Pairing(s): Roger/Mimi (implied), Maureen/Joanne, and Collins/Angel (implied).
Notes: Takes place between "What You Own" and the "Finales." Assumes that Roger came home before Thanksgiving.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I intend no copyright infringement. This is a work of love, resulting in no profit to myself, except for feedback. I am a feedback whore. Feedback me.

Thanksgiving

"Thanksgiving, 9 am." Mark panned the camera in a slow survey of the apartment before closing in on Roger. "The struggling songwriter takes a well-deserved break from his guitar and watches the parade. This unusual tranquility from the often volatile artist moves the filmmaker, who feels compelled to capture the few moments of calm on film…"

Roger snorted. "Pretty words, cameraman."

"I just call it as I see it."

"When's dinner?"

"About one, I hope. That's when everyone will be here."

"Turkey thawed?"

"Nah. I'll just cook it at a higher temperature."

Roger snorted again and turned back to the parade. Mark shrugged, moving to the stove where he'd spread out all of the food he was cooking for dinner. "Hmm…" He set down his camera, frowning at the food, the stove, and the hot plate in turn. He turned back to Roger. "I don't suppose you learned to cook at all in Santa Fe?"

"Not unless you count take-out," the musician called back, without even turning his head from the small set.

"Thanks," Mark muttered. He picked up his camera again, zooming in on the food and panning across the disorder. "Close-up of the pre-dinner chaos. The filmmaker," he turned the camera around to face him. "That's me, will attempt to put some order to this disaster so that he may prepare a Thanksgiving feast for the Bohemians." He turned the camera back to the food. "Let the madness begin."

By the time Santa Claus crossed Harold Square at noon, Mark was covered to his elbows in assorted vegetables and a peculiar odor was beginning to emit from the oven. Roger stood and turned off the small television.

"Fucking dog show," he muttered, grabbing his jacket.

Mark glanced up, frowning. "Hey, where are you going?"

"I have to try to find her, man."

Mark nodded. "Dinner's…" He shot a despairing look at the mess in front of him. "Whenever. Collins and the girls will be here around one. And I can expect you back at…?"

Roger shrugged. "Hold off the ravenous wolves as long as you can, ok?"

"Sure. See you when you get back."

"Yeah."

The door shut behind Roger, leaving Mark alone in the loft once more.

"The filmmaker glances around the now-empty loft and then down at his squash-covered hands. He finally admits to the thought that has been nagging at him all morning. He has no idea what he's doing."

Collins was the first to arrive, bearing a nice bottle of vodka. He hung back at the doorway hesitantly. "Uh… Gentlemen?"

"Stand back!" Mark shouted, throwing the oven door open to reveal bright, leaping flames. "Fuck!"

Collins set the bottle down quickly. "What the Hell is that!"

"The turkey! And probably the pie, too! Shit! Grab that fire extinguisher, would you, Collins?"

He snatched up the fire extinguisher and the two men made short work of the flaming oven. Mark gazed mournfully at the remains of the turkey.

"What did you do, man?"

"I just thought it would cook faster…"

Collins fought back a smirk. "So you turned the oven up?"

"Yeah."

Mark picked up his camera and began rolling. "Witness the devastation. The turkey, the pie, and the oven are covered in goop from the fire extinguisher. The vegetables are lumpy and cool at best. The only undamaged consumable is the vodka that the anarchist and teacher has just brought through the door. The filmmaker has single-handedly destroyed Thanksgiving dinner."

Collins clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, come on, my friend. It's not that bad."

"No?"

"No. As you said, the vodka is still undamaged. Cup, or straight from the bottle?"

When Maureen and Joanne arrived, Mark and Collins were in much better spirits, despite the disaster that still loomed in the kitchen area.

"Ugh!" Maureen exclaimed, stepping into the loft. "What in God's name is that stench! I hope you're not expecting me to eat that!"

Mark laughed a little. "'That stench' is what happened to the turkey and my attempt at a pumpkin pie. You don't have to eat them, but they're still in the oven if you want to have a laugh."

She strode over to the oven and peeked inside. "Oh, Mark…" It was clear from the choking sound in her voice that she was desperately trying to hold back gales of laughter. "You turned the oven up to make it cook faster, didn't you?"

He rolled his eyes slightly. "Yes. I did. I am one of the biggest morons on the planet. Commence laughing." A small snort escaped, but Maureen remained remarkably restrained. "Anyhow. Thanks to Collins, we have vodka." He raised his glass to the man sitting beside him. Collins nodded back. "We also have vegetables. A lot of them, and I think they may actually heat through, so – happy Thanksgiving. Sorry about the turkey."

"Actually," Joanne spoke up from the doorway. "We have turkey. And stuffing. And pie, too, for that matter." She held up two large bags.

Mark looked up at her, puzzled. "But…"

"I know. But when Maureen said you were cooking dinner, I remembered the Easter Travesty, so…" she shrugged.

"Enough said." Mark smiled, remembering the unfortunate result of his haphazard combination of Passover and Easter food. "You brought all of that just in case?"

"Yeah. I figured I could always bring it down to the lot if it wasn't needed."

His smile broadened to a wide grin as he snatched up his camera from the seat beside him. "The Mistress of Mercy arrives bearing gifts of turkey and pie. Single-handedly, the lawyer saves Thanksgiving for the Bohemians. Thanks, Joanne."

It was nearly three in the afternoon before Roger finally returned to the loft. Alone.

"No luck?" Mark asked, watching as he shrugged out of his jacket.

"No." He set his chin stubbornly. "But I will find her."

Mark nodded. "I know. You hungry yet? We held dinner for you."

"Starved."

"Great," Maureen said, standing up to greet Roger. "Because I'm famished, and I've been smelling this food all day." She wrapped her arms around Roger's neck. "It'll be ok, honey. We'll all keep looking."

He smiled, giving her a brief hug back in thanks. "You didn't have to hold dinner for me."

Mark grinned. "I did promise to beat back the wolves, didn't I? Besides," he continued as Roger laughed a little. "We've been feasting on vodka and month-old stale potato chips. What more do we need?"

Maureen rolled her eyes. "Turkey!"

"Um…" Everyone looked at Joanne. She glanced slightly uncomfortably around the table. "I was wondering if you all would mind…" Her voice trailed off.

Collins smiled in understanding. "Family tradition?"

"Yes… We all used to go around and say one thing we had been thankful for over the year. I thought it might be nice…"

"Can we eat while we talk?" Maureen asked, reaching for the turkey.

"Of course."

"Then I'm all for it." She began piling meat onto her plate.

"Why don't you start, Joanne?" Collins offered.

"Alright. I guess I'm most thankful this year for Maureen." She glanced apologetically at Mark, who shrugged, grinning wryly. He'd long since made peace with the fact that Maureen had chosen Joanne over him. "If it hadn't been for her, I would never have met the rest of you. And think how horribly dull my life would have been this year if I hadn't!"

"Here, here!" called Collins, toasting her.

She turned to Maureen. "Your turn, sweetheart."

Maureen looked alarmed. "You mean I have to be thankful for something?" A muffled thump came from under the table and Maureen winced. "Jesus! Relax! I was just kidding!" She glared at Mark, who smiled serenely back at her.

"I guess I'm just thankful that Roger came back." He looked up at her in surprise. "Yes. I missed you. Things just weren't the same while you were gone. I pined." Roger laughed.

"It's true," Joanne grinned wryly. "She was inconsolable. Unbearable. An emotional train-wreck."

Roger smirked. "So you're saying nothing changed."

"Exactly."

Everyone laughed as Maureen turned to glare at Roger. "Alright, Mr. Pain-in-my-ass, what are you thankful for?"

"I," he looked defiantly back at her. "Am thankful for Mark." The filmmaker glanced up in shock, meeting Roger's eyes across the table. Roger smiled. "You've… been there for me so much – through all the withdrawal and the April stuff, and… I guess I've never really thanked you. I kinda took it for granted that that was just how things were. So… Thanks. I guess. For everything. Especially for letting me stay here when you didn't have to. And for taking me back in after Santa Fe. I really don't know where else I would have gone."

Mark shrugged, the tips of his ears turning a little pink. "Don't mention it. Besides, this is still your place."

"Still. You didn't have to let me come back."

"I know. But… Whatever. Don't mention it." Mark shrugged again, smiling a little.

"My turn?" Collins asked, grinning between Mark and Roger. Roger nodded. "You already know that I am thankful for Angel and the time I had to spend with him. Alas, too soon cut short." He smiled sadly. "But I'm thankful for you all as well. For the times we have had. And for the times we have yet to have. This year," he raised his glass. "I am thankful for time."

"Amen," murmured Roger.

"As for me," Mark grinned, raising his own glass. "I'm thankful for family." The phone rang, interrupting him. The five paused, waiting for the machine to screen the call and half-hoping that Mimi would be on the other end.

"Speak!"

"Mark – are you there?" Mark winced, gesturing for Roger not to pick up the phone. "Are you there? I don't know if he's there. We're all here wishing you were here too. Where are you, Mark? Are you there? Are you there? I don't know if – please call your mother."

Everyone looked back at Mark expectantly. Collins raised an eyebrow. "You were saying? Something about family?"

Mark grimaced. "This family."