He blinked sleepily as he woke up, the sunlight filtering in through the windows illuminating the loft. Rubbing his eyes, Mark slid his legs off of the couch, and tested his weight on them. He seemed steady enough, so he pushed himself up, wincing slightly at the aching throughout his torso. Slowly stepping around the slumbering couples, he limped to his bedroom, fumbled with the handle of the top drawer of his night table, and emerged rather victoriously with a pair of glasses. Sliding them on, he was relieved to see his vision was no worse than normal. He checked the small clock next to his bed. 7:03, the rest probably wouldn't be up for a while.

Limping back to the kitchen area, still blinking sleep out of his eyes, he reflected on the cause of his sleeplessness.

They cornered him after school, shoving him into a locker, padlocking the door. The metal closed in on him, fitting his shape, paralyzing him. The door swung open, and Roger pulled him out. He grinned, and turned into Maureen, pressing him against the lockers, kissing him, then collapsing. Mark bent over her, crying, as she opened her eyes and smiled, transforming into Raymond, wrapping a hand around his neck, pinning him to the ground.

Stop thinking about it. It was just a nightmare. Mark put some hot water in the pot for coffee.

He dragged him past his home, where his parents watched with glazed eyes as he was dragged away, into the foyer, into the loft. Fingernails scratched him, beat down on him as he cowered, as the loft transformed into his prison. He grabbed him, threw him out onto the empty street…

"Mark!" He jumped, startled by her sudden appearance. "What are you doing up? You're in no shape to be up and about."

"I'm fine, Joanne, really."

She just looked at him, then, with the determination bred from years of court cases, strode up to him. She pressed her hand against his chest, "Cracked rib, possibly broken," fingers against his arms, "assorted bruises," hand over the back of his head, "moderate laceration, possible blood loss," she nudged his ankle with her foot, and he nearly collapsed. "Sprained ankle," she surveyed him again, "and, judging by the bags under your eyes, you didn't sleep well. Trauma." Joanne folded her arms. "You're hurt. Go lie down."

Mark begrudgingly limped back to the sofa and did as she commanded, resting his head on the pillow. His shirt was pushed up, and he looked up to see a somewhat more sympathetic Joanne holding a first aid kit. "Stay still." Taking out a roll of gauze, she wrapped it around his chest, compressing it slightly. She held a wet washcloth to the back of his head, and wiped away the dried blood, then dabbed antiseptic on the cut. He watched her, curious, as she began to put his ankle in a splint.

"Hey, Joanne."

"Yeah?" she said, not looking up.

"Since when'd you learn to be a nurse?" he teased.

"Since I got involved with a bunch of boneheads who seem to attract trouble," she retorted. She finished wrapping up the splint. "There. I can't do anything about the bruises, so just try to take it easy, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Now can I get up again?"

"Nope," Joanne replied, getting up. "Stay there, I'll look for some breakfast."

Mark sighed. "Are you going to at least let me up to go to the protest?" She looked at him. "What?"

"Mark, Maureen cancelled the protest."

"What? When?"

"Less than an hour before you showed up. She was scared."

"But she loves her protests," Mark protested.

"Not as much as she loves you."

Mark gaped at her. "What?"

Joanne gave him a small smile. "We may be 'together', and she's promised to change her ways," Mark snorted, "but she'll always love you, at the very least like a little brother."

Mark looked around. "Where is the drama queen, anyway?"

"She went on a walk."

"Oh," Mark replied lamely, lying back once more and closing his eyes. Maureen still loved him? That was news to him… He drifted off, lulled into a doze by Joanne's soft humming and the occasional clang of a pan.

He rubbed his eyes as he awoke once more, then yelped as he was startled off the bed by the face less than two inches from his. Collins chuckled as Mark glared up at him. "Real nice, Collins, real nice."

"Hey, it's 9 o' clock, man, time to get rolling."

Mark craned his head to the left. "Looks like I'm not the only one who was still asleep," he said, pointing accusingly at Mimi and Roger.

Angel reached down and grabbed his hand. "Aw, leave the poor chico alone, Collins."

Mimi stretched out lazily, half-awake. "Yeah, little Marky needs his sleep."

A bedheaded Roger peered over Mimi. "Help the poor cripple up, Tom."

Collins groaned. "Looks like I'm outnumbered," he said, good-naturedly giving Mark a hand. The pair pulled him up, giggling at his bedraggled appearance.

As soon as he was up, Mark flopped back onto the couch, sticking his tongue out at Collins. "So, what's for breakfast?" Roger asked from the floor.

"Ooh, getting all high and mighty, are we, chico?" Angel laughed, mussing his hair. "Since when do you two bother to keep food around the loft?"

"Aw, but I'm hungry…" Roger moaned. "Look, my stomach, it's positively caving in!" he joked.

Maureen opened the door, holding a grocery bag. "Never fear, hungry civilians!" Roger was up in a flash, rummaging through it as soon as she set it on the table.

"Cap'n Crunch! And milk! Score!" he exclaimed, giving Maureen a high five. The rest of them joined him at the metal table, leaning over their chipped bowls. Joanne gave Mark a look for getting off of the sofa, and he raised an eyebrow, daring her to say anything. They ate in silence, scarfing down the rest of the box happily. "Maureen, you are a saint," Roger said. "So, what are we going to do today?"

"Life Support?" Collins suggested.

"Actually, I need you guys to help me set up," Maureen said.

"Set up? For what?" Joanne asked skeptically.

Maureen's eyes shone brightly as she answered. "For the protest. It's back on."