?" her father wondered.

"Hey, it's taken less than a month for her to forget my birthday. I reckon that by spring she should no longer be able to identify me in a police lineup."

"Daria," huffed her mother, "you're being ridiculously melodramatic. You're also deciding you know what other people feel and want without giving them a chance."

"Exactly, Daria! You know," Jake added confidentialy, "I heard that Bono forgot his girlfriend's birthday and his next song was full of him saying 'I'm sorry' because he hadn't found the right present yet."

No chance of Trent writing me a song for my birthday. Or for forgetting my birthday. I'll get the music for the assignment before that. Probably being played at my funeral. Not that Trent would turn up.

"I guess you're right," Daria sighed. "It's just another situation where my abject refusal to knuckle under the hormonal herd mentality and accept nothing but compromise is my own downfall."

"Uh... that's the spirit?" said Jake, with a hopeful glance at Helen that this was the right response.

"I'd ask my much more popular and well-adjusted younger sister for her advice," Daria went on, "but she is refusing to speak to me for the duration of my birthday."

"Daria," Helen began.

"I'm not upset, mom, it's a great gift." She grinned her scary grin and gave a thumbs up. "Awesome birthday present, cousin!"

"Your sister has lost her voice," Helen snapped. "If a little sympathy is beyond you, you could at least not mock her for it."

"But if I wait until she can talk back, where's the fun?" Daria looked at Quinn. "But what would YOU do if your best friend abandoned you for some guy and refused to acknowledge your birthday, popular girl?"

Quinn glared at her. She spoke, and her voice sounded like a butter knife scraping across steel wool.

"I'd listen to a CD," she rasped.

"Oooh! A Bono one!" Jake enthused. "That's a great idea, Quinn!"

"I'm not sure that's what Quinn meant, Jake..."

Daria thought of the unopened parcel. She'd left it in her jacket pocket and now she thought about it, it was easily the size of a CD. She took it out and began to unwrap it, cutting the ribbons with her dinner knife.

"Oh, what's that?" asked Helen.

"A secret admirer left it," Daria muttered. "I was going to test it for contact poisons, but hey, it's my birthday. I'll live a little."

The wrapping paper fell away to reveal a plain transparent CD case. The disc itself was a pleasant shiny yellow-gold. The same block capital non-handwriting stenciled a phrase on the disc.

PLAY ME
TWO TRACKS
NO WAITING

"Someone made you a CD?" exclaimed Helen, delighted.

"I think the technical term is 'burn'."

"CDs don't burn, Daria," Jake chuckled. "They melt!"

"Shall we listen to it, Daria?" Helen offered, hands clasped hopefully.

Anything to make them feel better. Or at least shut them up. I hope this isn't anything embarrassing. Or at least the right level of embarrassing, like heavy breathing and orgasmic grunting and dear god please don't let this be from Upchuck...

"Well, it doesn't warn about explicit lyrics or advice parental consent," said Daria, handing over the CD and glancing suspiciously at Quinn.

What do you know about this? If you had something to do with this, why leave it on the doorstep? What twisted game are you playing Quinn? Damn it, I'm almost intrigued. You're really taking my mind off things, sister of mine...

With his usual glee-of-a-three-year-old, Jake opened the CD player, dropped the new disc in and hit play. The drawer slid closed, there was the faintest crackle from the speakers and then there was the sound of a simple tune being strummed on a ukulele.

Then a familiar voice burst out of the speakers.

It was Jane.

And she told the simple story of a young girl who murdered her entire family.

The Morgendorffer sat in near-silence listening to Jane's voice emerging from the speakers. Daria's expression was one of amazement, flickering into amusement and genuine enjoyment.

Her parents likewise went from surprise to recognition, while Quinn just loitered in the kitchen doorway finishing her lasagna.

"About a maid I'll sing a song
Who didn't have her family long
Not only did she do them wrong
She did every one of them in!

One morning in a fit of pique
She drowned her father in the creek
The water tasted bad for a week
So we had to make do with gin!

Her mother she could never stand
And so a cyanide soup she planned
The mother died with a spoon in her hand
And her face in a hideous grin!

She set her sister's hair on fire
And as the smoke and flames rose higher
She danced around the funeral pyre
Playing a violin!"

Daria actually laughed at that, eyeing Quinn. Her younger sibling rolled her eyes and kept eating.

"She weighted her brother down with stones
And sent him off to Davy Jones
All they ever found were some bones
And occasional pieces of skin!

One day when she had nothing to do
She cut her baby brother in two
And served him up as an Irish stew
And invited the neighbors in!

And when at last the police came by
Her little pranks she did not deny
To do so she would have had to lie
And lying she knew was a sin!"

Jake laughed and started clapping. "Ah, Tom Lehrer, huh! Classic!" he grinned.

Daria was surprised. "YOU know Tom Lehrer."

"Daria, we aren't complete philistines," harrumphed her mother. "He was releasing these songs when we were teenagers ourselves, you know."

"Oh yeah," Jake grinned. "He was one clever guy, Daria. Poisoning Pigeons in the Park, The Masochism Tango, We'll All Go Together When We Go..."

"Mind you, it's pity Jane didn't perform one of his more educational songs," Helen mused.

Daria was still smirking. "Like Wernher von Braun? Or MLF Lullaby?"

Helen glowered. "Like New Math or The Elements."

"You mean the song that refers to a periodic table superseded thirty years ago and sung to a generic Gilbert and Sullivan tune?"

"Still, kiddo, it just goes to show you," said Jake happily. "Jane's still a true friend! Going to all this trouble to do a song you liked, and never once giving it away to you!"

Daria nodded. "Yeah, dad," she admitted. "Good point."

"No doubt that's why she's been spending time away from you," Helen said, nodding sagely. "This sort of project was clearly quite an effort. You should probably go and ring her to thank her for her gift."

Quinn looked up sharply at that.

"You're right. I'll go do that," Daria promised, rising to her feet. "Um, thanks," she added self-consciously. "As birthdays go, this really hasn't sucked and I appreciate that."

"Hey, kiddo," said Jake warmly, "it was one of the three happiest days of my life then and it still is now." He looked at his wife fearfully. "I didn't say an order! Just one of the three! The day Daria was born, the day Quinn was born and the day you and I got married, honey, those are the days!"

"Yes," Helen murmured. "Mind you, I think the three following days were the ones I enjoyed."

Daria shook her head in mild amusement.

At this exact moment, she was happy.

***

"He's the grave digger who will bury the coffins upside down and back to front - or any which way balances out the chi! The feng shui funeral home NEXT on Sick Sad World!"

Jane looked up from her painting as the phone began to ring with its usual affronted mechanical quack. Abandoning her canvas for the moment, she reached out with her free hand towards the phone.

"Yo," she said, eyeing her artwork. "Legal Aide for Convicted Wiccas - you curse em, we reimburse em."

"Hey Jane," came Daria's contented voice from the other end.

"I do occasionally answer to that name. What can I do for you, amiga?"

"Just ringing to say thank you for my present."

"What, like temporally-speaking? Like you give thanks for your past and future?"

"No, my birthday present."

"Kinda out of left field, but you're welcome."

"I shouldn't have doubted you."

"I told you that switching all Manson's inkblots for Batman logos would send her into convulsions. Amazed she still has a job after the chick she declared had low self-esteem graduated from self-esteem class six weeks early in front of the whole school."

"Excuse me? That was last year."

"Last year? Daria, it was when we first met."

"No, not the self-esteem class, us tampering with Manson's inkblots."

"Who's us, paleface? I did all the work!"

"No, it was my birthday last year."

"Don't you have a birthday every year?"

"Yeah, I'm talking about this year's."

"Oh! Gotcha," said Jane, adding a little dab of detail to the canvas. "So... what present did you have in mind, amiga? And be aware my budgetary constraints mean that it will definitely be the thought that counts and yes, I've checked, that does stand up in a European court of law."

Silence.

"Daria?"

"Jane... you haven't gotten me anything for my birthday, have you?"

"Well, no, not yet. You haven't said what you want yet. What's the deadline again?"

Another pause. "Call it another fifty-two weeks."

"That is definitely planning ahead, amigo. I might actually be able to factor in..." Jane froze. "You mean... your birthday..."

"Is today."

Another pause.

"I was going to say that you're wrong and it's due till November 20th but now I seem to recall seeing that date everywhere today and my righteous outrage no longer seems appropriate."

"Don't worry about it, Jane."

"No, no, no, I DO worry about it! Daria, it's your birthday and I totally forgot about it..."

"Seriously, Jane. Don't worry about it. It was just another day. Who cares?"

"I am so sorry about this..."

"Don't be. It's not important."

"Of course it's important! Daria, I..."

"I gotta go. Parents. Cake. The usual. See you tomorrow, Jane."

"Daria..."

And suddenly she was talking to a dial tone.

Jane looked back at her portrait, which was an attempt to recreate the first moment she'd set eyes on Tom Sloane back at the Zon a few weeks ago. She'd been regarding it with a critical eye, gauging each shade and brushstroke.

Now it was just paint on cloth and Jane had never felt more empty and alone.

***

Daria calmly hung up the hands-free phone and put it on her bedside table. She would take it downstairs later. If at all. Right now lying back on her mattress and trying to abandon any grip on solid matter was very appealing - melting to shapeless sludge could only be an improvement on how she felt.

Jane had forgotten Daria's birthday.

She'd forgotten that she'd forgotten.

There was no present, no benevolent conspiracy like Helen had predicted. Tom had taken Jane away from her after all, so completely and utterly Jane hadn't even noticed. Daria had been able to find some guilty shame for thinking Jane could be so fickle - until now.

The name's Daria Morgendorffer, but you can call me Totally Surplus To Requirements. Assuming you ever call me at all.

Ted. Tom. Trent. Jane. All gone now.

It was embarrassing she was even surprised. How could she have ever deluded herself that she was worth anything more than brief distraction in the lives of others? She should probably be getting down on her knees and thanking some cruel god that she had enough emotional blackmail to get consumer goods from close relations just once a day. One strand of DNA's difference and no one would want to know her.

...except...

Marianne wasn't technically family, of course, but that still left the question of who the hell had given her the CD? And how the hell had they got Jane to sing Tom Lehrer's Irish Ballad without her realizing? That was the sort of thing Jane would definitely mentioned earlier. Even if she'd forgotten Daria's birthday - which she had, Daria found herself reminded.

How the hell did that work?

Daria took a deep breath and thought rationally. Someone who knew Daria well enough to know she'd appreciate not only a jolly folk tune about a teenage female psychopathic serial killer but also would love to hear it sung by Jane had organized this.

She had either got Jane to sing it and recorded it without her knowing or else somehow recorded all the random words and edited them together like the audio equivalent of a ransom note made out of cut-up newspaper and magazines. Actually, neither of those seemed particularly likely.

In fact, there seemed to be only one possible explanation to fit the facts.

Daria's secret admirer either had access to (or actually was) someone who could impersonate Jane Lane utterly perfectly.

An idea as fascinating as it was terrifying.

***

It was pure coincidence that Tom happened to be passing the telephone when it rang. Liesurely, he picked up the reciever and any potential observer would have been impressed at his seemingly-rehearsed casual attitude.

Unfortunately there was no one there to see him being so effortlessly cool. Not that he minded, which arguably made him cooler. Or not.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Tom?" an anxious voice pleaded down the line.

"Jane?" he asked, frowning. "Something wrong? I thought we were taking tonight off to let our feelings of bitterness and resentment build up to give us something to talk about in our next date..."

"Tom, it's the 20th of November!"

"Yes it is. 41 days till the end of the year. I am grateful for the reminder."

"I forgot who's birthday it was today!"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Einstein's."

A pause. "Einstein's birthday is today?"

"Yep. Not Albert Einstein, though. Bob Einstein."

"Who the hell's Bob Einstein?"

"That's the birthday boy you're talking about, Jane."

"Tom, this is serious! Today is Daria's birthday and I totally forgot about it!" said Jane wretchedly. "I mean, completely and totally forget! I didn't even realize it was coming up!"

"Okay, don't panic," said Tom smoothly. "How come Daria didn't mention it before now?"

"Oh you know how much Morgenmdorffer wants to be a spectacle! I haven't spent more than ten minutes with her lately!" Tom could almost hear Jane beating herself up. "All that crap I told her, insisting I wasn't going to ditch her and now this!"

"Hey," said Tom firmly. "It takes less than five seconds to say 'My birthday's coming up', remember? And Daria could easily have booked you up to get you away from my disgusting claws. Is it your fault she didn't take a clear opportunity?"

"Tom, you know how lonely she gets!" said Jane angrily. "She thinks I've deliberately abandoned her - on her freaking birthday!"

"Did she tell you that?"

"...no," Jane admitted.

"So you just think she thinks that?"

"Yeah. I do." He heard Jane sigh miserably. "She spent the whole day hinting it at me, she must have been wondering if I was pranking her or something. And then she rang up and downright asked me... I..."

"Jane?" asked Tom gently after a pause.

"I've never screwed up like this before," she said quietly. "I don't know what to do. What would you do, Tom?"

"Well, I personally would burn the house down, flee to Mexico and start a new life as a goat-farmer but then I get told I tend to under-react to crises."

"That's not helping."

"Would be worried if it did. Look, Daria never really struck me as someone who gave a crap about birthdays."

"Tom, she wasn't expecting me to take her to Disney World, she was just expecting me to remember she was born today. And I've proved beyond a shadow of a doubt I didn't even do that. She's already in a funk with Trent and you and me..."

"Are you sure she's depressed?" Tom asked. "I mean, how are we supposed to tell?"

"That's not funny, Tom!"

"It's not meant to be, Jane, it's a serious question. What we consider warning signs in most people are Daria's standard operating procedure."

"Okay, that wasn't viciously insensitive, but it still wasn't very helpful either."

"Jane, you forgot her birthday. You didn't ignore it to make her suffer. You're cut up about it, because you care. You just forgot. It does happen - especially if she's going to have the temerity to be born the same day as Bob Einstein."

"You're not really Samaritans material, are you?"

"I can't tell, every time I went for an interview, everyone committed suicide. Look, Jane, focus on what you can actually do about this."

"But what am I supposed to do about this?"

"Make it up to her for starters. You know Daria better than anyone - if any mortal can sweet-talk her, it's you. Tomorrow, you get her presents and stuff that she wants that will make her feel better. Technically it'll still be her birthday somewhere on Earth thanks to amazing international timezones."

"Guess so." Jane sounded far from convinced.

"Look, I'll keep on the down low for a week and you can focus on giving Daria the tender-loving contempt she needs. Get her a present or an IOU. Maybe sort out whatever her issues are with Trent, so at least she's got someone else to talk at."

"You mean 'talk to'?"

"It's Trent. I know what I mean."

"Heh. Thanks, Tom. I know your relationship with Daria is her repeatedly trying to force your soft dangly parts into a blender..."

"Well, SOMEONE'S looking through rose-tinted spectacles."

"But she's my best friend. And just this once it's not her being paranoid and over-protective, it's me genuinely being a bad human being."

"Jane, would Daria be your friend if you were a so-called 'good' human being?" He sighed. "Hey, you know Bono forgot his girlfriend's birthday and he wrote 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For'?"

"What? His excuse was he hadn't got her the right present yet?"

"Maybe. Watch the music video, though, it's full of people holding up signs saying 'I'm sorry!'."

"Somehow I'm not sure Bono's routines would win over Daria. Did they even work on his own girlfriend?"

"No idea. Really should ask Bob Einstein, maybe wish him a happy birthday or something..."

"OK. Look, Tom, thanks for this. I never realized just how few people I have to talk to about this."

"Guess your mom's not home?"

"Physically, mentally, emotionally. I don't know if comparing Daria with a butterfly would help at the best of times. And as for Trent... You're right, I should go and kick some sense into him."

"Let me know if you need new boots afterwards."

"Why? Will you buy me new ones?"

"No, I just have a foot fetish. Good luck, Jane. Feel free to blame me for everything if Daria doesn't already. Whatever helps."

"You know Tom, I'm waiting to find out what your crucial flaw is, because you're dangerously close to being the perfect boyfriend now."

"What part of foot fetish did you miss?"

"There's nothing wrong with liking girls with feet."

"Who said anything about girls? It's only the feet I'm interested. The rest of you can go. If Trent had better feet, I'd be fighting Daria for him."

"...and now I officially want to talk about anything to anyone else ever."

"It's my most endearing ability. Call me when you sort it all out and make it look effortless."

"Will do," Jane promised.

Tom put down the phone. "I think it would be easier to have gone on a date with Siamese twins," he muttered to himself. "At least they wouldn't be so co-dependent."

***

Sandi was doing the washing up. It was quite relaxing, and it was a neat way to remind everyone how her hand was properly healed after her little breakdown following the sinking cruise liner. Plus it showed she didn't have some freaking fear or water or whatever following that trauma.

Hopefully soon everyone would be cool with her trying to cook. She wanted to add some recipes to her repertoire, and they always said the way to a guy's heart was through his stomach. Of course, she wasn't that interested in guys, but it was a good principle.

Mind you, if you want to get to a guy's heart through his stomach, sharp knives are definitely required...

The phone rang.

Sandi sighed. Mom and dad were away tonight, leaving her with the Brats - she was getting on much better with her little brothers of late, but she still couldn't stop calling them that even in her head. She also knew that every day she didn't have a nervous breakdown, the more she and her siblings fell back into their usual state of total warfare.

Hoping she still had enough sympathy points, Sandi called over her shoulder. "Can someone get that?" she yelled as she rinsed another glass platter.

"Why can't we let the machine do it?" Chris called back.

"Because that leads to the Matrix and the Terminator! Just answer the phone, you little bastard!"

"Okay, okay," Sam grumbled. "Don't cut yourself!"

Sandi winced. In a way it was good they could laugh about it now, but it still wasn't that funny.

"Hello? Yeah? Who? Fine."

Sam stuck his head around the kitchen door.

"Sandi, it's for you."

"Of course it is," Sandi sighed, grabbing a towel. "Who is it, anyway?"

"I thought it was Quinn's sister," said Sam. "You know, the scary one? But it's not."

"It isn't?"

"No, it's someone called Beautiful Girl."

And Sam was surprised to see his big sister suddenly grow very, very pale.

***

Routine Surveillance Transcript:
Lawndale Phone Network

TRANSCRIPT READS:

SANDI: Er... hello?

DARIA: Hello, Sandi.

SANDI: Uh. Yeah. Um... what can I do for you, Daria?

DARIA: Actually, I needed a time check. What day is it today?

SANDI: November twentieth.

DARIA: And what does that mean to you?

SANDI: It's your birthday?

DARIA: Correct. Five points. Now how did you come across that particular factoid, oh stalker of mine!

SANDI: Hey, I'm not a stalker!

DARIA: I beg your pardon, I thought I was talking to the girl who's lusted after me since the second I arrived at Lawndale High. You know, the closested self-harming lesbian with paranoid delusions who sneaks out sci-fi videos from the library?

SANDI: I'm not a stalker. I promised not to bug you after Tommy Sherman and I didn't!

DARIA: It was just pure bad luck we keep meeting since?

SANDI: Uh. Yeah. You know that.

DARIA: Hmm. Fair point. How did you know it was my birthday?

SANDI: One of Stacy's jobs as Fashion Club secretary is to work out the birthdays of every senior so we can coordinate parties and dates. I just remembered it because... because I love you. Sue me.

DARIA: I might. My mom's the best lawyer in Lawndale.

SANDI: I bet she'd love to know her daughter's a homophobe with, like, a persecution complex or whatever. So are you having a birthday treat by trying to hurt me? Is that going to make you happy?

DARIA: You left a present outside my house today.

SANDI: Yeah.

DARIA: Why?

SANDI: Uh, it's your birthday? It's a birthday present? It's kind of traditional. I thought you'd appreciate it. I definitely didn't think you'd ring me up and start reminding me how much I suck.

DARIA: You didn't get me a present last year.

SANDI: I know. I regret that.

DARIA: And how exactly did you get that present?

SANDI: Huh? Oh, this is about Jane, huh?

DARIA: Another five points. You're improving, Griffin.

SANDI: Did you like it though?

DARIA: ...did I like it?

SANDI: I thought it'd work for you.

DARIA: What led you to that conclusion?

SANDI: My little brother learned the Element Song, and I found out Tom Lehrer did other stuff. I just thought you'd really like his stuff. But you might already have it, so I though, how could I be sure you'd like it? So, get it sung by someone I know you like.

DARIA: And you thought I'd never suspect a thing?

SANDI: It's not about suspecting stuff. Did you like it?

DARIA: You got someone to pretend to be Jane with a talent known only to super-villains and evil robots from the future. You think I'd appreciate that?

SANDI: ...uh, duh! Of course I did. So, I guess Jane was freaked out when she heard it, huh?

DARIA: She hasn't heard it.

SANDI: Oh. Well, uh, did you know it wasn't her?

DARIA: The card said it was from someone who loved me.

SANDI: ...and? You don't think Jane loves you?

DARIA: I know she doesn't.

SANDI: Oh, go back to saying I'm a stupid dyke slut, Daria. At least that is true.

DARIA: I know Jane had nothing to do with this because that would require her to both know and care it's my birthday. Amazingly, I have a deeper connection with the Fashion Club than anyone in the Lane clan.

SANDI: Is this, like, going to start making sense soon?

DARIA: Jane didn't get me anything this year, Sandi. She didn't remember it was my birthday. I thought, for a moment, she was playing some classic Jane bluff and had got me a CD of her singing amusing dities so I rang her up and confirmed that, no, I was right the first time. She has nothing to do with this.

SANDI: Is she okay?

DARIA: "Is SHE okay"? Yeah, Jane is clearly the victim in all this! Poor Jane Lane!

SANDI: Well, something bad must have happened...

DARIA: Yeah, he's called Tom. Her new boyfriend. You know, the one you said wouldn't take her away from me? Well, turns out, you were right because he already had taken her away from me! And Trent too!

SANDI: I... I don't believe it.

DARIA: Tell me, Sandi, on a scale of one to ten, just how much do you think I care whether or not you believe me?

SANDI: Look, my gut told me you'd like Tom Lehrer. My gut told me you were never going to love me back. And my gut says Jane won't abandon you. Ever.

DARIA: Well, two out of three ain't bad. Now, the final question and a wrong answer I must warn you will lose you all your points. Who did you get to pretend to be Jane?

SANDI: Sorry. I pass.

DARIA: No, you don't get that option.

SANDI: Fine. I lose all my points. What are you going to do, Beautiful Girl? Tell me how much I suck? Way ahead of you, there. I spent six months wanting to be dead, when that stupid boat sank, I tried to drown myself. I've tried to carve myself up like a Sunday roast. So what, precisely, are you going to do to make me tell you? What can you possibly threaten me with?

(3-second pause.)

DARIA: Why WON'T you tell me?

SANDI: The person or persons unknown who provided the uncanny Jane Lane impersonation did so at my specific and unique request. In return, they get total anonymity. I know who they are, they know who they are, everyone else goes to their grave wondering.

DARIA: And you wouldn't even tell me, the Beautiful Girl.

SANDI: I'm not telling Daria Morgendorffer. The Beautiful Girl would have respected me not to ask to break a promise. You don't sound like the Beautiful Girl right now, Daria.

DARIA: Guess your gut instinct IS fallible after all.

SANDI: Guess so. So, unless you want to get some more insults in about me, I should probably let you get back to your birthday celebrations. Don't worry, I don't expect you to get anything for my birthday.

DARIA: Wait. Sandi. How about an early birthday present?

SANDI: Uh, excuse me?

DARIA: Let's do a straight deal. Quid pro quo. You tell me who ersatz Jane is...

SANDI: ...yeah, and?

DARIA: ...and you and me. Naked. Baby oil twister. Whatever sick sapphic scenarios get you the screaming thigh sweats, you get to do them to me. Access all areas, the prize is Daria Morgendorffer's virginity.

(32-second pause.)

SANDI: ...excuse me?

***

"I'm willing to have sex with you," Daria said calmly over the phone. "Tell me who did the voice."

"Why do you even need to know?" asked Sandi quietly. "What's so important about it? Do you think I'd let someone use it against you or something?"

"Just tell me who it is."

"Why? What are you going to do with that info?" Sandi asked. "Are you going to start leaving fake messages on answer phones in Jane's voice? Get her into trouble, mess things up with her boyfriend? Anything that will hurt her?"

"What makes you think I want to hurt Jane?"

"Because I remembered your birthday. And if you're going to humiliate me like this for trying to help you, I dread to think what you'll do to someone who isn't. You're going to wreck her life, aren't you?"

Daria's voice darkened in anger. "Humiliating you? I'm offering you what you've always wanted!"

Sandi's voice was low, broken. "How dare you?" she whispered. "How dare you say that? Is that what you think I am? Someone with some kinky turn-on for short, chubby brunettes with man-stopper glasses and a more boring voice than the speaking clock? I guess I was just lucky someone fitting my fetish turned up one day!"

"Sandi..."

"You think I want to have sex with you?" Sandi said icily. "You think I can't get my rocks off with anyone else? Hell, I could have half the cheerleadering squad if I wanted! You honestly think anyone would want you instead of Brittney or Quinn or Stacy or hell, even Jodie? I just need to tell Upchuck he could watch and he'd arrange a lesbian orgy and pay for it!"

"But..." Daria was uncertain. "You've always..."

"Always what? Been in love with you? Yeah, Daria. I have. But I've always known you don't love me, and that's fine. I deal. So why would I want your body if I know you'll never love me? After everything you really think you offering me your flesh is what I want?" Sandi felt water on her shirt and for a moment wondered if it was from the washing up.

But no, she was crying. Crying in anger.

"You think I only want you because I've got an itch I can't scratch? I'm only interested in you to have sex with? What did I ever do to make you think I'm so pathetic? Or is this just you punishing me for all the times I've been a burden on you, is that it?"

"Sandi, it's not that. You're not a burden and I know what it's like to be a burden..."

"Congrats, Daria. You finally made me realize someone hates me more than I hate myself. Never saw that coming." She sniffed and swallowed. "But I'm not telling you. Ever. You go and enjoy your birthday."

"Sandi," said Daria, voice softer. "I'm sorry..."

"If you never call me again, I would consider it a big, big favor."

Sandi hung up, crossed over to the stool by the kitchen bench, sat down and started to cry.

"You okay?" asked Chris. He and his brother were standing in the doorway, looking worried.

Sandi lifted her head, wiped her eyes, and coughed. "Yeah... I, uh... I'm okay."

"It was Quinn's sister, wasn't it?" asked Sam.

Sandi nodded. "Yeah. She... she didn't like her birthday present. She was... she was mean to me."

"You mean that CD?" Chris asked. "How could that piss her off so much? It was the sort of thing she'd like."

"I guess..." Sandi fought off a burst of tears. "I guess I just didn't know her like I thought I did."

"It's not your fault," said Sam.

"Hey, sis," said Chris brightly. "I know what'll cheer you up!"

Sandi sniffed. "What?"

Chris slammed an empty can of ultra-cola against his forehead, compressing it into a thick green-yellow-silver coin with a satisfying crunch.

"Boo-yah!" he said triumphantly.

Sandi laughed despite herself, wiping her eyes.

"Encore!" Chris cheered and slammed a second can against Sam's forehead. As it was not empty like the first, the younger brother was knocked off his feet with a string of inarticulate curse-words.

In moments they were fighting and, for a little while at least, Sandi forgot her troubles.

***

 Trent brooded over the sparse contents of the refrigerator and while part of his mind tried to work out what possible meals could be made, another part wondered if that recipe list could be a song. Fridge Horror Hunger? Or was that too similar to Icebox Woman? It was hard to concentrate on an empty stomach.

"Concentrating on an Empty Stomach," he said aloud, trying out the name. Album title, song title or new band name? Or maybe 'Album Title/Song Title/New Band Name' was the way to go...?

"Trent!" cried a voice behind him. It was Jane.

"Hey, Janey," he replied, deciding to close the fridge and turn to face her.

"Trent, do you know what day it is?"

"...are you asking me if I know or do you want me to tell you?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Jane paused. "Both," she challenged.

"Uh... it's Monday?" Trent asked hopefully.

"Anything else?"

Trent shrugged. "Well, it's Daria's birthday, isn't it? The twentieth of November?"

Jane turned puce with rage. "How the hell did YOU of all people remember that?"

"Hey, Janey. Birthdays are important. Plus the band is likely to get a gig for birthdays." Trent scratched his arm and contemplated the coffee maker. "Why did you need to check?"

As though mirroring him, Jane suddenly needed to massage her left elbow with her right hand. "I forgot," she said grimly. "Completely and utterly and totally. I forgot it was her birthday."

Trent looked up, mildly-surprised. "Whoa. Is Daria mad?" he asked gently.

"Detached, disappointed and aloof."

"Bummer." Trent picked up a cup. "You want some coffee?"

Jane sighed. "Maybe. Any caffiene would be welcome now," she told him. At least Trent comprehended just how bad she was feeling and didn't need it explained to him like Tom. "Hey, brother of mine, how come you didn't do anything for Daria if knew it was her birthday?" she demanded.

Trent shrugged. "I thought it'd just make Daria mad if I bugged her," he explained. "She was really upset when I didn't do that music for your project."

"Yeah, an A-minus," Jane agreed drily. "You know she'll never recover academically from that. Hell, Trent, I was angrier with you than she was. She actually forgave you and told me to calm down."

Trent gazed at the kettle as it started to boil. "Yeah," he said quietly. "She did. I thought that too, but then I talked to Monique about it..."

Jane arched an eyebrow. "You and Monique talk about Daria? Hell, you and Monique TALK?"

Trent didn't reply. "Monique told me I really screwed it up with Daria," he said as if she hasn't spoken. "I mean, I couldn't think of any music. Inspiration doesn't care about deadlines, you know that."

"Though they apparently make lovely whooshing noises as they go past."

"Daria said I should have told her I was having trouble. And Monique said the same thing. I promised to help you guys out, and not telling her was like... disrespectful. Monique said it would really have hurt her. And I can see how it hurt Daria."

"And you think avoiding her would help her?" asked Jane, not as contemptuous as one might have expected.

Trent poured out two cups. "I know Daria likes me," he said. "Well. Liked me. And I know you've been trying to hook us up since day one."

"I just assumed you were oblivious," Jane admitted. "And I have plenty of witness testimonies to back me up. You knew all the time?"

"I wanted to wait. You know. Till she was ready." He didn't need to elaborate. "But she's decided she's better off without me."

"You can hardly blame her."

"Never said I did. But now she thinks I'll always let her down. Not even be a proper friend."

"Monique tell you that?"

"She told me it would hurt Daria more if I still hung around after her. She said, if Daria wants to stay friends, she'll come to me."

"Did Monique say that would also apply to her birthday?"

Trent supped his coffee. "No," he admitted grimly. "I guess I thought you were going sort that out."

"Another brilliant bit of Monique wisdom right there," Jane sighed. "Okay, so both of us have definitely messed up big time and we need to make it up to poor Daria now because if we still had souls they wouldn't definitely be damned for this." She inhaled sharply. "Okay, so any ideas?"

Trent opened his mouth to speak but a rapid metallic quacking was heard instead. He reached out with his free hand and picked up the phone.

"Hey?"

"Uh, Trent?" asked a vaguely-familiar voice.

"Yeah."

"Um, is Jane there or, you know, whatever?"

"Yeah." He held out the phone. "It's for you."

Frowning, Jane took the phone. "Hello?"

"Jane, it's me. Are you okay?"

"Can't complain. You sound pretty wretched though."

"Yeah, Daria just phoned me up."

"Oh, she wants to entwine you in her thighs now she's legal now huh?" Jane laughed weakly.

"Kinda."

Jane's eyes widened. "You're kidding!"

"Jane, you know it's Daria's birthday today? She came on the phone saying you and Trent have ditched her and she's really not coping. She offered me sex, because she thought I could, I dunno, help her get revenge."

"I trust you said yes?"

"You really all think I'm such a shallow slut?"

"No, but that is the public stereotype the writer's guide forces us to follow," Jane said with a helpless shrug. "Look, Trent and I are trying to work out a way to fix this mess. We just lack any plans, concepts, inspiration or practical resources."

"Well, my only idea is you do something tonight. And... I'm sorry, I can't help you."

Jane's expression softened. "She really hurt you this time, didn't she?"

"I... Look, just help her. For me."

"I will. Stay safe."

"You too."

Jane soberly hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" asked Trent.

"A concerned party," said Jane. "Forget your healthy disregard for deadlines, Trent. This has to be done right now, tonight. Ideas, please!"

Trent nodded and finished his coffee. "Okay. You know, something like this once happened to Bono..."

***

The evening was winding up. Quinn had changed into her shorts and night-shirt for the evening and was now in the upstairs bathroom brushing her teeth.

Daria entered. "Knock-knock," she said flatly.

Quinn paused in her brushing, glancing at Daria's reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"Thanks for the birthday present."

Quinn resumed brushing.

"I know it was you."

Quinn glanced at Daria, but gave no other reaction.

"You losing her voice, given the amount of perky talking you do every single day is quite an achievement. Almost like you'd done something unusually strenuous with your voice. On the day I get a CD of someone pretending to be Jane. A CD you seemed to know I'd got as a present."

Quinn rinsed her mouth out and dabbed her lips with a soft towel. "So?" she croaked.

"So... thanks. Though I imagine you did it for Sandi as much as you did it for me."

Quinn looked annoyed, but if she didn't agree she wasn't prepared to say so out aloud.

Daria let out a deep and controleld sigh. "I was very rude to Sandi today. She got me a present and I think I was meaner and nastier to her than I've ever been to anyone before."

Quinn seemed to be waiting for more.

"She didn't give me a chance to apologize, not that I blame her. But I would consider it a huge favor, redeemable at your discretion, if you told... well, communicated... with Sandi that I am truly sorry. Sandi deserves better. I don't expect her to forgive me, just make sure she knows I am sorry and I mean it."

"Izzat all?" Quinn rasped.

Daria lowered her head. "I know I'm not the easiest person for you to live with. Let alone be related to. I did, however, assume I was a good friend. There's not much evidence to support me on that nowadays."

Quinn shook her head.

"Your friends wouldn't abandon you if they got new boyfriends. Not unless they were sure you were really more trouble than you worth. Unless you're a burden."

Quinn's face creased with pain. "You're... not," she gasped, barely audible. "Not a burden."

Daria didn't have the strength to argue. "Anyway, tell Sandi I'm sorry. I owe you." She went to leave then stopped. "And I know this was done out of kindness, but pretending to be Jane isn't going to help someone who needs the real thing. Don't do that again."

Quinn nodded sadly.

***

Daria crossed the hallway to her bedroom, feeling drained and empty. Some sweet unconscious oblivion was required, and then she'd need to find some way to break things off with Jane.

Jane Lane, the best human being I have ever been privileged to know. You deserve better. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to free you...

Daria pulled off her glasses and wiped her eyes, breathing a lungful of sharp dry air.

"I do this because I care," she said quietly. "And you won't catch me making that mistake again any time soon..."

Her strength ebbing, she flopped down onto her bed.

"I have climbed the highest mountains, I have run through the fields,
Only to be with you, only to be with you...
I have run, I have crawled, I have scaled these city walls, these city walls...
Only to be with you..."

Daria frowned, wondering why she could hear Quinn's clock radio when there was faint tapping. She turned in time to see some small dark stones rattling off her window panes and fall out of sight.

And again. And again.

And all the time, the voice singing.

"But I still haven't found what I'm looking for!
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for!"

Daria got to her feet and crossed to the window.

Outside, down in the yard at the side of Schloss Morgendorffer, she could see that someone had parked Trent's blue Plymouth in the grass beside the house. The boot open and stacked up were two tall speakers, one connected to the guitar Trent was playing, the other to the stand microphone he was singing into.

Beside him, Jane stood holding above her head a hand-drawn placard screaming the words 'I'M SO SORRY, DARIA!' and 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' Her expression was the dictionary definition of desperate hope.

Trent wore sunglasses. Jane didn't. Her make-up was slightly smudged as if she'd cried a bit.

"I have kissed honey lips, felt the healing in the fingertips
It burned like fire, this burning desire
I have spoke with the tongue of angels, I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night, I was cold as a stone..."

Jane looked up at Daria and Daria looked right back.

"But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for..."

***

Trent stopped singing but continued to strum the U2 guitar riff as the front door opened and Daria stepped out to approach them.

"Hey," he said. "Happy birthday, Daria."

"I take it you both lost a bet?" she asked.

Jane lowered her placard and stepped forward, wringing her hands guiltily. "Daria. I'm so sorry. I don't have any excuses, but I hate myself for screwing up like this." Jane's eyes glistened in the artificial light from the windows. "You deserve better than this, Daria."

"That's a matter of some debate," said Daria quietly. "I've been a truly disgusting human being tonight. I talked to Sandi..."

"I heard. Well, she told me."

"I always thought I was better than that. And if that's how I treat someone helplessly in love with me...?" Daria avoided Jane's gaze. "I think I've taken more out of this friendship than I've given. I don't blame you for wanting someone better."

"Daria, I still want to be friends with you," Jane said. "Apart from Tom, you're the only person outside my family who's ever been a real friend. Before I met you, I was so depressed I read 'Mein Kampf' for light relief. No one at school, except Ms. DeFoe, even noticed I existed. No one talked to me, no wanted to know me. I was surplus to requirements. Every hour awake was a lead weight on my shoulders."

Daria felt her own words thrown back at her. It felt so stupid, so laughably ridiculous that Jane would ever believe she didn't matter. Everyone knew Jane mattered, all the way from Jodie to Kevin. Even Quinn was in awe of her artistic skills. Lawndale's claim to fame was a giant strawberry and Jane Lane, nothing else.

And then Daria felt a stab of pain.

How could her friend have ever been so unhappy? Where was the fairness in that? What just god, what kind creator could let Jane feel so bad?

"Ms. Li thought I was suicidal, cause I kept failing self-esteem class. Ms. Manson thought I was schizophrenic, cause she's just plain stupid. They wouldn't display my art because it was too miserable. I was alone, Daria. Without Trent to keep me going, I woulda opened my wrists years ago."

Trent's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

"You're the first person who was ever my friend, Daria. You even introduced me to Quinn like that. Your friend. The first one who understood me and still didn't recoil in disgust. The first person who really helped me." She smiled hopefully. "I'm upset I missed your birthday, Daria. Not only just because it hurt you, but because this is a day I celebrate. This day gave the world you. And Bob Einstein, apparently."

"You know who Bob Einstein is?" asked Daria surprised.

"No, but Tom told me about him. The point is, Daria, I'm sorry we made you think we didn't want you around any more - and it's on us, not you."

"You shouldn't stick with me out of guilt," Daria warned her. "I'm incredibly high-maintenance."

"Everything important is high-maintenance," Trent declared. "Everything beautiful bleeds."

"We're here because we want to be here, Daria," said Jane firmly. "That's all there is to it. There is no part of our lives you haven't improved."

"I find that very hard to understand."

"And now you know how I feel when it comes to long division. Let us use this bonding experience to bring us closer together." Jane's smirk faded. "Happy Birthday, Daria Morgendorffer. And we are happy that you were born, Daria. Always will be."

Daria's glasses were in danger of steaming up. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, but please don't do this out of social convention," she said softly. "I could really cope if you just left now, but don't get my hopes up like this."

"Daria," said Trent calmly, "you're really smart. How could any of us trick you? If we say we're proud to be your friends, you'd know if we were lying."

"Sometimes I don't know how smart I really am," said Daria sadly. "I doubt the people I shouldn't and hurt the people who need me."

"Well, if you want nothing but mindless certainty in your own godlike infallibility," Jane shrugged, "why would you want to socialize with cynics like us?"

"And if would we really go to all this trouble if we didn't think you're worth it?" Trent wondered.

Daria gazed at the lawn guiltily. "I just tried to be impartial and look at the evidence objectively," she admitted.

"Well, see, that's always a crucial error," Jane predicted with a smirk. "No one's perfect, Daria. Well, my current boyfriend's trying to totally disprove that theory, but I don't want him because he's perfect."

"You're saying him being perfect is an imperfection?" asked Daria flatly.

"I know! Chicks, huh? Never happy!" She grew a little more serious. "You forgive us?"

Daria glanced at Trent. "Yeah. I just thought we'd all reached a point of no return."

"Only if you want it to be," said Trent. "You're still one of the coolest people I know, Daria. I like hanging out with you."

Daria nodded. "You know, Bono didn't write that song because he forgot his girlfriend's birthday?"

Jane and Trent exchanged looks. "...he didn't?" they said in incredulous unison.

"No. He wrote 'Sweetest Thing' for her."

"Oh," said Trent. "Guess that does make more sense. Sort of."

"Are you gonna play it?" Daria asked.

Trent shrugged. "I don't really know it."

So saying he starting strumming a different, upbeat tune of ascending notes.

"Hey I gotta lot of a faith in you!
I'll stick with you, kid, that's the bottom line
Hey, we have a lot of fun, don't we?
And heaven has to be with you all the time?

Hey-ya, beauty, when the mood gets you down
Your bottom lip's near dragging on the ground!
That's when I gotta play the clown for you!
Black humor made you kick your boots!

Howdy angel! Where did you hide your wings?"

***

Quinn looked down from the arched window at the front of the upstairs landing down at the impromptu concert outside. Jane's weirdo brother singing a stupid song for Daria. She bet he wouldn't have to take days off before his voice recovered.

Still, Daria was happy again - as much as she was ever happy - and not worrying that her only friends had dumped her like last-year's polka-dot gussets.

Quinn headed for her bedroom, contemplating tomorrow and all the hassles and obstacles she'd have to face thanks to Daria. More voicelessness, an upset Sandi to deal with, which meant an even more upset Stacy to deal with and as well as Tiffany.

So many burdens to bear, but then what else did you call being alive?

***

Helen and Jake Morgendorffer loitered casually by their front step watching Daria and Jane watching Trent perform. A causal observer would assume the two girls were bored to the verge of full-blown catatonia by his performance.

Helen and Jake weren't casual observers.

"That's such a relief," she breathed. "I worry how poor Daria would cope without her friends, especially now she has some."

"Hard to believe, huh?" Jake said wistfully.

"Oh, Jakey, I knew she'd find people who understood her sooner or later..."

"Huh? Not that, Helen! Of course Daria'd make friends. I just meant Bono not writing 'Still Haven Found What I'm Looking For' for his girlfriend. I swear, how could we have got that impression?"

Helen smiled and rested her head on her husband's shoulder. "Shut up, Jakey," she sighed affectionately, and together they listened to Trent sing.

"Your love shines over my horizon,
She's a slice of heaven! Slice of heaven!
Warm moonlight over my horizon!
She's a slice of heaven, hey-yeah!"

***

Sandi was getting ready for bed. Sam and Chris had retired to for the night with only the usual amount of blood-soaked carnage and death threats; they were trying not worry about her. It was nice, knowing they really did care about her.

Fluffy was sitting on the bed, paws crossed and looking up at her with childlike innocence. Sandi tickled him between his ears. "I hear these voices in my head," she told her cat with a sad smile. "'Time for bed' is what they said."

Fluffy trilled and padded around the bed to allow her to climb under the covers. "Life'd be really easy if I could just hate her, Fluffy," Sandi said. "How come there's nothing she can do I won't forgive her for?"

Her cat curled up behind her legs and purred loudly. Fluffy loved her, and she loved Daria. You couldn't change that or stop that, just celebrate the rewards and suffer the costs.

There wasn't much else left to discuss, really.

Sandi reached out and pressed the 'play' button on her boombox CD player. The CD was the rough cut of the one she'd made for Daria, before she'd had to streamline the songs - there were a lot of "rickety-tickety-tins" in the Tom Lehrer song, and Quinn pleaded for them to be cut out to stop her throat of splitting.

So Sandi went to sleep listening to the original, longer, slightly-more-obviously-Quinn version of the song including the last verse they'd cut.

"My tragic tale I won't prolong, rickety-tickety-tin
My tragic tale I won't prolong
And if you do not enjoy my song
You've yourselves to blame if it's too long
You should never have let me begin! Begin!
You should never have let me begin..."