[Author's Note: Hi, kids! First of all, thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers- you guys make my day! Second, I apologize that I didn't get this posted by this morning as planned. This chapter hates me, so we had to fight it out for a while before I came up with something acceptable for public viewing. The last thing is this: just to clarify, the description says this is Musicalverse, which is true, but it also includes some things here or there that are derived from the movie. That hasn't applied a whole lot yet, but just so you know in the future. Anyhoozle, I promise the next chapter will be better, but this was just a filler to get some necessary junk in before the action really starts. Have a fan-freakin'-tastic day, my RENT peeps!]

Snow Day

Chapter Nine: Elbows

November 10th, 4:45 AM, EST

Maureen and I are still awake, curled up on the couch when my alarm clock begins to buzz obnoxiously. Maureen, who was clearly about to drift off again, whines, "Why is your alarm clock going off? It's the middle of the night!"

"It's 4:45," I say simply, while I slide out from under the blanket and shiver as cold air hits me.

"Yeah," she says, lying down and snuggling into the warmth of the spot on the couch that I just vacated, "that's the middle of the night."

"Actually," I inform her as I walk into the bedroom to turn the thing off, "it's the time I get up some days."

"Why?" Maureen demands from the other room.

"Trial day."

"But it's Saturday!" Maureen informs me incredulously.

"Welcome to corporate America: a magical land where people often have six-day work weeks."

I reappear from the bedroom in time to see Maureen put on a pout that's absolutely adorable. "But still."

"Yes, well, there you have it. Are you having coffee?" I ask as I make my way to the adjacent kitchen.

"Sure, thank you," she says, appearing beside me at the kitchen counter, still wrapped the blanket we were lying under. "Sorry I kept you up… I- I thought you'd get to sleep as late as you wanted and stuff…" I'm surprised by how quickly her face has fallen. Clearly, she's stuck in a mindset of thinking next to nothing of herself. I can feel anger starting to build in me as I think about the people who seem to have made her this way. Somehow, I don't think she was always this girl with such obvious issues with guilt.

"Maureen, don't worry about it. I'm fine. I could have gone back to sleep if I wanted to, and I didn't. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Okay," she mumbles, taking a blue coffee mug from my hand.

After a few minutes of silence, I ask, "So, any big plans for a Saturday morning?"

"Well, I was thinking I might go over to the loft and get the stuff that I apparently left there… But does that seem like a stupid thing to do?"

"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "I guess it just depends on whether or not you're in the mood to see those guys again."

"Yeah…" she trails, while I pour coffee into each of our cups.

An hour later, Maureen and I are standing side by side at the bathroom counter. We're repeatedly smacking each other with our elbows as I try to apply mascara and Maureen tries to apply that fiery red lipstick.

"Okay, I have to run. I have to be in court at 6:30." Maureen pouts at herself in the mirror, and then, seemingly satisfied with her makeup job, closes the tube of lipstick and turns to me.

"Okay. I'll walk downstairs with you; I'm ready to go."

"Perfect." I grab my coat and briefcase and then hold the door for her. As we trudge down the stairs I hand Maureen my spare key. In any other case I would never consider giving a person who is essentially a stranger a key to my house, but I suppose it's as I told Maureen last night: I just have a good feeling about her. "Here," I say as I hand it to her, "you need to be able to get back here after your stop at the loft."

"Joanne, are you sure?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be? You're not going to throw some wild house party in my absence, are you?"

"Maybe," she smirks. By now we're standing at the bottom of the stairs, steps away from thrusting ourselves out into the full glory of a New York winter. Briefly, Maureen studies my face with that otherworldly expression she dons. Slowly, she inches toward me and leans up slightly, brushing her lips against my cheek and letting them linger for just an instant. "Thank you, Joanne. So much. For everything."

With that, we step out into the organized chaos of the city streets and turn in opposite directions.