A/N: I decided to go ahead and revive the sequel as well, but it took some major changes and rewrites. Previously posted separately under a different title (A Step Too Far), now I put both parts together as a one long story. If anyone's still following this, happy reading!

Chapter Twelve

February, 2005

"Pookie, please?"

He shook his head adamantly, trying to resist each and every feature which turned him into putty in her hands. Her glimmering hazel eyes, dark chocolate curls, the way her jeans hugged her curves as she moved closer to him, and that pout; it was the most lethal of them all. But he must maintain his assertiveness. As tempting as she looked, even he had limits. "No. I told you, no way."

"But you promised!" she insisted, her lips all but beginning to tremble.

"What? I most certainly didn't – "

"Actually, Mark, you did," Collins interjected with this twinkle in his eyes, making her squeal victoriously. The traitorous bastard.

"Yesterday, we all heard you," seconded Roger. As if he could expect anything better from him. When it came down to preventing humiliation (usually his own), his friends turned out to be utterly useless.

He scowled, attempting to glare at the three of them, but to no avail. There was no way he had willingly agreed to make a fool of himself and somehow put it out of his mind. He remembered faintly she had mentioned a post-modern version of Romeo and Juliet done at a seedy theater in the Village, but to the best of his knowledge she had never auditioned for it. He didn't even think she knew who Shakespeare was. He had always prided himself for being so attentive to her, but had he unknowingly missed something? What kind of a boyfriend was he if he had?

He glanced at her. She didn't take her eyes off him, wordless plea still dominant in her gaze. She didn't have to say anything more, and by the look in her eyes, she knew it damn well. He sighed in defeat. "Fine. Give me the book."

She squealed happily and handed him the play.

"This will be fun," said Collins, smirking. "We're still filming this, right?"

Shit. "No, we're not," he said, quickly reaching for the tripod, meaning to turn off his camera. But Roger was by his side before he was able to do so.

"Of course we are," he said. He had that haughty, wicked, irritating grin on his face. "April and Benny will want to see this when they return."

What? "No… Come on, Roger, there's not a lot of film left and I can't afford buying any more this month. There's really no need to waste it on – "

"Come on, Pookie, you go first!"

He couldn't believe he had consented to this. He wouldn't have done this for anyone else, but how could he possibly refuse her? He glanced at his first lines reluctantly. Feeling his friends' eyes on him, he swallowed his dignity, and began. "What light through yonder window breaks?"

He heard a snort and looked up. Collins was struggling to keep up a straight face, without much success. Roger's expression wasn't much different. He knew he should just ignore them, focus on her expectant eyes instead. He pursed his lips, swallowed his pride, and continued. "It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill – "

Although they were trying hard to stifle their laughter, wide grins hidden behind outstretched palms, he could still hear them. He was self-conscious as it was, knew how ridiculous he must have sounded, and so their mockery didn't do much good to his already deteriorating confidence, not to mention his already shaken self-esteem. Mustering every bit of assertiveness that might help him resist the manipulative diva that was his girlfriend, he dropped the book on the coffee table. "Maureen, I'm not reading this!"

"Why, Mark? I think you're doing pretty well so far."

He turned to aim a glare at Roger, who seemed more amused than intimidated. "Shut up."

"Please, Marky?" She was moving closer yet again, until her lips were near his ear, leaving goose bumps against his heated skin. "I'll make it up to you later," she murmured in that seductive tone that made his insides melt. Somehow, the words were loud enough for Roger and Collins to overhear. He predicted their response, dropping his head in mortification just as they started wolf-whistling madly.

"Yes! Go for it, Romeo!" cheered Collins. He could feel his face burning.

"Why don't you read it, Collins?" he asked, now getting agitated. Their laughter stopped at once, as if they hadn't anticipated an outburst from him.

There was a brief, awkward silence; then all of a sudden, Collins snatched the deserted book and stood on the sofa. He cleared his throat dramatically, and began. "Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she!" he cried out, waving his arms this way and that. The rest of his speech was swallowed by their roars of laughter, but he continued anyway, in that excessive yet hilarious fashion that none other than Collins could muster. When he finally finished his monologue, they applauded him loudly, and he took his bow and jumped off the sofa. She launched herself at him, planting a big wet kiss on his cheek, laughing with the rest of them.

He paused the film, still chuckling a little. He didn't remember he had it on tape. He gazed longingly at the screen, where a blurry close-up of Maureen remained frozen, smiling, her arms wrapped around Collins' neck and the pinkish mark of her lips on his cheek. He felt his lips curl in a smile. She had been gone for nearly a month, and it felt like the longest month in his entire life. Sure, he was busy like never before since she left, but still, everything he did felt kind of incomplete. Granted, they had only spent a short time together, but she'd left such a void in her wake. He missed both of them so much.

Throughout the month he had been unpacking all the stuff he still had in boxes scattered around the apartment. He had figured that once Maureen and Libby moved in, there would be plenty more boxes to handle. He got the apartment ready for them. The spare room, which would be Libby's, was close enough to his and Maureen's bedroom, and she'd be able to see a bit of the park through the window, which he thought she'd love. He stacked the shelves with books his mom used to read to him as a kid. Maureen had already sent over some of Libby's dolls and toys, and so he hoped the room wouldn't feel too strange to her when they finally moved in. He also took good care of Roger, Libby's teddy bear. He didn't leave him in her new room, but rather kept it in his own bedroom. He made room in his closet for Maureen's stuff, but suspected it wouldn't be enough. If worse came to worse, he figured, he could always stash his clothes in the dark room. Lastly, he developed some of his favorite photos of the three of them and put them in frames which he hung throughout the apartment. Looking at them, it already began to feel more like a home.

Other than reorganizing his place, the gallery still took most of his time, as well as preparations for a new photography course downtown, due to begin that spring. There was also his newest project. He was finally able to join Recalled to Life, Life for short, an organization which worked to promote the awareness for HIV and AIDS in the community. Although it was a national organization, its home base was New York City. It provided support for the sick and their loved ones, and necessary information for their families as well as for anyone else who simply wanted to know more. The members were all well-familiar with the effects of the pandemic, with its consequences. Some of them were diagnosed with HIV; others, like himself, lost many of their friends as a result. Before long he had become a prominent member, the coordinator's right hand man in all but name. For him it was a lifeline, a way to remain connected with his dead friends. A final promise of sorts.

While it felt as if everything in his life was finally falling into place, one thing still bothered him. He had no idea how to reconcile with his mother, how to make her see reason. She didn't try to contact him since he had stormed out of her house after telling her of his engagement, and whenever he called her, the conversation never lasted more than a few minutes; she was so cold to him. He knew Cindy was doing everything in her power to convince their mother to talk to him, but so far, her efforts were all in vain. Their mother had always been so stubborn.

He leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could sense the beginning of a cold. There was this funny taste at the back of his throat, and it felt as if someone had punched him right in the eye, and so he knew it was coming. He refused to let it deter him, though. His suitcase was already packed, and he was booked on the morning flight to San Francisco the following day. As if his imminent cold wasn't enough of a bad start, the forecast called for a nasty rainstorm around the bay area, the worst in who knew how long, but he couldn't care less. That weekend was Libby's birthday, and he was going to be there even if it killed him.

He reached for the remote, pressed a button, and Maureen's image disappeared as the screen went blank. Ignoring the telling ache in his bones as he shifted, he reached for his cell phone and found the list of recently dialed numbers. Her home number was on top. It should be around 6PM in San Francisco, he mused as he listened to the dial tone. To his dismay, there was no answer on the other end, and he was about to hang up and try her on her cell phone when suddenly a small voice was heard.

"Hello?"

He smiled, feeling his heart melt. "Libby?"

"Yes."

"Sweetheart, it's Mark. How are you?"

"Okay," she said, giggling. "How are you?"

"Libby, who is it?" He could hear Maureen's voice in the background. There were some rustling sounds, and then he heard her more clearly. "Hello?"

"Guess who?" he asked, smiling.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite camera boy," she said seductively.

How did she manage to do that to him every single time? "She might hear you."

"She won't, she went to take off her coat, we just walked in." She sounded a bit out of breath, but at ease. They spoke quite a lot these past few weeks, and while speaking on the phone had its own occasional benefits, it just wasn't enough. Both of them had busy schedules recently, and so when they did manage to talk it was late night for him, and more often than not, he was exhausted. He couldn't wait until he got there. He needed to see her, to have a proper conversation with her, to – "Mark?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I thought you fell asleep on me again."

"Ha, ha," he frowned. It happened only once, a couple of days before. He woke up the next morning on the sofa, without realizing where he was or why his phone was right next to his ear. He knew she wouldn't let him live it down. "How come you're home so late?"

"We stopped at the supermarket on the way home. I needed a few things for dinner tonight and for this c-a-k-e I'm trying to bake," she added in a lower, conspiratorial tone, which made him laugh. By her own admission, she wasn't much of a baker, and she had always managed to mess up Libby's birthday cake. But this year, she was determined to get it right. "What's up? Have you got big plans for this weekend?"

"Actually, I do," he said, grinning to himself like a fool. She didn't know he was coming. He wanted it to be a surprise, and was extremely proud of himself for not spilling the beans all week.

"Hot date?"

"Oh, wouldn't you want to know."

"Hmm… should I be jealous?"

"Cindy invited me for dinner. I missed my niece's birthday party, so..." His voice trailed off as he became aware of his own words. They both knew he had intentionally avoided Natalie's birthday, knowing his mother would surely be there. He swallowed, hoping she wouldn't remember or comment on it. "How about you? Are you doing something for Libby's birthday?"

"Actually yes. My parents are coming over tomorrow and we haven't seen them in ages. I thought it's time I'd tell them about us before Libby does."

Her parents? Damn it. "Are they going to stay with you guys?" he asked as casually as he dared, hoping she wouldn't detect the note of distress the query carried.

"No, our apartment is not big enough, so they never do."

He breathed a sigh of relief, and deliberated. Should he tell her he was coming? He really wanted it to be a surprise, but what if she would see it as him invading her private time with her parents? What if they planned on spending Libby's birthday as a family? He couldn't fault them for wanting to do so. And if that were the case, they didn't need him there; he would just be in the way. Then again, if she was going to tell her parents about their engagement, shouldn't he be there? He felt conflicted, and it was beginning to gnaw at his confidence about the whole operation. Maybe it wasn't such a brilliant idea to just show up on her doorstep unannounced and uninvited. It wasn't a rom-com; he'd never really liked those. He should just tell her and handle the consequences. "Maureen – "

"Yeah?"

No. He wouldn't tell her. It might be the dumbest idea he'd had in his life, but he was willing to take his chances. If worse came to worse, she would kick him out. He knew several good hotels in San Francisco. It would be fine. "Nothing. I miss you."

"I miss you too, Pookie," she cooed playfully.

He grimaced, glancing at the blank screen. "I thought we had an agreement about this stupid nickname."

"I thought it turned you on when I used it."

"Oh, don't you dare start on that now."

"Why? You're too far away to smack me or anything. I bet I made you blush. Are you blushing?"

He chuckled fondly. She was impossible. "I don't know, I don't have a mirror."

"You're so cute when you're blushing," she mused. There was sadness in her voice, a longing he recognized, as he was feeling it himself. It wouldn't be long now, he thought.

"How's work?" he asked, hoping to distract her.

"Insane, but that's okay because it means we'll be in New York more or less as planned."

"Which is what, late March?"

"Early April, most likely. There's this intern who's supposed to fill in for me when I'm gone. Rumor has it he's quite brilliant. He pretty much grew up in a theater, both his parents are actors. I'm just showing him the ropes, but he actually knows his way around pretty well already."

"Is he cute?"

Only at her gasp of surprise, he realized what he had just asked her. "Oh, wouldn't you want to know."

She was definitely smiling now. Mission accomplished. "Yeah, use my own words against me, that's clever," he chided her.

"He's alright, I guess. I'm pretty sure he has a boyfriend anyway, so..."

He would never tell her that, but he felt a certain relief. He wasn't used to feeling so confident about their relationship, having been burnt so many times before. No matter how much she had changed, he had a feeling he would always be on his guard, always fretting. "How's Libby?"

"Libby is great. She misses Roger, but she's doing okay without him. Better than I expected." She laughed softly. "I really should start on that dinner actually, but someone is distracting me."

"Okay, I know when I'm not wanted," he mock-scoffed. "I'll call again soon, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"Give Libby a kiss for me. Tell her that Roger misses her too."

"I hope you're taking good care of him or I'll personally kill you. She loves this teddy bear to death. I still can't believe she decided to leave him with you."

"Don't worry, I'm taking very good care of him for her. He's safe with me."

"Good." She paused, then added quietly, "I love you, Mark."

He would never get tired of hearing her say that, let alone her saying it first. "I love you too. Bye, I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay. Bye, Pookie." She giggled, and hung up on him.

He just sat there speechless for a second with the phone in his hand. Then he hung up and chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Pookie…"

He clicked on his phone to check the time. Too early for bed, but he felt kind of drained. Besides, if this was a cold coming at him full force, he wanted to save his energy for the weekend ahead. He'd have time to fall apart later. He got off the sofa with heaviness he ignored, stopped at the kitchen for a cup of tea and some Tylenol. As he waited for the water in the kettle to boil, he leaned against the fridge, closed his eyes, and wished the night away so he could be in San Francisco already.