A/N: Hey guys, sorry this is so depressing but it kind of fits with the plot. And please don't kill me...this is, after all, a show fic, meaning you know what it eventually comes back to...hang in there, I've got some great scenes planned for later.

Chapter 3 (Mark)

"There are eggs in turkey?" asks Maureen, standing at the counter and watching me separate them into a bowl.

"No," I answer, "but there are eggs in stuffing."

Joanne rolls her eyes.

"Eggs are evil," says Maureen, taking one out of my carton and bashing it against the counter. The egg shatters, dribbling on the floor. Joanne dives for a wash cloth and begins wiping it up.

"They get all messy and spread diseases," continues Maureen as though nothing has happened. "And how can you eat them anyway? It's like a chicken's period!"

"Who's got their period?" asks Mimi, coming in from the bedroom, still dressed in an old t-shirt and sweat pants, though it's well after noon.

"No one," says Joanne wearily.

"The chicken," says Maureen at the same time.

"Chicken?" asks Mimi distractedly, looking into the refrigerator. I mentally cross my fingers that she comes back with food—she's barely eaten in the month since Roger left.

"The chicken that's in the turkey!" says Maureen proudly.

Mimi shuts the refrigerator absently, goes into the living room and stands in front of the window.

Joanne gets up from cleaning the floor and gives Maureen a look.

"I have a feeling someone's been sampling the champagne a little early."

Maureen bursts into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

"Oh my god," breathes Joanne in exasperation. Maureen flicks a dishtowel at her.

I shake my head and go into the other room, leaving them to duke it out by themselves and hoping they won't ruin the turkey. By this point, though, I'm a little beyond caring.

I go into the living room and stand behind Mimi, who's still looking out the window. It's a gray day outside, not raining so much as misting, but it's more than enough to make everything feel cold, dead, and damp.

"You okay?" I ask softly, figuring there's no need to bring Maureen and Joanne in on this.

Mimi jumps a little, but doesn't turn away. Then I see what she's looking at. A battered black car is coasting down the street, going slowly in the bad weather. For a minute I think it's going to turn in, stop in front of our building, but then it keeps going, and I start to breathe again.

"I'm sorry," I mutter.

She turns and looks at me after a moment, her eyes empty.

"You thought so too?"

I nod slowly.

"So I'm not crazy then."

I force a smile.

"Maybe we both are."

(Roger)

The house smells funny when I walk inside. At first I'm so zoned out that I wonder if I somehow still have windshield washing fluid all over me.

Much as I'm grateful to Sam for getting me the job, it's absolutely exhausting, and even the sofa at her small house is beginning to feel like a featherbed.

"Hello?" I call, knowing Sam will be wondering where I've been.

I normally come straight home from work, but today I decided to take a walk to the little park nearby and try to work on my song. Somehow it only made me miss home more.

I tell myself to give it up, that I can never go back, that there's nothing for me there and I'm happy here with Sam…but secretly I can't stop counting the days until my car is fixed and I can be back on the road again.

I walk into the living room and suddenly realize what the smell is. Food. A real Thanksgiving dinner, turkey and all, laid out by candlelight on the coffee table. Sam is seated, grinning, on the sofa I've been using as a bed for the past month, wearing a low-cut black dress and long dangling earrings.

My heart skips a beat, then sends my stomach into sickening flip flops as I realize what I've gotten myself into.

"Wow," I breathe, sitting down beside her. "I've never seen you…you look…wow."

Sam cocks her head at me, grinning.

"Finish your sentences. Is that a good wow or a bad wow?"

"A…good wow?" I stammer, then make up my mind. "A very good wow. You cooked all this? I didn't know you could cook."

She blushes, looks at the ground.

"No…but…I'm a damn good caller for takeout."

I laugh at that.

"It looks good," I say lamely.

Sam raises and eyebrow at me.

"You wanna try some?"

She spears a piece of turkey on a fork and holds it up to my lips. I bite down on it, feeling strangely like a little kid. I can tell it is good, but somehow to me it only tastes like sand. I force myself to swallow.

"Delicious," I choke.

Sam looks at me for a moment, then shakes her head a little.

"You miss home?" she asks suddenly.

I choke, and spend several minutes coughing before I can talk again.

"No," I finally manage.

Sam narrows her eyes at me, not completely convinced.

"You don't miss anyone there?"

"No!" I say, more forcefully than I'd meant to.

Sam smiles, apparently convinced.

"Good."

She leans forward and brushes her lips against mine.

(Mark)

"So," I say, as we finally all sit down around the aluminum folding table in the living room.

The turkey is cooked, though a little blackened, thanks to Maureen tampering with the timer. There's a pumpkin pie from the Food Emporium that Joanne ran out and bought at the last minute, and a rather wilted looking bunch of flowers in the middle of the table. The champagne is already gone.

"What a lovely dinner," I say, trying and failing to sound enthusiastic.

Everyone nods. No one says anything about the fact that Roger and Collins are both missing. Not to mention Angel.

"So, who wants to serve?"

No one moves.

"All right then," I say, still trying to sound festive, "how about we say what we're thankful for first?"

"Fine," says Maureen, giggling.

"Would you like to go first?" I ask, hoping that maybe she can spark some life into the others.

"Alcohol," says Maureen, hiccupping.

Joanne shovels turkey onto Maureen's plate.

"Eat," she commands. "I do not need to deal with you passing out."

Maureen takes a tiny piece of turkey and makes a big show of chewing it. Joanne rolls her eyes.

"You're next," says Maureen, her mouth still full.

"Fine," says Joanne. "Good food. And a job."

Everyone turns to me and I realize I'm next. I think for a moment, then give my standard response.

"Friendship."

I turn to Mimi, who's sitting staring blankly at her plate. She looks up at me after a moment, starts to say something, then pushes her chair back and walks away from the table. Silently, we all watch her go into Roger's old room and close the door.

Happy Thanksgiving! Review please!