A/N: I began typing this yesterday as a oneshot, but I decided it will expand into a two- or three-shot, when I have time to submit more.

Basis: I love MoJo, but I also think it has a large share of problems. With the second part of this fic, I hope to do a convincing Mark/Joanne ship. I've seen several, and I really think they work when well-written. Hey, if someone can write a convincing Mark/Alison fic, then surely there's something there connecting Mark and Joanne! OTHER than Maureen. Right?

Warning: This is NOT A MoJo, and while it hopefully will be enjoyable for Joanne lovers, those who favor Maureen may not find what they desire.

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.

Over It

Joanne Marie Jefferson was having a bad day. It wasn't the first she'd experienced in her twenty-seven years, nor was she naive enough to think it might be the last, but it was the worst she could remember having in a long time.

Joanne sighed and stretched her legs out on the deep, forest-green couch, kicking her heels off and digging her bare feet into the velvet upholstery. For once, she was glad she had let Maureen convinced her to buy a softer, comfy couch instead of a stiff model.

Maureen. The name bit into Joanne's conscious mind, and she angrily yanked her golden hairband out of her curly locks, flinging it onto the floor. The band had been a gift from Maureen – a token of "love." Joanne snorted. More like a token of false security.

She ought to have known better. Maureen's commitment issues were infamous. But somehow, Joanne couldn't seem to stay away. Well, not anymore. She was done dealing with all the drama that came with the diva. Through waiting up late some nights – most nights – wondering if Maureen was coming home. Through with the jealousy, sick of the flirting, and over the broken promises. No more.

Joanne sat up, nails clutching the seat cushion, and glared at the opposite wall. Her upset was replaced by anger, and she stood up sharply and stalked into the bedroom she and Maureen shared. The room was neat, but only because Joanne made it so herself. Maureen was content to strew her belongings throughout the apartment as if she, not her girlfriend, paid the rent. The agitated lawyer marched directly to the closet and pulled down a couple cardboard boxes labeled in magic marker: Maureen's Stuff.

She snatched up one of Maureen's bras from the floor, tossing it into a box and blinking angry tears from her eyes. Now wasn't the time – Maureen might come home any minute, and Joanne didn't want her to take crying as a sign of weakness. Maureen's bright pink iPod sat on the nightstand, and almost without thinking, Joanne stuck the earbuds in her ears and turned the device on. Usually she hated Maureen's heavy rock music, but right now it was exactly what she needed to drown out her thoughts as she continued "packing" for her girlfriend.

Each time she passed the oak dresser, a framed picture of herself and Maureen taken last spring smiled out at her. They had been happy then. Now it took every bit of Joanne's self-control to keep from throwing the picture in frustration.

A loud crash from the living room broke Joanne out of her frenzy, and she tore the iPod from her ears, tossing it onto the bed just as Maureen waltzed into the bedroom.

"Hey, Pookie, sorry about the lamp out there-" Maureen began, but broke off when she saw the boxes. "Pookie? What's going on?"

Joanne slowly looked up, fixing Maureen with a glare. "I want you out, Maureen."

Maureen's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. "…what?"

"You heard me. I'm done. This has gone on for too long, and I'm kicking you out."

Maureen laughed nervously – even though the relationship was off and on, the diva's boxes had never made their way off the top shelf. She had always escaped to the Loft with nothing but the clothes on her back until the fight blew over. And she had never seen Joanne quite this crazed before.

"Pookie-"

"Don't 'Pookie' me!" Joanne shrieked, losing her self control and dropping the box she was clutching. "We are through! Do you hear me? There is no longer an 'us,' and I am most definitely not your Pookie!" She turned to hide her tear-streaked face, then spun around and stabbed a finger at Maureen. "How could you? I thought you were over this immature phase, but I was obviously wrong. And I can't deal with this anymore. I want a life, Maureen! A life where I know the person I love will be there when they say they will, and not out screwing some other person!" She laughed bitterly. "Did you really think we could go on forever like this? You think I don't know how many times this has happened? Well, you were wrong. This is what I think of you and me." And she seized the photo of the couple from the dresser and threw it onto the floor, getting a strange feeling of satisfaction from the shattering glass. "Get out, and don't come back. I mean it." She caught only a glimpse of Maureen's terrified and upset face before she stumbled into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Even then she held back the flood of tears, though her heavy breathing prevented her from hearing what was going on in the rest of the apartment. It felt like forever later, though it might have been only a few minutes, when the lawyer opened the door a crack and saw that Maureen and the boxes were gone. Hesitantly, she uncurled herself from her position on the tiles and stood shakily, heading into the bedroom. The broken frame from before still lay where it had fallen, but the glass had been scooped into a pile of shards, and the photo was gone. Maureen was gone.

And Joanne collapsed in a heap on the bed and let herself sob.

A/N: I really like writing Joanne. I feel like there is a lot of her in me, but there's also a large helping of Maureen there. If we all try hard enough, I'm sure we could each find something of everyone in RENT. But I'm rambling, so review, and I'll post the second part that much quicker.