_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 3, episode 2: "Sister, Sister" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis "But someday I'll make him mine I'll wear your face, I'll come to tea My place or yours and then you'll see It's like walking through a...mirror" -- Robyn Hitchcock, "The Face of Death" ACT I: FAMILY MATTERS "`When you comin' home, dad?' I don't know when But we'll get together then..." -- Harry Chapin, "Cat's in the Cradle" In her room at Cedars of Lawndale, CULLEN, L. was sitting up in bed, in normal nightwear, reading Stephen King's _The Dead Zone_. Jerome Peregrine Smythe entered the room, looking extremely hesitant. Lynn glanced up at him briefly, then went back to her book. Jerome was the one to break the silence. "Hello, Lynn." After a moment, he realized it hadn't quite broken yet. "How are they treating you?" She didn't even look up. "The food is worse than the stuff in the school cafeteria -- I didn't think that was possible. They ration the coffee, which I'd mind more if the stuff didn't taste like dishwater and have about the same caffeine content. I'm bored out of my mind and they want to keep me in here another couple of days for observation." After a moment, she added, "Make of that what you will." Jerome looked at her. She still didn't look up. There was a long silence before he spoke again. "May I sit down?" She didn't bother to answer, but he sat anyway. After a little more silence, he added, "You can berate me if you want to." Lynn folded a corner of the page she was on, shut the book and looked at him. "I just want to know why." There was only one "why" she could want to know, particularly if she wasn't going to berate him. "Kate made me." Lynn shrugged. "I don't think anything Mom did would surprise me, given." Something occurred to her. "She has something on you, doesn't she. Something big." Jerome raised an eyebrow. "Now where have I heard *that* before?" Lynn gave a Mona Lisa smile. "That would have been Daria. She and I are...a lot alike, as you probably noticed." He went noticeably evasive. "Um...yes." He seemed to need a moment to gather his courage. "Lynn, there are some things that I need to explain to you. About what happened last week...among other things." Lynn blinked. "You're involved in what happened last week?" A reluctant nod. "In a way." Another pause for self-focusing. "May I just shut the door? It's...rather private." Lynn nodded, still looking at him with a face that showed her thoughts, which at that moment were running along the lines of _You'd better start making sense soon, or I'm not responsible for my actions._ Jerome walked up to the door and slammed it shut. * * * Later, Jerome opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. At his back, in the room, an ashen-faced Lynn was sitting up in bed, knees hugged to her chest, a horrified preoccupation on her face. Jerome looked back with a dubious, penitent expression, briefly questioning his judgment in having told her. Then he shook his head -- _she'd have needed to know, sooner or later_ -- went for his cellphone, hit the speed- dial button and waited. At length, he got a reply. "Adam? Jerome." An acknowledgment. "Any news on...?" There was indeed, and as he heard it, he got a rather nasty smirk on his face. "Good work, Adam. You know the routine. Now, I had a query. You know that scapegrace brother of yours? Well, I have a job for his son, if he's interested..." * * * Daria Morgendorffer walked into the Cranberry Commons food court and spotted Jerome at a table in the far corner. She hesitated a moment, then moved to join him and sat down. "Why did we need to meet here?" "There wasn't much point in us meeting at the hospital," came the reply; "Lynn wasn't up for more visitors when I last saw her. And anyway, the cafeteria serves horrible coffee." "Is this coffee addiction some family trait I have yet to demonstrate?" "Possibly." He thought of something. "That reminds me -- I've arranged things with the hospital. The blood tests will be rushed through and the results available in three days at the most." "How'd you manage that? Or can't you tell me?" she added so quickly as to leave no audible pause. "It's probably best if I don't. Let's just say I have... connections." Daria raised an eyebrow at this but decided to let it go; she'd seen that gun under his jacket, and if she pushed it, he might decide to tell her *and* kill her. "In any case, I'm having the results mailed to me, but I assumed you would prefer to pick them up at the hospital in person. I trust that suits you." "Certainly makes maintaining the status quo at home a little easier." _Speaking of relatives, that reminds me._ "Have you...?" The unspoken _...told Lynn?_ came through nicely. "This is something she'd take far better from you, Daria. And I assume you won't want her told until you're sure yourself." "I thought...to warn her..." "Good point. It's your decision at the end of the day. I didn't feel it was my place." He seemed to reach a decision. "Well, I'm sure you have things to do, and I should be heading off myself. It was... interesting meeting you. I...may I say that I hope our next meeting is under better circumstances?" "You just did." He sighed. "So I did. Good-bye, Daria." He extended a hand. She looked at it warily for a moment, then reluctantly took it. He gave her a Mona Lisa smile a lot like her own, shook her hand and left. Daria watched him go with a suspicious, puzzled look on her face. * * * That evening in her padded room, Daria was lying on the carpet, surrounded by balls of paper, writing. Every so often, she would cross something out. Eventually, she tore the paper off the notebook, balled it up, tossed it aside and started again. After a few lines, she tore *that* sheet off too, crumpling and tossing it with a groan of disgust. Just as she was starting up again, someone knocked on the door. With an air of mild irritation, she snapped, "You! Off my planet!" The door opened and Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer walked in. She looked down at her older daughter for a moment, then sat cross-legged on the floor near her. Daria, sensing that this was probably something important, sat up and faced her mother. Helen didn't really want to get to the main thrust yet, so she led off with what seemed an innocuous enough question. "What are you writing?" Daria decided to go there anyway, having been given such a neat setup. "I'm trying to figure out how to tell Lynn we're related." Helen, who still had yet to meet Daria's look-alike, went pale. "Oh." She considered her next question very carefully. "You're sure?" "Not yet. But it's only a matter of time. Anyway, the dates are right, and from what I've seen of Jerome Smythe, there are some fairly strong similarities..." Helen was startled. "You've *seen* him?" "He was at the hospital." Daria let her mother consider that, then added, "We talked." Then she noticed Helen squirming. "Mom, he's not going to try to take Dad's place. I wouldn't let him even if he wanted to. Jake Morgendorffer is my father and always will be." A heavy silence fell over the padded room. At length, Helen, unable to help herself, had to know, "What... what did you think of him?" "Let's just say I make a lot more sense now." Helen gave a reluctant nod and got up. "Daria, I..." She then thought better of how to say it. "Thank you for being so discreet about this." A shrug. "Yeah, well...yeah." Helen, sensing that this was the closest she was going to get to a _you're welcome_, made her exit. Daria stared at the wall for a moment, then went back to the paper. She looked at it, sighed in exasperation, ripped the sheet out of the notebook, crumpled it up, threw it at the wall and started yet again. * * * Lynn bolted upright, hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. She looked around a little wildly at the unfamiliar walls, then realized where she was -- her hospital room -- and relaxed...a little. She switched on the bedside lamp and picked up _The Dead Zone_, settling in for a long night. _And to think I thought the pink taffeta one was bad..._ * * * The next afternoon, Daria and the rest of her friends, Jane Lane and Andrew Philip McIntyre, walked into the reception area at Cedars of Lawndale, still burdened with their school things. A.P. bore a pizza box; Jane carried a thermos. "I dropped by yesterday," the Psycho-Maverick related morosely, "and the nurse said she didn't want visitors." He needed a moment to decide how to phrase the next question, but that's his language skills for you. "Why wouldn't she want visitors?" "Maybe she doesn't deal well with the fawning concern of her peers," Daria suggested. Then she came up with a theory that better fit the Lynn she knew. "Or she doesn't like being seen in a weak position. Anyway, maybe she feels well enough to have visitors today." "Hey, if she doesn't," Jane observed, "she's missing out. I mean, we brought decent food and actual coffee...and anyway, even *she* must be starving for company by now." She turned to Daria. "*You* were." "Yeah...if only because it meant the nurses had to spare me the vampire act for an hour or two. I'm surprised I got out of here with any blood at all after that damn rash." They got to the reception desk. "We're here to see Lynn Cullen..." "I'm afraid you're too late. She's gone." Daria, Jane and A.P. turned to face the source of that voice -- Dr. Phillips, who had treated Daria's aforementioned erotogenic rash, and who was now standing behind them. In unison, a little worried, they wondered, "What?" "She discharged herself about an hour ago. I would have preferred keeping her in for observation for another few days, but she wasn't taking no for an answer." His next comment was addressed to Daria specifically. "Never mind what's with your mother -- what's with your entire *family?*" The trio looked at each other, a little hurt and very confused. * * * The answer to the question was in her dark and mysterious room, lying on her bed in the "something eating at my soul" pose. She seemed to be contemplating something, maybe the same "something" that was doing the soul-eating. After a moment, that something started shining out of her eyes in a way which would indicate (at least, it would to your average omniscient narrator) that, on its way through her head, it had pushed the INSANITY button. She reached for the remote control to her stereo and hit a button, and the stereo started blaring Ministry's "Thieves" loud enough to rattle the windows. * * * An elderly couple -- we've met them before, but their names don't matter for our purposes -- were ambling down Glenview Road, looking askance at number 15. Even without the very loud noise they could hear from inside the house, they would have been appalled -- from the comments the girl in the upstairs window had exchanged with the boy outside the last time they went by, they were pretty sure it was a crackhouse or something in there -- but the racket pretending to be music made it worse. Then they heard, through the walls, over the discord, the sound of very loud breakage, and they started hobbling away as quickly as they could. ACT II: 19th NERVOUS BREAKDOWN "Well, the key to my survival was never in much doubt The question was how long I could keep sane trying to find a way out" -- Genesis, "No Son of Mine" The next morning in the unhallowed halls of Lawndale High, Daria and Jane were by Jane's locker; Jane was collecting books and Daria was still scribbling phrasings on a sheet of paper. After a moment, she frowned at her latest work and crossed out a fairly large chunk of prose. Jane noticed. "So you haven't come up with any decent way to tell her?" "Nope. I haven't been blocked this badly since Mr. O'Neill's `punishment for being smart' writing assignment." Jane raised an eyebrow at that memory. "Well, you were getting pretty pathetic." She needed a moment to restrain herself from reminding Daria of who'd helped spark her inspiration that time. "No chance of getting you to ditch the subtlety and giving it to her blunt as a brick through a plate glass window?" "It's not really my style, Jane. Anyway..." She looked over toward a nearby locker, where Lynn was wearing an extremely overlarge gray sweatshirt and black jeans, both spattered with paint, plaster dust and what looked like wood splinters. The Purple Peril had that pale, jittery look that denotes too much coffee and not enough sleep. "...I don't think it'd be healthy. For either of us." "I don't know. She looks like she's doing okay." After a few moments, she realized that needed qualifying. "For someone who was at the wrong end of a murder attempt last week." "I thought so too...but maybe you haven't noticed A.P." Jane raised an eyebrow, and Daria gestured down the corridor to whence her boyfriend was approaching, with an expression on his face that called to mind the phrase "long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs." He looked over to Lynn's locker, but she'd already taken off; this actually made his look worse. "I think I see what you mean." Jane addressed A.P. directly, her slight exasperation masking slight worry. "Oh, come on! I mean, what do you think she's going to do?" "She has a top-ten of suicide methods," he reported distantly. Daria and Jane *looked* at him, but he didn't seem to notice. "She did the research a long time ago but keeps the list current. They're on a one-to-ten scale by pain threshold, splatter factor and whether she wants to take people with her. It's kind of a hobby." The girls just continued to look at him. "She has a morbid streak." "One the length and breadth of the Grand Canyon," noted Daria, who'd heard about the drastic steps to which that streak had once almost driven her look-alike. That comment was what it took to make A.P. finally start paying attention to what he was saying. "It's not like I think she's going to *do* it or anything. I'm just worried. She's too quiet." Then he turned to Erudite Emerald. "Told her yet?" "No." "Why not? Might cheer her up." Daria and Jane both looked at him some more. "Well, it *might!*" Daria sighed. "I'm going to. Eventually. I'm just trying to find the best way." "Not just straight out?" "You've known Lynn for about eleven years, right?" A.P., not sure where this was going, nodded, and Daria went on. "What do you honestly think she'd say and do if I walked up to her and told her that?" A.P. didn't even *need* to think about that. "Think you were kidding, not think it was funny, tear you a new..." Just in time to save our PG-13 rating, his brain caught up with his mouth. "Oh. Yeah. Right." The bell rang, saving them all. They looked at each other, shrugged and headed off to their various classes. * * * Daria looked at the calendar. There was a small red dot in the upper right hand corner of Friday of this week. She marked off Wednesday, today, with a large black X. In the cafeteria, she was writing in her notebook again; her lunch sat forgotten on the table. Jane was reading over her shoulder, nodding appreciatively, then groaning when Daria crossed out a very large section of prose. A.P., meanwhile, was alternately looking (a) at his watch and (b) around, presumably for Lynn. Outside, Lynn was sitting under a tree, looking blankly at a sandwich. She sighed, tossed it into her backpack, and took out a thermos of coffee and a copy of _Skeleton Crew_. In her room, Daria was standing in front of the mirror on her closet door, reading aloud from another sheet of paper. She stopped, crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor, putting a hand to her head as her face got its _Someone put me out of my misery_ expression. In her own room, Lynn sat bolt upright, hands clapped over her mouth, breathing heavily. She switched on the lamp, then poured herself a cup of coffee from the coffee machine she'd moved into her room from the kitchen. She slugged it down and poured another, then reached down to the floor, coming up with _The Tommyknockers_. She sipped her second cup and started reading, resigned to a long night. Daria marked off Thursday. In English class, A.P. looked completely lost and worried. He looked from Daria, scribbling frantically in her notebook, to Lynn, slumped over her desk, and attempted to ponder for a moment. Then he scribbled out a note and tossed it in a clumsy overhand. Much to the surprise of anyone who knew him, it actually hit its mark, landing on Lynn's desk. She didn't even look at it, however, nor did she bother to brush it off her desk; it just sat there, unheeded. He chewed his lower lip a moment, hurt and irritated, then tried again, aiming this time for Daria's desk. She, at least, gave some acknowledgment of the impact, waving an _I'm okay, don't bother me just now_ circle in the air with her pencil. A.P. sighed and gave it up as a bad job. Lynn reached for her bedside lamp to turn it off, then realized, in a way she'd never have let show on her face if she'd suspected anyone (even an omniscient narrator) was watching, that she couldn't face another set of nightmares. So instead of turning off the lamp, she went for the coffee and pulled out _The Stand_, in her continuing effort to get through the entire Stephen King back catalogue as a way of staying up nights. Daria marked off the red-dotted Friday, then closed her eyes and paused to collect her nerve. Before long enough, she was sitting on a bench in the Cedars of Lawndale reception area, holding an envelope and looking at it as if it were an unexploded bomb -- which, in a certain sense, it was. After a moment, she tore the envelope open and pulled out the sheet of paper. She read it...then sighed and nodded with a complete lack of surprise, all her suspicions confirmed. * * * At that moment, in the late afternoon, anyone inside Daria's room would have heard Quinn's voice from down the hall outside the door. "*Daria*... I know you, like, don't care enough about how you look to want to borrow my stuff, but have you seen my Coral Shimmer lipstick? I..." In mid- sentence, she flung open the door to Daria's room, saw that there was no one there, and got an _oh, I've just been talking to myself for the last minute or so, that was stupid_ expression. Then she looked around the room, disgusted. _Could this place get any *geekier?*_ she thought. _I mean, there's *books* and *paper* everywhere!_ She picked a crumpled piece of that paper off the floor and uncrumpled it, face creased with a slightly disdainful curiosity. Then she looked at the words, and she could *feel* her eyes going wide. "Oh...my...God..." * * * Not enough later, downstairs in the front hallway of Morgendorffer Home Base, Jake Morgendorffer entered, briefcase in hand, looking extremely cheerful in his usual clueless way. "Hey Helen! Daria! Quinn! Daddy's home and he just landed an account!" He noticed the overwhelming lack of a response. "Girls? Honey?" He walked on into the living room, dropping his briefcase next to the sofa, and looked at where the cordless phone should be. It was gone, which meant someone must be home. A note next to the usual site of the phone, in Quinn's handwriting, read _Mom working late. Lasagna in freezer._ Jake read the note, a bit downcast, then headed upstairs. He was walking past Quinn's half-open door when the high-pitched tones of an excited Quinn hit him, along with a blast of some song by one of those girl groups. "I *know,* Tori, isn't it *unreal?* And now it turns out that Mom had some kind of affair and she's only my *half*- sister! It's just like _Dawson's Creek_!" Jake felt his heart sink into his socks. "And she's been writing little notes to that Lynn girl, telling her that they have the same *father!* Isn't it *weird* how they wound up in the same town and everything?" _So we didn't have twins after all. It just looked like it._ "Well, of *course* I'm not going to treat her any differently..." As Jake stood there, sad and horrified, Quinn appeared in the half-open door with a scornful look, oblivious to the notion that he might have heard anything. "Da-*ad!* Privacy!" And she slammed the door in his face, cutting off her gossiping and that God-awful racket. Jake continued to stand there, staring at the closed door as if he could retrieve whatever had just disappeared behind it. * * * That evening, Lynn, in her Coal Chamber hockey shirt, black jeans, leather jacket and motorcycle helmet, exited the Chez Cullen garage, wheeling out Amethyst. _King just isn't going to cut it tonight,_ she thought as she mounted the bike and roared off, just a little too fast. * * * The front door of Morgendorffer Home Base opened, then shut, and Daria walks into the living room, stopping in her tracks at the look on Jake's face. Her mother's husband was sitting quietly -- too quietly -- on the sofa. The TV was off. He spoke. "Hey, Daria, could you sit down a second? I want to talk to you." Daria, a little nervous at the lack of his usual "kiddo," sat on the other sofa, wondering what she'd done wrong. "If I asked you a straight question -- even if you knew I'd hate the answer -- you wouldn't lie to ol' Jake, would you?" Daria went wary. "Um...no..." "Have you...heard anything lately about...about not being my child?" Daria's eyes widened. That was the last thing she'd expected. "Um...where did you get that idea?" "I overheard Quinn on the phone. And she said that there were notes in your room. And there were -- I'm sorry for looking through your room, but I just..." He sighed. "And one of them said that you were getting the results of some blood test today?" Her face must have been answer enough. "Can I see?" Very, *very* reluctantly, she handed the paper over. Jake looked at it for a moment. "Dad, I..." She was "saved," if you want to call it that, from "having" to say anything further by the sound of a car engine and Jake handing her the results again. "Could you go up to your room? I...I want to talk to your mother alone." "Dad..." "Just...just go, okay?" Daria stuffed the paper back into her pocket and got up. As she headed towards the stairs, she felt her face tighten with anger. Quinn was going to *pay* this time. * * * At the Zen, Lynn was standing on the very outer edge of the dance floor, just watching the people flailing, when she heard a young male voice from off to the side. "Lynn Cullen, right?" She turned to face the speaker, her eyes narrow and cold. "Who wants to know?" "A friend of the family." He looked her over. "Whoa, and they weren't kidding." Lynn raised an eyebrow, looking slightly less aggressive, but feeling a lot more curious. "That isn't telling me much. Except that you know more about me than I know about you. Which is a dangerous thing." "For you or for me?" "Both, if you continue to dodge me like this." Her new acquaintance chuckled slightly. "C'mon. We'll talk somewhere quieter." "We keep to crowded areas," Lynn replied pointedly. "Where there are witnesses." He seemed amused. "A coffee shop with witnesses it is." Lynn watched him walk away, then shrugged and followed. ACT III: MY SISTER "And I never spoke to Jim [Mallon] again. We now communicate through a thick wall of lawyers. I retain more than seven thousand pounds of attorney, Jim more than twelve thousand." -- Michael J. "Mike" Nelson, "Introduction," _The Mystery Science Theater 3000 Amazing Colossal Episode Guide_ (Bantam, 1996) Up in her terrifyingly chipper room, Quinn was still on the phone, draped across her bed, when Daria flung the door open and walked over to stand right in front of her. Slightly nervous, she managed to carry on her end of the conversation anyway. "Gee, Tori, I don't know if I could get them to adopt her or anything..." As far as Daria was concerned, that officially tore it. "Quinn, off the phone. Now." Quinn put her hand over the mouthpiece. "*Daria!* Stop being rude! You can have it when I finish!" _You want rude? I'll give you rude._ Daria grabbed the phone and thumbed it off without so much as a by-your-leave. She then went over to the door, tossed the phone out into the hall, and slammed the door behind her. Then she turned to face her unwanted sister, her face cold. "*Now,* Quinn." "God, Daria, what is your childhood trauma?" "*You* are my childhood trauma, Quinn. Never more so than now. You've been talking about me, haven't you." Quinn got nervous. "Why would I want to talk about *you?* I mean, you're not..." "*Dammit, Helen! Eighteen years you've lied to me! How...*" Jake's yelling from downstairs became a slightly softer sound, but was still audible as babble in the background for the rest of the discussion, overridden occasionally by a shriller babble from Helen. "What..." Daria turned the knife counterclockwise. "You were gossiping about things that didn't involve you, Quinn. And Dad heard you doing it." "But it *does* involve me, Daria! I mean, I'm..." "No. It. Doesn't," she said lethally. After a pause as long as the pauses between words in that sentence, Daria unclenched her teeth and went on. "Dad didn't have to know this, Quinn. This has hurt him and I wouldn't be surprised if he had his second heart attack over it. And I don't know *what* it's going to do to Mom. I'm going to have to leave the house for a few days because neither of them is going to want me around to remind them what they're fighting about." She paused to let that sink in, then stormed on. "Is this enough *drama* for you, Quinn? Are you *involved* enough now? I hope so, because too much more of you poking your nose in might kill someone." "Daria...you're just trying to scare me, right?" _Because, like, if you are, it's...*working* and stuff._ "Figure it out for yourself, Quinn. You've got a brain in there -- try using it for once." With that, Daria walked out, leaving a stunned and remorseful Quinn in her wake. * * * Later, Daria was sitting on the front stoop of Chez Cullen, a bag at her feet, waiting. After a moment, she heard the roar of a motorcycle, and Lynn pulled up on Amethyst. She raised the visor of her helmet, took off her glasses, took off the helmet, then put the glasses back on, looking at Daria -- her face was casual, but her stance was decidedly tense. "You been waiting long?" she asked. "Awhile," replied Daria. After an awkward moment, she went on. "I tried to get in through the window, but..." Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Did you see the staples before...?" "Just." She thought of something else. "You have messages. Jane would like to know, yet again, what rodent crawled into your colon and expired. A.P. has all but warned me to keep you away from sharp objects and poisonous chemicals. Trent asks, via Jane, when you're coming back to rehearsals because Nick's falling back into bad habits and Max may not survive it. And on my own behalf, I'm not your damn message service so start talking to people again." Another tense silence. Lynn gestured to the bag. "More parent crap?" "More parent crap than you can imagine." After a moment, Daria decided there was nothing for it but to say it. "We need to talk." Lynn immediate went on the defensive. "Do we," she said flatly. "Yes." An inner swallowing of nerve. "It's important." Another pause, this one to swallow pride; she spoke with an uncharacteristic pleading note in her voice. "Please?" Lynn looked at her. "All right." Then she had a thought. "But you'll have to forgive the house." * * * Lynn walked inside casually, stepping into the front hall and slinging her helmet through a door to her right without even stopping. Daria, however, stopped in her tracks five steps into the house and stared, absently shutting the door behind her. The walls had been paintballed, and there were random markings etched into them. Daria peered into the living room and found it in worse shape -- there wasn't a single piece of furniture intact, the walls and carpet had been liberally covered with disturbing markings in black spray-paint, and there were a couple of fairly large holes in the wall. A sledgehammer lay near what had probably been the coffee table before the two objects had (presumably) met. Daria turned to Lynn, who'd stopped halfway up the stairs. Lynn didn't even turn around. "Long story." She continued up the stairs without another word. Daria, a little frightened, paused a moment. She looked into the living room again, tried to imagine Lynn causing that kind of wreckage ...and shuddered. The picture had come a little too easily. She decided to follow Lynn up the stairs. * * * The Chamber of Dark Mysteriousness was intact, but messy -- more or less every available surface was covered with coffee mugs, books, crumpled pieces of paper and assorted garbage. Daria moved a pile of papers and a quarter-eaten peanut butter sandwich off Lynn's desk chair onto the desk and sat down. Lynn sprawled face-down across the bed in a pose reminiscent of Trent's preferred sleeping posture, pushing a can of spray paint and several books onto the floor as she did so. Daria tried to think how to phrase her next comment, then decided there was "nothing for it," as Lynn's British cousin would say, but to get to the point. "Um...this is a new decorating scheme for you." Lynn shrugged. "Eh. There's something therapeutic about chaos and wholesale destruction. I'm kind of enjoying the holiday from reason." Daria gestured to the coffee mugs. "And the insomnia binge?" With a sigh, Lynn confessed. "Can't sleep." Daria raised an eyebrow. "Clowns'll eat you?" "Not exactly clowns, Daria." Daria fell silent at this softly desperate comment. After a moment, she gathered her courage to go on with what she'd come here for. "Lynn..." Inconveniently enough, the phone rang just then, and Lynn picked it up. "Cullen residence." The other party spoke a moment. "You got my message?" Gabble. "I think you'll find I *can* do that. And have." Blather. "You can refuse to sell if you like. But I'll just find somewhere else." Blah blah blah. "Because we couldn't live under the same roof. Because I'd much rather not see you again. Because you chose work over me one time too many." That was where Daria figured out the caller's identity. "Good; we're even." Yadda yadda yadda. "Fine. All further communication on this matter should be handled through my lawyer." Something or other. "Through Dad, if that's any of your business. Good-bye, Kate." Lynn hung up. Her face was still quite expressionless, but her eyes showed her pain; she gave voice to a sigh that was almost a sob, would have been a sob from anyone except one of Jerome Smythe's daughters, and let her head hang off the side of the bed, face to the floor. Daria stared; she'd understood the gist of that conversation only too well. "Um..." "I don't want to talk about it," Lynn muttered tonelessly. "She's selling me the house and that's the end of it." She shook with another sigh. "I'm better off without family anyway." _Now or never._ "I...I hope you don't mean that." Lynn looked up. "Excuse me?" Daria debated for a moment...then simply handed over the much- folded piece of paper in her pocket. Lynn looked at her, then took it and unfolded it. She read it, and not a flicker of expression crossed her face. Daria started to get nervous and babble mildly. "I found out that...that I probably wasn't Jake's biological daughter a few weeks ago. That day you came back from Grove Hills covered in blue gunk. Then you were in the hospital and...my mom met your mom and..." Softly, with no inflection of any kind, Lynn finished it. "My father sired you." Daria was now growing twitchier by the literal second. "That's ...a poetic way of putting it." Still flatly: "You're a Smythe." "T-Technically." It would have been so easy to let go and just start openly gibbering. *Much* easier. Lynn looked at Daria, her face neutral. "What do you think about all this?" Daria was nearly speechless. "Um...I..." She took a deep, calming breath, then made her admission. "I kind of like the idea." The first flicker of emotion appeared on Lynn's face -- and it was surprise. Then it was gone. Still neutral, she repeated, "You like the idea." "Well...not so much of being a Smythe, if you see what I mean. More of...of having another sister." There was a long silence. Lynn just looked at her, her face giving nothing away. Daria met the look for a while, then had to look away. She held her breath a moment. That was how she knew, afterward, that the silence couldn't have lasted as long as it'd seemed at the time; she was still conscious when Lynn finally spoke. "I used to think, when I was younger, about what it would be like to have brothers or sisters. I would have been a burden to an older sibling and an unpaid babysitter to a younger one. But..." There was a pause before she made an admission of her own. "I would have liked a twin." The silence fell again. Daria looked at Lynn -- her face was still neutral, but Daria had some idea, from her own inner turmoil, of what telling this was costing her. "Next best thing?" They shared a small smile that somehow sealed everything. * * * Changed into her scrub-shirt and boxers, Daria headed back down the hall toward Lynn's room. "Lynn...I just wanted to ask something about A.P. He..." She stepped into the room, and the sentence died in its tracks. Lynn, still sprawled out on the bed on her stomach, was now fast asleep. Daria was both relieved and rueful. "Never mind. -- You've been hanging around Trent too long," she added wryly. * * * The next morning found the look-alikes at Lynn's locker. A.P. approached them, looked closely at Lynn...and then smiled for what felt like the first time in a while. "Hey, you slept!" "Yeah," she allowed as. "Final score: six hours total in the last one-twenty and got through everything but _The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon_. If nothing else, it's a new personal record." "You say that like it's something to be proud of," Daria mused. "It is," they replied in unison. Daria raised an eyebrow at them as Jane approached. Lynn greeted Art-Smart Scarlet. "In answer to your question, Jane -- you have me confused with Richard Gere, and in his case I believe it was a gerbil." "Oh," Jane replied as she searched her short-term memory for the referent of that observation. After a moment, it clicked. "It's called a figure of speech." "It's called sarcasm." "Yep," Jane snarked to the other two, "she's fine." After a small pause: "...Does she...?" "Yes, she does. And she *is* right here, you know." "So you really *are* like the Mowery sisters!" Daria turned to Lynn. "Do you want to say it, or should I?" "Allow me." She favored them with the imitation of Daria that Erudite Emerald had seen once, long ago, when they were discussing the possibility of Jane attending Brittany's house-party in Daria's place. "`Go to hell, Lane.'" A.P. chuckled. Daria and Lynn smirked. "Couldn't have said it better myself." They realized they'd spoken in unison and looked at each other in that dubious, _what the hell?_ sort of way. "Oops," Daria observed. "We did it again," added Lynn. "Quote Britney Spears again and I'll have to kill you," Jane observed. A.P. was watching this exchange, grinning like the loon he was. "So, the Jackboot's dead, she didn't kill anyone, everyone's talking... No more crisis!" There was something slightly evasive about Lynn's "Yeah." Daria looked at Lynn dubiously, remembering some of Jerome's comments -- then, after an inner debate, decided to keep her thoughts to herself for as long as possible. Then the bell rang and they headed off in separate directions, the moment lost. ADAPTOR'S NOTES Confession time: I don't have any more *certainty* about the nature of Jerome's revelation, or the identity of Lynn's interlocutor, than you do. I have some educated guesses, based on what's in the actual stories and on hints dropped by Jan in our correspondence, but they're just guesses, and yours are as good as mine. The Gere/gerbil story is either an urban legend or the subject of a damn good cover-up. In fact, "The Colo-Rectal Mouse" rates its own listing in the works of Jan Harold Brunvand (the leading academic authority on ULs). Which is not to say that some pretty amazing things *haven't* had to be extracted from people's large intestines, but no confirmed reports of actual rodents were known to this office as of Armstrong Day, 31/2 AT (July 20, 2000, by the Vatican's calendar). Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) Monty Python quotes and characters are copyright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The characters of Lynn Cullen and A.P. McIntyre are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose. Austin, and good day. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD