Night Holds the Key

Author: Anachronism Girl

Feedback: won't hurt. Physically, anyhow. Send it to anachronism.girl@gmail.com

Rating: wavers somewhere between strong PG-13 and mild R for sexual content

Synopsis: Daria and Trent have a sort-of late night encounter.

Notes: It's too long to be ficlet fluff, but too structurally weak to be a full-fledged fic, I think. I balk at calling it a prequel to Roger E. Moore's "April is the Cruelest Month," although these events do happen before Jane and Daria's fateful trip to the Rockies. So let's just call it filler. This is my first venture in writing fanfic.

Thanks: Mr. Moore, for writing such wonderful and compelling stories. Please forgive me if you find this appropriation inappropriate. ;]

Daria looked fondly upon the snoring figure splayed across the couch. The sight was simultaneously familiar and strange. Trent, wearing only a pair of badly ripped jeans: fast asleep. That was about right. That it was ten thirty at night was another thing altogether. "Night holds the key," he once told her, ages ago. Neither of them had been entirely sure what he meant at the time.

She supposed he had enough of keys for today, or any other day for that matter. The stint at the KeyOsk was supposed to be temporary, but "temporary" wound up being a little longer than expected. At least the key duplication business wasn't exactly thriving. He remained prolific a songwriter as ever, writing lyrics between serving customers. It was a lousy minimum wage job, but it was a job, and jobs were scarce for those who had college degrees, let alone those who didn't.

It was a start. For the first time in his life, Trent was taking initiative. Daria only wished it could have been under different, better circumstances. She made a brief mental note to tell him later about the "help wanted" sign she'd seen posted in the window of the little music store on the corner of Fremont and Main, earlier that day. She supposed it probably wouldn't pay any better than the KeyOsk job, but at least it would suit him.

She tiptoed into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, wincing at every squeak of the hinge and every light scrape and bang as she retrieved their smallest metal pot and placed it as quietly (not quietly enough) as she could on the burner. She opened the frig, checked the date on the milk, sniffed the carton just to be sure, and poured the last of its contents into the pot.

"Can't sleep, huh Daria?" Trent asked from behind her.

Startled, Daria dropped the empty milk carton onto the floor. She whirled around to face him. "Jesus, Trent, you almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you were asleep," she hissed, before regaining composure.

"I was," he said, as he bent over and picked up the carton. "I woke up when I heard you moving around, in here."

"Oh, sorry," she replied, contritely.

"Nah, it's okay. Still getting used to it all. Working regular hours. Sleeping at night." Daria took the carton from Trent and proceeded to fold it before putting it in the trashcan. "My turn to drive Janie to physical therapy tomorrow, right?"

Daria bit her lip and nodded then looked down at the floor. Trent traced an index finger along the side of her face, starting from her temple and ending just beneath her chin. She looked so small and tired. And sad. He tilted her face upward so that she met his gaze.

"You know Janie. She'll bounce back," he promised.

Hard to picture her bouncing back when you've seen her with her legs pinned between a car and a newsstand, Daria thought in reply. Her expression contorted with the agonizing memory of that night and immediately Trent wished he had not said anything.

"It'll work out, Daria."

"I'd like to believe that," she mumbled, jerking away. She fiddled with the knob and set the burner on medium, then grabbed a wooden ladle from the oversized mug on the counter and began to stir.

"Doc says she's doing really well...She's really pushing herself."

Daria nodded gravely and paused before sharply changing the subject. "I saw a help wanted sign up at the music store on Fremont. You should apply."

"Already have," he said, optimistically. "They were looking for a cashier, but I overheard the manager of the place yelling on the phone to someone about their guitar teacher quitting on them. Guy moved to New York or something. I have an interview day after tomorrow. For the guitar teacher position, I mean."

"That's great," Daria said, trying with difficulty to sound enthusiastic.

"Mm." Trent regarded her silently, his expression unreadable.

Daria tugged at the hem of her worn Mark Twain nightshirt, thinking of something else to say. "Your futon ought to be here tomorrow. I moved Jane's big easel out of the studio-office and into the storage closet of our covered parking space... just until we can... um, figure something out. I might need help moving my desk out here, though."

"Nah, leave it. I'll push it against the other wall so you can still have your office. If you want. I don't mind. I'll mostly just be sleeping in there, anyway."

"I'm sorry I've taken so long getting you settled in with us..."

"I once lived in a tent in the backyard for six months. Forget about it."

"Yeah, but it's three of us, and there are three rooms... you shouldn't be sleeping on the couch--"

"I said forget about it, Daria."

Daria sighed, slouching against the counter. If I could forget about it, I wouldn't be awake right now, she thought. But the "it" she was thinking of actually had little to do with Trent's lodgings.

"I've been useless pretty much most of my life. I'm tired of it. But it's kind of hard to feel useful when you're running around trying to do everything by yourself. You need to relax a little. I moved in with you and Janie so I could help." He paused, and added simply, "After all, she is my sister."

"She's Wind's and Penny's and Summer's sister, too, and they aren't exactly rushing to help her."

"Oh, come on. You and I both know that they could only help her into an institution," he countered, half-jokingly.

The corners of Daria's mouth twitched upwards in a ghost of a smile.

"And you're my friend. I want to help you, too."

The ghost-smile faded from Daria's face. I wish you could. But I don't know that I deserve to be helped.

Trent quirked a brow. "You knew that, right?"

Daria stopped stirring and turned off the stove, unable to speak for a moment. "Yeah. Maybe not in so many words, but yeah, I guess I knew that." She removed her glasses, placed them on the countertop, and rubbed tiredly at her eyes.

"Good." He squeezed her shoulder in a brotherly fashion.

"I know I have turned into a bit of a control freak. I guess I'm more like my mom than I thought." Daria shuddered noticeably.

Trent grimaced. "Nobody wants that. Tell you what. You take a break from being a control freak and I'll get on the building manager's case about fixing that elevator."

"You were going to do that, anyway. It's that or carry Jane up and down two flights of stairs every day for the rest of your life, or at least until they hire a better building manager."

Trent coughed. "Details."

Daria shoved him in mock annoyance, but he caught her by the wrist. Their eyes locked. Daria swallowed, sure of what to say but unsure of whether to say it. She wanted badly to trust him. It should have been me. Jane never should have gone to get the paper. If she could tell him, maybe then she could sleep without resorting to the pills.

Trent eyed her carefully, letting go of her wrist. There was so much exhaustion and sadness written on her face. As if it wasn't enough for her to witness what could have possibly been the death of her best friend, there was the lawsuit, and the passing in and out of hospitals. She stayed firmly planted by Jane's side throughout the whole ordeal, and still managed to take a full load of courses at Raft. She needs to cry, he thought. She needs to let go of something.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head and waiting expectantly for a sob to issue from the diminutive figure. No sob came. Instead, he felt Daria's arms encircle his waist. She sighed deeply. This was comfort. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been held. They stood there for a long moment, unmoving. Say something, she thought. Tell him.

Trent buried his face in her hair. She smelled of lavender. Pungent. Earthy. Arousing. He wondered what it might be like to kiss her. Really kiss her.

In all honestly, it hadn't been the first time the notion crossed his mind, although this was the closest he'd gotten to acting on it. He remembered thinking it a few times when he saw her last spring, before the accident. Jane, having sold several paintings for quite a sum of money, had decided to venture far south to Florida for spring break. She had been unable to convince Daria to come along. Point number one: Daria couldn't afford the plane ticket and hotel. Point number two: even if she could afford to go, she would likely just get in the way of Jane's sexual escapades.

Instead, Daria had gone home to Lawndale, which had initially struck her as a big mistake the day after she arrived. Her relationship with Quinn had improved, but it didn't exactly warrant a week of sisterly bonding, not that Daria would have wanted that. Tom's break wasn't until the following week, and Jodie, over-achiever that she was, was booked solid with research projects. On top of that, Sick Sad World was on re-runs, and all her more interesting reading material was at her and Jane's apartment. Out of sheer boredom, she made her way to the Pizza King to grab a slice and observe the townies.

Trent, Max, and Jesse had been on their way out as Daria made her way in. Trent had stopped in his tracks, unsure for a moment if the girl who had entered was indeed his sister's friend. He thought that Daria had escaped to Daytona along with Jane. This girl certainly looked like Daria, but her hair was uncharacteristically pinned back and she wore an abbreviated gray vest over a short black dress. Of course it was Daria! He couldn't imagine another girl in those owlish glasses. He waved her down and, to be nice, invited her to a rehearsal, even though he was fairly certain she was only a Mystik Spiral fan by default. To his surprise, she accepted.

Trent didn't recall much in terms of the rehearsal or any of the gigs he had that week, but he did remember enjoying Daria's company. She showed up at the Zen the subsequent night for that particular gig, and visited the Lane residence a few times throughout the week. They talked about Jane and life after high school in general. He played her a few songs he was working on. Once or twice they'd hang out in Jane's room and watch TV. In the absence of Jane, it was nice having her around. Hell, even if Jane had been there, he wouldn't have minded seeing more of Daria. She was smart and funny. And pretty, in an unconventional way.

So he allowed himself the thought of what it would be like to kiss her. Or what it would be like to do more than kiss her. He had the inkling that maybe she once had a crush on him when she was still in high school, but that was ages ago, it seemed. He had liked her a little, then, too. She wasn't like anyone he'd met before, let alone any high schooler. He felt she was one of the few people who really understood him. But besides the fact that he had been (sort of) dating Monique, Daria was forbidden territory. What was the saying? Sixteen gets you twenty?

She wasn't sixteen anymore. But then, what was he? An only just escaped townie with no real career, that's what. She had grown up. He hadn't, really. What would she want with him?

"Daria?"

She leaned back, dropping her arms to her sides and looking up at him dry-eyed but plaintive, nonetheless. Why would she want you? You're twenty five years old and you're barely getting your act together. Barely. Why would she want you?

Aw, hell, he thought to himself, finally, and kissed her hard on the mouth.

Daria's eyelids fell shut as his kiss softened, but she reciprocated about as much as she resisted. Damn it. Trent broke away, breathing heavily.

Her eyes fluttered open and she stared blearily at him through a haze of confusion and a fresh wave of longing. She reached for her glasses and put them on, but it didn't help. Trent stretched, looking away. In false nonchalance, he said, "Goodnight, Daria."

Warm milk forgotten, Daria bade Trent goodnight and retired to her room.

Daria lay with her head hanging off the foot of her bed, rolling an Ambien tablet between her thumb and forefinger.

He had kissed her. Unless her exhaustion and distractedness had completely and royally screwed her perception, it was more than merely a kiss, but a bona fide lip-lock. Though, afterward, he had acted as if it hadn't been anything out of the ordinary. A crease formed in her brow.

It had been years since Daria had seen Trent in anything more than a platonic light. Well, that wasn't entirely true: in his own scruffy, grunge-rock way, Trent had this immutable charm about him--a trait only amplified by his rumpled, just-woken-up appearance and bedroom voice. Of course she still found him attractive. However, the notion had dawned on her long ago that there was no future for them as a couple. He was a nice enough guy but, besides being too old for her, he was interminably irresponsible.

He had been.

Five years isn't so much of a difference. And he is getting his life together.

She tried to push the thought away. Not only is it inane, it's insensitive to be thinking of something like this when Jane can't even... Jane was always the... No, it's... it's... he probably didn't even mean anything by it. It was true that the kiss was a more than a bit of a leap from their customary exchanges, but it wasn't as if she hadn't grown accustomed to trading occasional signs of affection with him. She groaned, fighting the urge to analyze whether every prior hug or peck on the cheek had been a step towards what happened. The last thing she needed was another issue to keep her awake at night.

A light rapping at her door interrupted her thoughts. She faltered a moment, knowing that it could only be one person. Before she could get up to answer, Trent let himself in, closing the door behind him. He had a mug in one hand.

The Ambien tablet fell to the floor and disappeared between a crack in the floorboards. "Great. At least the floor will get a good night's sleep," she mumbled. "Did you need something?" she asked in a slightly louder voice.

Trent hesitated at the door. He'd never actually been in her room before. Sure, he'd stuck his head in a couple of times to tell her if the take-out had arrived, or that he was going out to run an errand, but he'd never actually been inside. It was plain and completely unfurnished but for her twin bed, a night table (upon which her glasses sat beneath a non-descript lamp), and a bookshelf.

Daria rolled over and sat up, her nightshirt riding up dangerously, revealing a region of her thighs Trent was certain he'd never seen before. He gulped, momentarily lost. Then he realized he was holding a mug.

"I know you were warming some milk, but I thought maybe you'd like this better. It's Chai," he answered, stepping forward and handing her the mug. She thanked him, accepted the proffered mug, and took a perfunctory sip of the tea before putting it on the night table next to her glasses. "I, um..." he started, quickly recalculating his intentions.

"You, um?" she tried to mock, but her voice wavered a little as Trent approached the bed and sat down. For some reason, she became acutely aware of his shirtless-ness and felt a blush creep over her face. Fifteen minutes ago, it wouldn't have elicited such a response. Fifteen minutes ago, he had comfortably held her and the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Now, she struggled for composure. How did he do this to her? How did she let him?

"I saw your light was still on and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Natch. "I'm okay," she lied.

Trent nodded slowly, thoughtfully. She was blushing. Perhaps there was something there. He had to try again.

He leaned over, his mouth probing hers gently. No! Daria's mind screamed. You can't do this! In spite of her cerebral protests, her body responded in fervid approval. She shivered as his hands found their way beneath her shirt, his calloused fingers traversing the soft, smooth surface of her back. So what if she'd regret this in the morning? For now, it felt too damn good.

He pulled away for a moment to whisper that he suspected he knew of something that would remedy her sleeplessness

Intoxicated by his closeness, she fumbled with his button-fly jeans and murmured, between kisses, that she suspected she knew what that remedy might be.

Daria's twin bed was not made with the intention of hosting multiple parties, but she wasn't averse to the thought of waking up entangled with Trent on a regular basis. Blue early morning light filled the room. Trent's remedy was quite effective. She couldn't recall the last time she'd felt so satisfied.

She watched his sleeping face for a few more minutes. He stirred. Her heart skipped a beat. He's going to wake up and realize he made a huge mistake, she worried.

Trent could feel the speed of Daria's pulse increase, but he did not open his eyes. She's already wishing she hadn't done it, he worried.

"Daria?" he whispered, his eyes still closed.

He felt her entire body tense. "Yeah, Trent?"

"You're not going to run screaming into the night, are you?"

"It's morning."

"Already? Aw, well, you know what I mean."

She relaxed, smiling to herself. "No. Here is as good a place as any for weird nocturnal activities."

"You thought last night was weird?" he asked, opening his eyes to look at her.

"Weird-good."

"Oh," he said, uncertainly.

"You don't happen to be in the mood for any weird diurnal activities?" she asked, somewhat cautiously.

Trent smiled and kissed her. "If you are." He moved to kiss her again, but she stopped him.

"Just... don't tell Jane, okay?"

He looked at her questioningly.

"For now, I mean.... I don't want things to get weird."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Weird-bad."

"I think I know what you're talking about," he said, finally. "I won't tell Janie."

They proceeded to engage in that weird diurnal activity.

Weird-good.

Completed March 9, 2005.