Disclaimer: Daria and associated characters are owned by MTV. This is fan fiction written for fun and entertainment only. No money or other negotiable currency or goods have been exchanged.

Rated T for mild sexual references, situations and alcohol related lapses of judgment.

The Gift

Chapter 1

Conversations and Revelations

He's back late. It must be after 1 am. Daria rolled over in the sleeping bag and tried to get settled in, but Jane's soft snoring paced the faint sounds of Trent moving around downstairs. That's the refrigerator door. And the basement door… something's bugging him. He'd normally be dropping into bed, not heading downstairs to practice.

A few minutes of some acoustic guitar playing drifted up through the heater vent in the corner. He's been working on that song for a while now- it's coming together. It's a good tune; hope the lyrics aren't too crappy.

She listened as he worked through what would be the first two verses, but the pacing seemed off. He was pissed, and pushing it too fast. On the second verse, he tried a slightly different turnaround and dropped back into the refrain, and suddenly stopped. He hadn't bothered to finish.

The silenced stretched on, broken only by Jane's snoring. He must have laid down on that crappy basement couch and fallen asleep. That guy could sleep anywhere. Dammit, now I can't sleep. I thought I was over this stupid crush.

She reached out and felt for her glasses, finding them in their usual safe spot under the edge of Jane's bed where they wouldn't be stepped on. Putting them on, she pulled her backpack over and dug out her secondhand copy of The Gulag Archipelago; nothing like other people's misery to lull her back to sleep. Slipping out of the sleeping bag, she made her way to the stairs and down to the living room.

An hour later, she awoke to a tug as the book was gently slid from her fingers. She opened her eyes to see a blurry Trent leaning carefully over her. He had already placed her glasses on the table so she could sleep more comfortably.

"Sorry, I thought I could do this without waking you up." He'd done this before; he was such a sweet guy sometimes.

"Hey, Trent," she murmured, a soft smile crossing her lips before she could stop it. "Couldn't sleep without reading..."

"Did I wake you up when I came in? Guess I could have been a little quieter that that."

"S'kay; wasn't sleeping well anyway." She began to reach for her glasses, but stopped. It was easier talking to him if she couldn't really see him that well. She considered for a brief moment, and surprised herself by pressing on. "Sounded like something was bothering you. You okay?"

She heard a dry chuckle and felt him settling in next to her. "God, you're so… observant." He took a drink from the beer he held in his hand. He swirled the bottle idly, and then set it down on the coffee table in front of them. "Typical Spiral gig. Thing is, I started wondering why the hell I was still playing the same crappy music I was three years ago. Nothing's changed. Feels like I'm beating my head against a wall or something."

"Well, I don't know. Your music has gotten better. That song you were working on, that's got a lot of promise." He's hurting, and I want to help him. I care about him. Maybe he just needs to get something out of his system.

He looked at her for a moment.

"Yeah, and I'll throw some really lame lyrics together and the Spiral will kill it like it always does. We just suck, and we'll never progress any farther than a local bar band playing the same lame shit until people wise up and stop listening." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hung his head.

Shit. What can I say? He's kind of right. "Why is that? I hear you coming up with some interesting stuff, and yeah, it kind of slides into the Spiral sound. But you seem to keep going, and you put it out there. I see you create, coming up with good musical ideas, but when it gets put together, it's not the same thing."

"That's just it. Nobody seems to be really trying to help. Max and Nick just kind of show up and grumble, and blame each other for the lack of drive and energy. I mean, the drummer and the bassist- that's the foundation, you know? If it's not solid, what the hell can you build on? And Jesse- he's like, whatever. He just goes with it. He'd be happy just playing covers all night."

Do I ask the obvious?

"So why do you keep playing with the same people if it doesn't work? You've been saying for years that Nick's not cutting it, and Max can be such a pain in the ass that it always just turns into a pissing contest. Why not find another drummer and bassist?"

Trent fell silent.

Damn, now I've gone and done it. Who am I to-

Another dry chuckle. "Right as always, Daria. I guess it's because I've played with them for so long that I think of them as friends, and I can't bring myself to cut them loose."

That I can understand. Trent's like Jane. Friends are taken seriously, and he's a loyal kind of guy. So he sticks with bandmates that are lacking in talent and commitment. He's grown, they haven't. But it happens. People change, their perspective can shift and they start to see things a little differently.

" I guess I'm bummed because I realized that since the time you and I talked on the way to Alternapalooza, I've been trying, and they haven't. I have this sense of obligation to the guys, but it's killing me. I mean, I can't be like this forever; look at you. You've grown so much since I met you, and you're going on to great things. Fantastic things. I'd like to try to do something like that."

Somebody's talkative when he's been drinking.

"You're smart, creative as hell, a really good, strong person that sticks by what you believe in. You value your friends too, and even with this rough patch that you and Janey went through, you still have your friendship...even after that Tom asshole. You're a good person; you felt really bad for Janey and gave yourself more crap about it than anyone else. Fucking Tom. Lucky bastard, getting together with an amazing woman like you. Yeah, he's going places too. Not like me. I'd only hold you back, drag you down, I'd- you'd-" He pushed himself back into the couch, hands slapped over his face. "FUCK!" he groaned. "I mean- oh dammit."

Well. Jane always said that he was honest when he was drunk.

Daria leaned forward and picked up the bottle. She looked closely at the amber liquid inside, watched the bubbles as the rose to the surface. It was something to do while she tried to keep her cool. What, exactly, did that last slip mean? What other revelations will this half-inebriated conversation lead to? What the hell, I can at least level things out. She put the bottle to her lips, and took a pull. At least now we both have beer breath. Not a bad taste, actually.

"Sorry. And hey, you shouldn't be- I'm a bad influence, aren't I?"

"It's illegal for an adult to buy alcohol for someone under 21 in this state, but you didn't buy this for me. Ergo, you didn't do anything wrong. I made the choice myself." What the hell did you really mean by that anyway, Lane? Hold me back? Drag me down?

"Sure about that?"

"That's my interpretation and I'm sticking to it. Besides, I'm not a minor." Hell, I turned 18 a while back, and it's legal to drink at 18 in some states, right? "YouknowIbrokeupwithTomlastmonth." Wow. Subtle. That had nothing at all to do with this conversation. I should have tried talking to him without my glasses before. It's easier this way.

"You have beautiful eyes, Daria."

Crap. How much beer was left in that bottle?

She let out a ladylike belch as she contemplated the empty bottle in her hand.

No pain. Daria feels no pain. No shame either.

"So I'm saying, your loyalty to your friends or your musical path. But it's not imposshible to handle this with some dishcretion. You don't throw them out of the band; you bow out and take time out to think on your future. And it would be the truth. You know, you sound great as an acoustic solo thingie. You sound fucking good, Trent, you can write great music. By yourself. Don' let the bastards fuck up your music; you're a good musician. Aaand don't you fuck up your music with your lyrics. You kinda suck at that sometime. I'll write stuff for you, kay? Or at least let me look at your thingie. I mean your lyrics. Oh God."

"Daria, you're funny when you're drunk."

"Funny. I feel funny. Hey, I could sing with you. Lemme see your thingie. I mean your wee-oor- I mean your words and stuff. Shit, I need to shut up now. I almost said weenie. How stupid is that? I meant to say cock." She stopped, mouth open. She flushed crimson.

"No, keep talking," Trent laughed. "I'm reeealy learning a lot."

"Do me, Trent." She dropped her head onto his shoulder. Should she nibble on his ear?

"No, Daria, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes I do. I didn't sleep with Tom because he wasn't you."

There was a silence.

Her head still on his shoulder, he heard her quietly mutter. "Dammit."

"I'm not going to take advantage of you when you're in this condition."

"You don't want me, do you?" She pulled herself away from him and leaned into the corner of the sofa, drawing herself into a ball.

"Daria, stop it. "

"Nobody wants me." She was crying quietly. He'd never ever heard this sound before. He felt his stomach fall, and warning sirens going off in his head.

"Tom wanted you." Can you think of something more stupid to say, Lane?

"Tom was an asshole, remember?"

"Why do you think that? You're the most beautiful woman I know." Trent put his arms around her, and began to stroke her long auburn hair. She began to calm, and her breathing began to slow. He smiled as she wiped her nose on his shoulder. He held her until he could feel the tension drain from her frame. I want you, Daria, but not like this. You have no idea how much I want you.

What did she mean by that? If she thought she wasn't attractive, why would she have kept up that plain façade for so long? She was trying to keep stupid people away, according to Janey. Did she think he found something inside her that he thought unattractive? No way, Daria, no way…"

After he was sure she had fallen asleep, he carried her up the stairs. The sleeping bag in Janey's room? No, that's gotta be uncomfortable. He paused at the door to his bedroom.

Don't even go there.

Penney's bed would be much more comfortable for her.

Sometime around 5 am, he woke up a little. He felt an arm reach over him, and a warm body snuggle up to him. It felt nice; he smiled as he drifted back to sleep.

"Shit."

Daria slowly and carefully disentangled herself from the embrace she woke to. Checking to see if she still had her panties on, she gingerly confirmed that Trent still had his boxers on as well. Now, where were her glasses? Oh yeah. Not in this room.

She managed to find them where Trent was most likely to have put them, on Penney's nightstand. She could see the mussed covers, and a strand of her own hair on the pillow. She did remember correctly; Trent had put her to bed here. Therefore, she had climbed into Trent's bed on her own and spent the rest of the night with him.

She looked around, then realized the rest of her clothes weren't here. They were in her overnight bag, stuffed somewhere in Jane's room.

I wonder how much of this he'll remember. But so what? The attraction was mutual. It just took some stress and alcohol for both of them to blurt it out to each other. And he had been enough of a gentleman to not indulge in wanton carnal knowledge last night, as long as her lucidity was questionable.

Time for morning ablutions; my mouth feels like I've been licking a cat. At least my toothbrush is in the bathroom. Hell, maybe he won't remember. Do I want to remind him if he forgot?

Wake up, dammit! I-

"Morning, Daria," he said with a half-smile, wiping his mouth and dropping his toothbrush into a glass. He pulled the T-shirt that was draped over his shoulder and dropped it to waist level. She couldn't help but admire his wiry arms and slender but still muscular build, and the fact that he was standing there in just a pair of boxers, hiding a morning erection behind a t-shirt.

It doesn't mean anything, Daria; it's a guy thing. Normal. Part of the male apparatus, kind of like a computer booting up.

"All yours," he said as he stepped to the door, turning away as he pulled his shirt on. She paused to enjoy the show. She watched his fingers gliding through his sleep-tossed black hair, catching herself as she bit her lower lip.

The bathroom, dummy. He's talking about the fucking bathroom.

"You have pretty eyes with your glasses on too."

Dammit.

She stared into the mirror. She looked ridiculous. Her hair was a holy mess, her eyes were red, and what's up with her eyebrows? Why were they arched like that?

And what's with the smile, Morgendorffer?

Feeling almost human again, she stood in his doorway. "Talk?"

"We need to," he replied quietly. At least he was dressed.

Maybe she should have too. She was still in her long nightshirt. At least she had panties on, but not a bra. A while back, it wasn't such a big deal, but lately it was kind of hard to hide the fact that she had developed much more feminine contours. All of her stuff was in Jane's room. Can't be waking her up now, right? Yeah, right. Jane would be asleep till after lunch.

She looked at the clock. 9:00 am?

"Why are you up so early?"

He smiled at her, and patted the bed next to him. After a moment, she sat. He put his hand down next to hers. "I couldn't really sleep all that well, and I wanted to see you before- if - you decided to high-tail it out of the house."

"You remember, don't you?"

"And so do you. Am I right? Even after you finished off that beer?"

"I remember. Thank you for being such a gentleman about it."

He smiled thoughtfully. "That was hard."

She stifled an involuntary laugh. "I'll bet it was."

"It kind of still is."

She burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. Stop it, he's being serious. "Sorry, Trent, my mind is still in the gutter."

He blushed, and smiled. "You are gorgeous when you laugh, you know."

They sat together, smiling, for a long moment.

She flushed just a bit when he rested his hand on hers.

"I guess you read between the lines last night," he said quietly. "I really am screwed, aren't I? Even if you meant what you said afterwards, you're still off to Boston at the end of the summer."

"That doesn't mean you're stuck here." Wait, how's he supposed to interpret that? "Who's holding a gun to your head? Jane's going too, and really, that's the thing that kept you here."

He said nothing, but his shoulders seemed to drop slightly.

"Everything just fell into place around that happenstance. I think you fell into a pattern, trying to keep Jane whole. You spent your time hanging around the house so she wouldn't be by herself, didn't you?"

"She needed somebody around. I couldn't imagine how sad it would be if she had to come home every day to an empty house. I guess it all became a routine, like you said."

"You knew that being alone would just underscore just how badly your parents treated her. You were building an emotional cocoon to protect her. You were the one that put your life on hold and took responsibility for her."

"She's my little sister. She needed to know that somebody loved her."

"You know, you're the one in your family that's always been there for her. You were the only family she had at her graduation."

"Janey's the world to me. She's the only family that I need."

"She knows that, and it was the one thing that kept her from applying to Boston Fine Arts College. She didn't want to leave you here by yourself. She's got talent, Trent, and she'd be wasting it here in this town. I believe in her, and I talked her into trying. I didn't mean to mess things up for you, but you know…"

She turned her hand over, and twined her fingers with his.

"What were your dreams before you had to be the responsible adult around here? Don't say the Spiral making it, because I think you know that's bull. Nobody, not even yourself, worked hard enough to make that happen."

"I realized that last night. I finally realized that I was just treading water until Janey could move on. You were right to push her to apply to BFAC. She's going to make it, thanks to you."

"And what about you, Trent? When are you going to live your life for you? You're just as talented as Jane, in your own way. You just need to get off your lazy ass and get the hell out of this place. Let Summer and her kids move into this house. You've done your share. You've subbed for your parents, for God's sake. It's your turn too!"

She studied his face. Really looked at this guy that somehow always seemed to draw her back to him, unless she distracted herself by focusing on someone else, or by looking only on the negative, why she shouldn't find him so stupidly attractive.

There was something there, something that I could sense from the moment I first met him. What am I doing? Trying to… reinvent him? Do a damn makeover?

No, that's just wrong. I'm leading him down a path that I want him to take.

She looked down at their hands. She was struck by the contrast in skin texture, coloration, musculature. His were long, the tips roughened by years of playing; the nails a bit longer than hers. He wore clear, chipped nail polish, to toughen them; he used the backs of his nails as well as a pick when he played. This hand set the strings of his guitar vibrating, driving them, choosing which one sang out, when each fell silent. Her own nails were clipped and filed so as not to interfere with her typing. Her hands looked like a tiny version of his, but smooth, pale and soft. Under that skin, though, they were just as muscular as his, just to a different purpose.

Her gaze shifted to his other hand, resting on his left thigh. Those nails were completely different, cut as short as possible, the tips of the fingers hard and callused, extending past the ends of the nails. A hand evolved to interface seamlessly with the neck, frets, and strings of a guitar. Different from the right hand, but complimentary, to different purpose, but the same goal.

Their hands. They were so different, and yet they could twine together, grasping each other, accommodating, adjusting, adapting.

"Look, Trent, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to push you into changing. That's up to you to figure out. I'm just saying-" Just what was she saying? To him or to herself?

He sat there for a long time. He let go of her hand, and she was struck by how strange the sensation was. Cool air, free space, instead of the warm flesh of a moment ago. She immediately ached for that contact, startling herself.

In the next instant, everything changed. He reached up and touched her cheek, turning her face towards him. She jumped slightly at his touch, and then found herself slowly leaning into his fingertips. "You're saying I should go for what I really want, suck it up and get on with life."