Note: Thanks for all the reviews guys! I'm really glad you guys seem to be enjoying it. This one's a little longer than the last few, but I'm hoping you think it's worth it! It's the end of Maureen's ballet days.

InsaneAquaChic: yeah there are some inaccuracies. I realize Mimi's in contact with her mother in the play. I figure there's no mention of her father, so maybe her father did disown her and Angel. Let's just consider the Mimi and her family thing AU, ok:) And I realize not everyone in NY is related. The only people I've had be related in this story is Angel and Mimi and that's only because I wondered about the possibility of them being related as an explanation for their close friendship. Thanks for the honest opinion though.


Maureen stopped, frozen in place. She stared in the mirror. Who the hell had she become? Her brown curls were tied in a painfully tight bun on top of her head.

"Miss Johnson! Focus!" Madame yelled.

Madame glared at her. Maureen stared at the lean body in the mirror. She looked like a doll. Like a damned doll.

"I can't take this anymore," she said quietly.

Maureen could feel the gaze of the other dancers on her back. Seventeen years she'd been doing this. It was bullshit. Maureen stormed out of the dance school, not bothering to even change out of her slippers or even grab her bag. She found a pay phone and made a collect call to the only person who was always there.

"Yeah?"

"Roger, I need you to come get me."

"Okay. You at home?"

"Ballet."

"All right. Give me five?"

"Okay. Thanks."

True to his word, Roger pulled up in front of the ballet school five minutes later. Maureen jumped up from her seat against the brick face of the building and slid into the beat-up pickup. Roger laughed when he saw her still in her tights and bodysuit.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"It's okay. Why didn't you change though?"

"Didn't exactly wait for rehearsal to end."

Roger raised an eyebrow but pulled the truck back out into traffic. "So I'm guessing you don't want to go home?"

Maureen shook her head.

"My place then?"

"You mind?"

Roger shook his head. "Not at all."

They drove in silence to Roger's apartment. Maureen was surprised at how angry she suddenly felt. Seventeen fucking years she'd been doing this. And she'd never once enjoyed it. Sure, she was pretty damn good at it, but that wasn't the point. Maureen Johnson had never had the choice about dancing.

In the apartment, Roger cleared some of his usual clutter off the couch for them to sit. "So you gonna tell me what happened?"

"Who says something happened?"

Roger gave a little laugh. "Fine, nothing happened."

Roger went to the bedroom, leaving Maureen on the couch. She wondered what the hell she was going to tell her parents. Roger dropped a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt on the couch beside her.

"Here. Figured you probably aren't too comfortable in that get-up and since you didn't grab your bag…"

She nodded and took the clothes to the bathroom. The pants were too big, as was the shirt. Somehow, though, they were the comfiest clothes Maureen had ever worn. Staring into the mirror, she smiled. Better, but not quite herself. Maureen pulled the bun out of her hair and shook her head, spilling her dark curls around her shoulders.

Roger sat strumming his guitar but put it down when she came out. She smiled and sighed. Settling back down onto the couch, Maureen closed her eyes before beginning.

"I hate ballet."

"Rough rehearsal?"

"No…I just…I can't do it anymore."

"Mo, you're the best dancer they—"

"I'm not being literal, Rog…I just…I fucking hate ballet. I hate watching it, I hate doing it, I hate practicing it, I hate everything related to it."

"Then why d'you do it?"

"You forget what my parents are like?"

"Touché."

"They've made me do ballet since I was three. As long as I can remember. And for as long as I can remember, I've fucking hated it."

"Ever tell them?" Roger asked as she took another drink.

"Every fuckin' year. This year, I tried not signing up for it and not mentioning it. Mom called the school and signed up for me."

"Mo, you're twenty years old. Why don't you just leave?"

Maureen looked over at him, her eyes suddenly full of tears. "You think I haven't tried that? You want to know the real reason I didn't go to college? Mom said it would interfere with my dancing and Dad said ballerinas don't need degrees."

Roger winced, sorry that his friend was treated that way by her own parents.

Maureen's eyes filled with tears. "Damn it! Now I'm gonna be all girly and emotional."

Roger moved to sit next to her. He wrapped his arms around her. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's all right. You just need to talk to them. I'll talk to them with you, if you want. It'll be okay."

Maureen laughed through her tears. Roger pulled back to look her in the eye.

"What? What's so funny?"

"You can't talk to my parents with me."

"Why's that funny? And why not?"

"Because they hate you."

"What? Why? Since when?"

"Since you stole my dad's car."

Roger laughed. "That was, like, five years ago! And I only had it for twenty minutes!"

She laughed, her breathing steadying. Her laugh quieted and she smiled at Roger. "Thanks, Roger for coming to get me and talking to me and everything."

He gave a small smile. "Don't mention it."

"I just couldn't take it anymore. You know those full-wall mirrors they have? I was watching myself to check my positioning and all that and I don't know… I just… I just felt like such a fake…all that shit. That's not me. I looked like a fucking doll."

Roger nodded. "That's true. You look much more like the Maureen I know when your hair's like now. All wild, like it just lost a fight with a wild jungle cat."

"Hey!"

"In a good way!" he laughed as she punched his arm.

Maureen jumped when the phone rang. Roger answered and frowned. After a minute, he put a hand over the mouth of the phone. "Your mom," he whispered.

Maureen took a deep breath and grabbed the phone from him. "Hi Mother."

Five minutes of screaming and crying later, Maureen slammed the phone down. She brushed at her tears and started pacing. Roger sighed. Maureen only paced when angry.

"Can you believe that woman?"

"Well, I didn't really hear what she—"

"She kicked me out! She said unless I came home in ten minutes and apologize to her and that bitch of an instructor, I could pick up my stuff from the curb."

"That's a little harsh."

"No shit. She's such a psycho. It's just ballet! Who fucking cares if I'm in goddamned ballet classes? She acts like I'm four fucking years old still!"

"Mo, calm down," Roger said.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because if I calm down, I'll realize what I just did and—shit, what did I just do? Where am I gonna go? What the hell am I going to do? I can't go back there but what the hell else am I gonna do?"

Roger tried to hold back his laugh, but couldn't.

"And what the hell are you laughing at?"

"Mo, you really need to calm the fuck down. You want to go back?"

"Fuck no."

"Okay. Then calm down. You and me will go get your stuff. You can move in here. I'm sure you can get a job. You can wait tables or something. It'll be fine."

"You're my best friend, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, only 'cause I'm the only one who puts up with your dramatics," he teased.

Maureen laughed. "Yeah but that's 'cause you love me."

"Yep. The obnoxious little sister I never had."