It had been two weeks since Mark's collapse, and he'd felt like crap ever since. He'd had several panic attacks during those weeks, but nothing like that first one. He'd learned that it helped to sit down and think about something else, anything else. His favorite thing to think about when an episode hit him was his friends; smiling, laughing, and having fun.
That day, Mark found himself alone in the flat. Not knowing what else to do, he sat down to read a book he'd gotten from Collins. He still hadn't been able to touch his camera, and that depressed him. He tried not to think about it, though, as he became engrossed in the novel.
It really was a good book. Mark had probably been reading for about half an hour when someone knocked on the door, making him jump.
Startled, he looked at the clock. Roger wasn't due home for another twenty minutes. He crossed to the door, wondering if perhaps Collins had forgotten his keys. Opening the door, he was almost knocked over when the person on the other side stumbled into his arms.
'What the-' Mark watched as Maureen righted herself and made her way to the couch, weaving ever so slightly. 'Oh, great.'
Dropping down on the couch, Maureen looked at him. She held a bottle of wine in one hand, already more than halfway gone. She smiled at him as he made his way over next to the couch and sat beside her.
"Maureen, do you want me to call Joanne? She could bring you home. I'm not really feeling up t-" He was brought up short by her hand suddenly clamped over his mouth. She stared at him in exhagerated concentration, then slowly removed her hand and brought her lips to his.
For a moment, Mark was floored. Then he pushed her away. "Maureen, what the hell?"
He was terrified to see tears suddenly well up in her eyes. "Oh pookie, I can't believe you almost died. Seeing you on that floor, Oh My God. Oh, Mark, I'm so so so sorry." Her drunken rant continued as Mark tried to comfort her, reassuring her that he was okay.
He was caught off guard when she turned her head to his and once again kissed him. He tried to pull away, but she held his head firmly, and he soon quit fighting and deepened the kiss. He was only a man, after all.
It was all so comfortingly familiar, her lips on his, the feel of her body as he slid his hands up over her hips and around her back. He hoped that it would never end, it was just like old times, it-
Maureen's POV
Maureen forgot her fear as she felt Mark respond to her advances. Oh, god, she had missed this. Joanne was wonderful; sweet, sexy and perfect, but she wasn't a man, and Maureen had missed the feel of a man's hard chest and strong arms. She slowly let her hands wander, savoring. She felt the button of his jeans and started to undo it-
Only to feel Mark freeze, and then pull away. Not understanding, she once again snaked an arm around his waist, flashing him her most sultry smile.
Maureen was startled to next find herself on the floor, thrown violently away by the filmaker. Her shoulder hurt where she'd landed on it. She looked up in confusion at the angry face of her former lover. She had never seen him look so scary.
"Leave." He said coldly, leaning down to wrench her to her feet. Stumbling, she pulled her arm out of his grasp and stared at him. "GO, Maureen. Leave, now." He led her to the door.
"But, pookie, I don't understand. What did I do?" she asked desprately. She didn't want to lose him again, like she thought she had when she'd found him facedown in her bathroom.
His face softened ever so slightly, revealing- what? Maureen didn't know, but she was glad to see the terrifying stranger that had possesed him leave. Now he was just Mark, and Mark replied quietly, "You didn't do anything, Maureen. I just need you to leave me alone."
For the second time in as many weeks, Mark shut the door firmly in Maureen's face.