Disclaimer: As you all well know, I do not own Rent or any of its characters. Thank you Jonathon Larson for such a beautiful story though. I do, however, claim any non-canon characters as my own. Yes, I was in fact able to muster up enough imagination to throw in a few characters of my own.

Author's Notes: So this is my first fan fiction. -gasp- I know, it's scary. The story takes place PreRent all the way to PostRent. The story is based on Maureen and Joanne's relationship, with a hint of some other couples brewing in there. This story is rated M for language, possible violence, and sexual scenes between two woman. So with that, I give you To the Beat of Maureen!

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Chapter 1: I've got to meet that girl

"December 1st, Five P.M. Eastern Standard Time. Maureen Johnson finds herself a little troubled after her protest takes a turn for the worst."

"Mark, get that stupid camera out of my face!"

Maureen's hand rose, covering the lens with her palm, her ringed fingers clasping around the camera. With a death glare, she shoved the contraption. The action caused the camera to slam right into Mark's glasses, breaking them in the process, and Mark stumbled at the sheer force Maureen pushed with. Cringing at the sound of the lens of his glasses cracking, he glared at Maureen once he had gained his balance.

Through a cracked right lens, the amateur filmmaker looked over his camera to inspect for damages. Maureen was already speeding away from him, her heels clicking against the sidewalk of Avenue A.

"Maureen," Mark called, his voice a mix of anger and concern. She was far off in her own world to notice him.

Barging into the loft, a startled Roger Davis peered up at her. "Uhm…Hi?" he offered, though the glare he received prevented him from saying more. Before Mark had even arrived Maureen was climbing out onto the fire escape.

"Where are you…" Roger stopped himself when he heard a growl escape Maureen's lips.

She moved up onto the roof. Angrily, she plopped down on the roof top, her face buried in her hands. Why does this always have to happen? None of her protests were going the way they were supposed to. And this time seemed to be her worst fuck up yet.

The memory was vivid. She stood on the stage, dressed in her normal black, leather pants, a red tank-top that showed just little too much cleavage, a jean jacket around her shoulders, and a pair of black heels on her feet. Maureen was protesting a notice that a local coffee house was going to be demolished to make room for another office building. Everything was staged correctly; lights were on her, she stood center stage, the audience had quieted. Just when she was about to start the performance, right after she had cued Mark to lower the back drop, everything went wrong.

A few days prior to the show, Mark had asked Maureen specifically to adjust the roping on the back drop. Being Maureen, typical diva, she had blown that job off. She soon came to realize that was a bad idea. When the background lowered, not only did it come down too fast, but it collided with some of the lights that shown down on the make-shift stage. The fabric contacting the heat lit the material a blaze and before she knew it the whole damn stage was on fire. She hadn't even said a word!

"Stupid, stupid, stupid…"Maureen mumbled, hitting her head against her knees that were curled to her chest and were held their by her arms. She teeth gritted. The over whelming urge to cry caused a knot in her throat, but Maureen Johnson didn't cry.

"Hey Maureen," came a familiar voice. She groaned at the sound and just buried her face farther into her knees. Collins sat beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder. Maureen gladly leaned into him, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Collins…I keep messing up," she admitted in an almost whining tone.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?!"

"Why do you keep messing up? What's the problem?"

Maureen was silent. She pondered the question, her eyes closed. Her brows furrowed with concentration. The first image that came to mind was Mark. He was never around anymore. Always filming or taking care of Roger or doing whatever the hell he was doing. The only time she saw him was at night and for the first time in her life, Maureen needed something more than a good fuck.

The next image, was Roger. First he was hooked on drugs and then he got AIDS along with April. Not only that, but once April died he locked himself up. He never left the loft; never had fun; never tried to get over it. No, Roger Davis sat there like a lazy ass and attempt to kick his addiction. This caused Mark to be concerned and now Mark was more worried about Roger than he was about her.

Maureen couldn't help but wonder sometimes if Mark and Roger were secret lovers.

Shaking the thought, her mind came to Collins. He had his teaching gig up at MIT. Her best friend wasn't even around most of the time. The only reason he was here was for the weekend and soon enough he'd be off again. In all the years she had known Collins, she had never felt so betrayed by him. Sure it was just that he had a job and he was making a living, but he left his friends behind in the process.

And there it was; her problem. Maureen was a diva, a drama queen, a prima donna. She wasn't getting the attention she needed. Roger had never given her much attention, but he at least acknowledged her before and they could find themselves having a conversation. Now he sat around the apartment and only managed a 'hi' every now and again. Mark was always head over heels for her; following her, filming her, and loving every minutes with her. Now he was to distracted to be anything more than her production manager; she barely even got sex out of him now! Collins was always there for her. They would stay up all night talking, go partying, seek out hot girls and guys, and just do whatever the hell they felt like. Now he was too busy working on his theory of Actual Reality to give her the time of day. When he was gone, she got an occasional call for a half hour or so. But that wasn't nearly enough for this girl! No, she needed someone to give her attention.

A sigh escaped her lips. "I miss you. I miss Mark. Fuck…I even miss Roger," she admitted, her voice tired.

"Ever since April died everything's change. None of us just hang out anymore. We're not like we were. I can't even focus on my performances and then Mark has to shove his damn camera in my face!"

Collins let his hand rub her shoulder gently and nodded. He was feeling it to. Though he missed his friend terribly, he wasn't about to pass up his theory. Plus, he needed the money. He leaned his cheek against the top of Maureen's head.

"I just need a change…something different,"

"Now Maureen, don't do what you usually do and go have a bunch of flings. You know that won't go over well with Mark," Collins warned, glancing down at her.

Maureen's response was a 'humph'.

"Like he'd notice,"

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After a lengthy discussion of the past, Collins opted to go inside.

"It's getting cold out here. I'm going to head in," he told Maureen. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before moving toward the fire escape.

"I'm going to stay out here for a bit," she replied. She watched him disappear and stood. It was nearly ten o'clock at that point. Mark had come to check on them at one point, but hurried off without more that five words to remind Roger to take his AZT.

Maureen's nose wrinkled at the thought and she crossed her arms. It was getting quite cold. She moved toward the edge of the building. Luckily, she was not scare of heights and the railing came up to her waist anyway. She leaned her forearms on the metal surface. Her eyes stared down at the street below. The Catscratch Club could be seen from here, as well as a multitude of other restaurants, clubs, and such.

What she wouldn't give to be shit faced right now. Maybe she could drowned her sorrows away with alcohol. And maybe Collins would even spare her a joint. Either way, Maureen stayed put, just staring out at New York City.

Her eyes fell to the street where people passed by carelessly. She noted a good amount of homeless people meandering around. That's when her eyes caught something. The sight was out of place and stuck out like a sore them. Maureen's perfectly arched brows settled into a furrow as she looked down at the woman.

The woman's skin was dark, obviously African American. She was dressed in business clothing. A black pair of slacks, a white, button-up shirt, a navy tie, a navy blazer, what seemed to be a designer purse, and an expensive looking pair of heels. Her hair was fashioned in tight ringlets. Her skin, at least from the distance, seemed flawless. Light make-up pampered her face. And being Maureen, she couldn't help but notice the figure.

Lips, painted with bright red lipstick, pulled into a wanting smirk. She watched the woman carefully as she moved down the street. Her composure seemed a bit flustered. Maureen's eyes gazed intently.

I have to meet that girl…