Chapter Siete!

A/n. Ha. You thought you'd get a normal title! Anyway, I'm fully aware that this chapter is obscenely short. BUT it's because I like the ending, and it didn't seem right to add on. So, get pissed at me for having short chapters, but that's how I operate. PLEASE DON'T STOP READING! And… reviews are still desperately wanted! I mean, it makes me want to go faster, wink wink Okay. Enough propaganda!

Joanne laughed drunkenly. "Oh, man! I am going to be so hammered! I think--- I think--- I think I should stop," she said, reaching for another drink, but collapsing onto the counter laughing.

"Joanne?"

"Collins! Hey, man! What're you doing here?" she asked, her words slurred.

"Uh, Jo, how many drinks have you had?"

"Um… 3? 4?" she replied, her face contorted into a look of concentration.

"You always could get drunk off almost nothing." Joanne laughed and swiped at the philosopher.

"Anyway," she continued, swaying as she stood. "What are you doing here?"

"Playing the responsible one for Mark and Roger."

"Mark?" Her glazed-over eyes focused a little.

"Yeah," he replied suspiciously. "Over there," he pointed.

"Maybe I'll--- I'll--- talk to him," she said, making her way to the table, but fell. Unfazed, she gasped for air between laughs. "Mee-ster Tom Collins! I think I need help." He rolled his eyes and grasped her forearm.

"Look who I found," he said to the two men. Mark's eyes widened.

"Joanne! What are you doing here?"

"Drowning Maureen in booze! Helloooooooo? I'm sick of that cow, so I'm trying to forget her!"

"Y'know, Jo, you're just going to remember everything you're trying to forget in the morning with a killer hangover to boot," Roger said taking a swig from his drink. Joanne made a sound like, "pfft!" and sat down.

"Here, Marky, have some!" she said, pushing a drink on Mark, sloshing it over onto his jacket. This must be why she never gets drunk in front of us, he thought dabbing at the spill. "Come on!" she insisted, so Mark swallowed some. The bitter liquid burned all the way down his throat. And this is why I never get drunk.

"So, why are you here, besides trying to forget Mo?" Collins asked. Joanne made a throaty noise and took a breath.

"Well…. Maureen says to me, she sorry, and I'm the only one she loves! Blah blah blah! How many times have I heard that?" She paused to laugh. "Anyways… I wasn't taking that bullet again, so I grabbed my crap and left! So now I don't have a--- a--- a house!" she explained giggling.

"What were you going to do? Like, where were you planning to go?" Mark asked, trying to sound casual. Joanne sighed.

"I dunno. I rented a car to put my crap in."

"Well, maybe you could stay at the loft while you figure things out?" he asked, in a miserably failed attempt to be nonchalant. Roger rolled his eyes and ordered another drink.

"Mark, really? You would do that for me? See? This is why I think I'm in love with you! Which really complicates things, because I'm supposed to be a lesbian!" Mark's eyes widened further.

"Calm down, Mark, you look like a bug."