[AN: It's short, I know. But don't worry. I'll try and make up for it
with my next chapter! ]
"Two words: hang. . .over," Roger groaned as he rolled out of bed. "Oh God, my head!"
Mimi laughed at him. "You're just a big baby! And hangover is one word," she teased as she followed him into the living room.
"Meems. . ." he whispered. "Why is Maureen asleep on our couch?"
"Oh. Well, I'll explain some other time." Roger gave her a questioning look. "Just don't ask her about anything, alright?"
"Fine," he shrugged.
"Mo." Mimi nudged her. She sleepily opened her eyes.
"Oh, shit. Did I fall asleep?" she groaned.
"For a few hours."
"Wow. I'm sorry. God, I was just emotionally exhausted I guess. It's not every day you lose your girlfriend and find out you're. . ."She stopped when she saw that Roger was in the room. "I mean, I was just tired, that's all." She lowered her voice. "Mimi, did you tell. . .?"
"No. Of course not. Not until you're ready."
"Ok. Thanks." Maureen let out a sigh of relief.
Roger gave Mimi a confused look, but she shook her head and mouthed, "Later."
Mark stumbled into the living room. "Happy New Year's day. Mo? What are you doing here?" Roger mimicked Mimi and shook his head, so Mark quickly changed the subject. "I mean, good morning. How's the hangover, Rog?"
He groaned. "Shitty."
Mark reached into the refrigerator and pulled out three eggs, orange juice, strawberry yogurt, and a pickle.
Mimi and Maureen exchanged surprised looks. "What are you doing?"
Mark paid no attention and mixed the unusual ingredients in a blender. He poured the disgusting concoction into a glass and handed it to Roger. "Drink this. It'll help the hangover."
"You have got to be kidding me." Roger rolled his eyes. Mark poured himself a glass, plugged his nose, and chugged it down with a grin.
"Seriously. It helps."
"I'll take a rain check." Roger dumped the contents down the drain and poured himself some orange juice.
"Fine then. You're really missing out, Rog. I'm going out filming." Mark flung his scarf around his neck and walked out the door.
----------------------------------------------------------
"Central Park on New Year's day. It's freezing cold here in New York, but there is warmth in our hearts as we begin the New Year." Mark laughed. "That was so cheesy." He turned off him camera.
"You can say that again." Mark jumped as he heard a voice from the bench behind him.
"Collins! What are you doing here?"
"I was just going for a walk. I needed to think." Mark sat down beside him.
"You know, Collins, you've been doing a lot of 'thinking' these days. I mean. . .what I'm trying to say is. . .you're just off by yourself a lot. We're worried about you."
Collins shrugged. "Don't be. I just need some time."
"Time for what?"
"Thinking."
Mark sighed. "You have always been such an enigma." Collins smiled.
"It's one of my many talents," he grinned sarcastically.
Mark began to speak, but then stopped himself. "You're going to ask me if I'm still grieving about Angel," Collins muttered. Mark nodded sheepishly.
"So you're an enigma and a psychic."
"To answer you're question, I don't think I'll ever get over Angel. She was the most amazing person I've ever met, and I know we were destined to be together. And now that has been taken away from me. There was always this glimmer of hope in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, there would be a way for her to come back. I don't know why, Mark. It was the only hope I had. And now here comes the New Year and there's still no Angel. She's gone forever, and it took me a whole year to realize it. I will never be the same again. Not without her."
Mark was taken aback by the pain in his voice. Collins. . .strong, smart, Collins seemed as helpless as a child. Mark sighed. "You'll find someone. There's someone out there for you."
Collins shook his head. "I wish it that true, Mark." He walked away in silence.
------------------------------------------
Mimi could hear Roger strumming away on his guitar out on the fire escape. "Rog, what the hell are you doing? You're fingers will freeze and you'll never be able to play again."
"It's not that cold. Really!" he called. "I'll just be a few more minutes."
Mimi turned to Maureen who was sitting at the kitchen table scribbling furiously on a paper napkin.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm working on a song for the band," she replied.
"I didn't know you were a song writer."
Maureen giggled. "I am now. Of course, I could never compete with your darling Roger!"
Mimi smiled. "So. . .you know, you're going to have to schedule an appointment with your doctor soon."
"I know," she said without looking up from her napkin.
"So how do you feel?"
"Exhausted."
"I didn't mean physically."
Maureen stopped writing and sat down on the couch next to Mimi. "I don't know. I guess it just hasn't really hit me yet. It's like it's all happening to somebody else."
Mimi nodded, and just then Roger stepped in. "What's this I hear about Maureen writing a song?" Maureen blushed.
"It's nothing really, just. . ." Roger grabbed the napkin off the table.
"Wow."
"I know. It totally sucks. It's just for the wedding band. . ." Maureen explained
"No. Mo, this is really good."
"Are you serious?"
Roger didn't reply, but he plucked a few strings on his guitar. "Here." He handed her the napkin. "Sing this." He played a short tune, and Maureen began to sing along.
"She hides in her shadow She's afraid of her own true self But she'll act out a scene Of confidence and pride So calm and undoubting That she can take a leap of faith You don't think you can harm her 'Cause you think she's predestined And safe Don't let it surprise you when She lets her guard down And don't let it defy you When she falls down," she sang in her belty, rock voice. "Hey, Rog, that was great!"
Mimi laughed. "You two have finally found something in common. So now maybe you'll get along better."
"What are you talking about? Mo and I get along just fine," Roger protested.
"Ok. Let's think. Last month, you two were in a screaming match because someone ate the last pear. Then there was the time when Maureen almost ran you over on her motorcycle. There was also the time when you practically crushed Maureen with last year's Christmas tree. . ."
"Ok, ok, ok!" Roger gave up. Maureen pretended to be angry.
"That Christmas tree gave me a huge bruise on my ass! And it's still there! You wanna see the damage you did?!"
"Uh, I'll pass." Roger quickly turned away and Maureen giggled hysterically.
"Two words: hang. . .over," Roger groaned as he rolled out of bed. "Oh God, my head!"
Mimi laughed at him. "You're just a big baby! And hangover is one word," she teased as she followed him into the living room.
"Meems. . ." he whispered. "Why is Maureen asleep on our couch?"
"Oh. Well, I'll explain some other time." Roger gave her a questioning look. "Just don't ask her about anything, alright?"
"Fine," he shrugged.
"Mo." Mimi nudged her. She sleepily opened her eyes.
"Oh, shit. Did I fall asleep?" she groaned.
"For a few hours."
"Wow. I'm sorry. God, I was just emotionally exhausted I guess. It's not every day you lose your girlfriend and find out you're. . ."She stopped when she saw that Roger was in the room. "I mean, I was just tired, that's all." She lowered her voice. "Mimi, did you tell. . .?"
"No. Of course not. Not until you're ready."
"Ok. Thanks." Maureen let out a sigh of relief.
Roger gave Mimi a confused look, but she shook her head and mouthed, "Later."
Mark stumbled into the living room. "Happy New Year's day. Mo? What are you doing here?" Roger mimicked Mimi and shook his head, so Mark quickly changed the subject. "I mean, good morning. How's the hangover, Rog?"
He groaned. "Shitty."
Mark reached into the refrigerator and pulled out three eggs, orange juice, strawberry yogurt, and a pickle.
Mimi and Maureen exchanged surprised looks. "What are you doing?"
Mark paid no attention and mixed the unusual ingredients in a blender. He poured the disgusting concoction into a glass and handed it to Roger. "Drink this. It'll help the hangover."
"You have got to be kidding me." Roger rolled his eyes. Mark poured himself a glass, plugged his nose, and chugged it down with a grin.
"Seriously. It helps."
"I'll take a rain check." Roger dumped the contents down the drain and poured himself some orange juice.
"Fine then. You're really missing out, Rog. I'm going out filming." Mark flung his scarf around his neck and walked out the door.
----------------------------------------------------------
"Central Park on New Year's day. It's freezing cold here in New York, but there is warmth in our hearts as we begin the New Year." Mark laughed. "That was so cheesy." He turned off him camera.
"You can say that again." Mark jumped as he heard a voice from the bench behind him.
"Collins! What are you doing here?"
"I was just going for a walk. I needed to think." Mark sat down beside him.
"You know, Collins, you've been doing a lot of 'thinking' these days. I mean. . .what I'm trying to say is. . .you're just off by yourself a lot. We're worried about you."
Collins shrugged. "Don't be. I just need some time."
"Time for what?"
"Thinking."
Mark sighed. "You have always been such an enigma." Collins smiled.
"It's one of my many talents," he grinned sarcastically.
Mark began to speak, but then stopped himself. "You're going to ask me if I'm still grieving about Angel," Collins muttered. Mark nodded sheepishly.
"So you're an enigma and a psychic."
"To answer you're question, I don't think I'll ever get over Angel. She was the most amazing person I've ever met, and I know we were destined to be together. And now that has been taken away from me. There was always this glimmer of hope in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, there would be a way for her to come back. I don't know why, Mark. It was the only hope I had. And now here comes the New Year and there's still no Angel. She's gone forever, and it took me a whole year to realize it. I will never be the same again. Not without her."
Mark was taken aback by the pain in his voice. Collins. . .strong, smart, Collins seemed as helpless as a child. Mark sighed. "You'll find someone. There's someone out there for you."
Collins shook his head. "I wish it that true, Mark." He walked away in silence.
------------------------------------------
Mimi could hear Roger strumming away on his guitar out on the fire escape. "Rog, what the hell are you doing? You're fingers will freeze and you'll never be able to play again."
"It's not that cold. Really!" he called. "I'll just be a few more minutes."
Mimi turned to Maureen who was sitting at the kitchen table scribbling furiously on a paper napkin.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm working on a song for the band," she replied.
"I didn't know you were a song writer."
Maureen giggled. "I am now. Of course, I could never compete with your darling Roger!"
Mimi smiled. "So. . .you know, you're going to have to schedule an appointment with your doctor soon."
"I know," she said without looking up from her napkin.
"So how do you feel?"
"Exhausted."
"I didn't mean physically."
Maureen stopped writing and sat down on the couch next to Mimi. "I don't know. I guess it just hasn't really hit me yet. It's like it's all happening to somebody else."
Mimi nodded, and just then Roger stepped in. "What's this I hear about Maureen writing a song?" Maureen blushed.
"It's nothing really, just. . ." Roger grabbed the napkin off the table.
"Wow."
"I know. It totally sucks. It's just for the wedding band. . ." Maureen explained
"No. Mo, this is really good."
"Are you serious?"
Roger didn't reply, but he plucked a few strings on his guitar. "Here." He handed her the napkin. "Sing this." He played a short tune, and Maureen began to sing along.
"She hides in her shadow She's afraid of her own true self But she'll act out a scene Of confidence and pride So calm and undoubting That she can take a leap of faith You don't think you can harm her 'Cause you think she's predestined And safe Don't let it surprise you when She lets her guard down And don't let it defy you When she falls down," she sang in her belty, rock voice. "Hey, Rog, that was great!"
Mimi laughed. "You two have finally found something in common. So now maybe you'll get along better."
"What are you talking about? Mo and I get along just fine," Roger protested.
"Ok. Let's think. Last month, you two were in a screaming match because someone ate the last pear. Then there was the time when Maureen almost ran you over on her motorcycle. There was also the time when you practically crushed Maureen with last year's Christmas tree. . ."
"Ok, ok, ok!" Roger gave up. Maureen pretended to be angry.
"That Christmas tree gave me a huge bruise on my ass! And it's still there! You wanna see the damage you did?!"
"Uh, I'll pass." Roger quickly turned away and Maureen giggled hysterically.