Author's note: Sorry the update took so long. Saw RENT on Saturday and got the DVD yesterday...so I suppose you could say I've been doing research...anyway, I don't know how good this is...so leave lots of feedback! Even if you hate it!

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When Mark finally came out of the room, he looked much happier, though still a little bit confused, and I wondered what exactly she had done to him. He came over to me and told me that she wanted to see me, and I was even more confused. What on Earth could she possibly be thinking up now? Bad Roger—trust her. She loves you. I walked into her room hesitantly, not only out of nervousness, but also because of what had happened the last time I went in there. I wonder if it's against the rules to have sex in a hospital bed? It might make me a little less on edge…I hate this place. I have had so many bad experiences, traumatizing experiences in hospitals…although I know that Maureen is less comfortable with them than I am…especially after that night…although after Angel, I suppose none of us wanted to set foot in one again…She scooted over on the bed, indicating that she wanted me to lie beside her. I did so, propping myself up with my elbow so that I could look at her. She mirrored me.

"Hey Rog! Guess what? Elsie and I are moving in with you guys! Isn't that awesome?" I stared in shock, not believing what I was hearing. This is what we have always wanted…isn't it? Still, I couldn't help a wave of concern from washing over my body, though I did my best to conceal it from her. I didn't even know why I should be worried or uncomfortable…this is the dream that I most wanted to come true in my lifetime, that I never expected would become a reality.

"That is really great!" I replied, with all the enthusiasm that I could muster, which apparently wasn't much, since she managed to see right through it.

"Rog…what's wrong? I mean…I thought that you--" I cut her off by putting a hand over her mouth, not wanting her to get the wrong impression. Her eyes had begun to tear up- she looked wounded, and it felt as though a knife had pierced my heart. But what do I really think? Shut up, Roger, you know this is what you want! But what if I fuck up? Or what if I die? What if they both end up hating me forever? Or worse, what if they love me? And I devastate them?

"Nothing's wrong, babe. I'm just scared." She pouted, and my heart broke even further as her face contorted and a horrifying noise resulting from her attempt not to cry coupled with some sort of immense pain was emitted from her pathetic looking figure, and my first instinct was to hold her tightly, try to ease her pain. She attempted to push me away, but I wouldn't let her, and eventually she just allowed her emotion to come freely. I was honestly beyond confused by this sudden outburst, afraid that I had said something wrong to trigger this. Of course you did, you idiot. You should be happy, asshole. What the fuck is wrong with you? "Mo…I'm sorry. It's not that I don't love you…"

"I know, Rog…it's just…I'm scared too…that you're going to leave me…and I won't be able to do anything about it…it's just…not fair…I keep thinking that if I had been somehow better…if I had been more…if I could have saved you from this…it…I…we…"

"Shh…baby, it's not your fault! I was the asshole who left, remember? Maureen, look at me. It's not your fault. There wasn't anything that you could have done. Now, I am scared to death that I am going to hurt you…I don't want to do that. But I want this family more than anything; I want you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else in my entire life, and you are my world. I would sacrifice anything for you, and for Elsie, even if it meant not being with you. The question is, then, what do you want?" She stared at me looking like a small child, confused, hurt, but so much in shock from what I had said that the tears had stopped coming. I cupped her face in my hand, running my thumb over her cheekbone.

"Obviously I don't want you to leave! I need you too much for it to be any other way." The sheer need and desperation in her voice betrayed her attempt to regain composure, so I pulled her closer to me. She pressed her lips against mine with the same need and desperation that had been in her voice; overtaken by an intense urgency, hunger. At first I was startled, but the familiarity of the situation was something that I had missed. Her passion for life had always been what had drawn me to her, her neediness what exhilarated me. She made me feel that I was worth something because she needed me so much, and I knew that she truly cared for me, even when she hated herself, and I knew that I felt the same way. The intensity of our caring for one another was more than either of us had ever encountered, given our damaged family situations. I responded to her sudden sexual impulse, reassuring her that I loved her more than life itself, that I would feel the same way about our daughter, who was the result of this passion. My hands roamed her body, feeling every curve, every part of her that I hadn't been able to touch in such a long time. "Hey Rog…what're we going to do about this?"

"Hmm? Oh…sex?" I located a condom with relative ease, having been using them when I was with Mimi so that she wouldn't get pregnant (since not only did I not love her, but additionally childbirth would likely kill her), though of course, we hadn't been together in a while, but afterwards I had had a few infidelities, if you could call them that, since I wasn't technically with Mimi. But I didn't want to deal with giving the disease to anyone else. Maureen pouted, as if truly realizing the implications of this disease. At least we already have a child? But…it's sad that we can't again…not that she could have with Joanne either, or that we necessarily would have, Lord knows we don't have the cash, but still…you don't think about wanting something until you know that you can't have it…I continued moving with her, feeling the passion between us mount, the longing that we had so long suppressed out of necessity.

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Sex in the hospital was by far one of the most precarious situations that I have ever been in, but the depth of feelings—the pain, joy and relief that we both felt—translated well into sexual passion, and it felt right. Besides, we both welcomed danger heartily. Fortunately, nobody walked in on us. I couldn't help but feel utterly distraught when I truly realized the implications of his being HIV positive on our future potential, and couldn't help but be truly grateful that I had kept Elsie, that I hadn't aborted the pregnancy, aside from the fact that I don't agree with abortion, and additionally, she was my little reminder of Roger, and the love that we had shared. I couldn't have possibly killed the evidence of the passion that we had. It would have meant accepting defeat- and that is not something that I do. If I had held onto him more tightly, if I could have been everything he needed to be, if I hadn't been such a mess…he wouldn't be sick. If I had just waited for him to take me home…if I had been there for him instead of passed out and bleeding to listen to his problems, to ease his suffering…April never would've happened. Despite all of his reassurance, I couldn't help but feel this oppressive guilt bearing down on me, but I let myself drown in my longing and relief instead of dwelling, the urgency that mounted and made me feel as though he was the only other thing in the world…there's only us, there's only this, forget regret…

"Hey Mo?"

"Yeah Rog?"

"This is what you really want, right?"

"Of course, are you crazy? This is right."

"Then I want it too." He kissed me softly, and I knew that, at least for now, everything was as it should be.

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"You sure you want to do this?" Roger asked, looking deep into my eyes, trying desperately to find a clue as to how I felt. Nervousness was building in my stomach, and I couldn't get my feet to move. Ever since that day at the hospital, when we had gotten back together, I had felt this sense of impending doom regarding Roger's health, but it hadn't occurred to me that my grandmother's was more urgent. After the hospital had released me, I returned to the loft with the boys, where we found my stuff and a note in the doorway (Mark had lent Joanne the key). At first glance, we had all expected that the note was something regarding my relationship with Joanne, but on closer inspection, I found that it revealed only that my grandmother had died—last night, the night that I fell down the stairs, the night when Mimi almost died, the night when my life simultaneously went to heaven and hell. My aunt was out of town on business when it happened, as the note said. Apparently my parents had called. I was glad not to have been there when they did, though I was uncertain about what a pissed off and hurt Joanne might have said to them. The one thing that the letter revealed that I really didn't want to have to face, was that my daughter was now under the care of my parents, who wanted me to retrieve her as soon as possible.

When we arrived in Hicksville, my parents' cars were nowhere to be found, and I knew that Ben would likely be the one watching Elsie—my parents never would have taken her to work or left her alone. I honestly didn't know what to expect my brother to be like, all I knew was that he was sixteen and, according to Elsie and aunt Suz, a troublemaker. Plus, he hates my guts. It wasn't so much that I was afraid of him as that I was afraid of what he would think of me, not only for having left, and everything else that I had ever done, him knowing now that Elsie was mine (he was only eight at the time, and as far as I could tell, her never caught on). I wanted desperately to have a relationship with him, hoped that he now understood why I hated Mom and Dad so much…still hoping that for all of my efforts he could find it in his heart to love me.

"Maureen? You in there?"

"Yeah. Let's do this. Let's go get our daughter." We walked to the door, my pulse racing, as I clutched Roger's hand with a force rivaling the time at the hospital, but otherwise hoping to exude confidence. As I got closer to the house, I could hear some awful rock music flowing out of the house. I knocked on the door, and got no response, so I knocked harder. I heard a small voice asking who I was. "Sweetie, it's mommy and daddy. Can you open the door?" I heard the music cease as the door swung open, and heavy footsteps coming down the stairs as the little girl jumped up into my arms.

"Elsie, who--" Ben's voice cut off as he came nearer and saw me holding her, Roger off behind me. He scowled at me, and I held my baby closer to me, "Oh, well if it isn't the cheap-ass big city dyke whore. Who've you got in tow? Oh, druggie-boy from next door. Get the fuck out of here." I couldn't have possibly prepared myself for this, nor could I handle the abuse. Elsie was crying, not knowing what to make of the events that were taking place, so I put her down softly and told her to go get her things. "Where do you think you're taking her?"

"She's my fucking daughter, Benjamin. OUR daughter."

"Suddenly you want her back? What does your lesbian lover think? Or did she leave you too? And how exactly are you going to raise her? To be a stripper? You don't have the cash. And even if you do, it's probably from fucking random strangers. You probably spend it all on booze and drugs. You'll probably end up killing her. But that will be an accident, won't it? You'll be too out of it to notice." The anger in his voice surprised me, and with every word he said I felt irreparably wounded, not even noticing the tears streaming out of my eyes. Roger finally stepped in, in my defense.

"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? But who the fuck are you to judge her? You don't know the half of it! And she sacrificed the better part of her childhood to protect you, you ungrateful little bastard. Leave her the fuck alone!" I saw Roger's body tensed, and hoped to God that he wouldn't go after Benj, though he truly deserved a good beating.

"Oh, you're one to talk, you walked out on her! You have no right to tell me what to think—you didn't even want to be with her, the worthless bitch!" I had never been insulted so harshly before. Sure, people had said awful things about me, but I had invested so much in Ben, always believed in him, loved him more than anyone else except Roger, and here he was, spewing some of the most hateful things I had ever heard in my life. I can't believe this is happening…why is he so mad at me? Why can't he love me? I knew the truth—after Roger left, I hadn't been able to take care of him because I was so lost in my own pain, and I left rather than dealing with it. Roger didn't know of all that had happened after he had walked out on me. Well, he knew, but he hadn't actually been there to witness the decline as Benji had. Poor little boy probably didn't understand what was going on. These attacks were probably just vulgarities inserted into my parents' discussions of me coupled with his hurt. I decided to take matters into my own hands. Also, Roger looked like he was about to go at him, and given his recent track record, I needed to get him out of there.

"Roger, honey, would you go help Elsie with her things?" He looked at me skeptically, but I urged him on, and reluctantly he went. I glared at my brother—if I could still call him that. "What the fuck was that? What the fuck do you want from me?"

"Mo, are you fucking crying? What is wrong with you? And why do you care what I think? It's not like you even call. I don't hear anything from you in eight years and all of a sudden you have a daughter? What am I supposed to think?"

"I at least thought that you knew that I loved you…"

"You really proved that by leaving after living completely oblivious to the world…which almost got me killed on various occasions!"

"I was stupid."

"You were selfish."

"I was in pain. You wouldn't have understood—heck, you still probably wouldn't understand. You can't possibly know what it was like…if you do, I truly failed you. Can't you understand that? I only wanted you to have what I didn't. I didn't want you to have to suffer like I did. So I am sorry that I'm not perfect, that I made bad decisions. But you don't know me…neither does Mom or Dad. I'm okay with that."

"You're right. I don't understand. When I was really little, you were there. Things were good. I got a little older, and I all I heard was you cursing Mom out, bitching about how Dad was an ass. And you would disappear. Start fires. Stupid neglectful things. Then, one day, you were gone. Being the naïve child that I was, I thought it was because I was being bad that you didn't love me anymore. That if I tried harder, you would love me again. It seemed the harder I tried, the more you hated me. I didn't know why. But then I realized it wasn't me. It was you. Everything was always about you."

"If you weren't old enough to understand, where did you get this charming ideas from? Mom and Dad? Ha. They don't know anything about me. They never cared to. That's what I tried to show you. But you were so loyal to them. Well, I hope it had paid off. I hope you're happy. I hope you're happy now."

"Well how the fuck else am I supposed to know anything about you?" So that was it—the simple truth. He felt abandoned. I was selfish. But more than anything, he missed me. He didn't understand, and I never cared enough to make him understand, reassure him. I left him here with the enemy, and he had no choice but to believe what they told him. When he was younger and had been so enamored with Mommy, it was simply because he was a little boy. I probably felt similarly until I was so fed up with Mommy and Daddy's lack of caring that I couldn't even see them as worthy of kindness. I reached out to tough his shoulder, but he shoved me back towards the wall. I stumbled backwards, but didn't fall, although I did sort of bump my head on the wall behind me—right where my stitches were. It hurt almost as much as after the initial impact with the stairs—a sort of blinding, white-hot pain. I slid down against the wall, doubled over in pain, and a look of sheer terror crossed Ben's face. "Oh God…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to—are you okay?"

"Peachy. I just got stitches there. You couldn't have known."

"What happened?"

"I fell down the stairs."

"On your head?"

"Well, not only on my head, obviously, but yeah it hit the edge of the steps. Concussion, bleeding. I was unconscious. Not a pretty sight, I can assure you." Oh God I hope he doesn't ask how it happened…that would be really bad. It definitely wouldn't help his opinion of me at all…He came over and extended his hand to me, helping me up off the floor. "Look, Ben, I know that you are pissed at me. And you should be. But can you please give me a chance?"

"How can I give you a chance if I never see you?"

"I know…I just can't stand to be around here…around them."

"At least you don't have to live here! Half of the time I forget that they even exist, the other half they forget I exist!"

"I know how awful it is…I wish there was something that I could do. I mean…you can always visit…" He looked at me with hopeful eyes, and I wished that I could just take him with me—I had essentially raised him from the very beginning, even being the naïve ten year old that I had been. Mom and Dad would never approve of it. Although, there might be a way that I could spin it…but not right now…I've got enough on my plate right now. Roger returned, and I gave Ben an apologetic look before scooping up Elsie and heading out the door.

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Maureen was uncharacteristically quiet as I drove back to the loft. I kept trying to start conversations every now and again, which is very uncharacteristic for me…first about her brother because I was curious, but then about anything because I was concerned…and she wasn't able to hold her focus for long enough to comprehend what I was asking her. Elsie seemed a little bit uncomfortable, as if sensing her mother's discomfort. This is not normal behavior for Maureen…usually she'd be chatting about anything and everything under the sun, particularly things that you didn't really care to hear about in the first place, almost drunkenly, even if she wasn't drunk. Granted, she's been going through a lot, but even through all of that most of the time she put on her happy face…not that I wasn't concerned about her suppression of emotion, but…this is really bizarre. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing and setting her off, I didn't want to cause a meltdown, so I tried to hide my concern, continuously checking on Elsie in the rearview mirror so that I would have something other than Mo to concentrate on. I wonder why Mark thought I hated her…I mean, granted, we did launch some pretty nasty comments at each other, and there was malicious intent in them, however we did get along when we weren't fighting…I was always concerned about her, but I guess I did a good job of hiding my feeling from him. Maybe it was just because he was dating her, and then she dumped him…and he never got over her. I didn't want to hurt him. Or maybe I just didn't want to think about her because I thought that I could never have her, and to share concern would be to draw her deeper into my heart, which would only lead to my undoing. So much regret from what I had done was haunting me…I couldn't escape it…even now I can't escape. Nothing will make everything all right again…nothing will ever be okay. But I have to focus on the future…what I can do for my daughter, what I can do to make things better with Mo…No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my mind off of her, couldn't stop worrying about what Benji had said to her…or more importantly, worrying about the thought that could potentially be running through her head…the destructive ones which so often led to her bad judgment calls…the blood, the drugs, sex, alcohol…things that led to her being abused…raped. But that won't happen now. I can be there for her. I can protect her from herself…somehow…if only I could get into her head…

When we arrived at the loft, Elsie was fast asleep, and Maureen was more lost in her thoughts than ever, and completely silent. She hadn't even moved, as far as I could tell, since we got in the car. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she flinched, moving away automatically, then shook her head, as though coming back to reality. Then she blinked at me a couple times, flashed her killer smile, and got up, cheerfully chattering to wake Elsie up, telling her about anything and everything that popped into her head. She lifted the still sleepy child carefully, lovingly. This maternal side of Maureen doesn't show itself regularly enough. I wonder how well she'll do with all this responsibility…I wonder whether she is truly done with the flirting and cheating…don't think like that! Of course she's done—she really loves you. I grabbed Elsie's things, locked the car (Joanne's, which she had graciously let us borrow in an effort to remain close to Maureen, I assumed…which was still surprising, considering the way she had stormed out of the apartment and left Maureen's stuff…), and headed up to the apartment. Maureen put Elsie to bed in the room that Maureen had inhabited before moving into Mark's room, before Joanne, when she first moved in. The room still had various items in it—props from performances and protests, some pictures and clothes that had been long forgotten about. The bed was covered with, in typical Maureen fashion, red and purple satin pillows shaped like hearts, a cow-printed quilt and red sheets. The cow-shaped ring box that I had given her all those years ago sat prominently next to a picture of the two of us when we were very young…probably about eight years old, before all of the drama of popularity that middle school and high school brought with them. Of course, the ring had never left her finger. My open-ended proposal. She must really have loved me all along…She didn't say anything really for the rest of the night, just sat there looking completely spaced out, her knees drawn up to her chest on the couch. I tried to get her to eat something at around eight, and she said she wasn't hungry and went to bed shortly thereafter, which didn't rest well with me. Maureen had never been able to fall asleep until at least eleven for as far back as I could remember. What could possibly be going on with her? I let it slide, but made a mental note to confront her the next morning. I picked up my Fender and attempted to play Musetta's Waltz, but failed to find the correct pitch in the middle, so I absently began strumming the song that I had written for her in high school. I didn't even recognize it until I began to sing…Outspoken…easily broken…