A/N: I have an overload of inspiration. So here's another fic – my first RENT, for my guilty pleasure pairing. Mark/Joanne, that is.

Tangoing with Joanne was not like dancing with any other person that Mark had ever danced with.

Not that he danced with many people, but still. It was strange, for him, dancing with his ex's new girlfriend. Maybe it was just the fact that Joanne was lesbian, but Mark thought it might be something else entirely. Something like the time he had danced with Maureen. Or rather, when she danced with him. She had done most of the dancing.

He didn't want to like Joanne. After all, how could you like someone who had stolen your girl right out from under your nose? Though, knowing Maureen, she had probably stolen Joanne. Maureen always had control of anything.

They switched directions. Mark found himself tripping over his own feet. "It's hard to do this backwards," he complained.

Joanne dipped him over her knee and snapped, "You should try it in heels." And dropped him. His head hit the concrete with a thunk.

Mark would later say that a whole life passed before his eyes, and Roger would scoff and tell Mark that he was being overdramatic. But it was true. Mark watched a whole host of "could have beens" floating before his dazed eyes. His glasses had fallen off, and everything was fuzzy around him, but in his mind he could see as clearly as ever.

Mark sitting in a movie theater with Joanne, kissing over a bucket of popcorn.

Mark going steady with her.

Proposal to Joanne. She accepted. The engagement party.

Dancing with Joanne in a crowded concert hall.

Married to Joanne. The ring being placed on his finger, the kiss.

Driving to work together.

Making love in the back bedroom.

Joanne pregnant, Joanne with a child – a boy.

The boy grown into a toddler, Mark and Joanne retired.

Nights in bed holding each other close.

Mark was awakened from his reverie by Joanne's voice, rather concerned, breaking into his thoughts. "Mark. Mark, are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," he said, sitting up and searching for his glasses. He stood up and flipped a switch on the switchboard. "Try the mike," he told Joanne.

"My Maureen," Joanne sang tentatively.

"een, een, een," echoed the mike.

"Patched," Mark said cheerfully. "Thanks. I feel great now."

"I feel lousy," frowned Joanne as Mark walked out of the building.

Mark walked back home, still thinking about Joanne, and the dancing. He found himself regretting rather strongly, but with the dreamy insubstantiality of a definite might-have-been, that Joanne was a lesbian.