A/N: This is my first Rent fanfic, so I hope you like it. If I get enough positive reviews, this might turn into a multi chapter story, so yeah. Tell me what you think and if I should continue.
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Maureen sat on the couch, twirling her hair around her finger, watching her girlfriend type feverishly at her computer. This was how Maureen spent many of her nights. Pretending to watch TV, but really watching Joanne. She'd pray for her to get up just once, and pay attention to her. However, Joanne never even got up to do as much as get a glass of water- she left that to Maureen, who didn't exactly mind performing the task. At least it gave her something to do. She would then return to her post and sigh, over dramatically of course, and resume her hair twisting.
"Pookie..." the diva whined, examining the hair wrapped around her finger, like a vine wrapped around a tree.
Joanne sighed, and turned around on her chair to face her miserable lover. "Honey, I told you, I have a lot of work to do. The more you distract me the longer it'll take."
Maureen groaned. She was definitely an excellent actress,Joanne would give her that. The pained look on her face completely resembled that of a person who had been struck by a car. "How much longer can it possibly take?" the drama queen whined.
"Maureen please," Joanne muttered, massaging her temples, "not tonight."
"Honeybear just take a break," Maureen pleaded, walking over to the lawyer and putting her hands on her shoulders. "Just sit down and watch TV for half an hour. Then you can return to your amazingly interesting work." She added the last sentiment with a roll of the eyes.
Joanne shook her head. She'd much rather spend time with Maureen- that was no contest; but work was a priority, a necessity. Without it, she and Maureen would be living in the loft with Roger and Mark. She knew this, but it still broke her heart to see her stare at the television for hours, watching the same reruns of the same shows over and over again. It broke her heart even more that Maureen laughed at the jokes every time, as if it was the first time she heard them.
"Just go to bed Maureen," Joanne told her, "I'll join you later."
Maureen whined something about not being tired and not wanting to go to sleep without her and why can't she have a "funner" job that didn't take up her time; most of which Joanne blocked out with the sound of rapidly tapping computer keys. Finally, a very agitated Maureen agreed to go and change into her pajamas. After finishing just that, she was back in the room.
Joanne held her head in her hands, frustration filling her. "What now Maureen?" she demanded.
Maureen put on her wounded puppy face, and shuffled over to the fuming lawyer, her fuzzy cow slippers rubbing against the carpet. "I just wanted a kiss goodnight..." she muttered in her most innocent voice.
Joanne looked into Maureen's eyes as they filled with crocodile tears (Maureen could cry on command, a fact Joanne had learned early in the relationship) and apologized for accusing her in such a way. She kissed Maureen softly on the lips, said goodnight, and then sent her off to bed.
"I love you," Maureen whispered, disappointed, before trudging back to their room. She had hoped that when her girlfriend saw her in the tank top and shorts she wore to bed, the workaholic's decision would be swayed. Unfortunately for Maureen, however, it proved to have no effect on Joanne, who simply dived back into her work.
It wasn't until five minutes later that Joanne realized she'd forgotten to say, "I love you too."
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The next morning, Joanne awoke in front of her computer, curled up in a rather uncomfortable position in her chair. She stood slowly, and felt as if her joints had been locked in one position for hundreds of years, instead of only a few hours. Then she remembered work. She glanced quickly at her watch and groaned. She was running late.
With no time to waste, she walked quickly but quietly down the hallway to the bedroom, not wanting to wake Maureen. She'd have to put up with more noise than she was in the mood for if she woke her.
Upon entering the bedroom, she found her girlfriend wrapped up in the down comforter, shivering like mad. She considered getting the poor thing a sweater, or another blanket, but then noticed the time, and decided against it. Maureen would be up in an hour or two anyway. She was completely capable of getting a blanket herself.
With a black suit in hand, Joanne left the room as quietly as she had entered, and went to get a shower. She had taken showers at night her entire life, then she moved in with Maureen, who took unnecessarily long showers, leaving the next person with little to no hot water. She had tried to persuade Maureen to switch to morning showers, but the drama queen had gone off onto a tangent about how it would, "totally throw her off balance," so Joanne had grudgingly agreed to switch instead.
Today however, she ended up taking a cold shower anyway, hoping it would help her to take less time. She used up the last of the shampoo (she'd have to remember to pick some up on the way home for Maureen), more of which got in her eyes rather than her hair. She didn't bother trying to rinse it out though, that could be done at the office. Instead, quickly she got dressed, still half soaked, and grabbed her coat, running out the door just in time.
Making her way down the steps of her apartment complex, Joanne worked through her schedule in her head, and decided that she had enough time to set aside for a short lunch with Maureen. She shook her head, as it occurred to her that she should've left a note for Maureen, so she'd know not to go out anywhere else. "Oh well," Joanne said to herself, walking out onto the sidewalk, "I'll just call her before lunch."
It didn't take Joanne very long at all to get a cab, and she got to the office in record time. "Maybe today won't be so bad after all, " she decided as she walked into work right on time. She grabbed a cup of coffee and made her way to her office, already excited for lunch.
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A few hours later, the phone rang in Joanne's office.
This was not an unusual occurrence. She got phone calls all the time. Phone calls telling her she had a meeting, calls telling her a meeting was canceled, calls from her mother, calls from her father, calls from Maureen. She got calls from just about everyone.
She glanced at the clock before answering the phone. One thirty. She had worked through lunch. It was probably Maureen.
"Hello?" she answered, scribbling some things down on to her "to-do" list, and preparing a list of reasons why she hadn't left a note or called about lunch.
"Hi, this is Dr. Ambuster from St. Mary's Hospital, is this Joanne Jefferson speaking?" a man with a deep, scratchy voice asked.
The hospital. Joanne's great aunt probably had another stroke. Poor woman. "Yes, this is Joanne."
"Are you familiar with anyone by the name of Maureen Johnson?" the man asked.
Her heart stopped.
MAUREEN!
What was wrong with her pookie, her honeybear, her lover, her angel, her baby?
"Miss Jefferson?"
"Y-yes, I know her. She's my girlfriend. We...we live together. What happened?" She let a sigh of relief as her head cleared, realizing Maureen must be conscious if she told them to call her.
"Maureen was involved in a car accident earlier this morning. She was hit by a drunk driver going through a red light."
Relief fell over Joanne. "That's not my Maureen sir," she replied, "we don't have a car."
"She was in a taxi cab. She's currently unconscious, but the driver isn't. He said he was driving Maureen to your office, around lunch time."
She's currently unconscious. Joanne's blood ran cold, her head pounded, her pulse rushed. Maureen had been coming to see her for lunch. Why hadn't she called?
Because you were too wrapped up in your work.
"How'd you get my number?" she demanded. She refused to believe this. This was some prank that Maureen was pulling. "Dr. Ambuster" was probably Collins.
"Maureen had a business card for your law firm in her wallet. There was a circle around your name and number. On the back it said, 'Pookie's work number.'"
Joanne fought tears.
"Is...is she going to be okay?"
There was silence on the other end.
"Dr. Ambuster?"
"I think you better come down here, " the doctor answered, "Soon."
Joanne was out of her office in a second.
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No more than five minutes later, Joanne burst through the doors of St. Mary's Hospital, and ran up to the reception desk, where a blonde woman in her 20s or 30s was sitting, filing her nails.
"My name is Joanne Jefferson," she told the receptionist, out of breath, "Dr. Ambuster called me, telling me that my girlfriend Maureen Johnson was in a car crash, and that I should come down here."
The receptionist nodded and paged the doctor, and Joanne took a seat in the waiting area, fidgeting more than a three year old on a car trip.
"Miss Jefferson?"
Joanne looked up to see a man with a thick, brown beard and sad eyes looking at her. Dr. Ambuster. He wasn't Collins. This wasn't a joke.
Joanne stood up and walked over to him. Something wasn't right. He wouldn't look her right in the eyes. He looked pained. Her heart pounded. She would've liked to say she was ready for the worst, but she wasn't ready at all.
"We lost her," he whispered, "just two minutes ago."
Joanne's heart stopped.
He offered to take her to Maureen's room, so she could see her deceased lover, and she agreed.
The halls were haunted with Maureen's voice. She could hear her, clearly as if she was standing right next to her.
Pookie...
Why hadn't she stopped working last night? Why didn't she watch just one last half hour of television with her diva?
I just wanted a kiss goodnight...
Why hadn't she kissed Maureen like she meant it? Why hadn't she gotten off her stupid ass and gone to bed with her? Why hadn't she held her one last time?
I love you.
Why, why in the name of God had she not said, "I love you too"? Four lousy words that try to sum up everything she felt for Maureen. Why hadn't she taken two seconds out of her busy schedule to say those four words, so Maureen could hear them just one last time? Had Maureen left this world not knowing whether Joanne truly loved her or not? It ate her soul just to think that.
Dr. Ambuster opened the door to what she assumed was Maureen's room, and let her in.
And there she was.
Except, it wasn't her.
Well, of course it was her, but it wasn't her. It was her body, the shell she was kept in, but her soul was gone, the whole air about her that made her Maureen Johnson, her lively spirit that made Joanne fall hard and fast for her. Vanished. She looked so peaceful. Like she was asleep.
She remembered seeing Maureen asleep that morning. Shivering. It was the last time Joanne had seen her lover alive.
Why hadn't she gotten her a blanket?
She could've been late, just once. Maureen was worth being late for.
Why did she have to be such a perfectionist?
She sat down next to Maureen, and held her hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks, sobs escaped her chest, her whole person shook with grief. Maureen was gone. She wasn't coming back.
Joanne bawled. She ran her hand through Maureen's hair, down her face, and bawled. She squeezed Maureen's lifeless hand and bawled. "Maureen..." she choked through sobs.
She'd give anything, anything for one more day, one more hour, one more minute, one last kiss, with Maureen. One more "I love you."
Dr. Ambuster walked in.
"Joanne?" he whispered, sounding concerned. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Joanne, are you okay?" he pressed.
Was she okay? Why in the world would she be okay?
"Joanne, answer me, " he persisted.
As he continued, the room around her started to blacken. Dr. Ambuster's voice started to get higher, smoother, sweeter.
Suddenly, it was pitch black.
Where was she?
Had she passed out?
"Joanne..."
Was that him? No...this voice wasn't one that belonged to a man. She knew it, though. She definitely knew it.
Her eyes started to adjust. She saw the outline of a face. A woman's face. The woman was on top of her. She kind of looked like...
"Pookie?"
Joanne blinked about twenty times.
"Maureen?" she finally whispered.
It couldn't be. Maureen was dead. She had just seen her.
"Are you ok?" Maureen asked.
Joanne stared at her for a few seconds. Had she died too? Did she have a heart attack?
"Where...where are we Maureen?" Joanne finally asked.
Maureen ran a hand through Joanne's hair, and even in the dark, Joanne could see a concerned look in her eyes. "Our bedroom," she whispered, "where else would we be?"
Joanne couldn't understand what was going on. She had held Maureen's dead hand, ran her hand through her dead hair. Now Maureen was here, on top of her. Talking.
"What happened Maureen?" she asked, running her hands through Maureen's curls.
"I woke up," Maureen replied, "and you were crying. You were saying my name. I didn't know what was wrong."
Tears rolled down Joanne's face. It had been a dream. An obnoxiously vivid one, but a dream all the same. Joanne kissed Maureen. She kissed her with passion, with meaning, with love.
"I love you Maureen," she whispered.
Maureen smiled. "I love you too."
"Let's go out today," Joanne whispered in Maureen's ear, "We'll go shopping, and out to eat too."
Maureen looked at her. "Don't you have to go to work?" she asked.
Joanne shook her head. "Not today baby," she whispered, "not today."
