A/N: In the following chapter, Maureen might seem a bit OOC and over-emotional, but since this chapter follows the period of Angel's illness, I thought it was quite appropriate and not so much OOC. This, of course, depends on how you choose to perceive Maureen's character, and I hope I managed to convince you by now that she's more than the cold-hearted, manipulated diva everyone thinks she is. She has feelings, and therefore being a bit emotional over a friend's suffering is not OOC, at least in my opinion.

Happy reading, guys! Please review!

Oh yeah- and the one who is The Philosophy Club in Idina-Here… thanks for your comment! It made me smile :)

17- Visits to You

"Why do you keep insisting, I'm telling you, nothing is going on!"

"Maureen, I'm not stupid! I know you weren't friendly to her simply because she has just moved next door with us! I saw the way you were looking at her!"

"Oh, come on! The way I was looking at her?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

"Jesus, Joanne, will you stop being so fuckin' paranoid?"

"I'll stop being paranoid when you'll stop giving me reasons for it!"

The piercing ring of the phone put an end to the argument, practically stopping Joanne mid-sentence. She was closer to the phone, and she walked over to it and picked it up with a sigh. They shared one cold look, as if telling each other it wasn't over yet, and then Joanne brought her attention to the call.

"Hello? Roger, hi, what are you…" her voice trailed off as she listened to what Roger was probably telling her on the other end.

Her eyebrows knotted together in slight confusion. She thought it was strange. Roger rarely called them. If they all met to hang out together, it was usually under Collins' responsibility to call them. Or Mimi's. She hoped everything was alright.

And then, within an instant, she knew that it wasn't, as Joanne's expression transformed, and her anger melted into a much more grievant expression.

"Yeah. Okay. We'll be right there," she said quietly, and placed the phone back on its hook. She said nothing for a long moment, as if trying to take in whatever Roger had just told her.

"Jo? What's wrong?" she asked, her own tone softening in spite of herself. Joanne didn't seem mad anymore. She wasn't sure how she seemed, though. Her expression was a combination of so many emotions, and it made her kind of panicked. Did Benny kick the guys out of the loft again? As likely as it was, she was sure it wouldn't effect Joanne that much. No, it must have been worse than that. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what happened.

Joanne seemed to have a hard time answering, but then she looked up at her, and she was horrified to detect tears in the corners of her girlfriends' eyes. "That was Roger," she said softly, her voice a bit shaking. "They're at the hospital. Angel… it's really bad," she said.

The words sank in, their meaning stabbing like the sharpest knife. Angel… No. Not again. Not Angel. But she didn't let herself ponder over it. She ran past Joanne to their bedroom, to get their coats. It sounded as if they didn't have much time.

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She went out to the hall. She told the guys she was going to the cafeteria, but the truth was that she just wanted to get out of that room. She couldn't handle it. She couldn't see Angel in that bed, lying helpless against that virus that slowly took her away from them. She couldn't stand the smell of the hospital, and the sights of sick people in the hall. She already knew the symptoms; nausea, sudden weakness in her knees, dizziness she didn't seem able to control. She was allergic to hospitals.

She leaned against a wall and closed her eyes, breathing in and out slowly, calming down. She had to. It's been a week since Angel got into the hospital. They were about to spend quite a lot of time there, it seemed, so she'd better not let her memories take hold on her. But how could she not? It was all coming back, and there was no stopping it. Mark and Roger felt that too, and even if they didn't talk about it, she could see it in their faces. They were living the nightmare once again, only this time, it wouldn't end up so abruptly as before. No, this time it would be slow and painful. They'd have to watch her slipping away.

Why did everything have to go so wrong all of a sudden? They all had couple of great months, and now it all seem to shatter in their faces. Angel got hospitalized, and even though they all appeared optimistic for her, they knew her chances to get out of there alive were extremely low. Roger and Mimi weren't speaking; something that had to do with Benny again, and Mimi's failing attempt to give up drugs, but she didn't have a chance to delve into that issue, as she had her own unstable relationship to worry about. She and Joanne were constantly fighting, mostly over Joanne's baseless suspicions. She was never convinced that there was no true in Mark's stories, not even after he told her so himself. She couldn't even speak to another woman without Joanne's accusing glare drilling holes in her back. She was sick and tired of all that.

Well, maybe they did need some time apart. When Joanne first told her so that morning, the first thing she did was protest, but the more she thought about it, the more appealing it became. Joanne wanted to be alone for a while. She felt that she had to respect that. It might be good for her too; she was hardly alone ever since she got to New York. And maybe it would help them work things out.

Gah, why relationships had to be so damn complicated? She only had two, and both were complete disaster. Well, not really, she told herself, her hand instinctively reaching for the ring on her necklace. She forced that thought away, unsure where it came from in the first place. It was Joanne she had to think of now, not… him.

So she was single again, and homeless. She didn't even know where she was going to spend the night. Maybe the boys would let her crush in the loft for a while, until she'd find a place of her own. Or until Joanne would come back to her senses and take her back. She really hoped for the second option. The thought of an apartment-hunt made her even dizzier.

"Maureen?"

She opened her eyes, startled and a bit disoriented. For a second, she forgot where she was. She was still leaning against the wall. Mark was watching her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and worry behind his glasses.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied. By the look on his face, she could tell he figured as much. "Why aren't you with the rest of the guys?"

"You didn't come back, so I went looking for you." He gave her a closer look now. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I just hate this place," she whispered, looking away so he wouldn't notice the tears that stung her eyes.

The touch came somewhat unexpectedly. She didn't realize he was standing so close. He wiped her tears with his thumb, flashing her a small smile. "It's okay," he said.

As far as she was concerned, it was the wrong thing to say. "How can you say that?" she interjected, suddenly furious. "Nothing's okay, Mark, everything's going to hell and we can't stop it! Angel is dying, and there's nothing we can do to help her. We're just gonna end up losing her, just like we lost April. And then what? We'll lose Mimi and Collins and Roger from the same fuckin' reason and there's nothing we can do about it!" she was sobbing into his chest now, burying her face in his jacket, but she hardly noticed when the tears started, or when he wrapped his arms around her. She just had to let it out. "I hate this. I really, really hate this…" she murmured.

Mark tightened his grip around her, soothingly rubbing her back. "Shh… I know. I hate it too," he said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

She raised her head to face him. Her vision was blurred from tears. There were tears in his eyes now, too. "It's just so unfair."

"I know. But you're wrong if you're thinking there's nothing we can do." She gave him a questioning look. "We gotta be there for them. Even if that's all we can do."

She shook her head. "Somehow it doesn't seem enough."

He didn't answer. He reached for his pocket and handed her a tissue. She took it with a small smile and cleaned her tear-stained face the best she could with it. "Feel better?"

"Not really," she said honestly. "But thanks for going out looking for me." He smiled. She hesitated, but then thought she'd better ask it and get this over with, or she'd find herself spending the night on the street. "I don't want it to sound like I'm pushing my luck or something, but… would you mind if I'll spend the next couple of nights at your place?" she asked, carefully looking up at him. Then she realized how suggestive it sounded, and quickly added, "on your couch, that it." Feeling her cheeks beginning to redden, she quickly looked away.

It took Mark a moment, as if he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react, but then he slowly nodded. "Yeah. Sure, of course."

"Do you think Roger will mind?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Beside, all he thinks about now is leaving, so he-"

"Whoa, whoa, what? Leaving?" she asked, looking at him incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Roger's leaving for Santa Fe," Mark replied, looking extremely sad all of a sudden. "Just for a while. He said he needed some time to be alone, to figure things out. I can't blame him, really. He's been through a lot in such a short time."

She nodded. But in a way, they all did. "When is he leaving?"

"I'm not sure yet, but pretty soon, I guess."

"If it's pretty soon, how come none of us knows about this yet?"

"He asked me not to say anything. I think he kind of hopes the thing with Mimi will work out somehow. Please don't tell him I told you," he added quickly, looking terrified at the thought that she might do that.

"Of course not."

"Good," he said. He seemed hesitant, but then asked gently, "You had another fight?"

"Sort of," she replied. She didn't want to tell him Joanne kind of kicked her out, but it looked as if he managed to figure it out somehow. "We just need some time apart," she said, making it sound like it was her idea. Mark still didn't look so convinced, but he said nothing about it.

"Why don't you go to wash your face, and then we'll go back?" he asked gently, moving her hair from her face.

She wanted to tell him that she didn't want to go back there. Ever. She just wanted to go back home, and that everything would be alright again. Instead, she just wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close. It seemed to have caught him by surprise, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around her, hugging her back. They just stood there in silence, comforting one another with no words.

Her gaze wandered at the strangest feeling they were being watched. Looking up, she thought she saw Joanne standing there, at a distance, watching them. She blinked, then opened her eyes again to face the once again empty hallway, and she wondered if it was really Joanne she has seen there in the first place.

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There were no specific visitation hours at the wing where Angel was hospitalized, but Collins was insistent about them not spending the nights at the waiting room. They did that during the first week, as if thinking it would be best in case something, anything, would happen during the night. But now, a bit over two weeks since this whole nightmare started, they kind of agreed with Collins; it was kind of pointless for all of them to be there during the night.

They separated down the street, Joanne hailing a cab to take her back home uptown, Benny leading Mimi to an expensive-looking car, never offering them a ride home. They just stayed there on the sidewalk, Mark, Roger and her, until their friends disappeared from sight, Joanne in her cab, and Benny's car being swallowed into the city's traffic. She watched Roger as his gaze followed Benny's car, until it was out of their sight.

They were back at the loft again. Roger closed himself in his bedroom once they got home. The sound of his closing door always made her sad. Soon Roger would be gone too. She couldn't believe he was seriously considering leaving for Santa Fe. She sighed. It wasn't supposed to end like that.

"Tired?" Mark's voice invaded her thoughts.

She shook her head. The last thing she felt like doing, yet at the same time the thing she wanted most of all, was sleep. "Not really."

"Want some company? I can make us some tea or something."

As if everything was normal again. "Yeah. That'll be great."

Mark smiled in reply. "Okay. I'll be right back then."

She took a quick shower and changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt she stole from Mark's closet when he was in the shower. While slipping it on, she suddenly remembered that thing Angel told her that afternoon. She was extremely weak, and yet she wanted to have five minutes in private with each of them. She knew what Angel was doing; like the rest of them, she, too, knew that the end was close. She was saying her goodbyes.

She just wasn't sure what Angel meant in telling her what she did.

Mark was already in the living-room when she walked back in there. He raised his head as she entered, and nodded towards a steaming mug on the coffee table. "Earl Gray, one sugar," he said.

She smiled. Trust Mark to remember just how she drank her tea. She considered her options; she could take a seat on the armchair across from him, as he was practically sitting on what was her bed, or she could just sit there beside him. What's the big deal? They were friends now.

He gave her an amused look as she settled herself, stuffing her sock-clad feet underneath her. "Is this my sweatshirt you're wearing?"

She flashed him an apologetic smile. "I hope you don't mind." She reached for her mug, embracing it with both hands to keep them warm. "Thanks."

"For the tea or for my sweatshirt?" asked Mark, smiling mischievously.

"Both," she replied, returning his smile. Then it slowly faded with the thought of Roger, closed in his room. "I can't believe he's going."

Mark sighed. "Yeah, I know. But maybe this is what he needs. He had a really hard time with Mimi, first being there for her when she decided she wanted to quit using, and then when he caught her buying smack from The Man again…" he shook his head. "I dunno. I guess it made him realize he might have ended up the same way."

"But he didn't. He has you to thank."

"I guess. But he shouldn't push Mimi away because of that. He should try to help her."

"I think… that this is a decision he has to make, not us," she said slowly, although she did think Mark had a point.

"Yeah, guess you're right," said Mark. There was a short pause. They sipped their tea silently. "So, umm…" he started again after a while, leaning back on the couch, "you looked kind of shaken when you left Angel's room this afternoon," he pointed out, placing his mug back on the table. It sounded like a casual observation, as if he was only trying to make a conversation, but she could see in his eyes there was more to it. And quite frankly, it took her by surprise. She didn't think anyone noticed.

"Yeah, I was… I guess 'shaken' fits," she admitted.

"You wanna talk about it?"

There was no way she could possibly tell him what Angel told her. No way at all. So instead, she forced on a reassuring smile and said, "It wasn't anything she said, really. It was the way she was… saying goodbye and all that. I guess it really hit me when she did it… that we're really losing her." She said the last thing in a whisper, as she was choking with sudden tears. Her throat felt sore. She placed the mug on the table and quickly wiped her tears away.

"It's okay to cry, you know," Mark said softly, and yet somehow managed to startle her. "You don't have to work so hard on hiding it. That's what Roger never understands. It's okay to show emotion sometimes. It only makes you more human."

She hated crying in front of people. It was unlike the Drama Queen to appear so weak and vulnerable. So she learned how to hold them back.

She didn't feel like holding back anymore.

"It's just… whenever we leave that room every night… I always go out asking myself if this is the last time, if she'll be there the next morning. And I don't want her to go." She snorted as she realized how it sounded. "Isn't it a horrible thing to say? I know how much she suffers and yet I don't want her to go. How selfish is that?" She couldn't stop the tears from running now, so she buried her face in her hands, crying into them. She was such a horrible person, it suddenly dawned on her. Selfish, selfish, sel-

"Hey…" The couch groaned under their weights as Mark shifted a bit and moved closer to her. "Don't you dare thinking like that, Maureen." He took her in his arms now, rocking her gently as if he was comforting a child after a bad dream. "You're not selfish. I feel just like you do. I don't want Angel to die, none of us does. But I keep telling myself that maybe it's for the best. It'll end her suffering."

She took a deep breath, feeling herself calm down a bit. She looked up at him doubtfully. "Do you really believe that?" she asked.

Mark hesitated, but only for a moment. "Yeah. I think I do. I think Angel believe that too."

"Everything's so fucked up…" she sighed.

Mark shrugged. "C'est la vie."

She snorted. "Viva la vie Boheme."

He let out a small, bitter laughter. Then he looked at her. "You okay?"

"I'm… not sure. I keep thinking about this thing she told me," she said, realizing too late that she did.

"It looks like it bothers you."

"I guess… sort of. It's something she asked me to do. I'm just not sure why she asked me to do it." Or maybe she did, but burying it seemed a wiser, safer alternative.

"What did she ask?"

"She wanted to make sure… that I'll watch over you," she said quietly, looking straight at him.

He blushed instantly, but he didn't seem to be aware of it. "Oh," he said dumbly.

"I asked her what she meant, so she just gave me that mysterious smile of hers and said, 'you know what I mean, honey'." She shook her head. Angel's voice was still echoing through when she repeated her words.

"And… you know what she meant?" Mark asked slowly, never breaking their gaze.

Did she know? She wasn't sure. She had her suspicions, of course, but those were all things she thought would be better avoided or repressed. She looked away. She couldn't face him. She was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, sitting so close to him.

And then she had to face him again as she felt his hand against her cheek. For a second, it felt as if she stopped breathing. She looked at him. He said nothing, just… sort of gazed at her. His finger drew small circles against her temple, its motion gentle and hypnotizing. She closed her eyes. They shouldn't be doing this; even though they weren't doing anything, technically. She knew it was wrong.

She didn't care.

She opened her eyes, her gaze locks back with Mark's. She traced her finger along his lower lip, as if trying to memorize its shape. Neither of them said anything yet, but she thought it was better that way. Words would only break the spell, bring reality back, make them face it.

Well, she was sick and tired of reality.

Mark was obviously feeling the same, as his lips met hers halfway in a passionate kiss.