Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with the characters. ("Mimi's it!")

Mimi flipped through a magazine, looking at glossy pictures of models. Most of them were older than her, and Mimi could not help but wonder what sadist thought fashion magazines belonged in the waiting room of an anonymous clinic.

Not an abortion clinic, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. I'm not here for that. Yet, anyway. After all, the test was positive and it had been a while since her last period, but that meant nothing. Those tests were not 100, especially for someone who bought the cheapest one. And Mimi's periods had become more regular as she gained weight and stopped shooting up, but she had never been every 28 days.

Mimi set aside the magazine with a sigh. She looked around the room instead. This was real life, this, no gloss and airbrush but the pimply teenager, trembling and on the verge of tears; the large Hispanic woman with two small children crawling around her. There was even a couple, holding hands with a very poor-but-in-love appearance.

Mimi bit back another sigh. She leaned forward, arms across her belly, at a sudden pain as she thought of Roger. He should have been there. He should have been supporting her. He should have been sitting beside her, holding her hand.

Assuming he agrees, she reminded herself. There was always Roger's temper, his envy. This was his baby, Mimi knew that, but would Roger believe it? And could she stay with him then, if he didn't trust her? Could she raise a child with him, if she decided to keep it, knowing he would always doubt the child?

What was that lyric, in the song Roger liked to play? "Your prison is walking through this world all alone." That was it. Mimi hummed the tune softly, singing the words in her head.

"Mimi."

She shook her head. No, she had not just heard Roger say her name. Roger wasn't here, and just because Mimi wanted to not be alone didn't mean that he would ride to her rescue.

But she heard it again, insistent: "Mimi Marquez."

Mimi looked up. She winced. She saw herself telling the story to a little girl, a five-year-old with his eyes and her skin. And then your daddy found me at the clinic, and we had a big fight, and that's why Benny sometimes comes to visit. She shivered. She couldn't bring a child into that world.

Why am I a prostitute in my daydreams?

The bathroom, Mimi knew, was close behind her and a little to her left. It was so obvious, he wouldn't think to look there.

"Mimi!"

She winced. Unless, of course, the motion drew his eye.

"Mimi!" Roger jogged across the room. He could as easily have walked, but then, Mimi thought, Roger loves the drama. He took her hand gently. "Don't do this," he said. "Please, at least… at least let's talk about it first. Please, Mimi. It's my baby, too."

Mimi couldn't help herself: she laughed. She shook her head and laughed until tears streaked down her face. She laughed until her knees went weak, and a very perplexed Roger helped her sit down on the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry," Mimi managed between giggles. Roger was kneeling on the ground, holding her hands, and looking at her imploringly. "I'm sorry to laugh at you, Roger, it's just… oh, Roger, this isn't an abortion clinic!"

"I-It isn't?" he asked.

"No!" Mimi shook her head. "It's prenatal care, baby. I'm getting a check-up and an ultrasound."

"So… you're keeping it?" Roger asked, shaking his head slightly at everything he did not understand.

Mimi drew in a deep breath. She had so much to explain… "Come here, baby." She gently brought his head to rest in her lap and stroked his hair. Without question, Roger stretched out on the floor. "Right now, Roger, all we have is the possibility of a child." He tilted his head, mouth open to object, and she shushed him. "Baby, my periods have never been regular and those tests aren't totally reliable."

"Mimi?"

"Yeah, baby?" She loved that habit of his, of stating her name for attention even in the middle of a conversation.

"If you are… if there is…" Roger touched her belly. "If there's a baby, what… um… do you want to keep… the baby?"

Mimi smiled. "Yeah," she admitted, "I kinda do."

"Mimi?"

"I'm listening, Roger."

"If you keep the baby, I want to raise…" he paused, struggling, then finished: "…the baby with you."

"Mimi Marquez?" called a nurse with a clipboard.

"Come on." Roger helped Mimi up. "Let's go make sure you're healthy."

"Are you talking to me, or our hypothetical fetus?"

"Umm…"

To be continued!

Reviews would be golden!

Oh, and just so we're clear on this: I do sleep and I do not use drugs.