Joanne sat with her hands wrapped around the marginally warm cup of coffee. She wasn't sure why she had come, and she wasn't sure why she was still here, and she felt she should be more bothered by that than she was. She wasn't the type to just sit there, thinking about when they had all been here at the cafe, so vibrant and passionate and raw. Alive. It could have been last year, or last month, or yesterday. Even for someone who loved order, time had a habit of getting away from a person.

A scuffed pair of sneakers shuffled into her view and interrupted her abstracted staring at the floor. Above the sneakers were a pair of slightly worse-for-wear corduroys, and then a worn but clean blue sweater. And of course, above that, the habitual striped scarf, the glasses and the furrowed brow of Mark Cohen.

"I, uh, don't want to interrupt but I saw you sitting there..." he said awkwardly.

"Of course. Hey, Mark. Sit down," she said, gesturing at the open seat. "Can I get you a cup of sub-par coffee?"

"Uh, tempting. Thanks," he said, as Joanne signaled the waiter.

"What brings you here?" she asked.

"I, well, it's silly but sometimes, I just like to be where we were all happy, before..."

"Well, as I'm sure you can imagine, this isn't exactly the main hang-out for high-powered lawyers. What do you think I'm doing here?" That sounded too sharp, and she knew it. "But yeah, I know, before. Before..."

They were silent for a long moment, until Mark's coffee arrived with an indifferent clatter and some sloshing. After some pointless chatter about just how sub-par the coffee actually was, there was another awkward silence as they both thought of the things that had happened, of Angel's death, of Mimi's renewed illness, of Roger's depression, of Maureen breaking it off with Joanne so dramatically, of all the details large and small that had filled the time their lives had overlapped.

"Sometimes," blurted out Mark, "I wonder what would have happened if, you know, if Angel hadn't found Collins in the alley, if Maureen had never met you, I mean, I don't mean, oh, I don't know what I mean," he trailed off. "Who can resist Maureen, anyway?"

"I didn't know about you when I met her, Mark, honest. I don't set out to hurt people, and Maureen, she's just Maureen." She paused. "And who is to say what could have happened? We two never would have met, I suppose, and I wouldn't have helped you get that job you never wanted in the first place, and maybe you'd have taken Benny up on his offer for free rent. A lot of things would have been different. Probably not better, maybe not worse, but different. But you can't think about that kind of thing too long, Mark. You just can't," she said, reaching out and briefly touching his hand. So very lightly.

"Hey, well, I always think too much," he said, leaning forward and reaching for the sugar. "It's what makes me so endearing."

"Right," she grinned. "It certainly isn't your dancing skills." He mustered a weak smile.

"Thanks, I really needed reminding of that. And that we have the same bad taste in women. You know, it's odd we never talked all that much, other than about our problems with Maureen, which was awkward and pretty weird overall," he said.

"You're right, but we're here now. Speaking of questionable taste in women," Joanne said cryptically as she leaned forward and with a wicked grin quietly continued, "Ever want some of your own back? Don't jump. Viva la vie boheme."

"Wha--" started Mark, but was cut off as the last thing he would ever have expected happened. Which was that Joanne kissed him. Really kissed him. Aggressively kissed him, even. "Mmmmph?" he queried, or tried to, as she put her hands on the sides of his face and continued with some skill. His glasses were gouging the bridge of his nose, not to mention fogging up. He may have whimpered.

Finally she broke away and smiled into his confused face, although she was still very close. "Damn, glasses. I forgot about the glasses. I should have planned that better, but I didn't have a lot of time to think it through. Ow. But, pookie," she said with a significant look, "I had to do it."

"What?" Through the weirdness, a realization was slowly dawning.

"Keep looking into my eyes. We're having a lovey-dovey little chat, right? You know," she continued conversationally, with a flirtatious little smile, "Kissing you was not totally unpleasant. It was almost like kissing a girl." She sounded reflective. The corner of her mouth lifted, as did one eyebrow.

"Er, I guess I'll take that as a compliment," he said, his eyes a bit wild.

"Wise man," she said, and made a kissy-face and seductive eyes at him.

"And I suppose that kissing you was like kissing a girl, because you are one, but maybe even like kissing a girl who might remotely be attracted to me."

"Hey, you're not unattractive. In an aesthetic sense, you're as attractive to me as any skinny white boy film-maker who can't dance could ever be."

"You're so full of compliments, pookie, I just can't stand it," he said, getting into the spirit of the thing and tapping her affectionately on the nose. He was rewarded with a knowing smile in return.

"Heeeeey, you two," broke in a brassy but perhaps slightly confused voice.

"Oh, hey there, Maureen," said Mark, as he shifted in his seat to look at Maureen and tried not to blush guiltily.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Joanne, running her thumb over Mark's knuckles gently while kicking him not so gently under the table. "Mark and I were just catching up on old times. We have a lot in common," she said archly.

"Besides both dating you, of course," said Mark.

Maureen just stood there, speechless for maybe the first time in her life. How rewarding. "Why don't you sit down," invited Joanne, her eyebrows lifting perhaps mockingly.

"Yes, do," added Mark. "It will be like old times, right dear?" He clasped Joanne's hand in his. Joanne smiled what might have been a slightly devilish little smile.

"Mark and I were just talking about you a bit ago, actually, and how in a way, you're the reason the two of us met, isn't that right, Mark?" Mark let out a strangled little noise. "Sub-par coffee, Maureen?" Maureen was trying to appear calm and collected, but her eyes were darting between the two of them.

"Excuse me for a moment, ladies," Mark said as yet another cup of coffee appeared. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take without bursting into hysterical laughter. "I seem to have something in my throat." As he stood, he leaned over and gave Joanne a kiss on the forehead and a discrete wink. She chucked him under the chin. He gave Maureen an odd little smile, but she was staring at Joanne through narrowed, predatory eyes. And just before he slipped out the back entrance, he glanced back to see Maureen and Joanne deep in conversation, Joanne looking immensely pleased with herself. "I'll see you around," he mouthed to Joanne, who saw him out of the corner of her eye; she nodded slightly before leaning back and crossing her arms as, he was quite sure, Maureen turned up the charm.

"Well, that was fuckin' weird," he said to no one as he stepped into the alley, a slow smile spreading across his face. Weird, but sort of freeing, in some way that made no sense and all the sense in the world. He leaned against the wall of the cafe for just a moment, his head tilted up so that he could see a small slice of sky. And then, feeling strangely refreshed, he set off into the cold, crisp afternoon to look up Collins. After all, he had to remember that it didn't matter why that whole scene had just happened, or if Joanne would get back together with Maureen, or why they all met, or even why things once fell apart, it just mattered that they were.