A/N: Okay, this might take a little explaining. :D This is based on the Alanis Morissette song "Are You Still Mad". In the song, Alanis asks an ex if he's still mad that she did various things. While I was listening to it, I kept thinking, "That sounds like Maureen... that sounds like Roger..." SO. What I have done is assigned a few lines of the song to Maureen, Joanne, Mimi and Roger, written a oneshot about each character and the reason those lines apply to them. Savvy? No? It doesn't really matter, just enjoy it anyway. :P
Many thanks to GorgeousSmile, who looked over this chapter for me and motivated me to write Maureen's!
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, or the song "Are You Still Mad". This is just a coincidence, honest. ;)
...
Joanne walked into the kitchen and tried not to make eye contact with Maureen, who was sitting at the table in her pyjamas. She knew the diva was going through a tough time right now, auditioning for a role in a major off-Broadway show that could lead her to stardom, as well as trying to organise a protest against another one of Benny's property development schemes.
But really, did she have to be so obnoxious about it all? She had come home last night, and complained for three hours straight about the people she'd had to talk to that day, the problems she was having with her sound equipment, the way some old guy had looked at her on the subway on the way home… Joanne had felt like screaming.
And then, Joanne remembered, dumping instant coffee into her mug with slightly more force than necessary, she had the nerve to turn around and say, "Oh, how was your day, Pookie?"
Joanne hadn't wanted to talk to her at all, much less about the complex ethical issues she was having to deal with in her latest case. She couldn't stand the contrast of sidestepping confrontation and being carefully, quietly diplomatic at work all day only to come home to her loud-mouthed, opinionated girlfriend.
Joanne sat at the table opposite her girlfriend, and pointedly opened the paper when Maureen tried to talk to her. Maureen had slept on the couch last night for a reason.
If only Maureen were a little less… loud, Joanne mused, staring unseeingly at an article about exchange rates. She'd often found herself hushing her girlfriend in restaurants, pleading with her to wear something just a little less revealing, or even begging her not to dance on so many Life Café tables. She shied away from the nagging thought that she was trying to change Maureen into something different. She was just trying to stop the diva embarrassing herself. Yeah.
Maureen slammed her coffee mug down, causing Joanne to jump. "What is wrong with you?"
Joanne looked up. "What?"
Maureen got up and snatched the paper away form Joanne, shaking with rage. "I had a shit day yesterday, and I really needed some support, but all I got was, 'I need some space, Honeybear'. And I slept on the fucking couch, so now my back is hurting like hell, and you can't even say good morning to me!"
Joanne sighed, and swallowed her last mouthful of coffee. "I didn't realise you needed support," she pointed out bitterly. "If whining at me when I'm trying to work is your idea of telling me you need support-"
"You're supposed to know," Maureen interrupted. "Aren't you all about being a good girlfriend? So could you at least try practicing what you preach?"
"Maureen, I need to get to work. We'll talk later, okay?" Joanne got up and picked up her handbag. Maureen threw herself back into her seat, glaring a hole in the floor. "There's last night's lasagne in the fridge if you're hungry," the lawyer continued. "I'll probably be back late."
She leant down to kiss Maureen's head, trying to show at least a semblance of affection, but the drama queen jerked away. "You're not my mother, Joanne."
Joanne walked out of the apartment without another word.
…
That night, Joanne let herself into the apartment as quietly as she could, dumping her bag and keys on the table along with a mound of paperwork she'd have to work through before the next morning. Sighing, she flicked on the light and walked to the fridge to see if Maureen had left any lasagne. There was a note taped to the white surface, written in angry black marker.
Joanne. I need some fucking space too. I'll be at the loft if you need me, but I won't expect you to call.
Joanne sat back at the table, clutching the note, shocked. She'd expected this fight to blow over, just like all their others. She'd been looking forward to the makeup sex; it had been the only thing getting her through her hellish day at work. Maureen was unpredictable, though, and Joanne probably should have taken that into consideration.
Before she realised what she was doing, Joanne had picked up the phone and dialled Mark and Roger's number, pressing the phone to her cheek as she waited for an answer.
"SPEEEEAK."
"You and your screening," Joanne muttered. "Guys. It's Joanne. Uh… Maureen said she was staying there? Could you… could she…" She gave up, realising how pathetic she sounded. "Tell her to call me, okay?"
She slammed the phone down angrily, tears boiling at the edges of her eyes. How often was it that Maureen stayed mad longer than Joanne? Usually she came crawling back within a day or two. Not that she was weak, or clingy. God, Joanne thought, she was the exact opposite of clingy. And she was one of the strongest women Joanne had ever met. She was incredible, really.
Joanne stood up, not believing the things she was allowing herself to think. She always prided herself on taking charge, but when it came to Maureen she found herself strangely cuckolded, unable to control things. But she could control herself, she resolved, and that meant she could make herself march over to the loft and sort this out.
…
By the time Joanne had negotiated the New York foot traffic over to Avenue B, it was colder than the morning radio had predicted. Joanne's breath curled in frozen tufts in front of her face, and her fingers felt like the gross frozen fish fingers Maureen inexplicably loved so much. She banged on the door of the loft with a flat palm, and breathed on her hands as she waited for it to open.
When it did, Joanne found herself almost nose to nose with Maureen, who looked as surprised as Joanne felt. She quickly recovered, and glared at the lawyer with a set jaw.
"What?"
Joanne looked at the floor, then back into Maureen's eyes. A stupid move, as she immediately found herself lost in them.
"Honeybear," she said in the smallest voice she'd ever used. "Are… are you still mad?"