Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Trent is beginning to dislike these weekends alone in the house. Not because he can't handle being by himself. He can. He did.

The first two long weekends that Jane had taken the train up to Boston, Trent had filled Casa Lane with groupies and various hangers-on, no longer having to worry about being a good example to his little sister.

This weekend had just been him, though, with a couple of band practices at Max's. No partying for him.

Those four days had dragged on in a way he didn't even think was possible.

Better get used to it, he thought as he sat in his car, waiting for Jane's train to get into the train station. Jane starts her classes in two months and these weekends will seem like nothing. What was he going to do?

Jane climbed into his car with a "Yo" after throwing her duffel in the back seat. "Let's hit it!" she said as she attempted to get comfortable on Trent's decomposing upholstery.

"Trip good?" Trent asked, more out of habit than anything else.

"Oh yeah! We went to the art museum and to a movie and..." Trent let Jane ramble on at length until she ran out of juice. She always was upbeat from those visits, but this time she practically bounced.

"What about you?"

"It was fine. Practice. Sleep. You know how it goes."

"No gigs?"

"Not this weekend."

"Bummer."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Trent drove.

Jane was playing with the ties on her sweatshirt. Her Raft sweatshirt. Hm.

"Hey, new sweatshirt?" Trent finally asked.

"Eh, not exactly. It's Daria's. She let me borrow it."

Trent's eyebrow went up. "Awfully nice of her."

"Yeah. Nice."

They lapsed into silence again. Trent noticed that Jane seemed anxious now, in addition to being so amped up.

He turned onto their street and nearly spoke, but Jane interrupted him in a rush. "We're... Trying this dating thing out."

"You and Daria?"

"Yeah. That's why I have her sweatshirt." Jane was eyeing him as he pulled up to the front of the house.

"Wondered when that was going to happen."

"When?" Jane asked, somewhat deflated.

"Yeah. I dunno. I just pick up on stuff like this."

"Artist's intuition, huh?"

"Something like that." Trent was still not getting out of the car. Neither was Jane.

"So you... Knew?" Jane had scrunched herself into the sweatshirt as much as she could.

"About you and Daria or about you not being straight?" Trent was still holding the steering wheel, looking straight ahead. This was not how he had wanted to handle this.

"Both, I guess."

"I dunno, a while. Why does it matter?"

"I thought you would have reacted... Differently I guess."

"Angry or happy or something else?" Hm, song lyrics, maybe.

"Yeah. Anything instead of 'finally.'" Trent could hear the irritation in Jane's voice that meant she was trying to pick a fight.

"I'm happy for you. Really. I just..." He shrugged as if to try to sum up all of his feelings in a gesture.

"It's just another way I'm changing, far away from here. Far away from you." Jane continued to tie the cords in knots, worrying at them.

"Yeah. Sorry, Janey."

At the nickname, Jane's mouth, which had been pressed in a firm line, quirked up.

"I guess this is a lot for you too."

Trent shrugged. He was not going to make Jane handle this feeling for him. "C'mon, I'll make you a sandwich." He began getting out of the car.

"You went grocery shopping?" Jane paused in her duffel bag retrieval.

"I had time on my hands," Trent said. Jane gave him a long look. "You're not the only one who can change," he added. Jane gave him a small half-smile. They went into the house.

Chapter Text

Jane packed and repacked and then repacked her backpack again. What was it about traveling that made her want to bring everything she owned?

Maybe it was just the problem with the end of September. The weather could do anything. Rain cats and dogs. Be 75 with crystalline blue skies. Drizzle a little while still being too warm. How did you even prepare for absolutely any kind of weather?

And why was Jane so nervous? It was only four days. And it was only Daria.

Every time she packed, the small box ended up someplace else in her backpack.

"Here's where you can drop off your stuff."

Jane gratefully pulled off her backpack and put it down with a groan.

"Did you bring some bricks from home?" Daria shut the door to her dorm room before sitting on her bed.

"Nah, river stones. Even better." She rubbed her shoulders then stretched them out, trying to get them back to some sort of order.

"No, seriously, what do you have in that bag?" Daria craned her neck, trying to look.

"We've got an hour until dinner, right?"

"Yeah, and my roommate won't be back until 8ish."

Jane nodded and started pulling things out of her bag.

"Sketchbook. Walkman. Extra batteries."

"Reasonable."

"Sweatshirt. Rain poncho. T-shirt." A pile of clothes spilled out onto the rug beside her bag.

"You know you could have just IMed me and asked me what it was going to be like." Daria had gotten up, leaning on her roommate's desk nearby. Jane could feel her gaze. She was clearly puzzled by the entire ritual but was game for whatever Jane was getting at.

And why were Jane's hands trembling slightly? Weird. She'd drunk the usual amount of coffee. But maybe that last cup on the train had been too much.

"Yeah, I guess I probably should have."

The rest she yanked out, putting them in a pile on the other side of her backpack. Sleep shirt and socks and underwear and toiletries. Where was it? Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.

“Everything ok?” Daria’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Just looking for something!”

Jane unzipped the small front pouch and sighed in relief, pulling it out.

“I know it isn’t your birthday for another two weeks but I wasn’t sure when I’d be up again. So, um, here.” She handed Daria the small box then balled her hands on the hems of her shorts, still kneeling on Daria’s floor.

Daria undid the green ribbon of what looked like a square-shaped jewelry box and lifted off the lid. She lifted out the block of wood, confused.

“Flip it over!”

“Oh! It’s a stamp. With a raven holding open a book? And,” she squinted, reading slowly, “Ex libris Daria Morgendorffer. Oh! Did you make it yourself?”

“Yeah, I found Mom’s printmaking stuff. Saw a similar one in a book of bookplates I found at the flea market and it made me think of you.”

“It’s…It’s perfect. Thank you.” Daria extended her hand to help Jane up. And then–Jane could have sworn– held on for longer than she needed to, the two of them standing face-to-face and closer than they usually got. Jane stepped back, flustered.

“I’m glad you like it.” She turned away and focused entirely on shoving everything else into her bag.

The silence between them felt different.

Once Jane had finished, Daria asked, “So, um, dinner?”

Chapter Text

Daria Morgendorffer was daydreaming. She was looking out the window across the quad, vaguely aware of her classmates crossing the grassy expanse to the dining hall. She blinked several times and turned back to her Turgenev. Usually she breezed through the novels of her coursework but she found Fathers and Sons rough going.

She was embarrassed to admit that she was thinking about Jane. Wondering what she was doing right then at the art supplies store she'd snagged a gig at. Maybe putting away new brushes? Stacking canvases? Ringing up hobbyists and poseurs at the cash register?

It felt so far away from both their experience in high school and her first two weeks at Raft.

She had her hopes up too high, expecting college to be free from most of the kinds of people she knew in Lawndale. And maybe filled with a few new, interesting kinds. The difference ended up being that the football players were good with math here, but still got as drunk on weekends. People in her dorm who she'd initially tried to be friendly with were suddenly busy. Her roommate thought she was weird and disliked her deadpan sense of humor. She sometimes wandered the campus late at night or went to the movies as a way to stave off her loneliness.

College was about finding your people, right?

Then why had she sat alone in the dining hall for lunch, again? Bored of both her book and her own thoughts, Daria had read the sheet of paper on her table, the one that compiled the list of events happening that day on campus.

Daria swore she was not a joiner, that she wouldn't just be part of clubs to be part of them. The literary magazine had ended up being kind of a bust, too, filled with the kinds of pretentious pricks she preferred to avoid.

But it had popped out at her: the photography club.

She hadn't done any photography since yearbook. She had ceded that space to Jane, the better visual artist, whose shots were effortlessly perfect.

But maybe here she wouldn't have to be under Jane's shadow. But she didn't have her camera with her. And what if the people sucked? So she had put it out of her mind and finished eating as quickly as she could.

But several hours later, the weight of the loneliness had been weighing in on her again. How had she endured this growing up? Oh right, she'd hung out with those weird dumb guys, the ones who she'd felt sorry for. But it wasn't like they cared about her.

Not like Jane did.

A new wave of sadness spread over her.

No, this was intolerable. Surely there had to be other people at this school worth spending time with. At least until Jane moved to Boston in February. She couldn't spend 3 months alone, surrounded by other people who looked like they were all having the time of their lives.

Fuck it. She'd go. She'd make a new start of it.

8:30 wasn't too late to call home, was it? Daria though. She esconced herself in the deep window frame of her common room, arm holding the cordless phone resting on her folded leg, the other leg hanging down.

She was surprised when it was Quinn's voice that said, “hello?”

“Hey, Quinn, are Mom or Dad around? And why are you home? Isn't it prime date time?”

Quinn laughed nervously. “Gawd, can't a girl have a night in? Mom and Dad are out at dinner with a new client of Dad's and won't be back until late. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Can they call me back? It's nothing urgent. I need them to send something I left behind.”

“Its the cheese statue, isn't it?”

Daria snorted, despite herself. She didn't know why she found herself saying it, but she said, “No, it's my camera.”

“The one on your bookcase above your CD player?”

Her tone immediately veered into sharpness. “Have you been going in my room?”

“Jeez, Daria, no. I just notice things like that,” Quinn hastily added in a tone Daria knew was placating. Odd.

“Well, can you pass the message onto Mom or Dad?”

“I could do it.” Wait, what?

“I don't have that kind of bribe money.” This definitely seemed like at least a $50 favor.

“I, uh, kind of need some advice.” Ah, there it was. But eh, what was she doing for the rest of the night?

“With the reminder that this is a long distance call, go ahead.”

“Okay. Um.” She paused to, presumably, collect her thoughts. Then she burst out, “Daria, I feel so lost. I'm so bored with everything. Dating, the Fashion Club, everything.”

Daria's eyes widened. “Oh, um.” She had been expecting something like this to happen to Quinn, but not this soon after she left, and not for Quinn to admit it so straightforwardly.

“I don't know what to do with myself.”

“Um. Maybe you need a creative outlet.”

“But I've tried the outlets! All their stuff is so tired and boring!”

Daria sighed. “No, you could try making your own clothes.”

“Isn't that complicated and hard to learn?”

Hey, at least it wasn't a no. Daria could work with that. Honestly it had been on her mind for a while. What would be satisfying for her sister to do?

“Didn't you learn how to drive from a couple of dates?”

“Well, yes, but I really wanted to.”

“So you could do it if you really wanted to.” Daria couldn't believe she was saying this. “The other girls would be jealous of your one-of-a-kind item.”

“Hmmm.” She could practically hear the gears turning in her sister's head.

“I think the fabric store has classes so you can learn. Might be willing to trade you for them for fabric buying assistance. Or Jane might know someone who could teach you. One of the customers at her art store, maybe.”

“Oh, yeah, maybe…“ Quinn's voice was distant, processing this suggestion. Probably figuring out how to charm someone into teaching her.

Daria let the silence hang for a moment.

“I guess I can try it.”

“Seems more interesting than dating all the same guys in your class again.” Daria wasn't sure why she continued. Advice had been dispensed; her duty was done.

“Yeah, and none of the college guys worth dating are going to date a high schooler.” Daria could hear the eye roll.

“So you've got time on your hands and Mom and Dad probably haven't been around a lot.”

“Pretty much.” Quinn's tone was downbeat. Damn, it really was rough going at home already. A beat passed before Quinn asked, “So what address should I send it to?”

“My camera?”

“Yeah, what else would I be talking about?”

Daria gave her her address.

“And anything else?”

“I think I'm good except for that.”

“I'll send it out tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Quinn.”

“Goodnight, Daria.”

“Bye.”

Chapter Text

Jane really thought that by October of 2002 they’d finally be done with that damn song. But there was that distinctive piano chord in the beginning. That sound of longing, of disconnect. Fantastic verses about traveling through space. A hundred concrete memories of time spent together. She looked up at the grocery store speaker and frowned.

“I’m afraid that she might find me as/ Plain ol’ Jane…”

No need to rub it in, Train. Jeez, Jane thought.

What was Daria doing right then? Jane looked at her watch, a necessary addition to her life now that she worked retail. It was late on a Friday evening; Daria would be watching Neon Genesis Evangelion with the anime club in the big lecture hall. An entire city at her doorstep and Daria decides to spend the evening with the biggest nerds at Raft.

Still, they’d spent much of last Saturday's call discussing the episodes Daria had seen. Jane had never even heard about it; she didn’t even really know much about anime at all, to be honest.

As Jane studied the fourteen different kinds of non-butter spread, figuring out what one to buy, she thought about how most of that conversation had been about new things Daria had been doing at college. Her Freshman seminar on Poetry and Magic. The clubs Daria threw herself into just a few weeks before. Her photography club.

And Jim.

The guy in her English class. The guy in her anime club. The guy who she had lunch with every Tuesday and Thursday. The guy whose picture she had sent to Jane by IM, with his big hands and tall frame and swimmer’s shoulders. The guy Jane could way too easily imagine sleeping with Daria. But why did that bother her so much?

Jane drove home to Casa Lane at a leisurely pace; Trent wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours and the house felt way too quiet now. No amount of blaring The Cure could fix that.

And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there? Damn that earworm stuck in her head. Damn it.

Did Daria even realize how easily people befriended her? Probably not. Jane had seen what actual ostracism looked like in high school; many of the people who called Daria friend hadn't even given Jane the time of day before. Like Jodie.

But did she? Miss Jane?

Was she so absorbed in all that newness that she forgot about her?

Sure, that first visit in September had been good. Fun, even. Daria had picked the lock to her dorm’s roof late on Saturday night as if it were nothing. As if she’d always engaged in breaking and entering. And they’d talked for hours, until the sun had come up and they’d grabbed an early breakfast before Jane crashed on Daria’s floor.

Jane had only ever done that with Tom. The staying up all night thing. Why hadn’t the two of them done that at all, back in high school? They’d had the time. Maybe it was because they had so much time; they always knew they’d spend all day together at school, and much of the evening besides. They hadn’t even really slept over at each other’s houses more than a few times. There wasn't that rush to catch up, like with Tom.

Jane wondered what it would be like, sharing that twin bed instead. More comfortable, probably, even with being practically on top of each other on the narrow mattress. Warm, too, with their bodies so close to each other. On top of each other. Breath on skin.

Jane blinked. Whoa. Where had that come from?

Putting up the groceries, Jane was uncomfortably reminded of her endless task of restocking shelves.

Her job was so boring; she didn’t even really talk about it very much anymore. Maybe she'd make an occasional reference to her co-worker, Miriam, and the sculpture she was doing. Or the way Patrick told her limericks until she cracked a smile on those long double shifts. Her life in Lawndale felt as incomprehensible as Daria’s was in Boston.

Jane opened the bag of chips and ate a bunch before putting it away. She wasn’t terribly hungry for dinner.

At least she was saving a lot of money. No rent to pay and regularly cooking for herself had done that. Besides, who was she even going to get pizza with? Jesse? No.

And Trent had been gone more than he was home lately. Was he seeing one of his groupies? Was that why he wasn’t around? She missed him.

Jane climbed the stairs to her room. At least there was all that fancy paper and Chinese ink and brushes to play with. That generous employee discount came in handy. And there was a pop song to get out of her head. Maybe with some Hole. Yeah, that would do the trick.

A couple of hours of painting later, Jane's mind refused to calm down and let her slip into that flow state. Her thoughts kept returning to Daria. She kept thinking about the weekend they'd shared. Or rather, she was thinking of what she was increasingly calling The Hug in her mind.

They'd been at the train station. The gate had just bi called and people had surged around the two of them. Jane knew she had to go, and soon, if she didn't want to stand for three hours on the ride home.

She and Daria had looked at each other. Jane was wishing for more time together. Just a few more minutes.

Daria had been looking decidedly anywhere but at Jane. Jane remembered when Summer's kids had been little. They'd had that same look of shyness, of uncertainty. It was as endearing on Daria as it was on her niblings.

And then Daria had set her lips in a line, like she was daring herself to do something. She'd looked up, and Jane found herself hugged by Daria Morgendorffer once again. This time she'd wrapped her arms around Daria's waist, slightly startled. Daria's head was on her chest and Jane was sure that her best friend must have heard the way it pounded.

“I'll miss you,” Jane murmured into Daria's hair, ignoring the part of her brain that longed to make a joke of it.

“Me too,” came the muffled reply. Daria squeezed a bit harder. Holding her felt like the time Jane had held a baby bird in her cupped hand before returning it to its nest: small and fragile and warm.

“Last call for train 527 to Washington,” came the announcement over the PA.

“Shit, that's me.”

Jane picked up her bags and took one last look at Daria; she seemed so lost. But maybe it had been Jane's willful imagination. Either way, she hadn't had time to dissect it, rushing for the train and then trying to find a seat.

But now, in her room, despite her attempt to drown it all out with angry girl rock, Jane wondered. And are you lonely looking for yourself out there?

Chapter Text

The light, a cool, misty grey, filtered through the windows of the grease trap Daria and Jane had parked themselves at on Friday afternoon. A smattering of leaves fell to the ground with every gust of wind through the street trees. It was picturesque, but in a way best appreciated from the opposite side of a pane of glass.

The light didn't make it as far as the two women sitting at a booth on the far end of the dark room. The low ceilings and brown fake-wood paneling didn't help either. Instead, the harsh light of yellow fluorescent bulbs illuminated the table, and to a lesser extent, the two women sitting across from one another.

Beside them laid several shopping bags, crinkly but functional in the way of reused shopping bags. The kinds of bags that get donated along with the clothes in them.

“So in my psych class we've been talking about fictional diseases.” Daria gestured with a fry in her hand.

“Lycanthropy, vampirism, that kind of stuff?” Jane furrowed her brow in concentration before stealing the biggest of Daria's cheese fries.

“Hey! Get your own!” Daria all but swatted her friend's hand away.

“French fry tithe. You know this.” Jane smirked when saying it, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I don't want to reopen the French fry war of junior year so I am going to abstain from comment.”

“You always were the bigger person.” Jane's voice was arch tinged with fondness.

“Anyway,” Daria continued, aggravated, “One of the weirder ones is called Hanahaki Disease.”

“Sounds Japanese.”

“Yeah, it comes from the yaoi fandom. You know, the pretty young boy love stuff?”

Jane swiped another fry. “I know it; I always get yaoi confused with yuri though.” She paused. ”So what is it?”

“People cough up flower petals because they're in love and the other person doesn't know. It gets worse the more they fall in love with the other person.” Daria yanked her fries out of range, putting her cup of soda between them and Jane's hand in what she knew was only a way to buy time.

“Sounds messy. And difficult to hide.” Jane eyed the fry situation and resumed eating the last of her mozzarella sticks, swirling it around the bottom of the plastic marinara cup to get the last bit of sauce.

“I'm not sure how they keep it from other people, to be honest.” Daria deftly picked out an especially cheesy fry and popped it in her mouth.

“Seems like the kind of thing you'd pick up with a stethoscope. Good thing it isn't real.” Jane laughed, but the sound was slightly forced, tight.

“Can you imagine? Hiding your attraction for years only to be outed by coughing up flowers.” Daria resolutely stared at her fries instead of at her friend.

“How do you cure it?” Jane asked before she reached around Daria's coke and triumphantly plucked out another fry, this one loaded with cheese and bacon, and shoved the entire thing in her mouth.

“Hey! How are your arms so freakishly long?” Daria scowled, but continued. “It depends. In some stories it only gets cured if the other person returns their love. In others, confessing alone is enough to cure them.”

“Imagine watching someone perish in front of you because you don't love them,” Jane said.

“Yeah, it's bad enough that you know you're going to die, but then everyone knows why you're dying too.” Wiping the last fry in the rapidly congealing cheese sauce at the bottom of the basket, Daria finished her food.

“I prefer to keep my unrequited pining to myself.” The tone in Jane's voice was arch, ironic. Exaggeratedly so. Daria side eyed her.

“No, we were all aware of your thing for Jesse. Even Jesse.” Daria gave a small smile of triumph, payback for the fries.

Jane colored. “Yeah, that.” Now she was the one who refused to look Daria in the eye. “We should get back to your dorm and put this stuff away.”

“Thanks for coming out with me.” Daria dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before dumping it in her empty fry basket.

“Are you kidding? I've been wanting to go thrift shopping with you forever. What made you change your mind? “

Daria shrugged. “I decided I needed a new look.”

Jane looked at her shrewdly. “I'm sure this Jim guy you've been hanging out with never factored into it.”

“Eh. I wore my blue sweater to class on Thursday and he mentioned that it was a good color on me.”

“Oh?” Jane watched Daria's face intently as they stood up to leave.

“Oh, what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Jane said hurriedly. She scooped up her trash, depositing it in the garbage on the way out. “How is he?”

“He's good. Busy. Bio is kicking his ass.”

“When are you seeing him again?” Jane asked.

“Tuesday, probably, in class. Why?” Daria's eyebrows furrowed at her friend's pointed question.

“Just curious!”

“You're acting weird,” Daria said, eyes narrowing. “Like you did back in high school when you'd push Trent and me together.” She stopped, suddenly, turning to Jane. “You don't think I have a crush on Jim, do you?”

The strain in her shoulders gave Jane an air of forced non-chalance. “I don't know, but I think he has a crush on you.”

Daria rolled her eyes and resumed walking. “Hardly. We're friends, Jane. Like you and me.”

Jane looked like she was about to say more but instead said, “Shame that hanahaki stuff isn't real.”

“So we can all be forced to admit when we have feelings for each other? It's better for all of us to keep those kinds of things contained.” Daria's tone was forced, as if trying to shove something in a too-small suitcase.

“Yeah, I agree. It's better that way.” Jane looked off down the street, breathing out a long, deep sigh. “So Patrick wrote me this new limerick…”

Chapter Text

“What else are you doing this weekend, anyway?” Jane always knew the right way to needle Daria into doing something. She leaned on the row of lockers as Daria all but emptied her backpack's contents into her locker. “You said that Tom's busy up at the Cove and your sister is having her friends over for sunscreen trials. Plus you haven't had any homework since the AP exams and you said you were in a creative rut.”

“And give up the comfort of my room's air conditioning?” Daria slammed her locker shut and headed for the school's exit.

Daria didn't know why Jane absolutely needed to go to this damn parade. She would have thought that Jane would be done with parades after the homecoming one.

But no, Jane needed to go to this one, which always happened on, Daria was sure, the hottest day of June.

“C'mon. Pizza will be my treat. We can even get mozzarella sticks.”

Damn, Jane almost never offered to pick up the tab, Daria thought. And she never resorted to bribery this soon in the negotiations. She blinked at the glare of the June sun as they walked home.

“Why do you want to go so badly?”

“I don't know, I just…” Daria could tell Jane was hunting for the best lie in that long pause. “Wanted to see what it was about.”

“It's a parade… Of gay people.”

Jane's lips twisted in annoyance. “Yes, I got that from the name, thanks.” She paused. “C'mon, Daria.”

How could she refuse? Daria had a feeling Jane's insistence had something to do with that girl at the artist colony last summer. But other than that first time, when Jane made a joke about the girl getting fresh with her, she'd completely avoided the topic altogether.

It was a weirdly taboo subject. Even more taboo than talking about Tom. Daria didn't want to pressure her friend into talking before she was ready but maybe this was a sign that Jane wanted to open up a bit about it. Obviously Daria couldn't just readily agree to it or else Jane would be suspicious.

“Fine. But the rubber lederhosen stay home,“ Daria deadpanned.

“Spoilsport.” But Jane was grinning.

It was just as loud and crowded as Daria thought it would be, and she didn't relish being shoulder to shoulder with what seemed like all of Lawndale. More than once the crush of the crowd had pushed Daria and Jane together, making her cheeks feel hot.

The parade had lots of the kinds of people Daria expected: drag queens and leather daddies and dykes on bikes.

There were the booze-sponsored floats pumping out loud pop music while scantily-clad young men danced and threw out rainbow snap bracelets and Mardi Gras beads. Jane had snagged a pair of heart-shaped rainbow sunglasses and put them on, asking how she looked. She'd elbowed Daria in the side when, deadpan, Daria had said, “Fruity.”

But in between were so many normal-looking people representing their organization or their workplace. Daria hadn't expected that. Then again what did she know about gayness other than what existed in pop culture? Will and Grace. Willow and Tara on Buffy. Those could also only be figments of Hollywood's imagination.

These were real people who also were gay.

Hm.

They'd been walking to Pizza King when Daria saw them. Two girls from her high school– one goth and one a blonde girl who always reeked of pot smoke– were holding hands as they walked in front of Daria and Jane, seemingly oblivious to them, and really everyone else. At a stoplight, the blonde impulsively kissed the goth on the cheek and squeezed her hand, and the goth had seemed pleased.

Daria looked down, embarrassed at the PDA. She could also feel the weight of Jane's gaze on her. As if Jane was looking for something.

Abruptly, Jane asked, “Hey, they're playing Splatter Fear 4. We should go see it.”

“Surely this one will be different from the last 3 we saw.” Daria easily fell into the ironic patter she had always had with Jane.

“But this one has clowns.” Jane did jazz hands.

“Well, in that case, who am I to refuse?” She smirked at Jane.

“Good. It's a date.” Both girls blushed at this and refused to look at each other. “I mean, let's set a date to see that.”

Studiously Daria looked down at the sidewalk, deliberately avoiding looking at at the hand-holding dykes in front of them. “Of course, of course. Today, after pizza? You owe me.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Yeah, fine. I'll call from the payphone at Pizza King to see what time it's showing.”

With half of her attention, Daria kept the banter going with her friend. With the other half, she wondered. She picked at why Jane had wanted to come to this parade.

Initially, when they came back to school after that disastrous summer, Daria had thought the slight disconnect between them was because of lingering effects of the fight. That and Jane's feeling of weirdness that her best friend was dating her ex. They'd started calling each other by their last names more. Jane had become obsessed with painting women, their distorted features and bodies crowding her sketchbooks and filling up her canvases. Sometimes Daria wondered if some of them were of her. She'd even asked Jane once about it and Jane had abruptly closed her sketchbook and gotten up.

And she felt like Jane was always just a little bit uncomfortable around her now. But maybe like a grain of sand to an oyster, the irritant had been smoothed over with nacre, and things had seemed to get better between them as the school year progressed.

But now Daria felt it again. Like a hot spot in new boots, threatening to blister. But whereas she knew what to do for hotspots–moleskin–she wasn't sure what to do about friendships.

Still, she was glad that Jane would be joining her in Boston, although she was worried about that first semester without her best friend.

“Daria? Daria! Hello?” Jane was waving a hand in front of her face.

“What?” she'd said, peevishly.

“You trailed off on me. Just making sure the little green men hadn't finally zapped your brain.”

Daria fiddled with the hem of her jacket, embarrassed to be caught out so completely. Still, she fired back with, “Nah, even they don't want something that depressing.”

She looked at her friend. Even with those ridiculous glasses, she was still beautiful. They just made her red lips pop. No, no, better not to think about that.

“When is your sculpture due in to the competition?” Daria asked.

Jane launched into a big story about the incompetence of the judging committee.

Daria mentally shrugged. She guessed that Jane wasn't going to tell her anything after all.

Chapter Text

Daria turned her legal pad face-down on Jane’s bed, flopping down fully onto it herself.

“Ugh. Nargh. Feh.”

“The writing’s going well, I see.” Jane paused her work on the sculpture on the floor for a moment to look up at the bed, which Daria can just see out of the corner of her eye–that corner that her glasses don’t cover–so everything was fuzzy on top of being indistinct.

“I think I need to get out of this place,” Daria announced, looking down instead of through that tiny window between glasses and the edges of her sight.

“It’s a little late for pizza, and you have work in the morning.”

Daria blew through her bangs. She didn’t need to be reminded that she had an entire day of copyediting ahead of her for the world’s most boring book about identifying anonymous hands in medieval book illustration. Still, she’d found the job herself. It paid better than the OK-To-Cry Corral camp, too, which her mom had threatened her with doing a second summer there if she didn’t find something else.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean tonight. I think I just need to get out of town.” She sat back up and ran a hand through her bangs, pushing them off her forehead.

“Oh, yeah?”

Daria could sort of register the shift in Jane’s posture. She knew this wasn’t something she did, suggesting to go on an adventure with Jane instead of being coerced into one.

“You have the 4th of July off, right?” Daria ventured.

“Yeah, and the 5th, although I have to be back on Saturday. Opening shift.” Jane stood and stretched as she said it, grimacing. Daria tried not to notice the gap between Jane’s shirt and her pants.

“Bummer.”

“Yeah, still, we could do something for those two days. Will Professor Smellington give you that Friday off?”

“Professor Snell,” Daria corrected absentmindedly. “And yeah, I’m sure.”

“So where do you want to go that’s like, what, three or four hours away?” Jane asked.

That was the question, wasn’t it? What to go and actually see. And where to stay overnight.

“That’s Philly, maybe? The Eastern Shore? West Virginia?”

Daria racked her brains. Something was in Philadelphia. Something actually worth visiting. Oh, right.

“The Mütter Museum?” She turned her head to properly look at Jane’s reaction.

“That’s the medical museum, isn’t it?” Jane offered, scratching the back of her head absently as she smudged the painting with the fingers of her other hand.

“Yeah, the one with the garden of poisons.” It was what had caught her eye the first time she'd heard about the place.

Jane grinned. “I’m in. We could drive up on Thursday and find a cheap motel, see the museum on Friday, and then go home.”

Daria gave herself a small smile. Jane needed this trip, possibly more than Daria did. A hundred small gripes added up to one thing: Jane hated working retail. Daria knew that the best she could offer to her friend right now was a distraction. She didn’t want to think about how Jane would fare once she left for college.

Jane overslept, of course, and so they didn't hit the road until noon, which was when Jane was finally sufficiently showered and fully caffeinated.

The day was hot and humid; Jane wiped her brow with the back of her hand as she loaded her duffel bag into the Honda Civic only a few years younger than she was.

Climbing into the driver seat of the car, she rolled both windows down before Daria and her bag of snacks got in. “Sorry my beater of a car doesn't have functioning AC,” she said, flapping her hand in front of her face to try to cool it.

“You could have told me before now; I probably could have borrowed Mom's car.”

Jane shrugged. “Oh yeah, and she doesn't do more than 50.”

“I guess we're taking the scenic route.”

“Exactly,” Jane said as she chucked the Triptik at Daria in the passenger seat. “Also your job is to give me M&M's every time I put out my hand.”

“I definitely didn't agree to any of this,” Daria said in her most aggravated tone. She opened the candy bag anyway, though, dispensing a few candies into Jane's outstretched hand before taking a few for herself.

***

Four hours later the Triptik suggested pulling off someplace in Pennsylvania called Glen Mills for the night. The guidebook that came with the Triptik listed several motels in the area; Daria was sure that they were sure to find something.

After refueling the car, Daria and Jane figured out an uncomfortable truth: nearly everything in town was shut down for the holiday. Even the grocery store and the Chinese place were closed. After doubling back to ask the gas station attendant for help, they drove to the McDonald's at the edge of town.

“At least we got some cold pop into us?” Jane said, holding the cup to her neck

Daria held hers to her wrist. “Now we need to find a place to stay.”

“What's the first place on the list?”

Daria read the name out loud, squinted at the map provided. “I think it's back by the gas station.”

“What do you mean you're all booked up?” Jane said to the front desk attendant.

He had tired eyes and looked like he desperately wanted to go for a smoke instead of talking to them.

“It's the holiday.” He shrugged in a way that clearly demonstrated how little he cared. “You can try the motel down the street.”

“Thanks,” Daria said as she left, feeling herself wilting.

It was the same for the other 4 motels they tried from the list. At the last one the front desk attendant suggested place after place, only to be told, “Yeah, we tried that one too.”

“Um, what about the Vanguard Motel?” she asked, glancing from Daria to Jane. “It's most of the way to the next town but they'll probably have a room.”

Daria and Jane looked at each other. That didn't sound like a ringing endorsement.

“We'll try there, I guess,” Jane said, her usual enthusiasm flagging. “Thanks for your help.”

“Good luck,” the attendant said, before looking at her watch wistfully.

As the two young women pulled up to a battered motel, Daria said, “This can't be the place.”

Jane pointed to the sign outside. “Guess it is.”

They both took big breaths before getting out, trying to psych themselves up.

Out of the car, the place looked worse. The pool was empty, the sign on its door faded to illegibility and the paint on the deck and inside the empty pool shell could charitably be called powder blue. The sidewalk to the lobby had cracks, but no weeds between them.

When she stepped inside the hotel lobby, all Daria could think was how it could be best described as “brown.” Cigarette smoke made the ceiling nearly as dark as the paneling on the walls. They could hear the sound of TV from the office behind the desk so they knew the place wasn't abandoned. But they had to ring the bell several times before an old guy in white undershirt and highwaisted brown polyester pants finally shuffled out. He held a lit cigarette, puffing on it as he approached the desk.

The attendant looked back and forth at the two women for a moment before asking, “Can I help you?” From his lingering glances at their clothes, Daria wondered if he was assessing the likelihood that they were prostitutes.

“We're looking for a room, just for tonight.”

“We're passing through on our way to Philadelphia,” Daria added. Hopefully that helped ease the attendant's scruples.

The old man turned to the wall of hooks, squinting at it. Even from where she stood, Daria could tell it was completely empty.

“Aha!” he said, snatching the last set of keys at the very bottom. “It's a full, though.”

It took a second for Daria to understand what he meant. She turned to Jane who had just come to the same conclusion, her face quickly contorting through several emotions before settling on resignation.

“We'll take it.”

“What other choice do we have?” Daria mumbled under her breath.

“A hundred dollars. In cash. Up front.” The attendant took another drag on his cigarette, tapping the ashes out into the ashtray on the counter. It was black with the name of a funeral home in town on the side.

Jane raised an eyebrow, but counted out five $20 bills from her wallet. From the AAA guide, Daria knew that even the posh bed and breakfast in town didn't even charge that much. She looked from the attendant to Jane, who gave a small half-shrug, her look of resignation deepening.

“Second floor, all the way at the end.” The attendant took one last drag of his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray where it joined a dozen other butts. He took the money and dropped the keys into Jane's outstretched hand. “Checkout is at 11. Nice doing business with you.” He shuffled to the back office, where they could hear the TV dial being changed until it landed on a Western.

Opening the door, Daria was relieved to only smell stale cigarette smoke. The place had problems, but mold apparently wasn't one of them, at least. She stepped inside, putting her duffel bag down.

“Ugh, it's hot in here,” Jane said as she strode in after Daria, going directly to the air conditioner in the window. She cranked everything as far as it would go and turned it on, putting her hand onto the vent. “It works, at least.”

Daria surveyed the entire room. It was nearly as brown as the lobby, its popcorn ceiling a dingy off-white and its walls also just as covered in floor to ceiling fake-wood paneling. The orange rug was nearly gray in front of the door, and Daria did not want to know what had caused the dark stain by the bathroom. She thought that she probably shouldn't take her boots off except to sleep.

“What side do you want?” Daria finally asked as Jane continued to block all the cold air with her body. As if she hadn’t been thinking about it since the front desk attendant told them there was only one bed.

“The right one. Closer to the air conditioner.” Great, she would have to trod through the brown patch of carpet.

Daria tentatively sat on her side of the bed. “What do you want to do?”

Jane walked over to the TV and switched it on, manually turning the knob for the channels. Only two came in clearly, the PBS channel and the network that didn't air Sick, Sad World, playing the Western they'd heard before. The PBS channel was nothing but pledge drive; disappointing.

“I saw an open convenient store and a park on the way here,” Jane offered. “We can get some more snacks and hang out on a bench or something.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Daria didn't like the heat of outside, but this small, close, smoky room seemed much worse. Especially because it reminded her that they'd be sharing the bed. She would have offered to sleep on the floor to avoid the situation, but decided even she wasn't that desperate.

Some time around dusk, cars started pulling into the parking lot, families coming out to set up chairs, surrounding the two women. They would rather have been alone but then again they were the ones crashing the party. Jane pulled another round of cans of Ultra Cola from their cooler and they moved on to debate important questions, like if members of Mystik Spiral were Muppet Babies, what would they be.

“No way, Max can't be Animal; that's too on the nose.” Jane crossed her arms and slouched back as if to emphasize the point.

“You're right, it is unfair. Animal, even Baby Animal, can actually play the drums.”

“More people would probably come to their concerts if Nick started screaming, ‘Animal!’ and ran off stage,” Jane conceded.

The intense “is Trent Kermit?” argument only stopped with the first of the explosions.

They were the last to leave the park, departing only because a damp fog was rapidly approaching their bench.

In the car, the clock read 10:30. Daria eyed it as Jane drove them back to the motel. It was still way too early to go to bed. Quiet settled on them both as Daria watched the light from the street lamps make Jane's earrings and eyes glitter in the dark. Like the fireflies that had winked on all evening. Jane kept absently scratching a bug bite on her arm, her eyes focused on the road. The windows down, the sound of crickets came in to fill the silence. It was peaceful.

The wave of cold hit Daria as she opened the door to their motel room, her glasses fogging up instantly.

“C'mon, hurry up, you're letting it all out,” Jane griped as she gently pushed Daria inside the door. Cleaning her glasses just inside the doorway, Daria could still feel where Jane's hands on her had been.

She walked over to the TV and turned it on, more out of habit than anything else. It was still the pledge drive on PBS, and the other channel was playing some 80s show about people with money having interpersonal problems. It would have to do.

Feeling awkward, Daria said, “Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?” When Jane said it was fine, Daria took her duffel with her, changing into her sleep shirt and a pair of shorts. She knew she could have changed in front of Jane; they'd changed together in gym class for years. The TV show wasn't interesting enough to distract Jane from what she’d be doing, though.

And sometimes it had seemed as if Jane was studying her, staring a little too long. Especially in the last couple of weeks since the pride parade.

They weren't kids anymore, Daria supposed.

When Daria got out, Jane immediately jumped up and grabbed her own duffel before going into the bathroom. Daria got under the covers, dully watching the show. She wished she knew why she felt so shy around Jane sometimes, and how sometimes it was how it had always been.

Coming out of the bathroom, Jane glanced at Daria burrowed under the blanket and said, “I guess it's bedtime.” She turned off the TV and got into bed on the other side. Daria could feel the heat radiating from her friend's body.

It had been a long time since she'd shared a bed with someone. It was probably that trip to the Gulf Coast when she was in 6th grade; she and Quinn had been forced to both sleep in a full bed while their parents had slept in another. A few months after that, Helen had gotten hired at a better law firm and they'd been able to afford two rooms while on vacation. Not that they'd done very many after that, with Helen so busy at her new job.

Sharing a bed with her ten-year-old sister had been very different than this, though. They were as far away as possible from each other, just as she'd been with Quinn, it was true. Daria’s right hand was on the ridge along the edge of the mattress and Daria didn't doubt that Jane's hip was probably also flush with the other side of the bed. Better to not think about Jane's hips.

But there was no kicking, no insults, no parent to whom they could whine about the situation. Just them and their poor decision making.

Silence hung over them, a silence Daria hated but didn't know how to break. It extended, the two of them rigidity laying on the bed, face up, until Jane said, “Rolf.”

“What?”

“That's the Muppet Baby Trent is most like.”

Daria rolled over on her side so Jane could see the weight of her skepticism. “How the hell do you justify that?”

And just like that, it had become like anything else they did together, just horizontal and somewhat closer than they usually got to each other. Not so different, except she could feel Jane's breath on her face. It was kind of nice. They should have done this before, maybe, those few times Daria had stayed at Jane's house. Jane’s bed was the same size.

“And that is why Gargoyles is better than Teenage–” Daria gave an unexpectedly big yawn. “Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” Jane said. She rose up on one arm to see the clock on the other side of Daria. “It's 12:30 already.”

Yawning again, Daria said, “Tomorrow morning we're going to find a diner and I am going to eat absolutely everything.”

“Agreed. I'm turning the light off now.”

As her eyes closed, the odd thought of, “I wish we could do this every night, ” traveled with her as she slipped into sleep.

In her dreams, Daria found herself in a hotel, its carpeting plush and its wallpaper immaculate. She was looking for something, opening door after door. But it was all empty. She was all alone and she needed help. Looking down she could see the wound on her leg, slowly leaking blood around her bandage. She was getting weaker and weaker for every door she opened. The last one flung open was as empty as the first one, and Daria slid down to the ground, her head on her arms on her folded legs. It felt so hopeless.

She felt a blanket wrap around her, gentle touches along her scalp. The hallway dissolved around her and Daria felt herself dragged back into the blackness of sleep.

Daria woke up with a start in the too-dark room. She rolled over and saw sunshine peeking through the beat-up blinds and Jane, still asleep, curled up on her side on the far side of the bed, facing away from her and seeming like she was a million miles away.

“C’mon, it’s 10,” Daria said as she shook Jane’s shoulder. “Time to get up.”

Standing in front of the syphilis exhibit at the Mütter, Daria turned to Jane, saying, “Hey, are you hungry?”

Without taking her eyes off the exhibit, Jane answered, “I could eat.”

At the pizza place they found near the museum, Daria studied Jane, attempting to make it seem less obvious. She memorized the features of her best friend in front of her. The delicate flare of her nostrils, the arch of her eyebrow, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The little things that made Jane who she was, beyond the obvious of the bright blue eyes and red lips, perpetually smirking. Daria noticed the precise way Jane held things in her hands, her comfortable slouch against the hard plastic seats, the way she held up a slice on the tips of her fingers. Somehow Daria had never noticed how carefully Jane blotted her mouth with a napkin when she was done eating; she probably did that to make sure her lipstick didn't get all over her face. Did it get all over when she kissed someone? It was an odd thought and Daria puzzled over it.

“Is there lipstick on my teeth?” Jane asked, self-consciously, her shoulders going up just slightly towards her ears.

Daria blinked, realizing that she must have been staring at Jane's mouth. She shook her head. “No, it's fine.” She carefully kept her gaze on Jane's eyes after that.

In the car, Jane had the passenger side window rolled down, her hand idly trailing through the air. It was an oddly graceful movement and if Daria was doing anything else besides driving the scenic byways of Maryland, she'd probably be watching Jane more closely.

They'd been sitting in comfortable silence, the radio station cutting in and out, when Jane suddenly said, “Hey, we should visit the Mothman statue sometime.”

“Where is that?”

“West Virginia somewhere. I heard they made his ass really hot.”

Daria rolled her eyes. Her friend never did stop being boy crazy. “If we wanted to see statues with nice asses we wouldn't need to drive to a different state to do it.”

“The entire town is in on it too. Haven't you always wanted a Mothman key chain?”

“I can't say that I have.” Still, it was one of Jane's more viable schemes.

“You had fun on this trip, didn't you?” Jane grinned at Daria's exaggerated look of being perpetually put-upon.

“Yeah, I guess.”

They passed the sign for Rising Sun and cruised across the high bridge above the Susquehanna, glittering in the afternoon sun far below them.

“So we should go there at the end of August, right before Labor Day. I know you'll be packed for college way before then.” Hell, Daria was half-packed already. Still she wouldn't quite give Jane the satisfaction of an easy capitulation. The effect on Jane's morale was noticeable, though. Jane would definitely benefit from another trip before Daria left if it left her just as bright and shining as she was right now.

“Maybe, but you have to book the hotel before we go.” She gave a sidelong glance at Jane. Not that Daria had really minded sharing a bed, in the end. Still, she'd be damned if she let Jane know that. There were limits to friendship, after all. Sharing a bed was a thing couples, not best friends, did. And, of course, they were only friends.

Chapter Text

“I hate writing artist statements,” Jane said, half hanging off her bed with the phone to her ear. It was already turning dark, even though it was only mid-afternoon. A storm was coming in, looking likely to strip the last of the fall leaves from the trees on that early-November Tuesday. Why was November always the worst?
The comment had come out of nowhere and there was a pause on the line.
“Why? What do you need one for? Are you having a show?” Daria asked.
“Yeah, a small one at the mall with several of my co-workers. I just don’t know what to write. I never know what to write.” She played with her earrings in frustration, wiggling each one back and forth in turn. Jane knew that all of the piercings would probably be irritated and bright red the next morning but for now the feeling she was causing felt better than trying to drag something out of her that wouldn’t come.
“If you wanted to write something you would have written something?” Daria added. 
Jane smiled, delighted at how Daria was always on her wavelength. “Exactly.”
“It just pours out of you in a way you don’t exactly understand.”
“Yeah, I guess…” That wasn’t entirely a charitable way of putting it, but maybe it stung a little bit because it was true. Jane didn’t know what she was doing. Everyone else seemed to have a plan, a reason, a strategy for what they created. Some kind of deep, abiding idea that they were pursuing with their art. “I just like painting weird faces.”
“Yes, yes, the tormented artist’s psyche.” Did Daria seem somewhat impatient with her? God, she was so smart. Jane bet that Daria always had a reason for everything she wrote. It was probably why Jane saw so little of it; it meant too much to Daria. 
“I bet you could probably write a better artist statement than I could.” Jane had thought it a thousand times, but she’d never said it out loud. She’d never been this desperate.
“Maybe. With all that copious free time I have.” Jane could hear the eye roll.
“Please? I’ve been sitting on this for two weeks and I don’t have anything. Zip. Nada. Just ‘Jane likes art.’” She sat up, looking out the window at the grey clouds collecting. Rain soon.
“You’re thinking too much.” Jane huffed at Daria’s line. Was she thinking too little or too much? Or just not the right way?
“Probably. Please? I don’t even know where to start.” Jane knew she was wheedling but she was desperate. She’d just stared and stared at the blank word doc, erasing and retyping a thousand different things.
Daria sighed. “I don’t even know what’s in your show.”
“Well, that’s easy. I can email you the images I shot of what I’m including.” Jane was gnawing on her lip. That wasn’t a no. She could work with that.
“Is it all new stuff? Work you’ve created since I’ve been away?” Daria seemed genuinely curious now. Jane could practically hear the gears turning.
“Mostly. A few that I did this summer before you left.”
“Send them to me and I’ll see what I can do. How long does it have to be?” Ah yes, the classic Daria, ‘I’m grumpy about it but I’ll do it for you’ song and dance. 
“A paragraph or three. Less than 500 words.”
“And when do you need it by?” 
“Thursday.” 
“Okay, fine.”
“Thanks, Daria, you’re a lifesaver.” Jane stood up and walked to her computer, booting it up. It would only take a few minutes to send that email. But she’d have to get off the phone with Daria first. Jane once again wished that her parents weren’t such cheap asses and would spring for at least another phone line, if not cable internet.
“Don’t thank me yet; I haven’t even written it. It’s late, I should probably hang up anyway; my roommate’s supposed to be back at any minute.”
“Oh, okay.” Jane wished that they could have ended with discussing anything else, maybe a movie Daria saw in class, or something else interesting from her new life in Boston. It was all more of the same here in Lawndale. Just another dragging, brown late Fall. She was just so down lately. 
“Goodnight, Jane.”
“Goodnight, good luck on your test tomorrow!” Jane tried to infuse the send-off with every bit of cheer she had before hanging up. It made her miss Daria more. The dial tone she got made the ache in her heart even deeper. 

Jane slumped down in the chair in her room. She was exhausted. Several pre-teens had broken into the permanent markers and had drawn on half of the store, it seemed like. Jane’s boss blamed her for the damage, too, saying that she should have minded them more. As if she could have, on this Thursday evening when it seemed like all of Lawndale came in demanding special orders and complicated returns and detailed explanations about the different kinds of ink available. Once Jane had noticed, it had been way too late, even as she shooed the kids out and locked the doors. She’d been high as a kite on the solvents she’d had to use to clean off the cream-colored shelves. Jeez, she reeked of sweat and chemicals.

The phone rang. Trent was on the road for a couple of gigs and her mom had decided to visit her old commune mates and smoke some of the new weed strain they were going to start selling soon. No one would be calling for either one of them. Maybe it was for her?

Jane shuffled to her feet, bending to pick up the cordless receiver on the floor.

“Yello.”

“Oh, hi Jane!” She groaned inwardly. It was Amanda, the type-a show organizer.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jane frowned at her broken nail from the day’s activities, fetching her nail clippers.

“So I was wondering if you had your artist statement ready? Because the show goes up in two days?” Jane hated it when people let their voices go up instead of making straight up demands.

“Yeah, it’s almost done. I’ll email it to you tomorrow.” Jane crossed her fingers, glad she was only on the phone and not in person.

“Great, thanks! I’m looking forward to reading it! You chose such fascinating pieces! I’d love to know what your thought processes are!”

“Good night, Amanda.”

“Goodnight!” Jane heard the dial tone then turned the phone off, returning it to the cradle. She’d become much better at making sure it was charged after she’d gotten Daria’s peevish IM about how she’d tried to call several times earlier that day but had only gotten an endless ringtone. Jane had picked up her cordless phone then only to find it quite dead. Oops. After that incident she’d at least had a reason to keep it charged.

Jane sighed. She’d boot up her computer and write…something. But what could she really write about? The truth was that the thing that all of the pieces she had chosen had evoked the same feeling in her: a heavy emptiness, a longing. Yearning, maybe. Jane couldn’t bring herself to be that honest in writing. Not in front of so many people.

There was an email from Daria, surprisingly enough. It just had the subject line of ‘statement’ without any other information. She’d sent it late the night before.

The body of the text contained nothing but the statement Daria had written. No salutation, no signature. Just the content. Jane had been bending over to look at her computer but she dragged over a chair and sat down to read.

“My work is about the tension between distance and connection. I take advantage of the scale of large canvases to evoke the sense of space between poles of connection. My figures are distorted, representing the ways in which we twist up ideas of the other person in our heads because we cannot see them. We can only rely on email, phone calls, IM’s to reconstruct the relationships that we form so easily in person, knowing they are a poor substitute for reality. Instead these communication methods only serve to emphasize the distance instead of erasing it.

“I use Japanese ink and brushes in an attempt to capture the fleeting immediacy of these connections, allowing the brushes to dry out until only the faint scrubbing lines remain, trailing off the side of the paper. Maybe the lines are just an illusion, anyway. Maybe the ink will fade over time as the rays of the sun bleach the page into empty whiteness once again. Maybe the work will be hidden away, rediscovered with its dark marks intact, but with its meaning faded with the passage of time.

“My works in this exhibition represent my attempt to keep a conversation going, a relationship going, despite the disparate kinds of media used. It’s about what isn’t there, along with a hope for something better and more concrete in the future.

“Yearning.”

Jane stood up. Paced. She couldn’t send this in for the show. Hell, she could barely read it herself. Daria had…done the exact opposite of half-assing it. Jane felt flayed. Seen. She’d missed Daria so much, and it had all come out in her art. Of course her best friend had picked up on what she’d put into it. They’d always been on the same level from the very beginning. Maybe she’d meant for Daria to see it and to comprehend what it meant in a way that no one else could. And here Daria had written something that had cut to the quick, to the things that Jane could no longer hide from herself. She had some things she knew she had to say in person.

Jane glanced at her calendar. Eight days until she went up to Boston again. Eight days to think.

Walking back to her computer, she copied and pasted the content of Daria’s email into another one addressed to Amanda. Filled it full of apologies for how late it was and that she hoped it was appropriate. Jane breathed deeply. Sent it.

Jane returned to the original and hit ‘reply,’ only adding, “Thank you. It’s perfect. Call me on Sunday? I’m off at 3.” She sent the email and turned off her computer. Collapsed into bed. Stared at the ceiling.

Yearning.

Was that what Daria was feeling too?

Chapter Text

Daria unclipped the roll of film she’d hung up the night before. Holding it up to the orange light of the photo lab, she carefully snipped the film and slipped it into the plastic sleeves. Once done, she held the sleeve up to the light, squinting.

The photos were from the weekend Jane visited, mostly shots of the campus as the leaves and the light changed with the approach of winter. But also a dozen were of Jane, some close-up from where she sat on a bench next to Daria, some of her leaning against a building or a tree trunk, her face bathed in speckled light.

“How'd you do?” Alex asked from where he stood at the enlarger behind her.

“I'm not sure. I think something went a little wrong. They're too dark, I think.”

He came up beside her and she handed the film sleeve over to him.

“Hm. What temperature and time did you use?”

“68° and 8 minutes. The usual for T-Max 400, right?. And I used the premixed developer from the dispenser.” Her chin moved in the direction of the large container of it in the other room.

“Yeah, that sounds right for this kind of film. Maybe you agitated it too much.” He continued to squint at the photos, looking at each one in turn.

Daria frowned. “I didn't realize that was a thing that could happen.”

“Yeah, it isn't usually a problem with you, though, is it?”

Daria shook her head.

“It's just a bit more overdeveloped than it should be. You should be able to fix it when you make prints.”

Daria released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “Oh, good. Thanks.”

A companionable silence fell over the both of them, working in tandem next to each other, late on a Tuesday evening.

“What's going on with you?” he asked finally with a small bump against her shoulder.

With nearly anyone else, Daria would have bristled, both at his question and at the intrusion into her personal space. But she'd felt strangely comfortable with Alex from that first time she'd met him at photo club. She hadn't felt like that since that self-esteem class all those years ago with Jane. It probably didn't hurt that the relationship between her and Alex was so clearly platonic; for him the world revolved around his boyfriend Tris.

Alex and Daria had bonded the week before over Alex’s madcap idea to photograph in the cemetery near campus on the night of Halloween. They'd lugged their tripods out, settling up shots to capture the light of the waning moon as it raked across the tombstones. And the next nigh,t Alex had made sure to walk her back to her dorm room after she'd drunk a little too much punch at the photo club Halloween party. He'd earned his over-familiarity. Mostly.

In response to her continued silence, he gently asked, “Does it have anything to do with what the pictures are about?”

Daria looked at him. Her brow furrowed and she sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“To someone who knows what to look for, yeah. Did I ever tell you how Tris and I got together?”

“No. Tell me while I do this contact sheet.” Daria turned to another enlarger to set it up, grateful that she could stare at something else while she thought.

“We met at the beginning of Sophomore year in gym class. Volleyball.” He added, “Yeah, I know,” to her making a face at the required class.

“We were practically inseparable after that. But I thought he was straight. He'd had a girlfriend in high school—they'd been prom king and queen at their tiny school, if you can believe it.”

“And he thought you were straight, too?” Daria asked, knowing that he likely knew why she'd ask.

“Yeah, even though I'd never dated anyone. I hooked up with a couple of guys the first few weeks of my freshman year, but Tris didn't know about that.” He looked over at Daria's set-up. “Yeah, you just have to tweak it a bit when you make prints and they'll turn out better.” Daria nodded her thanks.

“So what changed?” She asked.

“He hooked up with a guy at Queer Bash three months after we met and I got wicked jealous. Told him the next day in his dorm room that the guy wasn't worth his time. Then Tris asked, ‘who is, then?’ and I said, ‘Me.’ He looked at me for a long moment and then he kissed me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, three months of mutual pining. But sometimes it's hard to know where friendship ends and relationship begins.” Daria noticed that he was deliberately busying himself so that he wasn't looking at her.

“Yeah, I guess.” What if what if what if… she wondered to herself. What if Jane isn’t straight.

They worked in companionable silence for a while.

“Do you have another roll of film to develop?” Alex asked after he'd put his last print on the rack to dry.

“Yeah, I've got another couple. The ones from the cemetery.”

“Ooh. Why don't you develop them now so I can watch your technique?”

The next day Daria and Jim emerged from the basement dining hall into the light, blinking at the brightness of the unexpectedly sunny afternoon.

“—Yeah, and then we helped the holidays play at their high school prom. It was a really weird dream.”

“Percocet will do that,” Jim added, somewhat absently.

They stood for a moment where the path forked.

“Uh, hey, Daria, I have two tickets to see this band on Friday. Would you like to go with me, like, as a date?” He said the last four words as quickly as he could.

Daria blinked up at him. Oh. Jane had been right, after all. “Uh, sure.”

Jim's face lit up. “Great! We can do pizza before going to the club. Meet at like 6 outside your dorm?”

“OK. I have to get to class.”

“See you then!”

“Yeah, see you,” Daria said as she watched him already striding across campus. She stood there for a minute, her thoughts chaotic, before she hurried to her math class.

Daria sat on her bed, her face in her hands, a pile of her clothes strewn around her. What did one even wear to a date?

Did she dress up? Did she dress down? It was an emo band, after all.

She'd tried on the clothes she'd worn to dates with Tom, but those had felt wrong. Too nice. She made a mental note to answer his email.

She'd tried on her jeans and black t-shirt, her outfit from that ill-fated trip to Alternapalooza. Too bland.

All of the clothes she'd gotten with Jane seemed wrong, too. She had an hour until she was supposed to meet Jim, so there wasn't enough time to go out and get anything, either.

Daria briefly thought of calling Jane for advice, but she didn't have the strength for an “I told you so” right now from her best friend.

What was she going to do?

Hearing the door to their common room open, Daria turned her head to see her suite mate come in.

“Hey, can you come in here and help me?” She must have looked sufficiently pathetic that Marina pivoted toward her.

“What kind of bomb blew up here?” Marina asked when she stepped inside. She set down her Nightmare Before Christmas backpack and collapsed onto Daria's desk chair, unzipping her stompy boots.

That's what had first impressed Daria the first time she'd met Marina: the girl had bigger and more aggressive boots than Daria did. And a wardrobe of completely unrelieved blackness.

Daria groaned. “I'm trying to figure out what to wear on this date tonight.”

Marina eyed her appraisingly. “With who?” Daria groaned more. “With Jim.”

“Your friend? The one on the swim team?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't realize you were…” her suite mate trailed off. True, she and Marina were hardly close; Marina was a theater major and so was mostly only around to sleep and do homework. But Jim had dropped by frequently, mostly to talk about their class, so he was hardly an unknown quantity.

“Yeah, I don't know. I can't even figure out what to wear.”

“Where is he taking you? It better not be Finding Nemo at the Student Center.” Daria appreciated the tone in her suite mate's voice indicating her willingness to go to the mat for Daria; that was the kind of cheap date Tom would have probably taken her on.

“No, one of his favorite emo bands is playing in town and he wants to take me.”

Marina nodded approvingly. “Solid. But you don't have anything cool to wear?”

Daria looked pained. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Good thing you have a suite mate far cooler than you.”

“And so modest too,” Daria deadpanned.

Marina laughed and stood up, walking to her closet in the next room.

She talked to herself as she searched through her clothes. “Eh, Ramones t-shirt-too basic. Stevie Knicks-flowy shirt- too fancy. Leather corset –”

“--Too revealing,“ Daria cut in.

“Sure, take away all my fun.” She kept digging.

“Ah, here, try this on.” She threw two shirts Daria's way. “With your usual skirt.”

Looking dubiously from the mirror to Marina, Daria asked, “How is it?”

“I think it'll work,” Marina said with a smile.

Still, Daria had her misgivings. At least the black tank top had a built-in bra and the mesh black shirt went down to her wrists.

But she doubted anyone had seen this much of her clavicles since she'd had to wear a swimsuit to pass the swim test.

Still, it was the best thing she'd tried on so far. Daria sighed. It would have to do; it was 5 minutes until 6. She put her hair back in one of the silver clips Jane had convinced her to buy.

It was fine.

Daria knew she should have just turned around and headed back to her room the second she saw how wide Jim's eyes got.

He recovered quickly although his voice was rough when he said, “Hey, Daria. I like the outfit.”

She could feel herself blush. “Uh, thanks. Did you, uh, see Dashboard Confessional?” It was the band t-shirt he was wearing.

“Yeah! This summer!” He proceeded to go on at length about the concert which Daria appreciated. And he put his hand on Daria's lower back, which she did not.

It weirdly made her miss Tom, who would do it fairly often, usually when she was anxious about something like him having dinner with her parents. At the time, she'd felt unsure, unused to having someone touch her and how to react.

But this. This just felt weird.

Daria mentally shrugged. Maybe it was just something you got used to.

Dinner at a hole in the wall pizza place near the venue reminded Daria of why she'd spent so much time with Jim that semester. They talked about everything from their readings in English class to Sick Sad World to campus politics.

Jim looked at his watch. “We should go. The doors open in about 10 minutes.”

“Oh. I thought it started at 7:30.” Daria began to recalculate the length of this date.

“It does but I like getting a good spot near the front.”

“What time will they go on?”

“I'm not sure,” Jim said with a shrug. “There are two openers so maybe 10?”

“Oh.” Daria realized that this would be nothing like seeing Mystik Spiral at the Zon. “Hopefully we can get the T back before it closes.”

“Yeah.” Jim said, his tone more unconcerned than Daria thought it ought to be.

At the venue, Daria barely noticed that Jim got a wrist band instead of an X on his hand like she did. She was too busy not being crushed by the sea of people around her.

“I need to go to the ladies’ room,” she said.

He made a noncommittal noise and leaned against a column.

The line was already impossibly long, somehow, and Daria took her time washing her hands and staring at herself in the mirror. She looked… Kind of hot. Maybe. It was an uncomfortable thought and she quickly dried her hands and left.

Daria wished that Jane could see her. Jane definitely would have Opinions, especially after the effusive praise she had given Daria for her Halloween costume. Daria could imagine Jane's hand at the hem of her mesh shirt, starting to pull– No, she definitely didn't need to have those thoughts here and now.

Outside the bathroom, Jim stood with two red solo cups, handing one to her as she approached.

Beer. And not even good beer, by the color.

“How did you…?”

Jim laughed. “My older brother's ID. We're the same height.”

Daria didn't have any response to that so she sipped her beer as they made their way towards the stage.

“Yeah, we're Pinky Swears,” the lead singer said with a noted lack of enthusiasm at the end of their set. “Thanks.”

The house lights came up.

Daria noticed that her cup was empty and frowned at it.

“I'm going to get us another drink,” Jim said. “Stay there and save our spot.”

He left Daria to contemplate how truly terrible the first band had been. Equipment issues lead to a late start. They had a complete lack of stage presence. Boring, grinding songs. She almost felt nostalgic for Jane's brother's band.

Daria watched the equipment guys disassemble and reassemble the stage, setting up the largest foot pedal board she had ever seen. She had a bad feeling that Toasting Wednesdays was going to be a shoegaze band, and probably not a good one.

She stretched as best she could in the packed space, which reeked of cigarettes and beer and cheap cologne. The cement floors were making her feet tired.

Jim elbowed his way back, holding another couple of cups of beer. “Here,” he said, handing her the cup, which she took automatically. He put his free hand at the small of her back again. Daria wished that he hadn't, and she wished that she could tell him to stop.

He said something else to her but it was unintelligible over the noise of the crowd, and Daria said, “what?” She thought he repeated it, but it still was just as unclear. “WHAT?” she said again.

He shrugged and they stood there without talking, sipping their beers, until the second band took the stage.

Jim was right; the main band got on at ten. He'd spent the entire walk over talking about how great they were, this emo band from California. She really, really hoped they were better than the opening acts. The last act had been just as bad as she feared, the lead guitarist more interested in his guitar pedals than the audience in front of him. At least Jim hadn't left to get a third round of beers, but it had still been far too loud to talk.

The band was pretty good, Daria had to admit. Compelling and dynamic.

While they played, she looked up at Jim and studied him, seeing how all of his attention was on the band and not on her. He was enthusiastically singing the chorus of the song, which appeared to be, “I kissed a drunk girl.” It was a hilariously over-wrought song, Daria thought. But he was so into it. The enthusiasm made him look boyish, alive. It was a kind face, too. And in general, she had to admit, he was a nice-looking guy.

He caught her looking at him and gave her a big grin, moving his eyes from her face to the band. She supposed that he was charming, in his own way.

And he was intelligent and funny and curious in similar ways to Tom. Really, in many ways he was a step up from Tom. Less arrogant, significantly less rich, with eyes that held a frankness to them that Tom lacked.

But discussing books never made her feel quite so breathless with Jim as it did with Tom. And she couldn't seem to summon any sort of feeling for him. She didn't know why. And she hated everything about that. There was no reason for it.

He'd make a good boyfriend for some other girl, Daria knew. He wasn't a bad guy. Just. She couldn’t make herself feel anything.

Instead, her thoughts kept dragging her back to Jane. The way she moved, the animated way she discussed her art, the way she gesticulated. Her quick wit. The way Daria’s eyes followed those bright red lips, whether she wanted to or not. And how Daria wanted to know what they'd feel like on her neck.

Oh no, those definitely weren't friend feelings. Not at all. What was she going to do?

They finally approached Daria's dorm, six hours and change after they left it. The conversation home had been awkward, stilted, dragging as they sat on the last train of the night. Daria's feet and her head hurt and her ears rang. She just wanted to be in her own bed.

They stopped just in front of the door and Jim said, “Thanks for coming out with me!”

“Uh, thanks for inviting me.” Daria could hear her lack of enthusiasm, but hoped Jim couldn't.

She knew it was going to happen, and yet it still took her by surprise. He leaned over. Daria assumed it would be a quick peck on the cheek and then it would all be over. But, of course, Jim didn't do anything by half measures. Which is how his tongue ended up in her mouth.

Daria backed up instinctively, saying, “Argh, ugh,” and shaking her head. “What was that for?”

Jim looked mortified.

“I thought we were… I thought you were…”

Daria looked for a second at his face, then away.

More than anything else she wanted to run away. Slam the door and run up the stairs, far from this embarrassing, uncomfortable evening. But he was her friend. Or at least Daria thought he was, truly, behind the unrequited Feelings he had towards her. He deserved the truth. Or at least a small portion of the truth.

“I'm. I'm sorry, Jim.” She couldn't look at him while she said it. “I just don't feel that way about you.”

Daria only picked up some of the look of disappointment on his face from her peripheral vision. “You're a good guy and you'll find someone. But I hope we can still be friends.”

“Yeah, friends,” Jim said, distantly, his eyes fixated on the toes of her shoes. “I gotta go,” he said, hunching his shoulders.

“Yeah, bye!” Daria escaped through the front door as fast as she could.

Oh God.

Daria flopped down on her bed without removing the clothes scattered on it, grateful that her roommate—the one who still hated her—wouldn't be back until Sunday night.

Well, that was an unmitigated disaster from beginning to end.

She stared at the ceiling for a long, long time.

Finally she picked up the phone, and said, “You were right,” when she heard Jane's hello.

Chapter Text

“Jane, help me come up with a decent costume.”

Jane knew long distance was expensive, but jeez. That was abrupt. She settled the cordless phone between her ear and her shoulder and went back to painting.

“I’m good, Daria, how are you?” Jane responded in an exaggeratedly polite voice. She was more amused than angry at the faux pas, mostly just glad Daria called on this rainy Monday evening after an absolutely exhausting shift at the art supplies store.

“Fine. Hi, Jane. Could you please help me.” Jane was glad she knew her friend for as long as she had. If she hadn’t she might have missed that edge of contrition and that bit of desperation in Daria’s monotone voice.

“Okaaay. Why do you need a costume?”

Daria sighed. Oh this should be good, Jane thought.

“I’ve been invited to a costume party. For photo club. At the club president’s apartment.”

“And so you’re looking for an appropriately witty costume because you actually care about what these people think of you.”

Jane added more yellow to her palette as she listened to Daria’s huff of breath. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“It should be photography-related?” Jane asked.

“Or art-related in general. And not too expensive.”

“Of course, Knight who says Ni.” Jane could swear she heard Daria roll her eyes. “When is the party?”

Daria’s voice was small, embarrassed. “...This Saturday?”

Jane snorted. “Five days?!?!”

“I’ve seen what you can do with two days and a glue gun.” Jane was secretly pleased by Daria's comment. She was pretty talented, wasn’t she?

“One small problem: I’m not there. So you have to also make it yourself.”

“There is that.”

“And a t-shirt with ‘stack focus’ across the chest is right out?” Hot as hell, though, Jane thought.

“Jane!”

“Wear all white and powder your hair and say you’re overexposed?”

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Jane.”

“Give me a minute; genius can’t be rushed.”

“Thus why the dumb ideas came to you so fast?”

Hmph. No appreciation, Jane thought. “They weren’t dumb! Just maybe not the most appropriate.”

Jane continued to dab yellow onto the canvas as she thought. She thought that she liked the effect that it had of making the blood coming out of the Lawndale lion mascot look extra menacing. It was only two weeks until the homecoming parade and Jane wasn’t looking forward to it. The art store was right on the parade route and her manager absolutely refused to allow her to get off for it in addition to taking the entire weekend off to see Daria.

After the disaster of the parade their junior year, Jane would be inclined to not want to go ever again. Especially now, without either Tom or Daria? Somehow that was way, way worse than it was her senior year. That year she’d been able to hide at home and pretend it wasn’t happening. Why would she want to remember the anniversary of the day her relationship with Tom had started to fall apart? And here she was, a year later and still single, to boot. It haunted her.

The idea hit her out of the blue.

“Oh! Oh! Lydia Deetz!” Jane felt like crowing. “From… Beetlejuice?”

“Yeah, from that scene where she’s dressed like a witch with the hat and the black gothy dress. You could definitely find those in Boston. I can mail you my belt.”

Jane could hear Daria typing. There was a pause that Jane interpreted as Daria looking through the search results of the character.

“My hair isn’t black, though.”

“Yeah, maybe this isn’t the time to experiment with hair dye. We know how that went.” Jane’s dabs on the canvas were maybe harder than they really needed to be.

“Hey!”

Jane was unrepentant but continued. “Just find some hair gel and make your bangs into points.”

“Yeah, I think I can do that.” Daria sounded hopeful. Well, hopeful for her. Non-morose.

“Just send me some pictures of you in your costume, ok?”

“Yeah, I will. I have to go now. I still have a hundred pages left for my history class. Oh yeah, and thanks. I owe you.”

Jane smiled, hoping Daria heard it across the miles. “No problem. Night.”

“Night.”

Jane shivered as she walked from her car to the house. She’d been caught out without an umbrella in a sudden November rainstorm halfway down Dega Street. It was a cold, terrible Tuesday and she just wanted it to be over.

Saturday had come and gone and there had been no word from Daria.

She’d gone to Miriam’s for a small gathering of people to watch 80s teen horror movies and smoke weed. It had been an OK party, but had gotten kind of boring when everyone else got so stoned they could barely talk. Jane walked home alone that night, disappointed.

The house was silent when she let herself in, but Jane figured it would be. No cars were in the driveway and there was no Tank out front. Trent had actually made it to practice on time.

Changing into warm, dry sleep clothes, Jane turned on her computer and connected to the internet, the scream of the modem matching the feeling in her heart.

God, she was so sick of Lawndale. Two more months until classes started. Usually she didn’t log on right away, but there was no one home and no one was trying to call her.

Loading her email, she saw that there were a half dozen spam emails. An email from Patrick inviting her to go with him and his friends to the movies. Another nagging email from Amanda about her artist statement.

And an email from Daria. With attachments.

The body of the email just said, “Thanks. See you Friday.” But Jane downloaded all 8 of the attached photos, opening each one in turn.

Daria was adorable. She’d even done the black smudges under her eyes. Or at least Jane thought they were make-up. She hoped Daria wasn’t burning the midnight oil that hard.

But there Daria was, red solo cup in hand. (When did Daria start drinking? When in Rome, she supposed.) Jane could practically see the rise in intoxication in Daria's bloodstream over the span of the photos, her cheeks flushing more and more with each picture. The series culminated in one of her standing next to a guy her height. More like leaning on him, really. He had glasses and sandy brown hair and dressed in a reporter’s weeds with a Spiderman costume peeking through, his hand on a fancy digital camera around his neck. It looked like a Nikon D1H. Jane had been coveting one since it had come out; lucky guy. They had matching smirks. Daria looked so happy. And so pretty. Jane wanted to kiss her.

Oh.

That was Alexis? Alan? Al? The head of the club. Jane would have felt more jealous of the two of them together if Daria hadn't mentioned his boyfriend. At least there didn't appear to be any Jim in sight.

Jane sent the photo to her printer, then tacked it up on her wall.

Daria was flourishing at college. That was obvious. Jane sighed.

Soon.

Soon.

She’d see Daria in three weeks.

She could make it through three weeks.

She might kiss Daria in three weeks.

Chapter Text

Jane's train was late. Daria kept pacing up and down the corridor of the station. She had a book to read. She always had a book to read for class nowadays. But every time she tried to read The Tempest, the words swam. She must have read the beginning of the third act three times. Nothing went in.

Why was she so worked up about this? Jane's train had been even later before. But that was before they had hugged so hard and Daria had felt so bereft afterwards.

The arrivals sign finally made the flip-flip-flip-flip-flip noise as Jane's train suddenly went from “delayed” to “arrived.” Daria strode as fast as she could towards the gate even though she knew it would likely take a few minutes for the passengers to wend their way down the platform and into the station.

Jane practically bounded in, her boots sounding on the concrete floor. She had her hair up and Daria unexpectedly found that it suited her, now that she wasn't doing it to look more “normal.” Her lips were still the same shade they always were, turned up at the corners as if to say, “isn't this whole thing absurd?”

Jane stood in front of Daria for a second, saying “Howdy, amiga,” a little unsure. She missed Jane so much. So maybe that's why Daria hugged her. Jane was a little startled but dropped her bag, gently holding Daria's head where it was on her chest. They both quietly let out long breaths together as they stood there for a couple of minutes.

When Daria opened her eyes and looked up, she saw how close Jane's face was to hers. She could have easily kissed her. Her eyes widened as she processed the thought and she stepped back, breaking the embrace.

“Are you hungry?” Daria asked, trying to ignore the hotness of her cheeks and the pinkness of Jane's.

“Is the pretzel place still open?” Jane asked, scanning the station as she hefted her backpack back onto her shoulder, then grabbed her other bag, a beat-up black leather satchel that looked heavy.

Daria's brow knitted. “What's in the bag?”

“You've been so bitten by the photo bug that I decided to bring my own camera this time. Take a few snapshots.” Jane said it so breezily and cheerfully that Daria felt guilty for the sinking feeling in her stomach. Jane was a much better photographer than she was. Her friends would see what a hack Daria was compared to Jane.

“Something to remind you of this trip.”

“Something like that,” Jane said with a smile. “Now about those pretzels…”

Jane set down her bag next to Daria's bed and just gaped. In between the Kafka and skeleton posters which Jane had seen the first time she visited, the wall behind Daria's bed was now covered in photographs. Several dozen, at least.

“Are these all yours?” Jane asked, trying to look at all of them at the same time.

Daria blushed and looked down. “A bunch of them are my friends’. The cemetery ones over here are Alex’s.” She pointed to a column of prints carefully lined up, between her closet and her dresser. They were a bit too dark for Jane's taste. She would have probably processed them differently. Or had a longer exposure. They were still nice, the compositions carefully balanced.

“What about these?” Jane gestured to a group of them tacked up over Daria's desk.

“Yeah, those are mine.” She stepped away from her desk when Jane approached it, squinting. “I'm still experimenting.” Daria sounded embarrassed as she looked from Jane to the wall.

Jane could see the ways Daria made slight, amateur mistakes. Like she used the wrong film speed or maybe didn't develop them quite right so they were a bit more grey than they should have been. But she saw them only because she was her father's daughter, internalizing the eternal debates he’d had with his friends had about technique and the best kinds of film.

“They're lovely,” she said, truthfully, because they were. Interesting, dynamic, usually well-composed. A couple of Daria's own shots from the graveyard had some nice architectural details. There was a portrait of what looked like Daria's friend Jim. Hm.

Jane heard Daria stammer out a weak, “Thanks,” but her gaze was already wandering to another cluster of photos above Daria's pillow.

And there Jane was. The photo was a little washed out and it would have made her into a goth caricature if Jane hadn't been under a tree, the dappling of shade giving definition to her features. Her eyes were lighter than normal and there was something vulnerable in them in a way that made Jane feel uncomfortably seen.

And this was what Daria woke up to every morning? Jane didn't realize how tightly she was holding on to Daria's headboard until she let go of it.

Yearning.

“Remember us little guys when you win your Pulitzer Prize,” Jane joked because she didn't know what to say about that photo, or the other, smaller photos of her in that cluster.

“Yeah, right.” Most people would have heard Daria's flat tone and assumed she was fine but Jane could tell the joke had landed wrong and Daria thought Jane was making fun of her.

“No, really—” she tried to amend.

“Let's go to the snack bar. Everything else decent is closed right now and I want some curly fries.“ Daria was already most of the way to the door.

“Let me grab my camera bag,” Jane said as she left.

A couple of hours later they walked back from the snack bar in silence, the camera bag a heavy weight on Jane's hip. Jane was trying to think about how Daria had been about photography back in high school. She knew her friend had always dabbled in it. And she'd seen the photos Daria had taken in between the ones for Yearbook.

Had Jane said anything about them, either one way or another? Daria had shown her photos to Jane when she repeated Ted's praise of them. But Jane had been too interested in Daria's interaction with Ted. Had been a bit jealous, to be honest, because Daria had shown them to him first. So Daria hadn't shown her any more after that, and then she'd quit Yearbook, so that was the end of that. Until this fall, Daria's camera had sat on her bookshelf, collecting dust. Jane had wondered if Daria was going to pawn it some time when she was low on money.

But then Daria had taken the hobby up here, at college, where she'd made friends. Nice ones, even. And they'd gushed over Jane's gear, too. She knew it was quality stuff, probably the most expensive thing she owned—between the camera and the lenses. And then Jane had taken an entire roll of candids of them. She suddenly realized that she'd avoided taking a single picture of Daria. Probably because she could feel Daria's mood darkening as the evening went on.

Now it was late and they were heading back to Daria's room, not speaking. The last two times Jane had visited they'd been unable to shut up, usually falling asleep the first night when they were too sore-throated and too sleepy to continue.

“Hey, is your roommate going to be in tonight?” Jane had never met the girl but she remembered Daria's stories and wasn't keen to make her acquaintance.

“No, she went home again this weekend.” Daria's tone was cold. Factual. Already hostile to any follow-up questions, but Jane persisted.

“She spends more time there than here.”

“Yeah. She hates me.”

“I'm sure she doesn't hate you.”

Daria rounded on her.

“I've overheard her talking with her friends when they didn't think I was around. She said I was creepy, that I looked at her wrong, that I was always there and resentful of when she was. They say I'm—” She stopped abruptly like she suddenly realized that she couldn't make herself say whatever shitty thing they'd said about her out loud.

“Since when do you care?” Jane asked, exasperated. “Why do you care so much about what this jock and her rich-girl field hockey teammates think of you?”

“Some kind of misguided attempt to not be soul-crushingly lonely here. Apparently.” She'd resumed walking again, head down, faster now in the cold November wind.

“So what? You found your friends.”

“Jim still isn't talking to me,” Daria said quietly. “He's avoiding me.”

“Oh. But what about that Al guy? And the people we hung out with tonight?”

“You mean the ones who ignored me in order to fall on your every word?”

“I'm just a novel thing to them. They came over to sit with you.” Jane didn't even know why she was so worked up. Didn't Daria see how great she had it?

Daria opened her dorm door and held it open for Jane. Given the late hour, they went up to Daria's room in silence. Once the door to Daria's dorm room closed, Jane said, “And you have me! Your best friend who is moving here in less than two months.”

“My best friend, the girl who brought her fancy professional camera with her. Do you want to spend time with Alex tomorrow, maybe? Developing all those pictures you took of my friends?”

Jane blinked. She hadn't seen Daria this angry since…Since Tom.

Jealousy.

Daria was jealous of her. Jane.

And Jane couldn't ignore the little voice in her head that said that she'd wanted this. She'd wanted what Daria had, wanted to show off what she knew, because if they were so impressed with Daria, how much more would they like her?

It was an ugly thought and Jane pushed it away.

“Yeah, maybe I do. Beats developing them in my toilet.”

Daria grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste from the top of her dresser. “We should get ready for bed. Big day ahead of you tomorrow.” She left, leaving Jane standing in the middle of Daria's room.

Jane fetched the sleeping bag from Daria's closet and unrolled it on the linoleum floor.

She'd change her ticket tomorrow and take the next train home. This visit had obviously been a mistake. There was nothing between them now. Not really.

She'd try to sleep the best she could on the floor, but it was cold under her hand. Jane dug in her duffle bag for her sweatshirt but she remembered that she didn't have room for it. Because she'd brought that damn photo bag. Jane rubbed her arms, sitting against the frame of Daria's bed. It felt too intimate to actually sit on it.

Daria opened the door to her room and frowned. She rolled her eyes. “You can borrow my sweatshirt,” she said as she threw it at Jane from where it hung on her door.

For a second, Jane thought about refusing but slipped the oversized sweatshirt over her head. It smelled like Daria and it felt weird to think that she knew what Daria smelled like, from the three times they had hugged and the scent she'd given off after a couple of unfortunately over-active gym classes. It was comforting in a way Jane didn't want to think about. She grabbed her own tooth and toothpaste from her bag and left to brush her teeth.

When she returned, Daria was already in bed, her glasses on her desk, and her body turned away from Jane.

“Should I turn out the light?” Jane asked and got a grunt in the affirmative. In the darkness of Daria's room, she found her way into the sleeping bag. She was still so cold. But what else was there?

“Goodnight,” Jane said in a small voice but got no answer.

Daria woke up to darkness. Her alarm clock said 2:53. No reasonable person should be awake at that hour. She heard a noise next to her and fumbled to put her glasses on.

Jane was curled up in her sleeping bag, facing away from Daria with the hood of Daria's sweatshirt over her head. And her teeth, Daria was pretty sure, were chattering.

Daria put a hand on what she thought was Jane's arm under the sleeping bag. Jane was shivering, badly.

Her anger at her friend felt stupid now, in the face of her obvious suffering. She shook Jane's shoulder.

“Wake up!” Daria hissed in the direction of Jane's ear.

“Mrph.”

“Wake up!” Daria's brain caught up to what she was doing. Why was she waking Jane up? For what purpose?

It wasn't to say Jane should take her roommate's bed. That would gross her roommate out, make her think Daria was even more of a homo freak.

She and Jane had shared a bed before, though. And it had been nice, in that over-priced motel in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania. Jane should sleep in her bed with her instead and then they'd both be warm.

“Jane! Wake up! You're shivering.” Daria shook her harder.

“Uhhhhhh. What is it?”

“You're freezing cold. Get in bed with me before you freeze to death.”

Stiffly Jane complied, although she didn't take off the sweatshirt. There was a small gap between them as they both laid on their sides in the narrow dorm bed. Daria thought about rubbing her hands along Jane's side, trying to warm her up, but that felt too familiar, too presumptuous on her part. Jane was already warming up under her blankets, anyway. They'd be cozy until morning.

Daria suddenly remembered the argument they'd had the night before, the anger she'd had toward this small, cold girl. It seemed so stupid now. What had she even been angry at Jane for? For wanting to share a hobby with her best friend?

Jane would probably be gone before she woke up again, on a train back to Lawndale. Back to her work friends who presumably didn't have a crush on Jane, although Daria was a little suspicious of Patrick's motives. Limericks, man, not even once.

Jane was leaving anyway, regardless of what Daria did. So she might as well keep Jane warm for a few hours. Daria carefully moved forward and slotted herself behind Jane, her breasts and stomach barely touching her, and put an arm around Jane's waist. Already asleep again, Jane moved slightly backwards, squishing more firmly against Daria and putting her hand over the top of Daria's arm at her waist. Daria wanted to enjoy this moment for longer but she was so tired and so cozy warm. She buried her face into the back of Jane's hood and fell asleep.

Jane woke up to grey light filtering through the windows. Way more light than she was used to. She could faintly see the time across the room on an alarm clock across the room. 8:57.

She was late to something. She should get up. But it was so nice and warm under the blankets and the day looked so bleak and cold. November, her least favorite month. Nearly Thanksgiving. Her least favorite holiday. Better to sleep while she could.

Jane tried to burrow deeper under the blankets but felt something tighten against her waist. A hand.

Weird, she wasn't inclined to sleep over when she hooked up with guys. But the hand was small and she easily closed her own hand around it.

Daria.

Everything suddenly rushed in at once. She was in bed with Daria and Daria was spooning her tightly, her steady breath warming a spot on Jane's back.

She was late to take the morning train back home. After that fight she'd had with Daria. After she was supposed to spend the night on the floor. But here she was, wearing Daria's sweatshirt, in Daria's bed, being held like Daria never wanted to let her go.

God, she felt so shitty. She'd been so shitty. She'd made an ass of herself in front of Daria's friends. She'd brought the damn camera so that she could take some pictures of Daria herself that weren't the awkward Polaroids of high school or printouts of someone else's photos. And then she'd used up one of the three rolls she'd brought with her on Daria's friends and not on her. Jane was stupid jealous of Daria.

And she was afraid. That photo of herself had spooked her. Daria saw her.

But what if Jane had just been making things up between them? What if Daria had recog Jane's feelings, but had been too soft-hearted to put her off, just like with that guy Jim? She didn't want to be that creepy friend who couldn't take a hint.

Jane decided she would stay, for a little while, at least. She'd stay until Daria woke up and she could apologize and pack her things. There was another train at 1:15. Lots of time.

Jane woke up, alone. The clock across the room said 11:17. She stretched luxuriously, making her usual cat noises as she did it. She heard a soft laugh from above her head.

Oh.

Daria was dressed in her normal street clothes and sat at her desk. Jane could hear the clack of keys. Daria was writing something. She couldn't possibly be doing school work on a Saturday morning.

“Whacha doing?” Jane asked.

“Um, a thing for class,” Daria said too fast, her mouse clicking quickly a few times. She was a lousy liar.

Jane sat up. “I won't interrupt you, then. I can pack up my stuff and be out of your hair in like, fifteen minutes?”

“Are you leaving me?” Jane would have probably treated it as just a question of confirmation, except for that last word, and the tone, too soft. She put down the hood of her sweatshirt and looked at Daria properly.

No, not normal street clothes. The cable-knit sweater Daria had bought when Jane had last been up. The blue suited her.

“I thought that I'd worn out my welcome,” Jane finally said.

Daria shook her head. “I'm sorry, I said a lot of stupid, untrue things last night, and I took out a lot of stuff on you that you didn't deserve. You're my best friend; you can't wear out your welcome. Unless…” She paused and looked distressed. “Unless you want to go. I understand if you do.”

Jane shifted down the bed until her hip was against the headboard. Her arm on the top of it was maybe six inches from Daria's. She looked down, playing with the ties on Daria's sweatshirt.

“No. I've been looking forward to this trip for weeks. I don't want to leave.” Jane paused and turned her head to face Daria. “I'm sorry, I've been a shit, too. I brought the camera because I was kind of jealous. And I… I wanted some pictures of you.”

“Why?” Daria asked, perplexed.

“For the same reason you took all those pictures of me, I think.” Jane turned and put her hand on Daria's cheek. Daria was trembling but she leaned into it.

“Yearning,” Daria said softly.

Jane nodded. “Yearning.” She took her hand away. “Come sit next to me?” Jane patted the bed on her left side, as if clarification was needed.

“Are you sure?” Daria asked. Jane nodded.

Tentatively, Daria sat down a few inches from Jane. Her cheeks were so pink. Jane reached up to run her thumb across Daria's right one, feeling the heat under the pad of her thumb.

Daria cupped Jane's hand under hers, stilling it, then brought it down to place a kiss on Jane's thumb, all while watching Jane's face intently.

Then she opened her mouth and tentatively let her pink tongue run across it. Jane didn't think she'd ever seen anything that hot before.

“Kiss me?” Jane said softly, as if she was afraid Daria would bolt away if she made too sudden a movement. Daria nodded and took off her glasses, settling them on the desk before leaning in and kissing Jane.

And kissing her and kissing her. Like Jane had loosened a torrent of quicksilver in her. Hunger poured through Jane. They had waited too long for this moment. She did not hold back.

At lunch they were almost too shy to talk to one another as they sat on a bench in the dining hall, thighs barely touching. They stole looks at each other as they ate their sandwiches. Daria looked up to see Tris in front of their table. “They're over here,” he said to someone out of Daria's sight line, making an impatient beckoning gesture toward them. Alex came into view, his tray laden with pancakes and bacon. They both set down their trays on the table across from Daria and Jane but Tris suddenly froze.

“Is it OK if we sit with you?” he asked and Daria nodded, blushing a little and not looking anyone in the eye.

“It's Jane, isn't it?” Alex asked after a few bites of pancake. “From the photos.” Daria looked sidelong at Jane, who was also now blushing. “I'm Alex and this is my boyfriend, Tris. Nice to meet you, finally.” He stuck out his hand across the table and Jane shook it awkwardly.

“I heard you brought your T-90 with you,“ Alex continued.

Tris looked at his boyfriend fondly. “People have other interests, you know, Alex.” They all laughed and Alex kissed him on the cheek.

“Word travels fast around here,” Jane said.

“We're nerds, what can I say?” Alex shrugged as he dug into his pancakes.

They ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes. Occasionally Jane would let her left arm fall to her side before placing that hand on Daria's thigh. Daria completely failed to keep her face stoic every time she did it, which was why it was so much fun.

“It's a shame that the weather is so crummy today, ” Alex offered up.

“I thought you shot in any weather,” Daria commented, slightly confused.

“Oh yeah, I do, but my subjects don't always appreciate it.”

“Where is their sense of adventure?” Jane said with mock indignation. “Nobody is willing to suffer frostbite nowadays like they used to.”

Daria caught Alex's eyes glinting and she swore she could almost hear a trap closing.

“Oh, so you and Daria would like to sit for me this afternoon, then?”

Daria stared at her friend. “Hey, hey, hey. Leave me out of this. If Jane wants to freeze her ass off, that's on her.”

“But I thought your project was about photographing couples,” Tris said. Daria did not like the look in his eyes either.

“It is, which is why I've resigned myself to photographing the two of you inside, instead.”

Daria just looked at him, her mouth agape, but without a beat, Jane said, “Only if you promise to drop your shutter speed.” Alex looked abashed but Tris elbowed him, grinning. “I like this one,” he said. “Finally there's someone to keep you in line.”

“I thought that was your job,” Alex said, wrapping his arm around Tris’ shoulder.

Daria couldn't let it slide, though.

“So you guys just knew?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

“I had my suspicion,” Alex said. “Especially after I helped you develop those rolls of photos from Jane's last visit.”

“But then Jane groped you under the table several times just to see your reaction like the troll I can tell she is.” Tris grinned.

Daria raised an eyebrow at Jane, who put up her hands in front of her. “I plead the fifth,” she said.

“Seriously, though, I'm happy for you both,” Tris added.

Daria blushed and smiled slightly as Jane took her hand.

“Thank you.”

“So are you two going to come by my common room at three or will you be too busy canoodling?” Alex asked.

“Who even calls it canoodling? Besides you.” Tris answered back. Daria could see how they had transitioned so well from friends to lovers. As if the sex part and the physical intimacy part were just extensions of their friendship.

Jane wrapped her arm around Daria's waist and it felt so natural. Like she'd always done it. Daria thought of every time Jim had tried to touch her and how it had felt weird, wrong. Poor guy. She thought of the way Tom had touched her, too, as enjoyable as she had found it at the time. But neither one of them was her best friend.

Jane nestled her nose in Daria's hair. She gently turned Daria's wrist to read her watch. A quarter to 2. “I think we can make it work,” she said, standing up. She grabbed Daria's hand, pulling her towards the exit.