Pretty in.... Pink?

Daria arrived at the hospital a little bit late the next day. When she got to the cafeteria, Stacy was nowhere to be found. A word from Sandi confirmed her reason for unease.

“You’re late, Quinn’s cousin or whatever. The bell to room 144 rang AGAIN. I sent Stacy but we need a quorum for our fashion club meeting...”

“Say no more.” Daria interrupted. “Please. I’ll go relieve her of her duty.”

******************

Daria quietly opened the door to Trent’s room.

“Stacy... uh... normally I would be thrilled to hear you talk about your shoes but right now I’ve got a splitting headache....”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Stacy exclaimed. She was not completely devoid of sympathy. “Headaches can get so bad! I remember a migraine I had once...” Not devoid of sympathy... but devoid of anything remotely helpful.

“Stacy,” Daria spoke up. The girl looked at her. “Sandi’s paging you.”

“Oh!” Stacy leapt up from the chair. “Um... do you mind?” She gestured toward the chair she had just vacated as if the seat were suddenly red hot.

“Sure.”

“Thanks. Bye.” She ran off.

“Sorry to be late, Trent.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad to know I don’t have to be left to their tender mercies for the day.” He rubbed his forehead and groaned a little.

“Headaches?”

“Yeah...”

Daria thought for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

*****************

When Daria returned it was with a small basin of cold water with a wash cloth soaking in it. She removed the cloth, wrung the excess water out, folded and gently pressed it against Trent’s brow. “Does that help any?”

Trent nodded and smiled at her a little. “Thanks, Daria.”

Daria felt a rare smile creeping round the corners of her mouth. The whole ‘bathing the burning brow’ thing was so cliché’ yet oddly satisfying. She wondered if Fanny Brawne had ever felt like this nursing her John Keats or Dora her Franz Kafka. Still since Trent was getting the proper care and treatment, the bacterial pneumonia would probably not prove fatal, unlike the T.B. suffered by those two celebrated authors. It was unlikely he’d die in her arms.

“You’re welcome.”

He sighed. “Your voice is a nice change from Stacy’s too... low, mild... dulcet.”

“Waxing a bit poetic are we?” Daria joked to cover her embarrassment.

“Yeah. Must be the fever.” Trent laughed a little but immediately started coughing. Daria gave him some water.

“Laughter is the best medicine.” She said. “Unless you’ve got a respiratory infection.”

Trent smirked. “Stop with the jokes! You trying to kill me or something?”

'No. I’ll leave that to the Fashion Club.' Daria did not say that one out loud.