The combination of having stumbled upon Rent-fic very recently and a trip to NYC to see Rent on Monday night, I got this little idea into my head and during a lull at my summer job scribbled this down. I'm not too fond of the beginning (and it is short, I realize), but I do believe I know where this is going. Takes place three years after the end of the play and is from Mark's (my fav character <g>) POV. And yes, it is untitled. I rarely title pieces until they are finished and usually don't post them until they are either, but I may need a little push with this story. Not my first fic, but my first Rent one, so be gentle :). Okay, I'll stop rambling now . . .

Boston sure is cold this year.

I eye the frost on my car windows.

Ha, my car. I own a car now.

So much has changed. I look to my right and eye my suitcase.

New York, here I come again.

Why did I ever leave?

The answer's in front of my face as I finger a faded photo stuffed in the dashboard. Three years ago seems like a dream.

Or a nightmare.

And I just walked away.

That Christmas had been perfect. Film-worthy. Un-fucking-believable. Mimi wasn't dead. Roger found his song. Collins was finally back to his old self and for once, I had focus in a film. Even Maureen and Joanne were happy. It could have been a goddamn Hallmark card. Now where were we all? Scattered. Shattered.

Separated.

I guess I should admit I started the chain by letting my emotions out. Me, the guy who used to pride himself at not letting others see his feelings, exploded. The result?

Shattered.

Roger and Mimi were in love. I filled reels of film with their images because true love seemed so rare. Collins and Angel had it. Hell, I even admitted that Joanne and Maureen had more love in their relationship then Maureen and I ever did. So I filmed the love.

Perhaps because I longed for it myself.

Roger was right. It is lonely behind a camera. Lonely being an observer. Someone who simply watched, but never participated. Who saw the spring, but never smelled the flowers.

Spring's for lovers.

I shot the most footage in spring.

But everyone knows spring has its showers.

It poured that spring. Literally. The rain came down, trapping everyone inside. Roger and Mimi had no problem passing the time. When I was still with Maureen we had no trouble "passing" the time either. Rain or not spring's love bug never fails.

I simply sentenced myself to searching through every single piece of film I'd ever shot.

"You sure shot a lot of shit," Roger had jokingly commented on one of the few times he and Mimi emerged from the bedroom. She had been at his heels before jumping ahead and plopping down next to me on our already hanging-by-a-thread couch.

"Not everything's Oscar worthy at first glance," she shot back at Roger with a smile. He joined us on the couch, his arm immediately snaking around Mimi's waist.

"No, it is shit," I admitted with a smile. For the rest of the day, we barely moved off that couch except to change reels. We laughed at some of the shots, from Benny's pathetic college attempt to hit on a girl to Maureen's first protest - complete with chicken feathers. We were silent during others, like Angel. Both reached for the reel when we at my first film, made at age fourteen. My parents were fighting. It was two months before their divorce.

It was a great rain day. Sure, the next day Mimi and Roger went back to their own thing, but I was content to have my friends.

I had captured a lot of good moments on film -- even the scheduled monthly break-up and make-up between Maureen and Joanne and Collins back teaching at NYU, slipping tidbits about Angel into his lectures. I sat back and watched Roger and Mimi grow closer - it seemed as if they hadn't had a fight in ages. Mimi quit her job at the Cat-Scratch Club and was waitressing and most important of all was clean. It had been hard the first couple of months, but Roger was there, and I stayed on the watch out and guarded the door when Roger couldn't. Roger was getting his band slowly back together and with Collins sporadic ATM handouts, we could manage to afford simple luxuries, like a semi-stocked fridge.

Of course, rent was always last on our list when it came time to decide where the money went.

Somehow though, Benny stopped minding. I think it had something to do with Alison and the "pitter-patter of little feet," though he'd never admit it. One thing was for sure: he and Mimi were though. I had the feeling Alison had pushed Benny out only to reel him back in - for good. His Range Rover barely saw our streets.

Not that one of us complained.

I slammed the car door shut and stared out the windshield a second before gripping the wheel. The car had been a quick and stupid decision. It barely ran, and had seen the inside of a garage more than it had the street.

And now I hoped it would hold up to New York. Back to the place where I made another quick and stupid decision.

I passed out of Boston. 95 south to New York.

The car was easy to fix.