Disclaimer: I don't own anything Daria related, that right lies with Viacom and MTV. I promise to return their toys when I'm done playing with them.

I also don't own the lyrics to "Addicted", I'm going to assume they belong to Saving Abel (or whoever wrote the song)

A/N: Lookee, I write Daria fanfic! I was hit with inspiration while re-watching the show on Youtube. For those out there on my author alert, I haven't quit writing HP fic, I'm just stuck at the moment. I promise those stories will be done! (Especially Liberty. mmmmm Brian Kinney.)

I'm so addicted to all the things you do

When you're going down on me

in between the sheets.

Or the sounds you make with every breath you take

it's unlike anything

when you're loving me.

Daria turned the volume on her Jaguar's radio up as she passed the Maryland state line, and sang along as loudly as she could as she passed the sign proclaiming that Lawndale was another hundred miles. She liked the solitude of driving, and she loved being able to get lost in her music. The technology age had made it possible to her to never have to listen to bubble-gum pop ever again. She got enough of that through the walls from Quinn's room during high school, thanks very much.

As Daria picked her way through the outskirts of Lawndale, she realized it had been almost a year since she had last visited. Only Jane, her best friend of the past thirteen years, and her insistence that they actually attend their ten-year reunion, if only to make fun of the nobodies the so-called popular people had become, had convinced her she needed to come for a visit. She had told Jane that she would be staying with her and Jesse, though. She absolutely refused to spend any time of what was supposed to a stress-free vacation in the same house as her parents. The same parents who, after Jake's triple-bypass surgery (the cause for Daria's last visit), had rekindled their love life and were very active participants. There were some things, Daria thought to herself with a shudder, that a person didn't need to know about their parents, ever.

Daria pulled her cay into Jane's driveway, behind Jane's bright green Volkswagen, taking brief notice that the Tank Tres, this van in much newer condition than the original, was parked on the other side of the bug. So Trent and Jesse were home. Daria had wondered briefly on the trip if the member of Mystik Spiral, who had finally gotten a record label, after meeting a talent scout that had been in attendance at the Zen during a set, and had finally reached a certain level of notoriety, if not fame, would be home. The van's presence in the driveway answered that lingering question, only to be replaced with more niggling thoughts and doubts. She hadn't seen Trent Lane since the night before she'd left for Raft, and wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see him now.

Daria had barely pulled her suitcase out of her trunk when she heard the front door open and a shrill scream. She braced herself for impact when she saw a blue and yellow blur come flying across the lawn, and planted her feet when the form of Summer, Jane and Jesse's eight-year-old daughter, ran into her middle.

"Aunt Daria, you're here! Mom says to come in, that she's sorry she couldn't come out to meet you but she's working on a promo for the band and she doesn't want to let her muse run rampant or there will be paint all over the house and then we'll have to clean up instead of visiting with you."

Daria raised her brow sardonically at her god-daughter as she replied,

"Were your mom's instruction really that long or explicit?"

"No, she just said to come in 'cause she's busy at the moment but I know what she was doing because I've been watching her for two hours waiting for you to get here and I think she sent me out to have some quiet while she finished making a picture for Mystik Spiral and why is their band called that, anyway, couldn't the come up with something better?"

"You're Uncle Trent used to ask the same thing."

"Aunt Daria, are you Uncle Trent's wife? I mean, you're not mom's sister because I already know who her sisters are, and I know that Miss Quinn is your real sister, and I know that I'm not related to her at all 'cause she told me you were her sister the last time she watched me so the only reason I can think of that I call you Aunt Daria is that you're married to Uncle Trent. You look different from Miss Quinn, though, and I've always called you 'aunt', I was just curious, why?"

"Quinn used to speak in run-ons also, and your Uncle Trent only wishes."

"Does he really?! 'Cause I bet you and him would make a really cute couple! I could tell…"

"Daria, you're finally here!" Jane interrupted as the two walked into the den, where Jane had her easel set up. Daria shot her a look of gratitude at the interruption. "Summer, why don't you take our guest's bags up to her room?"

"Ok, mom!" Summer replied as she grabbed Daria's duffel bag and bounded up the stairs toward the guest room. Jane watched her go with a bemused expression before turning back toward her easel.

"If I wasn't confident she scares the hell out of him, and that I carried around extra weight for six months, I'd be convinced that was Jamie and Quinn's child, and not mine and Jesse's."

"Summer is adopted, Jane."

"Oh yea. I was wondering why I was packing on pounds."

"Middle aged spread? I wonder if Summer and Quinn could share DNA? They certainly act a lot alike."

"That'd be a riot. Imagine what would happen if we found out Quinn and Jamie had had a love child their senior year and hid it from the world long enough to give it up for adoption."

"As apathetic as my dad can be, and as work-obsessed as my mother is, I doubt they'd miss a pregnant Quinn, especially with me out of the house. All I can say is summer is eight, she'll eventually grow out of it."

"Or mine and Jesse's attempts at brainwashing will finally succeed."

The two friends held up their soda cans in silent toast and each took a sip. Daria nearly choked when she heard a deep, quiet voice behind her.

"Hey, Daria. Long time, no see."

Daria managed to swallow her cola without coughing up a lung, and cleared her throat before answering in what she hoped was a confident voice, if a bit raspy.

"Hi, Trent. It's been a while."

"How is Tom?"

"He's good, I suppose. I received a post card from him just before I left. He was in Sydney, gearing up for a trip to the Australian Outback."

"That's cool. Too bad he couldn't come with you. Tom's a pretty cool guy."

"He has his moments," Jane interrupted as she dropped a paintbrush soaked in red paint into a glass of linseed oil and shook it by the handle. Jane turned her easel toward Daria and Trent, one eyebrow raised.

"That's really cool, Janey. It'll make a great cover for our next album."

"Glad you like. So what are you two miscreants doing tonight?"

"I'm not sure about Jesse, but I'm playing an acoustic set at McGrundy's, for old times' sake. You two ought to come, after your school thing. I'm sure that lady with the red hair will watch Summer. You know, the one with all the kids that talks a lot?"

"You mean Quinn?" Daria asked, smirking?

"Yeah, her. Isn't she your cousin or something?"

"Or something." Daria replied just before she and Jane burst into hysterical laughter. Trent simply raised a brow at them and shook his head as he turned to head back upstairs. He was confident he would find Summer in his room, flipping through his box of vinyl records and wanting him to give her a guitar lesson. As he reached the first step, he turned his gaze back toward the room where the two women were still laughing hysterically and said quietly, so no one would overheard him,

"I missed you, Daria."

Trent turned back towards the staircase, completely missing the long blond braid that whipped around the corner at the other end of the stairs.