All Wet
By Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com

Fandom: Pre-RENT (movie)
Pairing/characters: Joanne/Maureen, Joanne/Other
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson.

--

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I never thought
That anyone
Was more important than the plans
I made
But now I feel the shame
There's no one else to blame
For all the broken hearts scattered on the field of war
-- 'Pardon Me' Weezer

--

Sometimes Joanne thought that no one, not even Mark, knew Maureen like she did. Others she wondered if she really knew her lover at all. Maureen was always an enigma and somehow still predictable. She was human, and flawed, and prone to acting out when she didn't get her way.

There were times when Joanne did nothing but focus on her flaws, and then, it was ridiculously easy to believe that all their problems had nothing to do with her raging jealousy and complete inability to give up any sort of control. Not knowing what to do led to Joanne trying that much harder to contain a situation, and many times, Maureen left her not knowing what to do.

It was a fine situation, this series of checks and balances, learning to accept Maureen for who she was, remind herself that it was because of Maureen's unique approach to situations that she fell in love in the first place.

Thinking back to the night they had found Mimi in the park, Joanne often found it supremely ironic that it was her and Maureen, herself sometimes an outsider, Maureen considered fickle and shallow by their Bohemian family, who had stayed out in the cold, shivering and freezing, picking their way through homeless lumps on park benches, searching for a wisp of a girl.

"Leave it to men," Maureen drawled, huddled in her leather jacket, arms wrapped around herself, teeth chattering. "They've got no follow through."

Despite the dire situations, Joanne couldn't help her small smile, shaking her head as she said her goodbye to Benny, their unseen third partner.

"Benny says he loves you too, Maureen."

"Jerk," Maureen muttered, and Joanne shook her head, clamping closed the brick of a cellphone and burying it into her pocket, straining to see into the night.

"He is the reason we're here," she reminded her. "Without him, we never would have gotten the tip."

"And never would be out freezing our asses off on Christmas Eve. I'm serious. My butt is so frozen it's going to crack and fall off."

"Well, we can't have that." Palming one of her favorite assets, Joanne rubbed it vigorously, causing Maureen to squirm and eye her warily. "Come on," she said, grabbing hold of a gloved hand, exposed icy fingers knitted against hers. "We're wasting time."

"You know, if you had to choose between my ass and my face, I really think you'd pick my ass." But Maureen kept moving, sharp eyes roving over the bodies of homeless people, shaking her head suddenly. "God, if she's really here, Joanne""

"I know." Fingers squeezing, Joanne offered a simple, stoic smile. "We'll find her, honey."

Maureen was quiet, letting go just enough to grab hold of a passing bundle of rags, stare the female in the face, and let her go just as quickly, shaking her head in defeat, leaving the poor startled person behind.

Smiling apologetically, Joanne pressed a five dollar bill into her palm. "Merry Christmas," she said, and followed after her lover.

"You know what's weird?" Maureen said suddenly, when Joanne caught up. Tugging on her hat, Maureen looked almost like a Jewish thug, breath misty in the cold. "Okay, not weird so much as" interesting."

Arching an eyebrow, Joanne crossed her arms and kept her gaze on the benches on either side of them. "What?"

"It's us." The tone was weird, and Joanne finally dragged her gaze to Maureen's face, to face bright green eyes and a contemplative mouth turned downwards.

"It's us," she repeated, hoping that by saying it again Maureen would actually explain.

"Yeah," Maureen said, nodding. "I mean, we were the ones that broke up." Joanne's eyes flickered down, staring suddenly at the dirty cement. "And now" it's us."

Joanne's steps faltered, and she turned, looking into the face of the love of her life. There was another soft smile, and Joanne shook her head in wonder. Even on this dreary Christmas Eve, knowing what they were here to do, she couldn't help a soft swipe against Maureen's cheek.

"Did you ever think we'd be the stable ones?"

"Not in a million years," Maureen answered seriously, and Joanne snorted, falling into silence to simply consider the idea.

A step forward, and suddenly Maureen's lips were clinging to hers gently, chastely. Eyes flickering closed, Joanne curled an arm around her beloved, breathing hot air against a chilly cheek. Maureen held her tight, head bowing down until her face was buried into her collar, nestling into the wool there.

"I'm glad it's us," Maureen whispered, fingers gripping the sides of her coat.

Clutching her tight, Joanne let out a soft breath, and pressed a kiss to the knit cap on her lover's head. "I'm glad it's us, too."

--

Dry, put together, clean, Joanne Jefferson's head was in her palms, elbows on her wooden desk, fighting off a monster headache, and a clammy, cold feeling that she was almost sure came from spending the majority of a frigid evening soaked to her skin, searching Alphabet City for a woman had suddenly turned into a ghost.

"You made me love you, and all I did was make you come."

All the make up in the world couldn't cover the dark circles under her eyes, a product of a sleepless night, and her brain, tired and determined to focus on anything but today, continued only to repeat Maureen's parting words, drive it into her heart.

A large object slammed onto her desk, startling her. Head rising, Joanne discovered Steven wearing a grimace, pressing a box of cold medicine into her hand and getting to work on opening the cardboard box in front of her.

"What's that?"

With an exasperated sigh, Steven lifted the lid off the box and produced a big brick of plastic. "This is your new cellphone."

"What?" He glared, flipping it open and holding it out to her. "Steven, that thing is huge."

"I'm tired of trying to find you when you're off saving the world. You're taking it, and you're wearing it, and you're going to answer it when I call you, because dammit, Joanne, I'm keeping this job and so are you."

Joanne's mouth pressed into a grim smile, brow arching. "It's a little early to be this melodramatic, isn't it?"

"Tell me that again after this meeting." Straightening, Steven crossed his arms. "You know, I've always looked up to you, Joanne. People like you are the reason I want to be a lawyer, why I work my ass off at night and have no social life. I can see you trying to make a difference. But even I know when to draw the line."

Joanne sighed, fidgeting with the box of cold medicine and leaning forward, studying her assistant's warm brown eyes. "What did I tell you when I first hired you?"

He frowned. "You like your coffee black, just like you?"

Rolling her eyes, Joanne shook her head. "I told you that to be a lawyer you couldn't be objective. You had to believe in your case. If you don't, then you lose. I don't believe in this case anymore."

He tilted his head. "And what about the part where you slept with your client?"

"That's the part where I fucked up," she confirmed.

It was enough to make him smile, at least, and he nodded his head, stepping backwards, and heading for the door. "I guess you're allowed."

Taking two pills and palming them, Joanne winced at the sharp pain in her head. Swallowing the pills with a grimace, she glared at the brick, opening it and looking at the buttons of numbers.

Before her fingers could betray her, Steve buzzed her, a sharp sound that didn't improve her mood or her headache. "Yes," she asked, button on the intercom.

"Hector Suddelson here for you."

Her chest tightened, and Joanne nodded, exhaling slowly. "Send him in."

--

Hector's posture was tight, and his expression was pissed. Leaning back in her chair, Joanne tapped on her desk, lips pressed together.

He had a right.

"So this is why she wanted the damn meeting with those other two lawyers. You pissed her off."

Her sinus throbbed, and Joanne curled a hand around her neck, massaging into the skin. "It's slightly more complicated than that."

"Okay, you really pissed her off." Pushing off the chair, Hector looked tired and sick, dark spots blotching his perfect skin, on his neck. "Dammit, Joanne. One night. You couldn't wait one god-damned night to pull this shit."

Her eyes closed, and her head threatened to splinter. "Hector, whatever happened between me and your sister is not going to change how I handle this case. I'm a professional."

"What kind of professional fucks her client?"

She was remarkably assured this was going to bite her in the ass for an eternity. "Do you want to boot me off t his case?" His crystal eyes were cold, face livid, but he paused, hand flexing. "If you want me off this case and out of this meeting, I will be out of it. If you think it's going to affect how your sister hears your decision, I will stay out of it, no explanations, no excuses."

With that, he seemed to deflate. Falling into her chair, Hector's bangs fell into his face, and he suddenly looked like a lost little boy, shoulders sagging, face crumpling. "No, I don't want you off this case," he mumbled. "Okay? I'm just" damnit."

Mouth pressed together, Joanne allowed him a moment of quiet, as her headache kept pounding and the weight on her shoulders only seemed to get heavier.

"Fine," she said, quietly and evenly, careful not to allow a second of weakness. To do so would give him license to break, and it wasn't what needed to happen. "But if I'm going to do this for you, you need to back me up, okay? No waffling. No wavering. You want what you want, and as your lawyer, I'm standing behind you. If, for a minute, you allow a second of doubt, you're not only ruined me, but you've got yourself a trial."

He understood, and nodded. Joanne took a moment for herself, to stare at her desk and will herself through the pounding headache and the oncoming cold and the fever that was starting to make her sweat.

"My whole life, she's tried to take care of me. Two minutes older, and it meant everything." Rubbing his hands together, Hector smiled weakly. "Said I didn't know which way was up and would get myself killed without her watching over me." His smile faded. "Didn't ever think she'd be right."

"We can't control everything," she said quietly, and when he glanced up, she smiled sadly. "I'm just starting to figure that out."

"Control everything?" he snorted. "I'd be happy to control SOMETHING."

--

"You don't look well."

The observation was made by Antonia, as Joanne settled into her chair in the conference room. Her estranged girlfriend wore a cream white suit, hair styled perfectly, an interesting, guarded expression on her face. They were, for the moment at least, alone.

Joanne, choosing glasses today in favor of her harder to manage contact lenses, slid the frames over her nose and regarded her lover.

"I didn't sleep well last night."

Antonia held her gaze, and then glanced away. "I called you. I wanted to make sure you got home okay."

"You made me love you, and all I did was make you come."

Joanne swallowed, and nodded. "I got your message. But we shouldn't discuss that now. Your brother requested this meeting."

She blanched, actually looking guilty. "Joanne""

The door opened again, and Joanne was almost relieved, shoulders straightening, as Mr. Finch walked in, followed by Hector, and finally, Nicky.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"I asked Nicky to sit in," Mr. Finch said, answering her unspoken question with a hard look. "Nicky has been anxious to help however he can."

"Joanne's my lawyer," Hector snapped, pulling out the chair beside her.

"Yes, however your sister is the one who requested additional representation." Joanne's eyes slid to Antonia, and the other woman shook her head, eyes closed, as if already regretting her decision.

"Before we get involved into the course of this trial," she began, determined to end this meeting as quickly and as painlessly as possible, "There is something that Hector has asked I bring up today."

Hector's lips pressed together as if bracing himself.

"Well of course we're always looking out for Mr. Suddelson's interests," Mr. Finch responded, diplomatic and smiling, as Nicky arched an eyebrow and fingered the arm of his chair. "Whatever will make him feel comfortable-"

"I'm not doing this."

The sentence was quietly interjected, as Hector rubbed at one of the brown spots on his neck and offered a tired grimace.

Joanne's entire body went rigid, and her eyes immediately slid to his twin sister's shocked expression.

"Excuse me?"

"Hector." Joanne leaned forward, hand on his arm. "Maybe you should let me-"

He flinched away. "I don't want to do this. Okay? I don't want this trial. I don't want a settlement. I don't want press knocking down my door. I don't want any of this."

Well, fuck. Lips dry, Joanne sat back, pushing her glasses back into place and prepared herself for the shit to hit the fan.

Mr. Finch looked very much like a fish, mouth dropped open and gasping. "Joanne?"

"I stand with my client," she said firmly, simply. "This is what he wants, and I'll support his decision."

Antonia visibly blinked, and Mr. Finch grew an interesting shade of pink. "You put this case together, Joanne. We have a good case for discrimination. Publicity is already starting to talk to the press."

"Which is why Mr. Suddelson came forward with this now," Joanne interrupted. "In order to keep man hours from being wasted."

Nicky coughed, a combination between a sneer and a snap. "You're kidding, right? Do you have any idea how many man hours have already been put in this thing?"

"Yes, and no one's put in more than me," Joanne snapped, eyes narrowed.

"Then you're aware at how much time and money the firm has invested, Joanne."

"We'll pay you for those hours," Hector snapped. "Right, Antonia?"

Her girlfriend was quiet, hands in her lap, face drawn and closed. Mouth pursed together, she smiled thinly.

"This wasn't something you couldn't bring up at home?" she asked flatly. "You had to do this here. With her."

"This is HIS trial. He has a right to want no part in it. I'm his lawyer, Antonia."

"No, you're my girlfriend, Joanne." Joanne's heart thudded inside of her, and her eyes closed, saving herself from seeing Mr. Finch's reaction. "But obviously you can't be both. So, you're fired."

"Jefferson-" Mr. Finch began, face red and splotchy.

"You can't fucking DO that," Hector snapped, hands slamming on the table.

"Dammit, Hector, can't you see she's doing this to get back at me?"

"It had nothing to do with you!"

"Then why the hell did you bring her into it?"

"Holy shit," Nicky breathed, shaking his head, and Joanne had had enough.

"STOP. Now." Rising up, she slammed her hands against the desk, eyes directly on her girlfriend. "Antonia, this is what your brother wants. I scheduled this meeting yesterday morning, or did you forget? For once, stop thinking the world revolves around you and consider for a minute, what your brother needs."

"Joanne, excuse yourself," Mr. Finch said quietly, dangerously. "Now."

--

"We're so fired." Steven kicked his feet up on her desk. When Joanne eyed the dirty shoes with a glare, he shrugged. "We're so fired," he repeated.

Joanne's headache was quickly reaching migraine proportions, and she snatched a tissue from her desk, flopping into her leather seat. "Well, consider the last couple weeks a textbook case on how NOT to handle a case," she sniffled. "My brain has betrayed me."

"No, your girlfriend betrayed you," he mused. "But only because she thinks you betrayed her."

"I did." Joanne smiled wanly. "For the past few weeks I was for using her to get over someone else. I was so intent on trying to ignore my heart I decimated this case, Antonia, Hector""

"See? This is what happens when you overthink things," he said, hands behind his head. "They turn out even more fucked up."

"Maybe I deserved this."

"Maybe you did, but I didn't."

Joanne managed a laugh, at the moment unable to do much else. "Don't worry," she told him, grabbing hold of his shoe and pushing his legs off her table. "I'll get you a good recommendation."

"Well, you better. And make sure it's a hot lawyer. I like telling people I work for a hot lawyer."

The door opened, and Joanne's smirk fell when she stared at Mr. Finch. His face was purposely severe, and Joanne's hands twitched, nodding toward Steven.

Her assistant quickly excused himself.

"How long did you know about that?" Mr. Finch said in the silence that followed, hawk eyes taking her in.

"He approached me with his concern two days ago, sir." It was amazing just long ago that lunch seemed.

"And you didn't try to convince him otherwise."

"With all due respect the man is dying," Joanne answered, rising to her feet. "It doesn't leave much room for waffling. He made his decision. He asked me to execute it."

Lips pursed together, his stance was awkward, and Mr. Finch shook his head slightly. "Go home, Jefferson," he said finally. "Get some rest. You look like hell."

Turning, he walked out of her office.

--

Joanne had stuck out like a sore thumb her entire life. She had never really belonged anywhere, with her ideals and otherness. She had long ago become comfortable with being noticed simply for being different.

The stares that she received now, she told herself, were no different than what she was used to. Tired, she made her way to the elevator, holding onto her briefcase loosely. Back straight, head held high, she closed her eyes against her feverish exhaustion and stepped inside the elevator, pushing the button marked 'Lobby'.

"Can you hold that?" Antonia jerked inside, and hazel eyes went wide with surprise and immediately wariness. Still, never one to stop away from a confrontation, her lover entered the small room and stared straight at the doors as they closed.

"I'm sorry," Joanne said suddenly.

Her ex-girlfriend stiffened, glanced back at her and then swiveled her gaze forward again. "For that? Forget it. I took care of it."

"No, I'm not apologizing for that." Joanne crossed her arms, turned her face her. "I'm sorry for hurting you." The beautiful woman, her lover of three weeks, turned once again, and for a moment, Joanne thought she saw a flash of genuine emotion, before the hardness returned to those orbs. "Listen to your brother, Antonia. If you want to take care of him, give him what he needs, not what you need."

The doors opened, and Antonia stepped out of them, away from her, as if she hadn't heard.

--

Pushing forward, Joanne stepped into her apartment, flicking on the light to look at the solitary state of her own life.

Shrugging off her trench coat, she let it fall where she stood, stepping out of the lump of fabric, pulling on her tie, kicking off her heels.

Green eyes and a wide smile, brunette curls and a sharp laugh tickled her senses, and Joanne caught her breath, staring around the apartment before she realized her headache had reached epic proportions and she was actually cooking.

Grabbing a Kleenex, Joanne blinked the vision out of her blurry senses and blew her nose hard. She tossed the used tissue toward the garbage can and missed.

It wasn't the only thing lying on her floor, next to the trash can.

Coming forward, Joanne knelt down and picked up a wrinkled sheet of paper, crumpled together.

Suddenly trembling, Joanne unfolded it carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles with her fingertips, until she looked at Maureen's protest flier, barely legible, with a date, a time, a place.

She closed her eyes and bent her hot head over the cool paper, and clutched it close to her heart.

- end chapter