Chapter 9, FINALLY! I just want to thank you guys so, so much for being so patient, and for the lovely reviews. It always makes my day a whole lot brighter, really. :) So much stuff has happened since I last updated, and I either just did not feel like writing or doing anything due to events that happened, or didn't have time, etc. I've had more than half of this written for quite some time now, but didn't really know how to end it, until tonight. I do have a few ideas of what could happen in upcoming chapters, but I'm going to apologize in advance if I end up not updating for a while.

ANYWHO! Read, review and tell me what you think! Your thoughts help a lot in my stories, trust me!
All belongs to Jonathan Larson, except Annalise. :)

Enjoy!


The sun shone brightly through the window in Mark's bedroom, sending brightness throughout the room. Groaning, Mark turned over onto his back. After a few minutes he yawned, giving into the sun's incessant reminder that it was a new day.

Squinting in the brightness, he reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his glasses. Putting them on, he sat up slightly and leaned on his elbow, reaching over and grabbing his handy wrist watch.

His eyes widened when he saw the time. '10:47?!' He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked at the watch. It still read the same time.

'It's can't be 10:47! Annalise would've woken up long before now!' he thought, throwing his watch on his nightstand and sitting up quickly. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and looked over at her crib. She wasn't in it. Panic filled his body as he quickly got up from his bed and made his way over to her crib

"What the hell?" he questioned out loud, picking up the soft, yellow blanket he had covered her with the night before, as if she might somehow magically appear underneath it. When she didn't appear to be hiding under the blanket, he ran a hand through his messy blond hair, causing it to stick up on end.

'Oh god, oh my god.' he thought, clutching the blanket to his bare chest, his eyes darting around his room. Quickly, he moved to his door and walked out, trying to find his daughter.

When he entered the big, lofty living room, he was surprised to not find Roger in sight, drinking his usual cup of coffee. Annalise was nowhere in sight.

"Roger?" he called out. It was too quiet in the loft. Between Annalise crying and Roger constantly playing guitar, there was always some sound being resonated though their spacious apartment. But not now – all that could be heard was the stony silence of the walls surrounding him and the faint sounds of beeping car horns and yellings of the city.

"In here, Mark!" he heard Roger call quietly. Mark's head snapped to the side and eyed Roger's closed door with wide, worried eyes. He followed his voice to his room, his panic never leaving him. If Roger wasn't up yet, then where the hell was his daughter?

"Rog, Annali – " he began loudly, opening the door to Roger's room quickly.

"Shh!" Roger interrupted him, holding a finger to his pursed, winter-chapped lips. When Mark looked in and saw Roger, he sighed in relief, placing a hand on his chest. He walked into the room fully. Roger was lying on his bed, his back propped up against the wall, and there was Annalise, fast asleep on his chest, tightly grasping a handful of Roger's t-shirt.

"Oh, thank god!" Mark all but cried, sitting down on the edge of Roger's bed. He reached over and carefully detached his daughter's sleeping form from his best friend. He placed her against his warm chest and rocked her back and forth gently.

"About time you woke up." Roger said quietly, reaching over to the other side of his bed, picking up his acoustic guitar which was propped up against the wall.

"I know, I can't believe I slept this late. Usually I'm up way before you." Mark agreed, yawning by the end of the sentence.

"I know. I'm surprised she didn't wake you up!" he smirked.

"What do you mean?" Mark asked, looking over his shoulder at Roger, confused.

"At like, seven in the morning she was crying and crying, and apparently you were in such a deep sleep you didn't hear her."

Mark looked at Roger for a moment, his brow furrowed. "Really?" he asked, amazed. He slept right through her cries?

"Yup. It woke me up. I waited for you to get up, but after a few minutes she was still crying. So, I got up, went to your room and peeped in to see if you were there."

Mark raised his eyebrows at Roger, who was now absentmindedly plucking the strings of his guitar, playing a soft tune. Roger nodded and continued.

"And there you were, face-down on your pillow, arm hanging over the edge of your bed, snoring." he said, smirking at Mark's shocked face.

"Wow." Mark replied, looking down at Annalise, lightly stroking her soft, strawberry-blonde hair.

"You must've been really tired if you didn't even hear her crying ten feet away from you!" Roger chuckled.

"Yeah," Mark smiled with Roger, hugging his daughter to him lightly. "We had another late night last night. She woke up at like, quarter of three in the morning, wanting to be fed. Again." He kissed the top of her head and transferred Annalise in his arms so he was now cradling her.

"Yeah, I heard." Roger said, plucking arpeggios, his long, slender fingers dancing up and down the guitar's neck.

"What?" Mark asked quickly, the smile leaving his face as soon as it came. Quickly, he turned around to face Roger. He knew he'd wake Roger, he just knew it. He only hoped that Roger had fallen asleep before he sang to Annalise, or couldn't hear him at least. He hated it when people heard him sing. With wide eyes, he watched Roger play.

"I heard you last night." he said simply, his eyes not leaving his guitar.

"I – " Mark began to explain himself, feeling his face turn a light shade of pink in embarrassment.

"You know, you're not that bad." Roger said, and looked up at Mark. "Your voice, I mean. Your singing." he added, seeing Mark's confused face. "How come you don't sing more often? You're good." He began picking at the strings, playing the opening of the song Mark sang to his crying daughter only hours before.

"Oh," Mark said, surprised by Roger's response. "I guess I just don't like singing in front of other people." he answered quietly. Roger stopped playing and looked up at Mark, who was now deep red. He furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Why not? It's easy performing in front of other people." he asked, bewildered.

"Easy for you to say." Mark mumbled, playing with his daughter's little hands, noticing how long her nails had grown.

"Aw, come on Mark. Why not?" Roger pressed on.

"I don't know," Mark answered, desperate to change the subject. He didn't like the idea of performing in front of people. What if he messed up? What if they laughed at him? What if it was a complete failure? He liked to see things from a different standpoint. That, he reasoned, is why he liked to film other people perform. Because, if someone did ever mess up, or if people laughed, or even if it was a complete failure, he could go back and edit it out. He liked seeing things from the outside.

He looked down at Annalise, asleep in his arms. Lightly, he rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. Subconsciously, she took hold of his finger and held onto it tightly.

"I just don't like to – " he stopped mid-sentence, the sound of the loft's large sliding door opening filling the loft. Mark and Roger looked up at the door, confused.

"I didn't know you were having someone come over this early." Mark said, watching Roger as he quietly put his guitar back on the ground by his bedside.

"I'm not." He replied, sitting up more and listening.

"What?" Mark asked, starting to get worried. On instinct, his grip on Annalise tightened, and he brought her closer to his body.

"I thought you locked the door last night?" Roger spoke quietly, getting up from his bed and walking towards the door.

"I did." Mark said in the same quiet tone Roger used, getting up and walking in front of Roger to his door, still holding Annalise close to him.

As silently as he could, he opened the door just enough for his head to fit through, and peered out.

As he scanned the large room for the intruder, his eyes fell upon a mess of auburn curls atop a woman sitting on their couch: Maureen. She was sitting on the couch; legs crossed and propped up on the coffee table, a bag of chips in her lap, a beer in one hand and the television remote in the other, watching TV.

"Maureen?" Mark asked, handing Annalise over to Roger, and opened the door wider and stepped out of Roger's room.

"Well, hello there!" Maureen looked up at him, smiling, and began putting her stuff on the coffee table. She stood up as Mark walked over to her.

"Nice outfit, works for ya." Maureen commented on Mark's attire, giggling as she tugged at the waistband of his boxers.

Mark chose to ignore her comment. "Maureen, what are you doing here?" he asked, swatting her hand away from his underwear as she tried to peek down.

"I do live here, don't I?" she waved over to Roger, who was leaning against his doorframe, watching from his bedroom. Hands busy with bouncing Annalise, he merely nodded his head in greeting, a fake smile on his face.

"Yeah, but – " Mark began, but was suddenly cut off by her coming up to him and fiercely locking her lips with his. Staggering back slightly, he quickly responded, and began to kiss her back; it had been a while since he had had any type of contact with another person. After a moment of kissing her back, he remembered why he was angry with her and broke off the kiss.

"Maureen!" he shouted, wiping his mouth slightly. "You can't do this!" Mark said loudly, backing up slightly.

"What?" she asked, truly confused.

"'What?' What do you think, Mo? You leave for two weeks, don't tell anyone where you are or who you're with, and then just poof! Appear two weeks later, acting as if nothing's happened?" Mark yelled, crossing his arms. He felt like he was yelling at a child who had snuck a cookie before dinner. There was an awkward silence that lingered in the air like a thick smoke.

"So?" Maureen broke the silence.

"'So?'?! What the hell, Maureen! You just can't do that." he all but exploded, throwing his arms in the air.

"Well, I don't see why you off all people should have a problem with that! At least I didn't go off and get so shit faced that I had random, crazy sex with someone I don't even know!" She yelled back defensively, her hands flying in the air, "OR had a kid!" She had to add, shooting him a look that could kill.

"Hey, you're the one who decided it was a good idea to force me out and get me rip-roaring drunk that night! Didn't I tell you that I didn't want to get drunk?" Mark fought back, a red flush beginning to creep up his chest and neck to his face. "And don't bring Annalise into this!"

"Why not? If I recall correctly, you were out that night and I didn't know where you were!" She said with a smug look on her face, thinking she had him there.

"If I recall correctly, you weren't even home when I came back. And when you did decide to come back, THE NEXT DAY, you smelled like someone else's cologne, and you were wearing completely different clothes! Men's clothes!" Mark yelled back, losing his temper completely and stamping his foot down. "And that's not the first time that's happened, Maureen, but I still put up with your shit! How can you dare say that I – " He began, but was interrupted by the phone ringing.

Mark sighed heavily, turning around in frustration and rubbed his face with his hand, the other balling up into a fist and resting on his waist. 'Why is Maureen such a pain in the ass sometimes?' he thought as he waited for the answering machine to pick up. Finally, after a few more irritating rings the old, drunken, freshly-dropped-out-of-college-and-we-don't-care voices of Mark and Roger sounded through the apartment.

"Mark, honey? It's Mom! Just returning your call, you said you had something very important to tell us! I hope you don't need more money – I really hoped you'd have found a job by now, sweetie, but if it is, we don't mind! It's so nice to have you call us for a change, really; we usually have to practically send out a search party for you just in order for us to have a somewhat decent conversation together! Anywho, just call us back when you get the chance, Marky, honey, okay? We'll be waiting!" His mother's voice practically sang, causing Mark to become redder in embarrassment, and Roger to grin. Everyone was silent for a moment.

Still breathing heavily in anger and frustration, Mark walked over to Roger and took Annalise, who was now awake and crying, out of Roger's arms and began walking to his room. When he reached the door, he spoke low and menacingly over his shoulder, not looking at Maureen.

"You can stay here if you really want to; I can't deny you your home." he began to close the door.

"Where will I sleep?" Maureen asked quietly, afraid of Mark's tone.

"If you're so willing not to sleep with me, I think you'll find the couch very comfortable." With that, he shut the door behind him.

Shocked by her boyfriend's answer, she stared at his door, mouth hung open. Scoffing, she looked over at Roger, who was standing in his doorway, still shocked at what happened before him.

"Seriously??" She asked, resting a hand on her hip, pointing her thumb to Mark's door. Roger looked at her with wide eyes, not knowing what to do or to say. He was stuck between his best friend, and his best friend's girlfriend, who had a very bad temper and was not afraid to unleash it on people. Not wanting to get on either one's bad side, he merely shrugged his shoulders and quickly backed up into his room and shut his door, leaving Maureen standing alone in the living room.


Alright, so there's chapter 9. I hope you guys liked it. :)

-EB91