Author's Note: I received a review that basically said I've been stealing things from "How Do You Leave the Past Behind." I just want to take ten seconds to say. . .I ABSOLUTELY AM NOT. I would never steal anything from one of my fellow authors. The thing to keep in mind is that we are all writing for the same characters, and therefore they *would* have similar reactions to things. I know there are some elements that have been similar, but if you continue reading, you will see that my plot is entirely different. Okay, end of rant. ::takes deep breath:: Enjoy this chapter.

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Chapter 7: First Rate Asshole

January 10th

Roger dragged his feet through the wet gray sludge that had been snow just a few days ago and shivered slightly. He'd forgotten to take a jacket in his hurry, and he wasn't about to go back to the loft any time soon. At least, not until he'd figured out how to make things right. The strap of his guitar case was twisted and cutting into his shoulder, but Roger made no move to fix it. He figured he deserved the pain. Roger stopped and stared at his reflection in a puddle, silently asking himself why he always ruined everything. A car sped by, disturbing the surface of the puddle and dousing Roger in muddy water. He cursed softly, then scuffed the toe of his boot in the puddle and kept walking.

A few minutes later, Roger's AZT beeper began to alarm obnoxiously, but he just reached over and switched it off, completely ignoring its message.

"That wasn't very smart." A deep voice said from behind him.

Roger jumped slightly and turned around to face the mysterious person.

"Collins!"

"Something wrong?"

Roger shook his head.

"No! I mean yes. I mean. . .how did you know?"

"Well. . .let's just say you're giving off negative vibes."

"That obvious?" Roger smiled grimly.

Collins nodded.

"Afraid so. Take a walk with me and tell me what the trouble is."

"Playing psychiatrist again, Collins? What's wrong, NYU not keeping you busy enough?"

"Oh, they're keeping me plenty busy. . .so busy, in fact, you're lucky I have time for your miniscule problems, Roger." Collins answered with mock formality. "Now tell me."

"Okay. . ." Roger sighed, and started walking slowly, pretending to be fascinated by the merchandise the street vendors were offering.

"Let me guess." Collins prompted. "You and Mimi fought."

Roger's head shot up and he dropped the garishly beaded handbag he'd been examining.

"Hey, watch it man!" the enraged vendor shouted.

"Sorry," Roger muttered, picking it up and placing it back on the display. He turned back to Collins. "How'd you know?"

Collins laughed.

"Sorry to say this, Rog, but I can read you like a book. That's what you get for keeping the same friends for so long."

Roger sighed again.

"I don't *try* to keep you guys. . .you just won't leave me alone. I guess I should thank you for that."

"Must have been some fight. What happened?"

Roger cleared his throat loudly.

"I um. . .I don't know. She came home late from work and I-I just-" Roger trailed off and shrugged. "Why do I do this to myself, Collins?"

Collins looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"I don't know, Rog. Seems to me you're afraid."

"Of *what*?" Roger asked, frustrated.

"Of losing the things you love. You're afraid Mimi will leave you, and so you push her away. It's just something you're gonna have to work on if you want to have a healthy relationship."

Roger snorted bitterly.

"I don't think 'Roger Davis' and 'healthy relationship' are meant to be found in the same sentence."

"Not as long as you think like that. Hey, look, that vendor has just what you need!" Collins exclaimed, pointing to a table of t-shirts. Roger took one look at it, grinned, and began searching his pockets for cash.

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Later

"Bananas?"

"No."

"Ummm. . .ham and cheese sandwich?"

"No."

"Tomato soup?"

"*Definitely* not."

Mark sighed in exasperation.

"Come on, Mimi, you haven't eaten all day. Just because you and Roger fought doesn't mean you should starve yourself to death."

Mimi glared at him from the sofa, and Mark felt himself shrink slightly before her laser gaze. He continued searching through the cabinets, finally finding what he was after.

"Okay then, chocolate."

Mimi perked up.

"Chocolate? I didn't know we *had* chocolate."

Mark grinned at her.

"That's because I keep it hidden all the time. With all the drama that goes on around here I have to ration it or we'd spend all our money on it."

"Marky the chocolate hoarder," she muttered sarcastically. "Wow, you learn something new everyday."

Just then, they heard the sound of a key in the rusty old lock.

"Hello?" Roger called from the hallway. "Anyone home?"

Mimi stiffened and turned around to face him. Mark shrank back behind the counter, as though it could protect him. But the confrontation never came. Mark burst into laughter at the sight of Roger, and even Mimi had to turn away from him to keep a straight face.

Roger was wearing a baggy white shirt with a red ribbon and the words "First Rate Asshole" painted on the front.

"Where'd you get that?" Mimi asked cautiously.

"Well you know, it was the strangest thing," Roger said, grinning, "I was walking out of band practice and this bird flew over my head and dropped this bundle on me. And then it told me to be sorry, and flew off. And the bundle was this shirt."

Mimi looked skeptical.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Honestly!"

"You are so full of shit." She muttered, her temper flaring again. "Seriously, Roger. You can't treat me like you did and then expect

me to just laugh it up over some shirt and then forget the whole thing."

Roger sighed and sat down on the couch, patting the spot beside him. Mimi shook her head and remained standing.

"I don't know what to say, Mimi. Other than that I'm sorry, and I wish I could take it back. And I love you."

Mimi crossed her arms.

"You could find a better way to show it."

"God, Mimi, I know! I-I'm just so afraid of losing you. . ." Roger trailed off, his throat tight. "Forgive me?"

Mimi wiped at her eyes roughly, and offered him a weak smile.

"I don't know why I put up with you, Roger." She said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"You know you love me." Roger said, more confident now.

"No, I don't!" she insisted, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

"Forgive me?"

"No!"

"You know you want to."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Don't."

"Do."

"Don't!"

"Do!"

"DON'T!" Mimi burst into a fit of giggles, grabbed a pillow off the couch and began to beat Roger over the head with it.

Roger just sat there.

"Okay, I deserve it. Beat me all you want."

Just then, Fender crawled out from behind the sofa and climbed up on the couch, resting her head in Roger's lap.

"See? Even she wants you to forgive me. How can you resist a face like that?"

Mimi sighed and sat down beside him.

"Okay, okay. . .I forgive you. On one condition."

Roger look nervous.

"What's that?"

"You wear that shirt at your next gig."

Roger laughed and wrapped his arms around her, careful not to hurt Fender.

"You got it. I really am sorry."

"Roger, I *know*!'

"Okay," he laughed, "Just making sure."

Roger leaned in to kiss her, and the phone rang.

"Damn. Every time. Mark, get that."

Mark groaned, but obediently went to get the phone. He spoke to the person for no longer than five minutes, a worried look coming over his face. His hand trembled as he hung up the receiver.

"You guys are gonna have to wait."

"Why?" Roger asked, "Who was that?"

"Joanne. Maureen's in the emergency room."

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