Disclaimer: I own nothing of RENT, its characters, or anything of the like (nor Anthony Rapp). If I did...well, then this wouldn't be fan fiction, would it?

Author's note: I've recently developed a new appreciation for RENT, and as such, I feel compelled to write something about it. Here we deal with Mark, his feelings during the "Take Me or Leave Me" fight at the engagement party, and all that jazz. Read, review, and much love!

'What the hell?'

That's all I could think as Joanne and Maureen had their spat. All I felt was mortification for the uptight lawyer, and an odd sense of relief for myself. It didn't surprise me at all; those two fought more than any healthy couple should…but then again, any couple with Maureen as a part of it is never healthy.

I should know; I've been there. I was there for six years, from that very first meeting at a college frat party (where I was testing out my new camera and she was drunk dancing on tables) to the bitter end, with her wide eyes laced with guilt as she told me there was someone else. Someone else named Joanne Jefferson.

Ouch. Getting dumped is one thing…getting dumped by your woman for another woman is something entirely different. But now, a year and a month later, I've adjusted to the change. You could say I've embraced it; the more I wrapped my mind around the two of them, the more I realized I didn't have to be the one waiting for Maureen to come home at any and all hours of the night, I didn't have to be the one taking her temper tantrums and sobbing fits in stride. There would be no more jealous fights or sarcastic jabs at my work (or lack of it). Hell, I wasn't Pookie anymore…I fuckin' hated that name. Terms of endearment can be nice, but Pookie? I felt like I was a five year old being lectured by his mommy every time she called me that. I am a twenty-seven year old man, I already have a mother, and Maureen is nowhere near mother material at this point in her life.

She proved how immature she really is…and Joanne showed her cracks for the first time since I've met her. They're both so insecure with each other, and of course they had to make those insecurities public at their engagement party a few hours ago. Maureen got herself drunk enough to flirt with the wait staff (something I've seen her do at restaurants when we were still dating), not even thinking about her partner's feelings.

"Pardon me, I'll be right back," Joanne had said, her fury barely being contained. I nodded, almost afraid of what she would do.

"Go ahead, I understand," I whispered as she left my side to confront her almost unfaithful girl.

How embarrassing. I grimaced in pain for poor Joanne; who wouldn't after hearing Maureen publicly pronounce how women in rubber would always be flirting with her? Of course she had to go on proclaiming how hot she thinks she is and how people have wanted since her early teens. Wow. I've always known her to speak her mind, no matter what she was thinking about, but sometimes even I am still surprised at what comes out of her mouth. Maureen jumped up on yet another table, nearly dancing with an ice statue, yelling how lucky Joanne was to be hers at all

"Jesus," I heard Roger mutter under his breath. "Huge ego, much?"

"No kidding," I replied, setting my champagne glass down and beckoning for our group of friends to follow as they took their fight to the stairwell. Angel, Collins, Mimi, Roger and I pressed ourselves against the far wall, listening to their voices escalate. Finally Joanne snapped, pushing Maureen back and telling her off. I was sort of proud; she was speaking up for every one of us who'd been ensnared in the diva's trap and left when she was finished chipping at the chinks in our armor. I felt like Joanne was speaking for me.

There is so much I wanted to tell Maureen after she broke it off with me. I've always imagined that I'd yell and scream, driving home the points that I was always her rock, always looking out for her, giving her the support and affection that she constantly craved, always giving and not getting nearly enough back. How things in a relationship were supposed to be done a certain way, meaning no cheating and no flirting seriously with other people. How even I, Mark Cohen with his little camera and his near-detachment from the outside world, could feel crushed and yet enraptured by her. That it wasn't fair or right to be shunted to the sidelines when she so thought she could.

But another, small, tiny part of my brain was rebelling against this. This was the end of our group, it kept saying to me, our brief time as a group of friends will be over soon. I looked to Mimi, and for a split second I saw the same thing reflected in her eyes. We were grieving the inevitable separation. Suddenly, the couple took off for the billiards room, circling a pool table and reaching maximum volume in their ranges. I couldn't take much more of it; I may be the weird guy who constantly tapes life going on around him, but even this was too juvenile for me.

"Should we, you know, say something?" I said in hushed tones to Roger.

"Better not, honey," Angel answered before Roger could open his mouth. "One of these two would be liable to snap your head off right now. They need to get this out of their systems."

"But what if this is more than just a…" I struggled to find the right words. "A lovers' quarrel?"

"Been reading a few too many romance novels?"

"You know what I mean. This is more than just one of their regular fights. What if they-"

"Enough!" Joanne squealed, stomping towards the door behind her. "I'm done!"

Maureen shook her head fervently. She pushed through the crowd that had gathered along with us.

"That's just great! I don't care! We are soooooo over!" she cried snatching her coat out of Collins' grip.

The silence was so heavy on our minds, all any of us could do was stare at one another. Then I made the mistake of looking at Mrs. Johnson, Maureen's mother. This woman hated me so much when we dated, because I had 'a nonexistent living and was most likely gay and would leave as soon as he felt comfortable enough to come out of the closet.' Every time I went over to Maureen's home to visit she just waited for me to confess a hidden love for men and to break her daughter's heart. I never liked talking to her, and I never glanced at her if I could help it.

I guess I just couldn't help looking and wondering what was going through her mind at that moment. And then she spoke.

"Oh…well, now's your chance to try again with Maureen."

Her look was so pleading, and Mr. Johnson concurred with her statement. I turned to stare at the pool table Maureen had straddled earlier, heard her entire speech replay instantly in my mind, and…

I laughed. Not the uncomfortable, maybe-but-I-don't-think-so kind of laughing, but the side splitting, hysterical laughter that can't stop once you start.

"No…freakin'…way," I gasped, while being led out by my friends, each of them struggling to contain themselves as well. "That…is never gonna happen!"

I laughed as we boarded the subway, as we changed trains, and as we walked four city blocks and up the six flights of stairs back to my and Roger's loft apartment, until I finally collapsed on the couch with tears streaming down my face. As I wiped my face dry and calmed down, I realized something.

I am over her. Finally over Maureen. I am finished with Maureen Johnson. I am free…and it feels so good. So good that I literally ran up to the roof and bellowed out to the entire city of New York my elation for twenty minutes.

I'm going to chase that feeling while I can, for as long as I can…because if my gut and my mind are correct, I may not be feeling this good in the future.

Edited 7/1/16.