_The Look-Alike Series_
Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit with Ben Yee
Season 4, episode 2: "Fifth Wheel"
prose adaptation by Austin Loomis

Cast: Tom Sloane, Elsie Sloane, Daria Morgendorffer, A.P. McIntyre, Jane 
Lane, Lynn Cullen, Tori Jericho, Brooke Wanamaker, Sandi Griffin, Tiffany 
Blum-Deckler, Anthony DeMartino, Bill, Angier Sloane, Mark "Shooter" 
Renfield

"I'll be watching you from the wings
 I will come to your rescue if he tries anything"
	-- Ani DiFranco, "If He Tries Anything"

ACT 1: LEASH

"You're falling faster; obey your master
 Your life burns faster; crawl to your master, master
 Master of puppets, I'm pullin' your strings"
	-- Metallica, "Master of Puppets"

Up in his room at the stately Sloane estate, Tom was sitting on his bed, 
dressed in normal clothes, head in his hands.  There was a knock on the 
door.  "TOM!" Elsie called out.  "Dad says to say that you're going to 
be late if you don't move! -- Oh, and he says to make sure you're dressed 
appropriately for this!"  Tom didn't answer his sister, just sighed and 
flopped backwards onto the bed in despair.  All in all, he'd have been 
way ahead if the Falcon had just put him in a woodchipper.

				      * * *

Daria approached the front walk of Casa Lane.  A.P. came staggering down 
the sidewalk toward her, hair askew.  "Good morning," she told him, "and 
welcome to the first day of the rest of your high school career."
	"Meef."
	Daria looked closely at him.  "Early mornings are anathema to 
you, aren't they?"
	Blink.  "Hmmrwrf?"
	She shook her head with a sigh.  "Never miiind..."  Either he 
didn't understand English yet, or it was just the one word that had 
tripped him up; whichever the case, it was too early in the morning to 
try and sort it out, let alone him.
	The Lanes' front door opened, and Jane stepped out, fully dressed 
but with hair unbrushed.  "Meef," she grogged.
	"Meef," A.P. replied.  After a moment, he added, "Hmmmky?"
	"Yrrrthn. -- Yrrrmky?"
	A shrug.  "Dnnsk."
	Daria stared at this, then turned to Lynn, who was hanging back
in the doorway, looking a little pale and tentative.  "Uh..."
	The author of the _Grog-English Dictionary_ seemed unusually 
subdued as she explained, "They exchanged `hey's.  A.P. asked if Jane 
was okay, to which Jane replied that she was basically fine but that 
mornings blow dead rats before reciprocating the question. A.P.'s 
response was `Don't ask.'"
	Daria stared at Lynn in silence for a moment before asking the 
next question.  "And you didn't supply them with your own personal brand 
of jet-fuel *why?*"
	A sigh.  "They won't let me near the kitchen.  They've embarked 
on a campaign to keep me away from sharp objects, prescription medication 
and some of the more lethal brands of cleaning products. -- Completely 
futile, but I guess it's nice to know they care."
	Daria looked askance at her quasi-twin for a moment.
	Jane woke up a bit, enough to speak English at least.  "Hey, 
we gettin' to school or *what?*"
	A.P., on the other hand, didn't wake up any further, at least 
not enough to break out of Grog.  "Awwwwwwwdwhfta?"
	"Yes," Lynn informed him, "we have to.  Unfortunately."
	"It's only one more year," Daria pointed out.  "Considering what 
we've been through, I think we can survive one more year."
	They all turned to Lynn for confirmation or denial, but she just 
shrugged.  "Are you at *least* going to let me have my car keys back?  
Even if I *did* want out, you *know* I wouldn't take you with me."
	Jane gave a sheepish smirk and handed over the 51% ANGEL, 49% 
BITCH keyring.  Lynn very nearly smiled, and Jane's smirk widened into 
a proper smile only a bit bigger than Daria's own.  A.P., still nearly 
asleep, just slumped where he was standing, eyes mostly closed.

				      * * *

At the lockers, Tori and Brooke were listening to Sandi and Tiffany, 
but mostly Sandi, chatter on.  "A new school year *demands* a new Fashion 
Club, Brooke.  I mean, now that those plastic surgeon people have 
*finally*...`dealt with' that...unsightly *problem* with your nose..."
	Tori was skeptical.  "I don't know, Sandi... I mean, what do 
we *get* out of joining the Fashion Club? I mean, like, as far as *I* 
can tell you just spend a lot of time walking around shopping malls in 
shoes that make your feet hurt."
	"And the *blisters*," Brooke added.  "I mean, think of the 
*blisters*..."
	"Ooooooooh yeeeeeaaaaah...goooood point."
	"Tori dear, you seem to be missing thee *point.*  As a card-
carrying member of thee Fashion Club, you get popularity privileges 
beyond your *wildest* dreams. -- *And* thee chance to rate and *slate* 
all those less popular people."
	Tori's gossip-sense was tingling.  "You mean...*I* decide who's 
cool and who's not?"
	"As *Public Relations Officer,* you would. And *Brooke,* as Co-
ordinating Officer, it would be *your* job to find comfortable footwear 
that would not *compromise* our charter."
	Tori shot a look over Sandi's shoulder.  "Ooooooh.  The new kid's 
*fine.*  He hooks up with the right person and his popularity is going 
through the *roof.*"  The rest of the girls turned around, but whoever 
Tori was talking about, he wasn't there anymore.
	"I'm *telling* you, Tori, if you *want* guys to come *after* 
you, there's *no* better way than thee Fashion Club.  We give *extensive* 
training on date behavior and flirting."
	"Well...maybe we can, like, think about this and get back to 
you?"
	"What's to *think* about?"  Sandi needed a moment to recover 
from Brooke's comment.  "Okay, fine, but this *is* a limited-time offer."
	Tori blinked.  "Uhhhh..."
	Brooke seemed slightly fearful.  "Maybe we could get back to 
you, like, this afternoon or something?"  The two walked away, heads 
together, whispering furiously.
	"Uuuuhhh... thaaaat went okaaaay."
	"Tiffany dear...?"
	"Yeeeeaaaaah...?"
	"Wake *up.*  That went *badly.*"
	"I think they call that sarcasm, Sandi. -- You *know* what that 
*means,* riiiiiight?"
	Sandi looked at Tiffany with utmost scorn.  Tiffany turned her 
best lights-are-on-but-no-one's-home stare (or, as Daria would forever 
think of it, the you-made-me-lose-my-place stare) on Sandi, who sighed 
and walked off with Tiffany at her heels.
	Down the corridor a small way, Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P., who'd 
seen the whole thing, were still looking with some confusion at where 
the rump membership of Fashion-Victims-R-Us had been standing.  Daria 
was the first one who could trust herself to speak.  "You may have been 
right, Lynn. This place *may* be free of poseurs by the end of our senior 
year."
	"Brooke blew Sandi off," boggled Jane.  "BROOKE.  The one who 
probably spent Peru's GNP on plastic surgery to *impress* Sandi."
	"Igor," A.P. said.  After a moment, he added, "Sarcasm."  Then 
came another pause to get the words lined up.  "Insulting...Janus."  
He paused again to find some suitable description, settling on, "Did 
we crossover into Bizarro World or *what?*"
	"They're about sixteen, right?"  Lynn seemed slightly distant.  
"A lot of people start growing up around then."
	"Y'okay, Purple Peril?"
	The concern in his voice got Lynn a little more with-it.  "I 
*will* be if people stop *asking* me that."  That earned her looks all 
around.  "Look, stop *worrying* about me."
	"Lynn..." Daria started to say.
	"I just want to forget this summer.  *All* of this summer."  
A.P. got a kicked-puppy look.  "Okay, maybe not *all* of this summer, 
but you know what I mean.  Drop it?  Please?"
	There was a brief silence.  It was a male voice -- a voice too 
damn familiar -- that broke it.  "That's not such a good idea, Peril."  
As one body, the gang facefaulted.  They turned their heads to look and 
see if they'd really heard what they thought they had.  When they found 
they had, Lynn flicked her wrist, producing a knife, and dashed over 
to the new arrival, shoving him up against the lockers with a slam they 
probably heard out on the Car Dealership Strip.
	Three pairs of eyes went even wider.  Daria was the only one 
with the nerve to speak.  "Lynn, *stop!*"
	Our mystery guest -- young Thomas, of course -- was white as 
a sheet, pinned against the lockers, trying not to shiver in fear as 
Lynn pressed her knife to his throat.  "Give me one good reason why I 
shouldn't slit you a new grin," she hissed at him, her face very hard 
and very angry.
	"lk, prl, I'm jst follwng ordrs..."
	"Lynn, let him go," Daria insisted.
	"I don't think so. -- What orders?"
	"I ... dn't thnk I shd tell..."
	Lynn pressed on the knife a little harder.  A very thin line 
of blood started to flow.  "Oh, *shouldn't* you."
	"Lynn..."
	She ignored Daria completely.  "Well?"  Tom just made panicked 
choking noises.
	Jane had had about enough; even Tom didn't deserve this.  "Lynn, 
*chill* and put the knife away! You *want* to be carted off in a 
straitjacket?"
	Lynn stiffened at that, then started to tremble. She took a step 
back and dropped the knife.  Anyone looking in her eyes would have seen 
that she was only physically present -- her body might be at Lawndale 
High, but her mind was a few weeks in the past, in a small dark room 
in the Merritt compound.  "Sorry..." she said in a trembling whisper 
just before she turned and ran.
	A.P. broke after her.  Daria and Jane looked at each other, then 
advanced on Tom, who was wiping the blood off his neck.  He looked up 
at them.  "Thanks, Scarlet; she..."  Then he noticed the hate-filled 
looks on their faces.  "Uh."
	"Why," Daria gritted.  "Are you.  Here?"
	A sigh.  "Like I said, I have orders."  He handed some papers 
to Daria.  "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, 
believe me."
	As Jane picked up Lynn's knife and, out of habit, stuffed it 
down the side of her boot, Daria looked at the top sheet of the stack 
of papers.  "`Subject: The fit has hit the shan'?"
	A shrug.  "It's a Warlock thing."
	Daria read Warlock's dispatch aloud, mainly for Jane's benefit.  
"`Trouble.  Merritts have regrouped and are sniffing around Lawndale 
again.  Since you're the best we have in that area -- gods help us all 
-- Falcon says transfer to Lawndale High and keep an eye -- preferably 
both -- on Peril and Emerald.  He says consider this a second -- and 
last -- chance.'"  She waited a moment, then finished with a wry half-
smirk.  "`P.S. -- next time you're in The City, don't drop by.'"
	Jane literally couldn't believe her ears.  "You're going to 
*school* here?  But you're about nineteen!"
	"Nineteen in two months, actually," Tom admitted.  "That's what 
the rest of the papers are for."  Daria began to sift through them.  
"Mainly forged doctor's reports stating that I had some debilitating 
illness at a young age that held me back a year or two."
	"Let me guess," Daria observed.  "My dear newfound cousin's work."
	Another shrug.  "Her medico status and Pagebert's scanner and 
printer?  *Great* combination."
	"You're," Jane all but snarled.  "Going to *school* here. -- 
YOU. -- I don't *believe* this crap."
	Daria noticed to say something more to the point.  "You're 
carrying this e-mail around.  Is that *wise?*"
	Tom blinked.  "Aw hell."
	Jane snatched it.  "I have art first and we have a shredder.  
I'll deal with it."
	"And there was no thought," Daria gritted, "of warning us about 
this?"
	"I was playing hands-off with Peril." Tom let that hang there 
a moment.  "I guess you see why."
	"Well, assuming A.P. can calm her down by then, we're talking 
about this after school."
	"Why not lunchtime?"
	"Was it *you,*" Jane pointed out pointedly, "who told Lynn to 
never discuss something that you wouldn't want anyone else to hear in 
public?"
	Daria was even blunter.  "Do you want to have *that* conversation 
in the middle of a cafeteria full of gossips who have nothing better 
to occupy what passes for their minds than eavesdropping on the weirdos 
at the corner table?"
	Sheepish silence from Tom as Daria and Jane just looked at him.  
At length, he wondered, "How come you're so much better at this than 
I am?"
	Daria shot a sad look in the direction whither Lynn had run off.  
"You pick stuff up.  After awhile."


ACT 2: MASTER OF PUPPETS

"We both carry a smile to show when we're pleased
 We both carry a switchblade in our sleeves"
	-- DiFranco

Daria entered History class to see A.P. sitting at the front of the room, 
looking at the door intently.  His shoulders slump a little when he sees 
Daria, and she walked up to him.  "You didn't catch up to her."  It 
wasn't a question.
	"She outran Art-Smart Scarlet once -- you guys *told* me she 
used to run track.  What the hell chance did *I* have?"
	Daria nodded, conceding the point.  "Well, maybe we shouldn't 
worry until she doesn't show for class."
	"Don't *say* that!"
	The bell rang, and Daria and A.P. both turned toward the door.  
As the bell stopped, a very pale Lynn stepped into the doorway, looking 
hesitantly in for a moment.
	"Please *join* us, Ms. Cullen!"
	At DeMartino's invitation, Lynn stepped miserably into the room, 
bypassing the empty seat between Daria and A.P. and sitting in a seat 
at the rear of the room, by the windows.  A.P. deserted his seat at the 
front and moved to the back of the room.  The desk next to Lynn's was 
occupied by Bill what's-his-name, the guy with the eyebrow ring, so A.P. 
stood in front of it until Bill looked up and asked, "What?"
	"Move?" A.P. suggested
	"Why should I?"
	"Wanna find *out?* -- *Move.*"
	Bill, surprised to find himself a little intimidated, moved.  
A.P. got into the now-vacant seat next to Lynn's and leaned toward her.  
She was looking out the window, not seeming to notice that he'd just 
bullied someone out of a seat.
	"Hey ho, Purple Peril."  A pause.  No response.  "Lynn?"  Still 
no reply.  A.P. was getting ever so slightly panicked.  "Hel-loooooooo..."
	"MR. MCINTYRE!"
	A.P. just about jumped out of his skin.  "Eee!"
	From a distance of about three feet, the Cyclops raised an 
eyebrow at him.  "*Fascinating* as your business with Ms. Cullen might 
*be,* I'd suggest it can *wait* until *after* my class! -- Am I correct?" 
he hissed.
	A.P. shrank into his seat.  "Yessir..."
	"*Now* that I have your *attention*..."  DeMartino might have 
had the rest of the class's attention, but he lost A.P.'s again almost 
immediately.  The Maverick tuned him out, shifting his eyes to Purple 
Peril, who was staring out the window, oblivious.
	_No sir, I don't like it._

				      * * *

Lynn was sitting alone at a cafeteria table, randomly poking at her food 
-- perhaps making sure it was actually dead and not, as one might suspect 
from its appearance, about to slither off the plate.  Daria approached 
her, bearing a tray.  "Anyone sitting here?" she asked carefully.
	Lynn didn't look up.  "You have to ask?"
	Daria sat across from Lynn.  Silence for a moment before Daria 
pushed the issue.  "Asking if you're okay would be..."
	Still no eye contact.  "...A bad idea, yes."
	"Oh. -- That kind of derails me, you realize."
	"I know."  After a moment, Lynn finally looked at her sister.  
"Sorry. I just--"
	A.P. arrived with his tray, which he dropped carelessly on the 
table as he plunked down next to Lynn and started speed-ranting at her.  
"THREEdifferentclasseswehavetogetherandIgotDETENTIONinoneofthemandyou
STILLactlikeyou'reonsomereallynastylittleplanetofyourownandit'sWAYtoo
muchlikehowyoulookedafteryoucametoinFriscoandI'mFREAKEDoutofmymindsoif
youdon'tsaysomethingsoonI'mgonna..."
	Lynn's eyes widened as she paled, as if she'd either seen a ghost 
or been one.  "Excuse me."  She got up and left.
	A.P. looked after her, eyes wide.  Daria finally had to smack 
him in the back of the head with a notebook to get his attention.  He 
turned the incredulous, worried stare on her.  "What'd I *say?*"  Daria 
just *glared* at him.

				      * * *

Later, Daria, Jane and A.P. approached a locker and spotted a note 
stuffed into one of the vents.  Daria plucked it out, read it and showed 
it to Jane.  Jane readed it, sighed and handed it to A.P.  A.P. read 
it, scowled at it and crumpled it into a little ball, throwing it at 
a nearby garbage can.  Being A.P., he missed the shot by a good six feet.  
The trio walked away, leaving the crumpled paper where it lay.

				      * * *

After school in the parking lot, Tom approached the Rustbucket -- only 
to find Daria, Jane and A.P. leaning against it, arms folded, already 
waiting.  The looks they were giving him could freeze helium.
	"Peril?" he asked.
	Daria made it sound like an accusation.  "MIA. -- Again."
	Tom sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair.  
"Wish she'd stop *doing* that...Where do we start looking?"
	"Nowhere yet."  It came out as a direct order.  "She's been 
through hell and needs some time -- and she probably wouldn't be able 
to take what you're going to be telling us anyway."
	"`Going to'?  What makes you think...?"
	Jane produced Lynn's discarded knife from her boot.  In casual 
tones, she replied, "*This* makes us think, crim-boy."
	Gulp.  "Okay, okay; no need for threats."
	"But they're *so* much fun."
	Daria rolled her eyes.  "Can we find somewhere more *private* 
for this?"
	Tom gestured to the Rustmobile, and Daria and Jane went around 
to the passenger side.  A.P. stood blocking the driver's door, glaring 
at Tom, making him nervous despite himself.  "What?"  A second's tense 
silence.
	"Not even Purple Peril has the right words for how much I hate 
you.  *And* your whole damn `Family.'"  Without another word, A.P. 
turned, opened the rear door and got in next to Jane, slamming the door 
behind him.  Tom stood there for a moment, then sighed and got behind 
the wheel.

				      * * *

The Sloane living room was a fine and private place for it.  When Tom 
had finished telling them, Daria, Jane and A.P. just stared at him a 
moment.  Daria was the first to speak.  "A *recruitment* drive? -- That 
whole tour was a *recruitment* drive?  For *us.*"
	Tom shrugged helplessly.  "Remember, he knows Maverick from way 
back."  He addressed his next comment directly to A.P.  "Even then, he 
saw potential."  He flinched at A.P.'s You're-NOT-impressing-me glare, 
turning back to Daria.  "And you...well, you're a *Smythe.*  You're 
*also* the yin to Peril's yang.  You two balance each other out.  If 
he could get you two together on the Family business..."  He trailed 
off weakly.  A deadly, nasty silence followed.
	Again, Daria was the one to break it.  With no inflection of 
any kind, she said, "I should have let Lynn slit your throat."
	Tom could see that she probably *meant* that.  "Eep."
	Jane produced Lynn's knife again.  With the same total lack of 
inflection, she pointed out, "It can still happen."
	Tom was now officially freaked.  "EEP."
	A.P. piped up.  "Guys...that's going easy on him.  Let him try 
to hack out a year at Lawn-hell on his own.  Now *that's* what Purple 
Peril calls `purgatory on a stick.'"
	Tom allowed himself a sick grin.  "You're a cruel man, Maverick."
	"I learned from the best," A.P. replied, dead serious.  "Remember 
that."
	"Look, you think I *want* to do this?"
	"I don't see you fighting very hard *not* to..." Daria pointed 
out.
	"It's a little something called parental expectation.  Ever heard 
of it?"  Daria and A.P. looked at each other a little sheepishly.  Only 
Jane looked predominantly unmoved.  Tom went on, figuring that two out 
of three wasn't bad.  "Dad isn't content with his involvement with the 
Family business. Never has been."
	"What *does* your father do, anyway?  I mean, in that context?"
	"He's a front.  A decoy.  What Peril calls a `legit.'  There 
are three branches to the Family.  Some of them get their hands dirty."
	"Like `Leopard' and `Warlock.'"
	"Well, both of them are in the money-handling business as well.  
Places like "Come Again" and the Motorcycle are great ways to...well, 
legitimize the Smythe finances.  But yeah."
	"And...`legits'?"
	"Well, there has to be *something* the Falcon can show when 
people wonder why he's doing so well.  Some of the Smythe money actually 
comes from legitimate sources.  Hence `legit.'"
	"Does this *matter?*" Jane snapped.
	"Curiosity."  Daria gave Jane a moment to calm down, then turned 
back to Tom.  "So okay. Your father isn't happy with his role in this 
whole deal.  And he's shoving you into it head first."
	"Basically," Tom allowed as.
	"I *still* don't see what we need you for," A.P. muttered.  "This 
is *over.*"
	Tom turned to Daria and Jane with a raised eyebrow.  "No one 
told him."
	"Told me *what?*"
	"He wasn't there when we read that e-mail out, Tom," Daria 
pointed out.
	"*What* e-mail? What the *hell*...?"
	Jane opted to break it to him as gently as she could.  "A.P....
it isn't over.  It's *far* from over."
	Tom confirmed that.  "Last intelligence I had was that the 
Merritt `Family'...well, you know what I mean...had found Lawndale.  
Warlock never said as much but..."
	"He wouldn't," A.P. noted, managing to sound only slightly 
bitter.  After a moment, he added, "They're after her again?"
	"They're probably after *all* of us," Daria noted.  "`The Falcon' 
is just more interested in keeping Lynn and I alive than worrying about 
`civilians.'"
	"And we're not worried about where Purple Peril took off to?"  
Utter silence followed this question.
	Tom sighed.  "*Why* did they recruit me for this?"
	"Because," snarked Jane, "you're the best they have in Lawndale. 
-- God help us *all.*"
	"Jane..."
	"She's right -- fat lot of good you've done *so* far!"
	"Maverick..."
	"*You* don't call me that."
	Tom was getting a bit frantic now.  "LOOK..."
	Daria looked, all right -- at her friends.  "I think I speak 
for all of us when I say this.  We don't want your protection.  We don't 
*need* your protection.  We can do a better job than you can of taking 
care of our own."  She got up.  Jane and A.P. quickly followed suit.
	Tom stood up with them but could only watch, unable to think 
of anything helpful to say, as the trio stalked out the door.  He heard 
it slam shut, and a moment later, his father stepped into the room.  
"I take it your little after-school job's not going well," said Angier.  
Tom just shrugged miserably at him and walked off, hands stuffed in his 
pockets.


ACT 3: IF HE TRIES ANYTHING

"It's a cold world, I said a cold world
 When you're keepin' it all to yourself
 Y'know, you can't hide on the inside
 All the pain you've ever felt"
	-- Pat Benatar, "Shadows of the Night"

It's probably about time we caught up with Lynn.  She was sitting in 
Biers, staring at a half-empty glass.  Even to us, who just got here, 
it was obviously not her first.  She looked much like her childhood (and 
Daria's, for that matter) had felt.
	A hand came down on her shoulder.  With a sudden rush of animal 
panic, she grabbed the arm it was attached to and threw her assailant 
over her shoulder and into the table, which broke.  She planted a boot 
firmly on his windpipe...then saw whose neck she was standing on and 
facefaulted.  "Mr..." she wobbled.  "...Mr. *DeMartino?*"
	DeMartino's face was turning purple, due to Lynn's SAS-surplus 
footwear cutting off his air supply.  "wd yu mnd...rmovng...yr boot?"
	Lynn nearly staggered backward.  Shooter was already half-
standing, one hand under the bar (presumably on his scattergun, or on 
whatever he *does* keep back there for security), looking tense.  "Y'okay 
there, Peril?"
	Lynn was still a bit shaky, but managed to reply, "Yeah, fine.  
Stand down."
	DeMartino had used the opportunity to get to his feet; now, he 
was brushing himself off with one hand and rubbing his neck with the 
other.  "While I didn't expect the *warmest* of welcomes, Ms. Cullen..."
	"Sorry, sir. Just a little...tense."
	"*That* would be like saying *Kevin* is a little *dim,* Ms. 
Cullen. -- You *are* aware of *age* restrictions on *alcohol* consumption 
in this state?"
	Lynn raised an eyebrow.  "Gonna rat on me to the bartender?"  
She waited a moment before driving home the point.  "Or at least *try* 
to?"
	The Cyclops looked at Shooter, who was still watching them rather 
warily.  "I somehow *doubt* that would have *any* effect other than 
getting me *beaten* to a bloody *pulp.*  While my face *may* not be much 
to *look at,* I'm rather *used* to it. -- Take a *seat,* Ms. Cullen."  
They moved to a non-destroyed table and sat.  "Now, care to explain *why* 
one of my *best* -- if somewhat overly *headstrong* -- students is doing 
*drowning* her greatest *asset* in *ethanol?*"
	Lynn just looked miserably at the table.  "None of your business. 
-- Sir."
	"All *right.*"  Pause.  "Then *perhaps* you could explain your 
*performance* in my class today. -- The *peanut gallery* doesn't *suit* 
you, Ms. Cullen."
	"With all due respect, sir, I'd much prefer if you buggered off
and left me alone."
	"*Precisely* why I'm not *going* to."  His voice dropped into 
something like its soft-and-dangerous mode.  "*Miss* Cullen.  I've seen 
*that* look before.  On the *faces* of prisoners of *war.*"  Lynn looked 
up at him, raising an eyebrow.  "Now, you *will* be aware of how much 
I *detest* that touchy-feely *garbage* as spewed by my colleague Timothy 
*O'Neill.*  However, even *I* am aware that, after undergoing *some* 
ordeals, refusing to *unburden* yourself about them is a *mistake.*"
	"A complete impossibility, sir."
	Dead silence.
	His voice was almost gentle.  "Do you actually remember--?"
	"No," she interjected, "and I want to *keep* it that way."
	"It may haunt you at *odd* moments if you *don't,* Ms. Cullen."  
Remembering the scene in the hallway, Lynn sighed.  "I can *accept* that 
your *cohorts* may not be appropriate *confidantes* in *this* case. -- 
I have *two ears,* Ms. Cullen.  And am *hardened* to *violence.*"
	For a long moment, Lynn just looked at him.  "...Can...I ask 
you a question, sir?"  He nodded.  "...You saved my life once.  And now 
you're offering..."  A vague hand gesture.  "Even after the incident 
with Brittany and my long history of mouthing off in class. -- Why?"
	He just shrugged.  "People like you and your half-*sister* are 
a *rare* species, Ms. Cullen. Allowing you to *die* -- or *break* -- 
would be like putting a *bullet* through a *bald eagle.*"
	Lynn shuddered a little...then looked at him again.  He gave 
her a nod, and she closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.  
"I can't tell you who did it or why..."  A pause for more self-nerving.  
"But here goes."

				      * * *

At Pizza King, Daria, Jane and A.P. were picking forlornly at a pizza.  
"So what *are* we going to do about this?" wondered Jane.  "I mean, 
someone being after us is, correct me if I'm wrong, a BadThing."
	"You're not wrong," Daria confirmed.  "But I don't trust him.  
Not because I think he'd deliberately *do* anything but just because..."
	"Because *everyone* thinks he's incompetent."  That got A.P. 
some looks from the other two.  "Yes, I know the word -- Warlock said 
his only crime was utter incompetence."
	"Right. You have a memory. Moving on. -- I made a big show back 
there about being able to protect our own -- but that's not strictly 
true, is it?  I mean, apart from a few knives and whatever Lynn's got, 
we're unarmed and ultimately defenceless."  She sighed.  "I shouldn't 
try to talk big without being able to back it up."
	"I don't *give* a crap.  If we have to, we make a call to that 
dirty bookshop with the stupid name..."  He blinked.  "Oh jeez."
	Now Daria got it as well.  "Don't you usually *say* that when 
confused?"
	A.P. buried his head in his hands.  "Oh *Jeez*..."  Daria and 
Jane could hardly hear him over their own tension-breaking laughter.  
"I'm never gonna be able to say that again..."  There was a bit more 
laughter, but it died pretty quickly.
	"Can we justify blocking him out?"  A.P. started to speak.  
"Anything that doesn't involve blaming him for things that were *all* 
of our faults?  Remember, if you hadn't been out in the A-Tank on your 
own, you probably wouldn't have been captured in the first place and 
Lynn wouldn't have gone after you."
	"I paid my dues for that," he sulked.
	"Okay.  But *none* of us casts blame.  Not now."
	A pause.
	"He'd be a fifth wheel," Jane said simply.  "He's a liability.  
We don't need him."
	"*That* I can accept. Okay."  She gathered herself, then went 
on, rather sadly.  "Now who tells Lynn this isn't over?"  She and Jane 
both looked at...
	...A.P., who gave a long-suffering sigh.  "You know you're giving 
this job to...uh..."
	"The Incredible Inarticulate Boy?" Jane asked.
	"Well...yeah!"
	"I think we've already seen how much blood ties actually mean," 
Daria pointed out.  "Who's *known* her longest? -- Who does she love?"
	It seemed to give A.P. confidence, hearing that.

				      * * *

So there he was, pacing the front doorstep of Chez Cullen in a manner 
you could call "agitated" if you had a talent for understatement.  He 
paused for a moment...and heard slow, slightly draggy footsteps coming 
his way.  He turned in time to see Lynn turn into the walk and make her 
way halfway up it before she caught sight of him and stopped.  She looked 
very tired, but somehow more relaxed than any time since she first ran 
off.  He stepped up to her and began to vent, fury and relief mingling 
in his voice.  "Where the *hell* have you *been?*  I've been worried 
*sick!*  I mean..."  He got a good look at her, and worry took over, 
driving the fury out and tempering the relief.  "Oh *God,* what happened? 
Are you okay?  I mean, no one tried to..."
	She spoke with the weariness of a thousand years.  "A.P.?"
	He was derailed like *that.*  "Yeah?"
	"Just shut up a minute, okay?"  With that, she stepped forward 
and hugged him tight, burying her face in the hollow between his neck 
and shoulder.
	Stunned, he held her close, running one hand over her hair. 
"One of these days, Purple Peril," he told her in fondly bemused tones, 
"you're gonna make me *nuts.*"
	Though her voice was muffled, there was still an audible smirk 
in it.  "What do you mean, `make'?"
	He laughed a sputtering laugh, pulling away a little to look 
into her face.  "Why you little--"
	Now it was her turn to shut *him* up with a kiss.  It lasted 
quite a while -- even longer than the one in the play.  When she pulled 
back, she noticed that his eyes were sad and not a little worried.  "What 
is it?"
	"Do I have to tell you *now?*  It's...kinda..."
	She squared her shoulders and lowered her mask.  "I guess better 
now than later.  Come on inside.  This sounds like something that 
requires a place to sit down to get through."  She turned toward the 
door and groped in her pocket for her keys, leaving A.P. to look after 
her with a sigh of regret.

				      * * *

Daria was sprawled out on her bed, theoretically doing homework, though 
her mind wasn't entirely in the room with her.  The phone rang, and she 
absently groped for it.  "Hello?"
	"Heard you came down on Rust like a ton of bricks."
	"...LYNN?"
	"You were expecting maybe Mia Wallace?"
	"*Not* funny."
	"Well, we can but try.  Seriously, blew him out hard, huh?"
	"We didn't see why we needed him."
	"For the record, I agree with you.  But this is going to cause 
problems.  Like it or not, Dad saddled us with a fifth wheel for a 
reason.  If we can't come up with a *really* good reason why Rust 
shouldn't be around to cover our backs, as it were, he's gonna want to
know why."
	"We don't like him, we don't trust him to do the right thing 
and we have better connections..."  She put a hint-hint tone into the 
next question.  "*Don't* we."
	Lynn probably gave a one-shoulder shrug.  "I guess.  Well, I'll 
talk to him and see how much ice that cuts. -- Unless *you* want to do 
it; you seem to be dealing with negotiations and crap pretty well."
	Daria suppressed a shudder.  "I don't think so.  That's *your* 
department.  I'm just..."
	"Just the quintessential Consigliora," Lynn replied, slightly 
bitter.  There was a brief silence while Daria digested this.
	"We're playing into his hands, aren't we."
	Lynn sighed.  "We're involved now.  We fight it, we're dead."  
After a moment, she continued in a lighter tone.  "Speaking of dead, 
*I'll* be a stiff if I don't get that assignment we're supposed to do 
for DeMartino.  I kind of missed out on copying it off the board.  Got 
it handy?"
	Daria allowed herself a slight smile at the normaling-out.  
"Yeah, I was just working on it -- hang on."

				      * * *

The next day in the halls, Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P. were standing in 
a little knot by the lockers, chatting in an amiable way, when Tom made 
an approach.  "Er, about yesterday..."
	They looked up in unison and *stared* at him.
	He shrank back and walked away, with a look back over his 
shoulder at them.  Then he turned a corner, took out his cellphone, hit 
a certain speed-dial number and waited for pick-up.  At length, he got 
the other party on the line.  "Yeah, Rust. -- No, *Rust.* -- Yes, I know 
what time it is there -- I knew *someone'd* be up. -- Yes.  I can't 
follow the orders you forwarded me.  They're shutting me out. -- *Yes,* 
I tried! -- Yeah, you do that."  He hit the cutoff button with a vicious 
stab of a finger and stuffed the phone into a pocket.  Then he slumped 
back against the wall.
	_This isn't going to be pretty._

ADAPTOR'S NOTES
	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 copright 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.  This storyline is copyright 2000 Canadibrit and Ben Yee and 
was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is also 
copyright 2000) with their 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, Ben Yee 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.
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