Written for the "Speed Contest" on the Rent100 LJ community...

Disclaimer: All belong to Mister Larson. The teabag on the counter bit is from "Sex and the City". I do own Betty, which is exciting.

Roger Davis was a bitter, bitter boy. He had tried twenty-one times already. Twenty-one times and still no proposal. Every time, something interrupted him and Mimi went on, never knowing what he was about to do. Mark was… preoccupied at the moment and couldn't spare a second to help his best friend.

The first time he proposed, he had taken Mimi to the Life Café. Of course, Mimi realized she had work and rushed off right in the middle of her Tofu Dog, before Roger even had a chance to pull out the ring he had worked to buy.

Two days later, Roger wrote Mimi a song, complete with the timeless lyrics "I've got an idea to pitch- Why don't you and I get hitched?" He figured it was the thought that counted. Mark, being the thoughtful roommate he was, decided to clean the apartment in an effort to impress Maureen once and for all. The first thing to go into the closet was Roger's beaten-up old Fender. That night, when Mimi came home, Roger reached for the guitar. All Mimi heard was a thud, and as she turned around, her heart stopped: Roger was passed out on the ground.

"Oh my God! Roger, baby, are you okay?" she screamed, slapping him across the face. "Roger, wake up!"

"Betty," he whispered, barely awake. Mimi dropped the head she had been cradling in her lap.

"Roger Davis," she began icily, "Who the hell is Betty?"

"Fender… gone…" he croaked and fell asleep once more. Mimi laughed and, deciding he was a hopeless case, went down to her apartment.

The next day, Roger woke up with a pounding headache and a sense of impending doom. Where was Betty? He loved her, needed her, couldn't live without her. Mark picked that exact moment to walk in.

"Mark, buddy, have you seen Betty?" he muttered frantically.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah… She's in the closet." Mark answered, somewhat distractedly. "So, have you asked Mimi yet?"

"How can you even think of Mimi at a time like this? You threw my baby in a closet!" And with that, Roger ran to the small hall closet, pulled Betty out, caressed her, and dragged her to his bedroom, where he spent the entire morning showing her exactly how much he missed her.

So, that was two times. For the third time, Roger decided to try the song once more. Singers were hot, right? She'd have to agree. He sat down with Betty and began to practice. He opened his mouth and began to sing. Only… nothing came out. Not even a croak. Roger was terrified. He ran to Mark's room, only to find the blond in bed. Roger didn't hesitate to shake him awake. Once Mark had put his glasses on, Roger began to point frantically to his throat. For the second time in recent history, he was laughed at.

"Haha, Mr. Big Time Rock Star lost his voice." Mark managed to say. "Oh, this is too perfect… Hold on and let me get my camera."

That was when Roger decided that maybe the song wasn't the best idea.

Roger's voice was gone for the next few days, forcing him to communicate by writing notes on little pieces of paper for people to read. He decided to leave one for Mimi, asking her to be his. There was one flaw to this plan: Roger's handwriting was atrocious.

When Mimi found the paper, she read it as, "Will you get curry for me?"

"Well, sure, baby." she replied, puzzled by his curious request. Roger shook his head but it was too late. Mimi was already out the door and headed for the Indian place down the street. Four down.

Roger was running out of options. For all his musical talent, he wasn't a very creative person. He decided that if proposal number five didn't work out, he would bring in outside help. Proposal number five did not work. Apparently, Mimi was allergic to the large bouquet of flowers he bought for her. Too distracted to get the ring out of the attached envelope, he threw the vase away.

The next day, after he had sufficiently "cured" Mimi, (for Roger had cured her. He cured her all night long) he remembered the ring. He jumped out of bed and ran to the trash only to find an empty metal can.

"Mark," he screamed. "Where's the trash?"

"Took it out this morning," came a suspiciously muffled sound.

Roger was baffled.
"You never take the trash out." Then, it clicked for Roger. This meant that the ring was in the dumpster, outside the loft. Rushing out the door, Roger belatedly realized that he had no pants or shirt on.

'No time for that,' he thought and continued on his way. He didn't count on it being 40 degrees outside.

Luckily, he managed to find the ring relatively and, with chattering teeth and blue lips, made his way back inside.

He hid the ring in Betty's case before returning to the bedroom. Mimi, he was glad to see, was still asleep, dark curls spread angelically over the pillow. She stirred just then and in the hazy fog of sickness and sleep, he muttered "I love you, Meems" before falling into a deep slumber.

He awoke hours (or was it days) later, to the feeling of something cool being pressed to his forehead. He opened his eyes to see Mimi standing over him, watching him with a very worried expression on her tanned face.

"Meems?" he whispered, "What's wrong?"

"You're sick, baby. We think you have pneumonia. Why did you go out into the cold in just boxers?"

It was now or never.

"Mimi, will you…" And then he sneezed, all over Mimi.

"Will I?" she asked.

"…get me some Kleenex?" he replied sheepishly. And that was six.

The next day, he called Mark into his sickroom to discuss his problem.

"I don't know, man, it's like some cosmic force is pushing us apart, you know?"

"Yeah, Rog, I don't know what to say. Maybe you should forget about trying to do this perfectly and just ask her. Mimi loves you and she wants to be with you. It doesn't matter whether you ask her here or on a deserted island. Maybe you should ask her at a…" Mark glanced surreptitiously at his watch just then and cried in alarm "Oh, shit, man. Sorry, I have to go. You know… work and… yeah." And then he left, leaving Roger alone once more. In his head, Roger called this proposal seven.

The only other person he could think of to help him was Maureen, and he really did not want to call her. He decided to wait until 10 failed proposals to call in Avenue B's resident drama queen. He had three more to go, and he was feeling pretty good. A few days later, Roger was up and about again, all traces of illness gone. He called Mimi over for a toast to his good health. After a bottle of cheap wine, Roger was feeling pretty confident.

"Hey, Mimi?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Your hair is really pretty." His voice cracked just then. She giggled, earning a half-hearted glare.

"Um.. Mimi? Do you think maybe we could…" he started, unable to form his thoughts into words.

"Uh, Rog?" Mark's voice sounded from his bedroom, harsh and raspy. Mark limped out into the living room before collapsing on the couch. "I think I caught what you had."

"Shit, Rog" Mimi said, feeling Mark's forehead. "He's burning up."

"No, guys, go away. If you catch this again, I'll be fine. Just call someone up… Collins. Or Maureen." Mark's voice sounded strangely hopeful at this last suggestion.

So, Roger called Maureen and begged her to come over and help Mark. Mark, relieved that someone was coming, kicked Roger out of the loft and told him to go stay at Mimi's.

Roger couldn't help but blame Mark for ruining proposal number eight.

A few minutes later, Maureen burst into Mimi's apartment, carrying what appeared to be a bag full of condensed chicken soup. She was energetic as always, but this seemed to be a whole new side to Miss Johnson.

"Am I too late? Is he okay? I stopped at the store to get some chick… Oh shit! Mark's vegetarian. I have to go. But I can't leave him. Where is he? Oh god. This is terrible."

"Mo, calm down." Mimi, always one to pacify others, successfully calmed the older girl. "He's upstairs. He'll be fine. Just give him the chicken. He won't notice." And so, Maureen took off running towards the loft, determined to fish every last piece of chicken out of the soup.

"Wow," Mimi remarked. "Maureen seemed really worried about Mark."

"Yeah, listen, umm…" Roger started, determined to gain the upper hand in this situation, "I've been thinking. Maybe we should"

"Set Mark and Maureen up? Oh my god, me too!" Mimi screamed happily. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!"

'Nine,' thought Roger.

The next morning, when Roger woke up, it took him a few minutes to remember where he was. Right, Mimi's. Today was the day, he decided, because he really didn't want to ask Maureen for help. He went into the kitchen, made a cup of tea, and set his teabag on the counter, just like he did in the loft. He sat down with the latest "Rolling Stone", and before long a sleepy Mimi came in.

"Morning sweetheart," he said as he placed a small kiss on her forehead.

"Morning. Why are you in such a good mood?"

"Because, my dear, I want to talk to you."

"Ok, go ahea-" But Mimi stopped then, her gaze fixed on a small object behind Roger's shoulder. With despair, he realized what it was.

That fucking teabag.

"ROGER DAVIS, how many times do I have to tell you to throw away your goddamn teabags and not leave them all over my counter? I am trying to keep this shithole clean and you are certainly not helping."

Had Mimi said all that in one breath? Roger wasn't even mad at her for yelling anymore. Frankly, he was impressed by her lung capacity.

'Well,' he thought miserably. 'There's ten. Better go find Maureen.'

He did find Maureen, sitting by Mark's bedside, wiping his forehead with a cool washcloth. He thought he noticed something shiny, but blamed it on stress.

"Hey, Mo. Is he asleep?"

"Yeah. What's up? Why aren't you at Mimi's?"

"Long story. Teabags." Having lived with Roger for quite some time, Maureen knew all about his inability to throw a teabag away.

"Right."

"Anyways, can you help me?"

"What's this? The famous Roger Davis, debonair lead singer of the Well Hungarians, asking for help? Of course, doll, what is it?"

"Wellikindawantoproposebutitsnotworking," he managed to say.

"Come again?"

"How do I propose?"

"Well, Mark just asked." Wait, WHAT? And then he looked at her hand again, and, sure enough, the shiny thing he saw earlier was a glittering engagement band.

"That son of a bitch. Didn't even tell me."

"Yeah, well, I think you should just ask her." Mark woke just then and muttered something that vaguely resembled "water". As Maureen tended to him, Roger realized just how caring and loving she was being. 'Well, I'll be damned.' he thought 'Now, was that eleven?"

Proposal twelve came in the form of Maureen's MISSION P12. She thought it would be easier to talk about if they had codenames. Knowing Roger's luck, it was not surprising when Mimi walked in during one of their planning sessions.

"What's Mission P12?" she asked.

"Um…" Roger was, for once, at a loss for words.

"Ask her," hissed Maureen in the background, before disappearing out the door.

"Ask me what?"

And here it was, the perfect opportunity. It just didn't seem right though.

"Well… I was thinking we should take a trip."

Twelve.

So he took Mimi to the playground. There was a big plastic airplane, complete with fake cockpit and everything.

"See, this is Mission P12. Now, where do you want to go?"

"Oh, anywhere," she said. "How about you?"

"Why don't we just fly around for a while?"

So they did, joking and talking, occasionally kissing, and just enjoying being in each other's company. Roger briefly considered asking her here. The ring felt heavy in his pocket and he longed to get rid of the burden of carrying it around, waiting for the right moment. Then he remembered that this would be thirteen. Unlucky. So, they flew around some more, before calling it a night and heading home to play "Pilot and Stewardess".

Proposals fourteen through twenty-one went about as well as the first thirteen. He tried new restaurants, gardens, the zoo. He even took her to a Broadway show. Eventually, at twenty-two, he decided to try something decidedly Mimi: he would ask her on the dance floor.

Roger, Mimi, Mark, and Maureen went dancing a few days later and, when a particularly sultry tango number came on, Roger decided it was time to make his move.

He dipped Mimi low and slowly, seductively brought his lips to her ear.

"Mimi, darling," he whispered in what he hoped was a sexy tone.

"Yes," she purred as she ran a hand along his chest. So shocked by this change of power, he abruptly dropped Mimi onto the dance floor.

Well, there goes twenty-two.

Twenty-three attempts at a proposal were far too many. Finally, one average day, about 9 months after this whole thing started, Roger decided to buck up and do it. He called Mimi over, sat her down, told her to listen, and started talking.

"Meems… Mimi… I love you. I know I don't say it a lot and I know I don't show it a lot but I do. I was dead without you. I was nothing. And you have come and you have given me a reason to live. And I love you. Not just that you're beautiful, either. I love that you can't play the guitar for shit. I love that you hate how I leave my teabags everywhere. I love that you're jealous of Betty. Mostly, thought, I love that you love me."

"Roger," Mimi said. (Were those tears in her eyes?) "What are you trying to say?"

He took a deep breath and got down on one knee.

"Melissa Gabriella Marquez, will…"

RINGRINGRINGRING

"Oh, you're fucking kidding me." he said before lunging at the phone. Twenty-three.

"WHAT?" Roger screamed into the receiver. Apparently Maureen wasn't paying attention and obviously thought he was Mark.

"You left your boxers over here, big boy." She cooed. "You know, the Mickey Mouse ones. I'm wearing them right now. Just them."

"Oh my god, Maureen, what the hell?"

"Roger?" she screeched. "Put Mark on the phone."

"No, Maureen. I'm fucking busy." He hung up the phone before turning back to Mimi.

"Fuck it, Mimi, will you marry me?"

And to Roger's surprise and indignation, Mimi laughed.

"Well fine, then, if you feel that way, I would like you to leave my home." He tried to sound cold and uncaring, but ending up finishing the sentence in a strangled hiccup. Was he crying? He hadn't cried since April died, years ago.

"No, you idiot." Mimi put her hand in his. "Of course, I'll marry. I'm laughing because I've been waiting for 6 months for you to propose."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew, Rog, Mark told me when you first told him. That's why he was able to give you such good advice about the ring. And speaking of the ring, where is it?"

Crying, Roger slipped it on her finger. He was pretty sure that these were happy tears, though.
"Just how many times have you tried to ask?" Mimi asked curiously.

"Twenty-four," Roger muttered embarrassedly, before Mimi pulled his lips to hers, her new engagement ring sparkling in the moonlight.

Fin.

So there you go. Please comment!