1Get Over It

So I found the workshop version of RENT and basically shat myself in excitement. Then I found this song that I figured I could have fun with... called "Get Over It." I'm not sure if I'll do BOTH of their POVs, but for now I'm just going to do Mark because, like Roger, I like to torture him :) What can I say, I'm a masochist:D

Summary: A song from the Workshop of RENT between Mark and Maureen. Mark comes to fix the equipment and throws himself upon Maureen, wanting her back, but Maureen doesn't. They sing at each other angrily.

So this takes place in place of "Tango: Maureen."

Marksided MarkMaureen, AngryJoanne MoJo

1. Lonely, Bored, and Horny

Cautiously, I strolled into The Space and looked for Maureen, who seemed to be talking to herself. She was pacing, a hand to her chin, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a tanktop. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she was clearly stressed—she didn't look near ready for her performance. "Last night I had a..." she walked over to the equipment and winced as it sparked. "It's times like these I really appreciate..."

Gracefully, I tripped over something and fell flat on my face before quickly recovering and hopping to my feet. "Mark!" she squealed, running down the steps as I dusted myself off. "Dear, I'm so glad you're here!" She pulled me into a hug. "Honey, baby, you've lost some weight!" She noticed, separating (much to my displeasure) and held me at an arm's length, "I mean, you always looked great..."

"I try, Maureen," I told her, rolling my eyes and walking by her. Yes, it was true, I'd lost weight. Ever since the two of us had separated—or, ahem, been dumped—I hadn't been the same... ask Roger. He basically has to force things down my throat so I don't starve myself.

"Back when we used to date—" she began, but I cut her off.

"You lie, Maureen," I accused, annoyed and angry at her for doing this to me.

"Now let's not get irate..."

"Why, Maureen?" Didn't she just love a good fight? Or was it the attention? My memory jogged and I desperately clung to it, missing Maureen, missing her touch, her body, her love, her sex... every aspect of her made my heart ache again, the wounds ripping open once again.

"Joanne ran for the cable," she muttered softly with an almost apologizing tone. I was happy she changed the subject, "but of course she's late!" She added a bit of humor, but I didn't laugh.

"I don't know why I even try, Maureen," I shook my head and walked back over to the equipment, placing down my messenger bag and wiping my eyes beneath my glasses. Why did I try anymore? She didn't love me, no matter how much I begged... but it couldn't hurt to try, could it? I decided that, yes, I would try begging.

"My samples won't delay," she informed me, motioning to a few of the knobs and switches grandly, "but my cable—"

"There's another way," I stopped her, looking into her beautiful eyes on her beautiful face framed by her beautiful hair. "Say something... anything," I demanded, turning back to her equipment, catching a glimpse of her beautiful body before doing so. I hoped she hadn't seen me checking her out—I didn't want to give her that kind of satisfaction.

She stepped up to the microphone and sang in her beautiful voice, "Test one, two—one, two, three!"

Her soft, sweet voice triggered so many memories and good times that it was painful, so I croaked out, "Anything but that!" and stood up, covering my hands over my ears. After I'd calmed down, I glared at her, the stupid masochist that she was. "Tell me what it's like!" I shouted at her, catching her off-guard.

"What?" she asked, confused. She walked over to me and gingerly took my hands off of my ears. Her face was full of concern—excuse me as I snicker and mutter bullshit—as she tried to figure out what I was talking about.

"With a girl!" I answered in a "DUH!" voice. "Tell me what it's like for a girl and a girl!" I figured that this would frustrate her, or make her angry, or make her tell me how much better it was with men. Or at least bring up the "us" subject.

"No way!" she screamed, shaking her head and backing away. She walked back to a piece of abstract writing she was dealing with.

"Tell me, or I walk away!" I warned, for she knew that she was nothing without me. I was the technical genius, even smarter than Joanne, the spiffy lawyer/lover. I started to wonder if maybe that's all I was to Maureen—a tool. Literally.

"It's amazing," she answered breathlessly,

"Who's on top?" I challenged, getting the best of her and all the confusions of lesbiantry. "Who wears the pants? Who leads when you dance?" I got down to my knees quite dramatically—Maureen always was a sucker for drama—and looked up at her, my hands clenched together. "Give me one more chance, Maureen! This is just a phase, like girls and horses!" I remember when all she wanted was a horse. "And you never even wore flannel shirts! You'll get over it!"

"How's it going?" she asked, ignoring me.

"Not good—I'm depressed," I answered honestly, my voice a grunt.

"I meant the sampler!" she groaned.

"I'm adapting, repatching," I reported, crossing some wires and putting them in their right places. Joanne had done a lot more wrong than she had good, I concluded, looking at the wires that were in all the wrong places. Sighing, I dove right back in, my hands flying across and righting the wrongs that Joanne committed.

"Thank God, you're the best!" she cried dreamily, hugging me from behind.

"Ha!" I laughed coldly.

"Don't be depressed!" she tried to pinch my cheek—how could she honestly do it? It was too thin to do so—and kissed my cheek, leaving bright red lipstick in place. "Tell me how you've been!" she told me, which was kind of confusing—hadn't I already told her? I questioned why, and she answered, "'Cause I care! Tell me how you've been—God, time flies!"

"Don't patronize," I moaned, stopping my work momentarily. I hated how she was bending down to my pathetic level, trying to make me feel better. I hated her for pitying me. It bothered me, a lot.

"Tell me!" she begged, dropping to her knees next to me, literally stooping to my level now. "We used to be friends!"

Yeah, used to be. Back when you loved me. Or did you? Was it just for the attention, Maureen? "I'm lonely," I started, putting white and white wires together, instead of the pale yellow and white combo that'd been before, "Bored," I added thoughtfully, and then tried to think of another adjective. Then thinking of my many nights alone in the bathroom... "And horny..." I concluded.

"Is there no one new?" she asked, standing up in a huff. "You need a mate! It's not too late! Have you had one date, boy? You just need some time, you'll be fine, Mark. Anyway, I treated you like dirt," she laughed, and how true was that? "You'll get over it," that wasn't nearly as true. "Just remember what you hate about me..." then she smiled seductively. "Though it may be hard."

I had been thinking the same thing.

"How can you be so content without me?" I asked, addressing her perkiness and happiness. "How can you disregard all we had?" And she did do that—she threw all of our memories clear out the window. Earlier about the flannel shirts? An inside joke that she didn't even acknowledge.

"Dysfunction!" She answered. And I remembered her once telling me that she was dysfunctional—she couldn't deal with social relations very well.

"All we said?" I asked.

"I'm over men!" she cried, almost randomly—did that answer my question? No. Not at all.

"All we did?"

"I slept around!" she shot almost proudly, almost boasting.

"And will again!" I accused. There was no way she'd stay faithful to some dickless woman who couldn't even get her pregnant with the children she dreamt to have. Either that or she'd get bored. "Tell me what you'll do!" I put my previous thought into action. She asked me when. "When you're bored. Tell me what you'll do when you're tired of girls."

"I won't!" she cried in her own defense.

Mmmhmm. "I'll tell you," I got right up in her face, basically spitting at her. "You'll run back to me!" Okay, maybe it was a little self-centered, but it seemed to make her laugh, and to see her face light up—even in my own expense—was totally worth it.

"Your fantasy," she cackled, rolling her eyes and clutching her sides.

"You always do!"

"Don't hold your breath."

Too late, Mo, I thought, I've been doing so since you ended this. "I know your kind," I shook my head, remembering her from all those years we were together, all the laughs we had, all of the good times that had us in tears, "...always change your mind..."

"DON'T BE SO BLIND!" Her angry screech echoed in the distance, coming back to me and haunting me. I hated seeing her angry, I hated being the cause of it, I hated myself. "Can't you see?" she asked brokenly, sitting down on the stage, "All my life I've known who I was meant to be." So she KNEW she was meant to be a lesbian, and she fricking went and did this to me anyway?

"But you never even liked K.D. Lang!"

"You'll get over it!" The two of us shouted at each other, butting heads once again. Our faces were so close that I almost wanted to kiss her, hard, passionately, and then wanted to seduce her right there on the floor of the frickin' Space. "This is just a fad, just a phase," I whispered into her ear. "You'll get over it."

"You just need to get laid!" Her tone was incredulous and she pushed me away. "You'll get over it," she repeated from before, walking in the other direction. "In time we'll laugh about this!" she predicted. "You'll get over it," she said once again, as if it wasn't clear to me. Oh, it was clear, transparently much so, but I didn't want to believe it.

"In time," I forebode in an almost whisper, my words venomous, "you'll beg for my kiss!"

"Don't bet on it!" she declared.

"Try it now," I reached toward her lips with my own, but she put a finger to them and said, "You'll get over it," and it echoed once again, this time more in my mind than anything. She gave me a huge hug and growled at my stubbornness of not hugging her back. Call it dedication, because I really did want to, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction at the same time.

"I'd call this cause for hope!" I cried gleefully.

"I would call this platonic," she answered in a "blah" tone, still hugging me. "Don't grope!" she moved my hands away from her ass.

Suddenly, there was the sound of bags dropping and Maureen pushed away from me quickly, chuckling nervously. "Honey!" She called in surprise. "You're back!" Then she looked from me to the equipment as Joanne's eyes went to the lipstick lips on my cheek to Maureen. "Um..." Maureen twisted around. "We're patched."

Then I flipped a switch on the equipment, walked over to the microphone, and said, "I love you too, Maureen," and walked off the stage.

That's right, Maureen, I thought, grinning to myself as I took my things and walked away, we're patched, and my work here is done.

A/N: Please review!