Disclaimer: I don't own, I RENT.

Summary: When their parents decide to come and 'help their children get back on track', the bohos are reminded why they moved to New York in the first place. And it only gets worse from there. Slightly AU, Angel lives! Canon couples!

A/N: So, this plot bunny has been bouncing around in my head for a while. No, I haven't abandoned my other fics, chill. I just needed to get this one going so the inspiration for the others could start flowing too. This will be a multi-chaptered fic. As a note, any speaking in italics and "quotes" is in Spanish.

"January 17th, 1991, 1 pm, Eastern Standard Time. I'm standing on the fire escape outside our loft, looking out at the city. Or, should I say the smog that hangs over it? Oh well. Down on the street, we can see Angel drumming down on the corner." The camera panned to view the loft. "Inside, you can see Roger, playing his guitar, as usual. I wonder why they're sitting on the counter… Anyway, Mimi's sitting next to him and, judging by the smile on both of their faces, I'm guessing he's playing Your Eyes. Mimi and Angel both have made excellent recoveries, and it seems life is getting back to normal. Wait… our life is never normal."

With a light chuckle to end his narration, Mark slowly lowered the camera, the familiar rattle-buzz coming to a stop as his finger found the button and gently pressed. He sighed, turning back to the city view to give his friends some privacy, since they had a tendency to start making out after Roger sang that particular song.

He leaned on the cold railing, looking down at the street below. From her corner, Angel waved to him as she packed up her drumming stuff and headed home to meet Collins. Mark smiled and waved back; it was nice to see her in good health.

"Look, it's Mark! Marky, look down here!"

Mark froze. Only two people called him Marky on a regular basis (plus Roger when he was trying to be annoying). It couldn't be Maureen, because she was off shopping with Joanne, and they wouldn't be back until seven, for sure.

That left…

"Mom?" he squeaked in a ridiculously high-pitched voice, looking down with a growing sense of dread.

Sure enough, Ms. Cohen was standing down on the street, waving cheerily at him. "Hi Mark! We came to visit!" She pointed to a few other people next to her, but Mark had already fled back into the loft.

"ROGER!" he yelled, slamming the window shut behind him. The songwriter grudgingly pulled his lips from Mimi's and turned to face his friend.

"What is it, Cohen?" Mark knew that Roger was annoyed, since he had used the filmmaker's last name, but there were more pressing matters at the moment.

"Our parents!" He glanced towards the window, like they might've magically learned to fly and would be landing on the fire escape any second.

"Yeah? What about em?"

"They're here!"

Roger nearly fell off the counter. "WHAT?" He leapt up, setting his guitar down on the counter, and ran over to lock the door. "Since when??"

"About two minutes ago!" Mark's eyes were wild, his skin even paler than usual. There was a good REASON why he'd moved to New York, especially after his mom had tried to set him up marrying Nanette Himmelfarb! She was nice and all, and a really great tangoer, but, come on, they were only seventeen!

Mimi just sat on the counter, an amused smile playing across her lips. "Don't you think you guys are overreacting a little? They're just parents."

Roger spun to her, running over and giving her a small kiss before pushing her towards the window. "Go back to your loft for a little while, okay? My father is a tiny bit crazy, and I'd rather not get into a discussion on our relationship."

Mimi sighed exasperatedly. "Fine. See you guys later, when you've calmed down." Ushered now by Mark, she stepped out the window onto the fire escape. The filmmaker could hear her high-heeled boots clicking on the stairs as he half-fell over the railing. Their parents were nowhere to be seen.

"They're… gone?" he muttered, relieved. But this feeling was short lived, as there was a knock on the door a moment later.

"Mark? I know you're there! It's Mom! Open up!"

Mark and Roger groaned simultaneously. The songwriter walked slowly to the door, looking like a condemned man on his way to his execution. As soon as he'd turned the lock, the door slid open of it's own accord. "Hi Ms. Cohen…" he muttered, stepping back.

Mark's mother stepped through the door, a sugary-sweet smile on her face. "MARKY!" she caught her son in a tight hug. Mark could've sworn he heard something in his back crack.

He wormed his arm free and reluctantly hugged her back, just the ghost of an embrace. "Hi Mum… um…. Nice to see you?"

He patted her awkwardly on the head, which only came up to his chest. Had she always been this small?

Finally she released him, walking off around the loft. Mark let out a sigh of relief, only to be pulled into a half-hug/clap-on-the-back by his father. An "oof" sound escaped the filmmaker's scrawny frame as his father's hand connected with his back.

Following Mark's parents were the Davises, his quiet and kindly mother, and his big, brusque, former-rock-star father.

"Roger!" he boomed, clapping his son on the back so hard that he stumbled forwards into a soft hug from his mother.

Everyone's attention turned to Ms. Cohen as she started bombarding Mark with questions. "Why haven't you been answering your phone? Did you find another girlfriend? Do you still talk with Maureen? Have you met her new girlfriend? Are you making new friends? How's your job going? Made any more films lately? How about—"

She was interrupted by the phone ringing, then the familiar "SPEEEEEEAAAAAAAK."

"Mark Cohen? Alexi Darling, calling about…"

The rest of it was drowned out as Mark's mom turned to her son, face lit up with excitement. "Ooh! Honey, this Alexi, is she your new girlfriend?"

Roger couldn't help but snicker at the dumbfounded look on his friend's face. Mark opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking distinctly fish-like, then just shook his head.

"I need to use the bathroom," he said in an oddly calm voice, then fled quickly to the safety of a porcelain cruise.

Thanks a lot, Cohen… Roger glared at the closed bathroom door as he felt eight eyes turn on him.

"Roger!" The way his father's booming voice echoed off the hard walls of the Loft sounded kind of like that weird mike at Maureen's protest. "What about you? Did you get a new job? Find a new girlfriend? It's so sad, really, about June…."

"April!" Roger corrected, clenching his fists.

"Right, whatever."

"I'm concentrating on my songwriting." Roger answered evasively, hoping they'd just let the matter drop.

The good news; they didn't inquire further. The bad news; that meant the discussion moved on to Roger's love life. "So, what about a girlfriend then?"

The songwriter glanced almost longingly at the fire escape, then answered shortly. "Yes."

His mom asked the next question. "What's her name?"

"And her job?" His father boomed.

Roger scratched the back of his neck, thinking quickly. "Mimi, and she's a dancer."

His father pondered this for a moment before nodding, as if he'd deemed his son's girlfriend acceptable. "Where is this Mimi?"

"She went home for a while." Roger answered smoothly, conveniently leaving out the fact that 'home' was right downstairs.

Anything further that might have been said was derailed by the sound of a toilet flushing. Mark emerged from the bathroom a moment later, looking a tiny bit calmer.

Mr. Cohen glanced around the room, then said in his annoying, phone-operator-like voice, "This place is a pigsty! How do you two find /anything/ when you need it?"

Mark answered without thinking. "Oh, well that's easy. The food and drink are in the kitchen, and Roger's guitar is on the counter, and I have my camera…" he trailed off as his parents traded incredulous looks, paling again.

Roger jumped in. "What he means is that everything important is easy to find, if you know where to look." Their parents nodded slowly, the incredulous looks fading slightly. Mark gave his best friend a 'how-do-you-do-that?' look, and Roger returned it with his famous 'I'm-Roger-I-can-do-anything' look.

"You still need to clean this place up, though. There's old junk everywhere." Mark's mom wrinkled her nose, poking one of the piles of junk with her foot.

Mr. Cohen glanced at his watch. "Oh, we need to go check into our hotel. We'll come by again tonight; we can all go out for dinner!"

"Oh, joy…" Mark said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He swore he could hear whistling as it whizzed right over his dad's head.

"See you then!" His mother called cheerfully, sliding the door shut behind them.

Roger sank onto the couch. "Shit."

Mark collapsed beside him. "I second that."

Meanwhile, downstairs…

Mimi came in through her window-door and closed it gently behind her, kicking off her boots. She'd just settled onto the couch when there was a knock on the door.

"Roger?" she wondered aloud, walking over and opening the door.

"Mimi chica!" Ms. Marquez threw her arms around her daughter, pulling the shocked dancer into a hug.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" Before her mother could answer, she was pulled into another hug by her father.

"We came by to see how you were doing!" her mother answered, a cheery grin on her face.

Mimi forced a smile."How nice. How long can you stay?"

"As long as needed!" Her father proclaimed, "Isn't that great?"

"Wonderful…" Mimi answered in English, knowing the sarcasm would be lost on them in a foreign tongue.

They stepped through the door, Mimi just smiling weakly, not daring to protest. Her mother looked around curiously. "So, Mimi, got yourself a safe boyfriend?"

The dancer allowed an awkward silence to fill the room before answering. "Si." All three jumped as a loud beeping filled the apartment. "AZT break…" Mimi muttered, glancing around for her pills.

Her parents looked rather uncomfortable. "Well, daughter, we'll see you later…" Her father said, then they slipped out the door.

Mimi popped a pill into her mouth and swallowed it, not bothering to respond to them. She knew the next visit would probably be harder, since they'd undoubtedly bring up their favorite subject to bitch about; her job at the CatScratch.

She waited until she heard the Cohens and Davises descending the stairs before slipping back up to the Loft.

Walking over to the couch, she plopped ungracefully onto Roger's lap. "Guess what?"

A groan from Mark. "What?"

"My parent's showed up too." Mimi moaned.

All three of them looked from one to the other. Roger ran a hand through his long blond hair. "I'll say it again: shit."

"I second that again."

"I third that."

Mark sat up. "Is that even possible?"

"Who cares?" Roger asked, throwing a pillow at him.

Mimi just shook her head and buried her face in Roger's chest. An almost-tangible air of impending doom filled the loft as the three sat there, lost in their own thoughts.

Next chapter: Angel and Collins!