Disclaimer: See other disclaimers. Not re-writing these over and over again.

Thank you so much, evilemmylou, for helping on this one.

There I was. Back at home. Calm and relaxed. Back to normal.

For the moment.

In the morning, Mark was a little suspicious about me coming home before he woke up, as I knew he would be, but I smoothed that over in my usual way, getting up a little early to make him breakfast and shower him with kisses. He' s such a hopeless romantic type, it works every time.

"I know I came home a little early, baby. Joanne was feeling better, and anyway, I missed you," I finished. I knew he'd believe that. "I love you..."

"And I love you. Of course you missed me! You're a woman with a hot boyfriend!" he giggled. Now that made me laugh.

"Only the cutest! And alongside the adorable boyfriend, stands his absolutely charming-"

"Irritating-" he added, probably because he was sick of me talking about myself.

"Talented-" I said over him.

"Infuriating-"

"Cute-" I added, for the hell of it.

"Snobby, bitchy-" Hey, not all the time.

"Marvelous, attractive-"

"Messy, ungraceful, self-absorbed-" Now, that one hurt.

"Beautiful-" I tried to make up for it.

"Coquettish-" he had a point there.

"SEXY!" I squealed, throwing myself full-on into our stupid argument.

"All right, sexy..." he admitted.

"The sexiest..." I prompted.

"Okay, the sexiest, most beautiful girl in the whole wide world!" he finished.

"Thank you." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I am sexy, aren't I?"

"Of course you are, sweetie." There now, everything was all better.

"Well, then..." I winked flirtatiously.

"Are you implying something?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes!"

"Shall we?" he asked in his silly little way that I loved. I took his arm.

"Absolutely. After you, dearest," I said in a regal British accent, or my crappy imitation of one.

"No, no, ladies first," he insisted, copying my accent exactly, in the same high, fluty voice I used. I played along, rolling over onto the bed.

"My dear, breakfast is getting cold," I called from the bathroom an hour and a half later, after my shower.

"Screw breakfast. It was cold an hour ago, and Maureen darling, you're not the most fabulous cook in the world," came his sarcastic reply from the bedroom.

"Oh, thanks. Well, what shall we eat?"

"I dunno. I don't need to eat right now," he said, "so screw breakfast. I am full already, since I have already screwed you..." he said playfully.

"Don't give me that, Marky," I said mock-seriously, wagging my finger at him.

"Fine. I'm thinking of heading to the park today..."

"Why? To get away from me?" I asked, pretending to be offended.

"Of course not. I was thinking of filming today. Want to come?"

"Sure, I got nothing better to do," I responded truthfully. And so we set off to Central Park.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" yelled a high, fluty voice.

"What? Me?" I asked, confused.

"Not you, honey," said the same voice. "That fucker over there." I turned around. There stood a girl in some of the cutest clothes in the city, aside from mine. She was wearing a little dress that looked like it was made from plastic, over a little black dress (so nothing showed through), white fishnets, and these totally hot pink stilettos. She had large sunglasses perched in her black hair.

"Hey, cute outfit. Where'd you get the dress?" I couldn't help asking.

"This place down Lafayette St., near St. Mark's Place. It's called Screaming Mimi's. It has all this retro funky stuff. I got everything but the plastic dress there. That," she continued, indicating the plastic thing, "I made myself."

"That's awesome. Maybe I should check out that place sometimes. You into clothes designing much?"

"Not really. I just like to have fun."

"Me too. I'm going to classes, though. To be a fashion designer," I said shyly.

"Cool. Whatever floats your boat. Hey, what's your name?" she asked.

"Maureen. Johnson. And this is Mark Cohen."

"Nice. I'm Angel. Angel Dumott Schunard."

"Cool name." I liked this girl. "Hey, want to grab a coffee sometime? We can just chat for a while. I'd love to now, but we're going to Central Park to film a little," I explained.

"Sure. Here's my number," she said, writing something down on a small slip of paper. "Give me a ring sometime, and we can work something out. Invite your boyfriend along, too. Maybe I'll bring a friend, too."

"Sounds great!" I enthused, taking the paper from her and putting it in my pocket. "Have a great day, Angel!" Mark and I resumed our journey, and Angel headed in the opposite direction. "Well, she seems nice," I remarked to Marky.

"Very. He's got great taste in clothes."

"She, Mark. That was a girl." I wondered how he missed that.

"Um, Maureen. You're not as familiar with the City as I am. Let me tell you, so Angel doesn't have to. Angel's a guy. A gay guy. He's a drag queen."

"Oh," I said, feeling stupid. "Well, he's nice anyway."

"Yeah," Mark agreed. We spent the rest of the trip in silence.