A/N: Yet another pointless oneshot. Heavy CollinsMaureen friendship, with indication of preRENT friendship. This whole thing is ridiculous...but I love them both, so it's worth it.
Maureen is up late. Maybe it's the pot she smoked with Roger earlier (he always ropes her into it, but the stuff goes straight to her brain). Maybe it's the fact Joanne was so tired that she forgot to snipe at her before and now Maureen doesn't want to be mean by waking her up to go to bed. Or maybe it's because she knows he's coming.
They've known each other since before they can remember, and all that time the connection has been real and strong. Call it intuition, call it telepathy, call it loving your best friend, they always know. That night, Maureen sits by the window, dressed in sweatpants, a navy blue tank top, a ski cap, and sneakers. She's ready for him to come, and she's ready to go with him. She always has been.
Collins knows she is there before he sees her. The fire escape is easy access to the window of Joanne's flat, but he doesn't need to scale it to make sure Maureen is waiting. He can feel her like a breath of wind or a drop of water; he can see her in his mind's eye.
"Hey, open up," he whispers, tapping on the glass of the window. Maureen, whose head has fallen forward onto her chest, starts and looks up. When she recognizes him through the foggy window (it is humid outside; the window is thickly covered with condensation), she gets up and undoes the latch. But instead of letting him in, she climbs out. Collins raises his eyebrows in surprise at this. Whenever they visit like this at night, the one who approaches enters to join the one approached. This is different from what he knows…but he is willing to let her move forward and direct the encounter.
It started as a sort of tradition when they were in high school. Already best friends by then, Maureen had "broken into" Collins's room the eve of the day he came out. They talked for three hour straight and very nearly got caught by his parents. Since then, it has become customary and acceptable for one or the other to intrude for midnight consultation (they do set limits though; ever since Maureen had walked in on Collins and his current boyfriend in a compromising situation, a bulletin or warning is acknowledged earlier in the day). Topics of every kind are addressed; sexuality, aspirations, memories, relationships, ideas, defeats, everything. There are no boundaries during these nighttime talks.
Maureen sees the look in Collins's eyes as she tries to close the window as quietly as possible. She bites her tongue and says nothing. Here is not where she wants to talk.
They descend the fire escape and start to walk down the street in silence. The city is warm and cloying; the air is so thick that it feels hard to breathe. A man brushes against Maureen as she passes him, and she shivers as his sticky hand explores against the curve of her waist. She draws closer to Collins while sending the man a dirty look. The man spies Collins and scuttles off, probably high on something, probably in search of something else to keep him high. They're all the same when it comes down to it; get high and stay high as much of the time as you can.
It takes a while, since Joanne doesn't live very near to the park. But they reach it eventually, and with hardly a thought they scale the fence. Drug deals are going on all around, and small groups of shady figures congregate under trees. A few couples are having sex on the ground or against a tree, and everyone is sweating. Maureen and Collins make their way past these nameless, faceless people to a relatively deserted patch of ground near a skinny, underdeveloped tree. He sits down, his back up against the tree and his knees hugged to his chest. Maureen sits too, but with her legs crossed Indian-style and her elbows on her knees, her chin on her fist. Maureen brought them here, so it is her game and her duty to begin.
"You know what the trouble with love is?" she says, starting the flow of words. Collins bobs his head to accept her initial advance, then answers.
"I'm sure you'll tell me." Maureen blinks and pulls her ski cap off, dropping it in her lap. The lights of New York penetrate even the density of the park, casting en eerie glow over her features. From somewhere to their right, there is a burst of laughter, and then a sound like someone gulping water. Both of them try to ignore it as best they can.
"The trouble with love…is that you can't decide who the hell you love and who you don't," Maureen says finally. Collins stays silent. She has more to say.
"If someone treats you like shit, logic says that you leave them. But if you love them…well, you're out of luck, because even if you leave them, you're still in love. And then," Maureen goes on, her face becoming animated as she loses herself in her topic. "And then, maybe someone is the nicest person in the world, and they worship the ground you walk on and the sex is really incredible, but no matter what, you can't make yourself love them. It's like…why love someone who screws you over and makes your life miserable when there are people who try to keep you happy at every turn and you like them as much as you can like anyone, but you just can't love them? It's ridiculous and stupid and I hate it," she finishes, breathing heavily.
Collins watches her, his eyes betraying nothing. Then, slowly, he reaches out a hand and brushes a strand of hair off her face. She closes her eyes at the touch of his fingers.
"But think about it," he says quietly. "Love seems illogical that way…but what about when love makes you fall in love with the right people? Then it saves you from self-destruction or destruction by others. Fall in love with someone who will save you even when you can't save yourself…and stay out of love with someone who'll do you harm, which saves you again. And then there's the different kind of love; for the people you're not with, but you're close to. Start loving the wrong kind of friend and things can go downhill pretty damn fast. But maybe loving the right friend will keep you off the bad stuff in the first place. That kind of love is worth the wrong kind, isn't it?"
Maureen frowns as she digests this. Cars honk and sirens screech into the night. The shadowy figures nearby draw farther away, wary of the sirens. They know the police have given up on corralling enough of their kind to make a difference; but every once in a while, cops will make a bust just for the hell of it. Maureen and Collins have had several close calls with that sort of thing in the past, but they don't tense as the dealers and gang bangers do.
"Maybe it's worth it…but I can't see how right now. I guess the 'live for today' philosophy agrees. After all, being happy and sad instead of neither is better, right?" Maureen says slowly. Collins nods.
"When you convince yourself that every day matters, it's easier to see how happiness can balance out the argument for pain. Which would you rather have more of, for that matter?" he asks. Maureen smiles a little and rubs her forearms, wincing at the sticky sweat on them. The back of her neck feels itchy and hot, so she glances around for something to tie it back with. Near the two of them, voices rise as an apparently dissatisfied customer starts to argue with his dealer. Collins, hearing this, takes Maureen by the wrist and pulls her to her feet.
"Let's go back to your place. I don't know about you, but I'm thirsty," he says, smiling. Maureen nods and threads her arm through his. She does not know why she led them to the park that night, when they could have talked just as easily back at Joanne's. It makes no sense. But Maureen's relationship with Collins is not about sense. It's about truth. And it's the truth that she needed to go to the park.
Nothing much happens on the way back; a few hookers outside a bar cast seductive glances at Collins, but he ignores them and walks on past. Before long, Maureen finds herself holding the window open for him to climb inside, and then again she finds herself sitting at the tiny kitchen table while Collins places a mug filled with something cool in front of her. She takes a drink and screws her face up in distaste.
"God, what is this crap?"
"A rare toxic mixture called water," Collins says, winking at her as he sits down opposite. Maureen rolls her eyes and takes another sip of the water. It runs down her throat and makes her feel much better, though she tries not to show it and let him get smug. The two of them drink in silence for a few minutes; then Maureen wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and leans back in her chair.
"You wanna ask me about it now or later?" she asks. Collins shrugs.
"What makes you think I need to ask?" he challenges. She sighs and shakes back her hair. Joanne has a second-rate air conditioner, and it provides some much needed chill.
"You would have said something by now. And I'm not pretending that I usually drag you out there in the middle of the night."
"If you want to tell me, then tell me. Otherwise, stop harping on how out of the ordinary that whole thing was."
"I was not harping."
"Yes you were."
"Loser."
"Drama queen."
"Why, thank you."
"It wasn't meant in a good way, just in case you wanted to know."
This is normal; this sniping and bickering. It's like filler for the conversation; available at a moment's notice and so natural that neither of them even have to think about it.
"You know…I'm really know sure why I went out there," she says slowly after a moment or two. Collins nods and pushes his empty glass away.
"I understand. Sometimes you just need to do things, I guess…but next time, let's not go somewhere that's got a shitload of drug dealers looking for a piece," he suggests. Maureen laughs a little and gulps down the rest of her water.
"Gotcha."
For a while, they talk about nothing in particular; Collins's students, how stressed this new case was making Joanne, the annoying heat. Maureen feels sleepy and peaceful as she listens to him complain about Roger's habit of sucking on ice to cool down. Before she can shake herself awake, her head droops forward and she drifts off into a light sleep.
Not so light as she thought, though. It is heavy enough to keep her unconscious until the next morning, when she awakes to find herself curled up on the sofa with a pillow stuck to her sweaty face and something lying on her hip. Blearily, she sits up and looks down. It is her ski cap, which (Maureen just now realizes) she left crumpled on the ground at the park. She looks around; the window is closed tight, and the two glasses from the night before are still on the table. And now Maureen, remembering the night before, recalls their conversation in the park. The trouble with love…and his argument that loving the right person was really worth it. She smiles and pushes her hair back. Maybe he really was right.
Maybe.