Daria: Hunter - Rememory

"When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough."

-Wisdom and Destiny by Maurice Maeterlinck

Friday, September 4

2172 AD

Daria sat in the back of the ambulance and stared at her knees.

There was nothing particularly fascinating about them.  The jeans covering them were one of a handful of pairs she owned, none of them much different from the others.  She simply didn't have the energy to lift her head and stare anywhere else if she didn't have to.

Another day filled with strangeness had passed, and she'd made it out the other end alive.  She told herself that that was the important thing.  She was alive.  Jane was alive.  Their temporary ward Artie the psychic pizza cook was alive.  The only person who hadn't survived the events of the day was the man who had attacked them, and good riddance.

But somehow none of that made her feel any better.  The medicine working its way through her system, repairing bruises and soothing an adrenaline soaked system, did little to help lift the pall that had fallen over her like an uncomfortably warm blanket.

There were government papers to look over, police matters to settle, and other such annoying minutiae waiting for her, but it was all in a future that she couldn't bother to fully contemplate yet, so that had little to do with her sour mood.  No, the bad feeling sitting on her neck, making her feel like she wanted to sleep for a year or two, was a series of reoccurring images that simply wouldn't leave her alone.

Aunt Amy.

The whole day's mess had started when Artie had decided to prove the seriousness of his situation by pulling a full mind dump on Daria and Jane.  Memories of all kinds - good, bad, indifferent - had played themselves out in the space of a second, including huge swaths of memories dealing with the family member that Daria had long felt closest to.  Having those old wounds opened had almost consumed her.  And though the edges of those wounds seemed to be sealing back up so very slowly, there seemed to still be every chance that they would drag her down if she wasn't careful.

So she stared at her knees.

And she tried not to think.

Nearby movement caught Daria's attention.  She looked up blearily and saw Artie running up to her, excited in his overeager way.

Daria wasn't sure what to make of Artie, still.  He'd been in her charge for most of the day and so she still felt some of that responsibility, but he had also been the one who had caused her soul-crushing grief to resurface.  Jane seemed a bit fond of him, however - much in the way a master is fond of a new pet - so Daria did her best not to let out a banshee wail and start pounding his face into the pavement.

"Hey, Artie," she said faintly as he leaned over her.

"Hi, Daria!" he said.  "Feeling better?"

"Not really," she told him.  She tried half a smile and only managed a quarter.

Artie was visibly concerned at this answer.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "Really really sorry.  If I coulda done this without involving you or Jane, I woulda."

"Don't worry about it."  Daria covered her mouth and coughed.  "Just keep those DENA people straight and we'll call it even."

"No no no no no," Artie said, shaking his head.  "Not even, not yet."  He shuffled a piece of paper he was holding from one hand to the other, then stuffed it in his back jeans pocket.  "I have something to give you.  Not the paper, no, that's for Jane.  But I want to get your permission before I do it this time.  It's gonna hurt, and I'm sorry for that, too, but it should be worth it.  But I won't do it if you don't want me to.  Do you want me to?"