Title: All Wet
Author: Misty Flores
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

Chapter 21.

Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are

I had to find you
Tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart

Tell me your secrets
And, Ask me your questions
Oh, let's go back to the start
-- 'The Scientist' Coldplay

--

"You know, we all knew."

Glancing up, Joanne wasn't sure what Roger meant. It had been a relatively quiet moment he had interrupted, just the two of them in the empty loft, as she shivered in her large trench coat, and he in his leather jacket and scarf.

The comment had erupted on the tail end of Roger scribbling his signature across the papers that she had drawn up, just in case they needed to sue Benny over his impending eviction. It was honestly a little awkward at first, she and Roger, even in the midst of the entire group, had never had much to say to each other; his whole world was Mimi and Mark, and Joanne had had her hands full simply trailing after Maureen. But Mark was off filming, Mimi gearing up for another shift at the Cat Scratch Club, Angel and Collins were in their own little lovenest, and her lovely Maureen had elected to stay in their cushy warm apartment.

"You all knew what?" she asked, taking back the papers, sliding them into her briefcase as Roger slumped down onto the produce wooden crate they had ransacked from the back of the nearby grocery store.

"About you and Maureen." Joanne straightened, bewildered, when Roger suddenly smiled, shoving his hand into his pocket and coming up with a wrinkled cigarette. He offered it to her, but she shook her head.

"No thank you," she said, crossing her arms as she watched him now try the other pocket for a match. "What do you mean you knew?"

"Well, we didn't know you were a girl," he amended, coming up victorious, shaking the little matchbox and grinning like a little boy when a little rattle sounded. "But we knew she had met someone. Mark knew, even if he ignored it."

Joanne's lips pressed together, and she blew out a foggy breath, feeling rationally guilty. Had she known Mark, there would have been more guilt over essentially 'stealing' Maureen from the handsome blonde Jewish boy. Still, there had been nothing to do but get over those feelings, and get over them quickly, and it had been done, over a tango and shared commiseration. If anything, he seemed almost relieved to be rid of the drama that came with Maureen, though it wasn't much of a secret he would jump at the chance again.

It was simply the way of it, and like Mark accepted her place in Maureen's life, Joanne had to simply accept Mark's own feelings for her newly engaged lover.

"Listen, Roger-"

Sucking in the nicotine, he shook his head, waving her off. "No," he said, mouth puckering around the little stick, slurring his words, "It's cool. That's not why I brought it up." Joanne, kept quiet, eyeing him in open confusion. "Look, I'm the last person to judge about personal fuck ups, okay? If you only knew the shit I pulled with Mark when…" Roger paused, grabbing hold of the cigarette and taking the moment to exhale, regaining himself in the process. "When I was in withdrawal. I fucking almost beat him senseless looking for the drugs he hid from me. I'm not one to talk about it, is all."

Joanne didn't know quite what to say to that. Standing there, she glanced at the dusty floor, then at the cracks in the windows, the filthy home that they were fighting to keep. Suddenly, she understood why.

Too many memories, good and bad, rested in these walls, with the dustmites and rats.

"So why did you bring it up?" she said, coming back to the subject, sounding professional and snippy, even if that wasn't how she meant it.

Roger took another drag of his cigarette, concentrating on just that, before he once again blew out the smoke, elbow resting on his knee. "Mark would let Maureen do whatever she wanted. You know? Because he felt bad – cause of me. Figured she had a right to screw around if all his energy was spent on me."

"What?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I got it out of him, once. I thought he was a pussy for not seeing through her lies. I mean, they weren't even GOOD excuses. But he said she always came home, and once I got clean – it would be different." Roger shook his head, as if he was as frustrated with Mark now as he was then. "I told him to let me go, but he wouldn't, and for a while, he was right. Maureen always came home. And then one day she didn't."

Joanne stayed standing, unsure where it was going, eyes on the reminiscing rocker. "She didn't."

"No. That weekend she was staying with her friend 'Joanne'," he said, using air quotes and an ironic smile. "She came home after that, but she didn't, really. I could see it. Even Mark. Maureen was always playing a part, but she wasn't here. Not really." Joanne sucked in her breath, trying to fight the painful ache in her chest. "She was trying too hard," he explained. "Trying too hard to be happy with Mark. After a while she stopped trying."

Swallowing hard, Joanne was suddenly hot, and she broke their gazes, looking somewhere, anywhere else. It didn't last. After a second or two, her eyes were back on Roger, watching him struggle for words.

Rubbing his hands together in the cold, Roger took another long drag of his cigarette. "I always wondered if you two were together because of me. If I hadn't been such a screw up, maybe they would have been able to fix it somehow."

"You blamed yourself for them breaking up."

His smile was bitter, sad. "Made sense, right? Screw over everything I touch, why would Mark be an exception." He fumbled with cigarette, dropping it to the floor and stamping his heel down on it. "But I don't think that anymore."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't think they would have made it. She would have met you eventually." Roger looked up, and rubbed his fingers into his shaggy hair. "Look, Joanne, I don't believe much in destiny, or fate, or any of that. I'm lucky that I can make it each day clean. But we all get hooked on something, and Maureen, from that first day, she was hooked on you. We could all see it." Joanne quirked her eyebrow, and he looked flustered. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… congratulations. Or something."

Roger was Mark's best friend. It was as good as she was ever going to get.

She cherished it, just the same.

"Thank you."

He grinned, and Joanne shook her head, and smiled. "Get your skinny white ass up, Roger. Let's get some food into you."

--

Maureen's performance space was housed in an abandoned warehouse littered with graffiti and bums. Joanne stood outside the building, eyes on a sick old man who huddled into his cardboard house, as she huddled into her own jacket, eyes bloodshot and still dizzy.

The double doors in front of her burst open, and she jumped, nearly flailing back when she was almost plowed over by a young man, coming out at a furious pace.

"Oh, man – sorry!" Strong hands grabbed hold of her, and Joanne tried hard to blink away her dizziness, sucking in her breath as she looked into a blurry vision of blonde hair and glasses. "You okay?"

Fingers tightened automatically at the broad shoulders, and she tried to regain her footing, shaking her head furiously to try to get the cobwebs out. "Sorry, I'm just…"

"Wow – you don't look so good – can I help you?"

She managed to steady herself, smiling gratefully as she straightened, staring into the handsome young man's concerned expression, blue and gray scarf wrapped around his neck, looking warm and healthy and a little flustered.

"I guess I must stand out," she muttered, and reached into her pocket, pulling out the wrinkled flier. "I'm here for the performance…"

"Oh…" He seemed to recognize the flier, at least, because he sighed dramatically, and glanced back at the building he had just vacated. "You're a couple hours early."

"Oh…" Her head began to pound, and she ignored it in favor of her falling heart. "I see."

"It's just prep work right now." She blinked, looking at the empty building. "Can I get you a cab or something?"

"No… no thank you. I'm fine. I'll just… I'll be fine." He looked unsure, but she shot him a smile. "Thank you. I might not be able to come back later and I'd rather just take a look now, if I could."

He arched an eyebrow, but shrugged. "Well, it's all yours." He once again flushed, and Joanne blinked, unsure why. Hefting the camera he carried over his shoulder, he flashed a weak grin and let her go, heading for the bicycle tied to a nearby pile of concrete. "Be careful."

Watching him wheel away, Joanne stared at the performance space, and took in a stuttering breath, moving for the doors.

Joanne had never felt as fragile as she did the moment she pushed open those doors and stepped into Maureen's domain. She felt naked, and was hot and cold at the same time, shivering in her coat and unwilling to take it off, sniffling as she wrapped arms around herself and looked around the large concrete room, scattered with bums and sporting a large, makeshift stage in the far end.

Leaning over some sort of black box, was Maureen.

Suddenly unable to breathe, Joanne simply stood there, taking in the object of her affection, watching dark curls cascade over the fair face as Maureen leaned over the box, black leather pants and a tight black top stretched over her curvy frame.

Something hit Joanne in her chest, hard. She suddenly was gasping, eyes blinking with tears, and she had to hold her palm to her breast, try to calm herself down from the overwhelming emotion that came from just laying eyes on Maureen.

Wiping furious at the wetness in her eyes, she sucked in her breath loudly, fists falling together and coming forward, as Maureen, finally attuned to her presence, jerked her head up, and caught her gaze.

Frozen, Joanne simply stared, lost for words, as Maureen took her in, heated, intense expression paralyzing her as green eyes broke from her own, raked over her body, up to her face once more.

"Hi," she finally managed, voice husky and rough.

"What are you doing here?" The question came off as deflated, as Maureen straightened, silver bracelets clinking against one another as she crossed her arms. It was a defensive posture. "You look like hell."

Trying to talk around the lump in her throat was nearly impossible, and so Joanne swallowed down on it, trying to control her swooning emotion, shivering in her coat. "What are you doing?" It sounded so desperate, her trying so hard to be casual.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Maureen said, after a beat, and Joanne found it almost hilariously funny, how she was coming off as the crazy one and Maureen was nearly sane. "I'm trying to figure out this fucking equipment because my boyfriend is being an asshole."

Joanne couldn't stop trembling. "Why is he being an asshole?"

Maureen looked at her like she was insane. "Because apparently someone told him about what happened at the Life Café two nights ago."

"Oh." Joanne's breath quickened, and she tried to bury herself further into her jacket, dizzy and unsure of what steps to take. "I see."

Maureen's head rose, her eyes darkened. "You see?" she repeated, nearly spitting in her sudden emotion. "Fuck you, Joanne." Joanne gulped, stayed still, as Maureen began to jerk at the leather motorcycle gloves covering her fingertips, pulling them off finger by finger. "You know, you ruined my life."

Joanne blinked, so lost in her own emotion she wasn't sure if it was really Maureen that had said that or herself. "Pardon me?"

"A month ago, I was perfect." Slapping the gloves down on the felt box, Maureen's eyes once again connected with hers, suddenly moist. "I was fine. I had what I thought I needed, and I was getting along fine. And then you came along, and you ruined everything." Maureen halted her words, biting down on her bottom lip, eyes closing as fingers came up to her eyes, as if trying to shield herself. "Sometimes I wish I had never met you."

The words were so similar, so surreal, and Joanne, in her delirious sick haze, nearly choked herself with the sudden laugh the words produced. It was ironic, yes, and somehow damning, and yet, she couldn't help the choking hysteria, that had her nearly collapsing on the dusty floor of Maureen's performance space.

It was when Maureen came forward, eyes wide and confused, catching hold of her, trying to keep her steady in her fit of coughing, that the laughter turned to near sobs. Tears trickled down her cheeks, as soft hands wrapped around her waist. Unconsciously she turned, sucking in her own emotion to bury her face into the crook of her ex-lover's neck.

"Oh my God, you're burning up." Fingers curled into her wiry black hair, holding her close, voice unsteady with emotion. "What hell happened to you?"

She clutched at those strong arms, and looked up into emerald eyes, sick and dizzy and never more sincere. "I got all wet. I went out into the rain looking for you and I got all wet, and my life is hell because of it."

Maureen stared down at her, the trembling faded version of herslf. "What?"

"I'm a wreck, Maureen. I'm a wreck, and I've lost almost everything I care about and I don't care. The only thing I care about is that I've lost you." Fingers clenched onto forearms, and Joanne tried to calm herself down, put herself on equal ground. But she was too weak, and Maureen held her so tightly she couldn't let go. Joanne had no choice but to surrender herself to it. "I didn't want to do it. I tried everything I could to try not to do it, but it didn't work, and now I don't want to fight it anymore. I'm tired of fighting it."

Maureen's eyes were moist, brilliant in their emerald hue. Her words were whispered. "Fight what?"

Joanne closed her eyes, sweaty and exhausted. Teetering, she managed to right herself, stare into a beautiful face that now held everything she ever wanted. "I love you, Maureen." Maureen inhaled sharply, but Joanne could only smile weakly. "Sometimes I think I know everything and this time, I know that I know nothing. All I know, is that I've loved you forever, and my life won't be better, until you tell me you love me too." Joanne blinked, shook her head, and opened her eyes again, refocusing them on the woman in front of her, who had gone completely still. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. I've never felt so incompetent in my life. I'm a complete mess, and it's because of you, and I don't want it any other way. You're… beautiful and funny and crazy and nothing like anything I've ever seen and it makes insane, but it makes me crave. You make me want to hold onto you forever and never let go and I want a chance to make you feel the same way."

Her throat ached, and she was starting to tremble again, and the tiny bit of her brain that was still rational told her once more to get her ass home and get to sleep. She ignored it.

"So… um… I guess… what I'm asking…" She closed her eyes, screwed them shut tightly, and banged her fist to her forehead, trying desperately to clear her thoughts, make her meaning clear. "I'm asking you to leave Mark. To be with me."

The words hung in the air, but they were out, and Joanne smiled as much as she could, being feverish and dizzy and in pain. Sniffling, she must have looked pathetic, huddled into her coat, without make up, without her suit, without anything that made her HER. Nothing but her painfully naked, bleeding heart, exposed and offered to the one person in the world who had the power to crush it.

Awareness of her faults made her lose her nerve, and her exhaustion suddenly increased, as Maureen simply stood there, uncharacteristically silent. With every passing moment, Joanne's stamina failed her. "I should… maybe…"

Maureen came to life, and Joanne's words died in her throat when her lover took a step forward, then another, until one hand was moving possessively around Joanne's waist, curling fingers around her hip, shoulder moving underneath her arm, a human crutch.

Joanne wasn't sure what was happening, as Maureen stared at her, expression unreadable. "Come on, I'm getting you home."

--

She rode with her in the taxi, holding Joanne tightly against her body, as the shivering, sick woman huddled close to her, eyes shut, as if ashamed at her own weakness. Maureen walked with her past the doorman and into the elevator, pushed the button to her floor, and when they got to her door, fished into her pockets for her keys.

Flicking through the ring of metal, she picked the right one and inserted it into her lock, and then led her to her bed, pulling off shoes and shoving off the jacket. Maureen was methodic, firm but not rough, and like a doll, Joanne let her undress her, until she was in her bed, covered in cool sheets. She was given a glass of water and another pair of pills, and then Maureen squeezed her hand, and left.

Joanne heard her door click shut, and shut her eyes, too tired to cry.

--

The room was dark when her eyes opened again, but it wasn't the lack of light that had awoken her from the miserable sleep that had claimed her.

She was sweaty, tired, but her eyes were alert, and her headache had dulled, as she opened her eyes and wondered if what she had done had been nothing more than a fitful dream.

Footsteps shuffled in her apartment, and Joanne was suddenly alert, heart jerking as her body turned in the direction of the sound.

Her doorknob creaked, and Joanne was rendered breathless when Maureen stepped into the room, shrugging off a leather jacket, green eyes pinned on her.

"Hi."

Joanne blinked, too overwhelmed to respond as Maureen went to work on her gloves, and after she got them off, sat on the nearby chair, and pulled at her boots.

"Maureen," she whispered, and her lover glanced up, met her gaze, and smiled simply.

"Sorry," she responded, a gentle tone. "It took longer than I thought."

"What did?"

Maureen paused, looked at her. "Leaving Mark."

Two words, and they still managed to floor her. Her heart began to beat again, jumpstarting in her heart, so hard and so fast they flooded her ears, drowning out any other sound, any other thought.

"Oh," was all she could manage, and then Maureen smiled, and came forward, crawling on the bed on her hands and knees, and curling into her sticky, sweaty body.

She was sick and she was positively jobless, and it didn't seem to matter now.

Grateful and humbled, Joanne sighed into the curls at the top of the other woman's head.

"Joanne?"

"Yeah, honey."

"I'm sorry I slept with your girlfriend."

The incredulous laughter caused a hack, and she nearly choked because of it.

It didn't seem to matter.

End chapter