RENT: Looking for More (24/?)
Author: Jen (jennamajig)
Feedback: Adored
Pairing: Roger/Mimi, Maureen/Joanne, a little Mark/OC, but a Mark centric fic.
Word Count: 2,400ish
Rating: PG-13/T
Genre: General.
Summary: Mark reaches a pinnacle in his life and makes an interesting decision. Set Post-Rent.
Notes: Written for challenge #44 on speed_rent, now expanded. Comments are always appreciated and treasured.
Disclaimer: Rent is not mine, I am simply borrowing.
A/N: I have an ending in sight, I think! But we’re still a few chapters from it as there are two major plot twists I need to get in before I get there. Oh, and another plea for feedback…if you’re reading/enjoying this novel, let me know! It only takes a minute :).
Medical stuff researched via a few medical internet sites. doesn’t allow links, but hopefully I’ve explained enough in the text.
Oh, and if anyone is curious about timelines, this story first started post-film timeline (though it really borrows from both film and stage), so 1991ish, meaning it is roughly 1996 now.
Rest of story at ff.net.
“Mark, he’s precious!”
He cringed at his mother’s excitement as she cooed at the baby. He hadn’t wanted to call her mainly because he knew she’d immediately get in the car and drive into the city. He wasn’t disappointed.
He was surprised that she’d brought his father, though. Kara had given birth on a Wednesday and he called her on Thursday morning, meaning his father most likely had to cancel appointments in order to make the drive with her.
His father never canceled patient appointments.
“He looks like you,” his mother continued. “Your hair was exactly this shade when you were born, you know.”
Mark just rolled his eyes and gave Kara a tight smile, silently apologizing with his eyes. While Kara may have spoken on the phone with his mother, she’d never had the immense pleasure of meeting his parents and she’d had little time to prepare for that fact when he’d arrived in her room with the news that his mother was driving in.
Kara’s parents had the good grace to wait until tomorrow, at least. Mark wasn’t looking forward to that. Kara’s father had thankfully recovered since his angina attack and was civil towards Mark, but civil did not mean he liked Mark.
The feeling was mutual, of course.
“We were sorry we missed you on the news, Mark.” His mother didn’t lift her gaze from the newborn. She was glowing. Had she looked this giddy when held one of Cindy’s kids? Then again, he hadn’t been around so soon after Cindy had given birth to observe. “But Mrs. Henderson next door had a blank tape her VCR, so she recorded part of it.”
Great, just great. “Not necessary, mom.” His voice sounded every bit as unexcited as he felt.
Kara, forever the good sport, injected. “I’d like to see it if you can guarantee I’m not in it, Mrs. Cohen.”
“Katherine,” his mother immediately corrected. “And any good reporter should know to stay away until you’re looking presentable again. You are, however, very lucky with the short labor, all things considered. With Mark, I was in labor for sixteen hours-“
Oh, no. Not the story of his birth. He desperately searched for a hole to crawl into.
“Katherine. I think Mark’s embarrassed enough.” Mark blinked at the sound of his father’s voice. They’d been here almost twenty minutes and aside from a short greeting, his father hadn’t said two words.
His mother just smiled. “Well, Mark had a big head. I’ll just say that.”
For once, Mark was grateful that he’d run out of film for his camera this morning.
“Cindy said she’s going to try and get down here this afternoon, I think,” his mom continued. “She’s about ready to pop herself, you know. Though she’s having a girl.”
His mother meant well with her friendly chatter, but each moment just made Mark feel uncomfortable.
“A girl, huh?” Kara asked. “Mark told me he already has two nieces.”
“He does. They were hoping for a boy, but I suppose they will have to just try again.” The cheerful tone of his mother’s voice was slowly eating at his brain. He closed his eyes.
Then ended up opening them again when he felt a tug at his arm.
“I need some coffee and I think Mark could use some as well. Would either of you like anything from the cafeteria?”
His father, speaking up yet again.
Mark froze. “Coffee?” he muttered. “Um, Dad…I don’t think I should leave…” He tried to find a tactful way to phrase “Kara alone and unarmed with Mom” but wasn’t sure there was one.
Kara appeared to read his thought process. “I’m fine, Mark. Your mother and I will be just fine. Would love a Hersey bar from the vending machine, though. The one with-“
“Almonds. I know.”
She rubbed his arm reassuringly. “Thanks. Go.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly and followed his father from the room, wondering what the hell he was going to talk to the man about during the time it took to get coffee.
It turned out, perhaps, that his father was thinking the very same thing.
“The news footage was nice,” his father said as he pushed the down button for the elevator.
“Um, thanks,” he muttered, not sure what else to say. He had to admit, he’d really not spent much time alone with his father since the week he’d spent working with in Scarsdale and felt like forever ago.
“How’s the practice?” he continued, trying his very best to make small talk.
“It’s good.”
The elevator door opened, thankfully halting their awkward conversation for a few minutes. In fact, there were no further attempts until Mark was sitting down, absently stirring his coffee despite the fact that he hadn’t even added anything else but coffee to the cup.
“Andy told me you picked pediatrics. Matched at Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital.”
“I did. I, um, meant to tell you.”
His father paused to sip at his own coffee. “I know.” He put his hands around his cup, gently rapping his fingers against it in a gesture Mark swore was familiar.
Then he realized why. He was currently doing the exact same thing with his coffee cup. He immediately dropped his hands to the tabletop.
He wasn’t his father.
He wasn’t…
“Look, Mark.” There was a slight intake of breath and Mark recognized the serious tone. He braced himself. What for, he wasn’t 100% sure.
“Are you still filming?”
That was unexpected.
“Um…yeah. Why?” His father had to have an ulterior motive, right?
“Good,” his father answered, nodding. “Life can’t just pay the bills.”
“No, it can’t,” Mark agreed. “Dad, what the hell are you getting at?”
His father appeared to ignore the question. “Your mother still has the tape, you know. Of that riot footage from Christmas Eve…what was it? Five years ago?”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, it was five years ago.”
“I never told you, but it was good stuff.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “You wait until you’re visiting me after the birth of my son to tell me this? Dad, you hated my filming. You were never excited about my life choices until I came home with the news that I’d taken the MCAT. I just don’t…”
“Understand?” his father finished. “Your children rarely do. You make life choices that you hope will provide the best for them, even if means they grow up to hate you. Even if you find yourself wondering if they were the right choices at all.” He met Mark’s eyes, gaze unwavering. Mark immediately squirmed, as it was the same intense glare he hated growing up. The one he’d always seen right before he’d heard the words “you’re doing what, Mark? Do you know what that means for your future?”
His father just shook his head. “You’ll understand that principle someday.” He pushed his car away from the table and lifted his cup. “I think we’ve left Kara alone with your mother long enough.”
“Yeah.” As if on autopilot, he got up, followed his father.
He had absolutely no clue what had just happened.
--
Two days later, Mark still contemplated his father’s words, but they’d were mixed in with the various other curve balls life decided to throw.
He brought Kara and Tom home to a burglarized loft. Nothing of importance had really been taken, as he and Kara didn’t have too much of importance to begin with, save an antique ring from Kara’s grandmother. Kara was pretty upset at its lost, understandably.
The crib had also been destroyed.
Roger came over to try and see if the any of its pieces were worth rescuing.
“Wow, they really had it out for this place,” he said when he surveyed the damage.
Mark sighed as he shut off his camera. The footage would be helpful, for once, as Kara had brought over her renter’s insurance when she moved in. Not that the insurance could replace her grandmother’s ring. He bent down and picked up the crib rail. “Think of the irony. When you lived here, we never had a break-in.”
“That’s because we never had anything worth shit and I think the whole neighbor knew it.” Roger studied the pile of crib in front of him. “I think this is beyond fixing, Mark.”
Mark threw the rail back down, listening to the thud it made. “I figured.”
“You know, the apartment below Mimi and I is up for rent. It’s nicer then ours, but it is a three bedroom, which means it is out of our price range. But maybe you and Kara…”
“And leave the loft?” Leaving the loft really meant the end of an era and Mark wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
Roger shrugged. “This place is a crap-hole. Cheap, but a crap-hole. The heat never works and the crime sucks with the man making drug transactions right below your window. Do you really want your kid living here?”
Mark just laughed. “I can’t believe that Roger Davis is apparently giving me parenting advice.”
Roger smirked. “I know. The world’s ending, right?”
Mark gently kicked at the crib remains one more time. “Maybe. How did Angel’s check-up go yesterday?”
“It went okay, though Mimi and I are counting the days until you graduate so you can take over her care. The guy at the clinic is an asshole and treats Mimi and I like we’re the worst people ever since we decided to procreate and make Angel…” He trailed off and walked over to the metal table in the center of the room. It was study as hell, and would always win against any robber. He leaned against it.
“Though sometimes I wonder if Mimi and I shouldn’t have-“
“That’s shit,” Mark interrupted. “You said you and Mimi weren’t even trying and-“
“I lied.”
Mark frowned. “What?”
“I lied,” Roger repeated. “It wasn’t really an accident the second time. We were…you know, and we were out of condoms. Mimi thought it was the wrong time of the month to happen, but we both knew it still could. And it did.”
Mark studied his friend, finding a hard time reading him. Then again, a lot of times Roger was hard to completely read. He’d express his feelings one way, yet really feel them another.
“So?” he asked. “You and Mimi want to return Angel, then?”
“Of course not.”
“Look, there’s still a chance that Angel might not be HIV positive. Right now it can only be confirmed that she’s HIV antibody-seropositive. Her T-cell percentage and lymphocyte counts are still pretty good.”
“I don’t know what either of those things mean, Mark. Speak English.”
“Sorry. Seropositive means her blood has HIV antibodies, but no HIV symptoms. She’s dealing more with the aftereffects of being born premature right now, which is why she throws up so much.”
“See? The asshole at the clinic doesn’t tell Mimi or I any of this. He glared, mentioned something called GER-“
“Gastroesophageal Reflux,” Mark supplied, frowning.
“Yeah, that,” Roger confirmed. “He wanted to jam a tube down her throat for a day or two to measure something or other. She’s barely three months old, Mark. Mimi said no and we left.”
“He probably just wants to test the amount of acid in her esophagus,” Mark explained, “It is done over a 24 hour period, usually in a hospital.”
“See, there was nothing about a hospital.” Roger paused a moment. “Shit. It is serious.”
“Maybe, but probably not. Most kids outgrow it in a year or so when their esophagus gets longer. Since Angel was a preemie, her muscles didn’t develop as strongly as they could. They will catch up. A lot of times, you just need to feed her different formula or make sure she sucks on a pacifier in between feedings. The sucking makes the stuff in her stomach stay put.”
“Damn, Mark. That’s why we want you to graduate.”
Mark grinned. “Want me to graduate, huh? This coming from the guy that four years ago asked why the fuck I wanted to go to medical school?”
“I didn’t have a kid, then,” Roger simply said. Roger very rarely apologized. It was almost like sorry wasn’t a word his brain ever let him utter. In fact, Mimi was the only one he ever used the word “I’m sorry” with.
“So,” Roger continued. “You think you and Kara might want to look at the apartment in Brooklyn?”
“I don’t know. Brooklyn?”
“It has a park. Maureen comes over to help out Mimi at night while I’m playing at the club. I’m sure she’d help you and Kara out.”
“It’s still not…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
“The loft?” Roger answered. Mark should have guessed Roger would understand. “I know.”
The two of them were silent for a minute and Mark’s gaze traveled towards the shattered club and scattered contents of the room. The couch was torn, the window broken, and the kitchen area was littered with strewn utensils.
“Brooklyn,” he repeated. “I’ll think about it.”
Feedback: Adored
Pairing: Roger/Mimi, Maureen/Joanne, a little Mark/OC, but a Mark centric fic.
Word Count: 2,400ish
Rating: PG-13/T
Genre: General.
Summary: Mark reaches a pinnacle in his life and makes an interesting decision. Set Post-Rent.
Notes: Written for challenge #44 on speed_rent, now expanded. Comments are always appreciated and treasured.
Disclaimer: Rent is not mine, I am simply borrowing.
A/N: I have an ending in sight, I think! But we’re still a few chapters from it as there are two major plot twists I need to get in before I get there. Oh, and another plea for feedback…if you’re reading/enjoying this novel, let me know! It only takes a minute :).
Medical stuff researched via a few medical internet sites. doesn’t allow links, but hopefully I’ve explained enough in the text.
Oh, and if anyone is curious about timelines, this story first started post-film timeline (though it really borrows from both film and stage), so 1991ish, meaning it is roughly 1996 now.
Rest of story at ff.net.
“Mark, he’s precious!”
He cringed at his mother’s excitement as she cooed at the baby. He hadn’t wanted to call her mainly because he knew she’d immediately get in the car and drive into the city. He wasn’t disappointed.
He was surprised that she’d brought his father, though. Kara had given birth on a Wednesday and he called her on Thursday morning, meaning his father most likely had to cancel appointments in order to make the drive with her.
His father never canceled patient appointments.
“He looks like you,” his mother continued. “Your hair was exactly this shade when you were born, you know.”
Mark just rolled his eyes and gave Kara a tight smile, silently apologizing with his eyes. While Kara may have spoken on the phone with his mother, she’d never had the immense pleasure of meeting his parents and she’d had little time to prepare for that fact when he’d arrived in her room with the news that his mother was driving in.
Kara’s parents had the good grace to wait until tomorrow, at least. Mark wasn’t looking forward to that. Kara’s father had thankfully recovered since his angina attack and was civil towards Mark, but civil did not mean he liked Mark.
The feeling was mutual, of course.
“We were sorry we missed you on the news, Mark.” His mother didn’t lift her gaze from the newborn. She was glowing. Had she looked this giddy when held one of Cindy’s kids? Then again, he hadn’t been around so soon after Cindy had given birth to observe. “But Mrs. Henderson next door had a blank tape her VCR, so she recorded part of it.”
Great, just great. “Not necessary, mom.” His voice sounded every bit as unexcited as he felt.
Kara, forever the good sport, injected. “I’d like to see it if you can guarantee I’m not in it, Mrs. Cohen.”
“Katherine,” his mother immediately corrected. “And any good reporter should know to stay away until you’re looking presentable again. You are, however, very lucky with the short labor, all things considered. With Mark, I was in labor for sixteen hours-“
Oh, no. Not the story of his birth. He desperately searched for a hole to crawl into.
“Katherine. I think Mark’s embarrassed enough.” Mark blinked at the sound of his father’s voice. They’d been here almost twenty minutes and aside from a short greeting, his father hadn’t said two words.
His mother just smiled. “Well, Mark had a big head. I’ll just say that.”
For once, Mark was grateful that he’d run out of film for his camera this morning.
“Cindy said she’s going to try and get down here this afternoon, I think,” his mom continued. “She’s about ready to pop herself, you know. Though she’s having a girl.”
His mother meant well with her friendly chatter, but each moment just made Mark feel uncomfortable.
“A girl, huh?” Kara asked. “Mark told me he already has two nieces.”
“He does. They were hoping for a boy, but I suppose they will have to just try again.” The cheerful tone of his mother’s voice was slowly eating at his brain. He closed his eyes.
Then ended up opening them again when he felt a tug at his arm.
“I need some coffee and I think Mark could use some as well. Would either of you like anything from the cafeteria?”
His father, speaking up yet again.
Mark froze. “Coffee?” he muttered. “Um, Dad…I don’t think I should leave…” He tried to find a tactful way to phrase “Kara alone and unarmed with Mom” but wasn’t sure there was one.
Kara appeared to read his thought process. “I’m fine, Mark. Your mother and I will be just fine. Would love a Hersey bar from the vending machine, though. The one with-“
“Almonds. I know.”
She rubbed his arm reassuringly. “Thanks. Go.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly and followed his father from the room, wondering what the hell he was going to talk to the man about during the time it took to get coffee.
It turned out, perhaps, that his father was thinking the very same thing.
“The news footage was nice,” his father said as he pushed the down button for the elevator.
“Um, thanks,” he muttered, not sure what else to say. He had to admit, he’d really not spent much time alone with his father since the week he’d spent working with in Scarsdale and felt like forever ago.
“How’s the practice?” he continued, trying his very best to make small talk.
“It’s good.”
The elevator door opened, thankfully halting their awkward conversation for a few minutes. In fact, there were no further attempts until Mark was sitting down, absently stirring his coffee despite the fact that he hadn’t even added anything else but coffee to the cup.
“Andy told me you picked pediatrics. Matched at Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital.”
“I did. I, um, meant to tell you.”
His father paused to sip at his own coffee. “I know.” He put his hands around his cup, gently rapping his fingers against it in a gesture Mark swore was familiar.
Then he realized why. He was currently doing the exact same thing with his coffee cup. He immediately dropped his hands to the tabletop.
He wasn’t his father.
He wasn’t…
“Look, Mark.” There was a slight intake of breath and Mark recognized the serious tone. He braced himself. What for, he wasn’t 100% sure.
“Are you still filming?”
That was unexpected.
“Um…yeah. Why?” His father had to have an ulterior motive, right?
“Good,” his father answered, nodding. “Life can’t just pay the bills.”
“No, it can’t,” Mark agreed. “Dad, what the hell are you getting at?”
His father appeared to ignore the question. “Your mother still has the tape, you know. Of that riot footage from Christmas Eve…what was it? Five years ago?”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, it was five years ago.”
“I never told you, but it was good stuff.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “You wait until you’re visiting me after the birth of my son to tell me this? Dad, you hated my filming. You were never excited about my life choices until I came home with the news that I’d taken the MCAT. I just don’t…”
“Understand?” his father finished. “Your children rarely do. You make life choices that you hope will provide the best for them, even if means they grow up to hate you. Even if you find yourself wondering if they were the right choices at all.” He met Mark’s eyes, gaze unwavering. Mark immediately squirmed, as it was the same intense glare he hated growing up. The one he’d always seen right before he’d heard the words “you’re doing what, Mark? Do you know what that means for your future?”
His father just shook his head. “You’ll understand that principle someday.” He pushed his car away from the table and lifted his cup. “I think we’ve left Kara alone with your mother long enough.”
“Yeah.” As if on autopilot, he got up, followed his father.
He had absolutely no clue what had just happened.
--
Two days later, Mark still contemplated his father’s words, but they’d were mixed in with the various other curve balls life decided to throw.
He brought Kara and Tom home to a burglarized loft. Nothing of importance had really been taken, as he and Kara didn’t have too much of importance to begin with, save an antique ring from Kara’s grandmother. Kara was pretty upset at its lost, understandably.
The crib had also been destroyed.
Roger came over to try and see if the any of its pieces were worth rescuing.
“Wow, they really had it out for this place,” he said when he surveyed the damage.
Mark sighed as he shut off his camera. The footage would be helpful, for once, as Kara had brought over her renter’s insurance when she moved in. Not that the insurance could replace her grandmother’s ring. He bent down and picked up the crib rail. “Think of the irony. When you lived here, we never had a break-in.”
“That’s because we never had anything worth shit and I think the whole neighbor knew it.” Roger studied the pile of crib in front of him. “I think this is beyond fixing, Mark.”
Mark threw the rail back down, listening to the thud it made. “I figured.”
“You know, the apartment below Mimi and I is up for rent. It’s nicer then ours, but it is a three bedroom, which means it is out of our price range. But maybe you and Kara…”
“And leave the loft?” Leaving the loft really meant the end of an era and Mark wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
Roger shrugged. “This place is a crap-hole. Cheap, but a crap-hole. The heat never works and the crime sucks with the man making drug transactions right below your window. Do you really want your kid living here?”
Mark just laughed. “I can’t believe that Roger Davis is apparently giving me parenting advice.”
Roger smirked. “I know. The world’s ending, right?”
Mark gently kicked at the crib remains one more time. “Maybe. How did Angel’s check-up go yesterday?”
“It went okay, though Mimi and I are counting the days until you graduate so you can take over her care. The guy at the clinic is an asshole and treats Mimi and I like we’re the worst people ever since we decided to procreate and make Angel…” He trailed off and walked over to the metal table in the center of the room. It was study as hell, and would always win against any robber. He leaned against it.
“Though sometimes I wonder if Mimi and I shouldn’t have-“
“That’s shit,” Mark interrupted. “You said you and Mimi weren’t even trying and-“
“I lied.”
Mark frowned. “What?”
“I lied,” Roger repeated. “It wasn’t really an accident the second time. We were…you know, and we were out of condoms. Mimi thought it was the wrong time of the month to happen, but we both knew it still could. And it did.”
Mark studied his friend, finding a hard time reading him. Then again, a lot of times Roger was hard to completely read. He’d express his feelings one way, yet really feel them another.
“So?” he asked. “You and Mimi want to return Angel, then?”
“Of course not.”
“Look, there’s still a chance that Angel might not be HIV positive. Right now it can only be confirmed that she’s HIV antibody-seropositive. Her T-cell percentage and lymphocyte counts are still pretty good.”
“I don’t know what either of those things mean, Mark. Speak English.”
“Sorry. Seropositive means her blood has HIV antibodies, but no HIV symptoms. She’s dealing more with the aftereffects of being born premature right now, which is why she throws up so much.”
“See? The asshole at the clinic doesn’t tell Mimi or I any of this. He glared, mentioned something called GER-“
“Gastroesophageal Reflux,” Mark supplied, frowning.
“Yeah, that,” Roger confirmed. “He wanted to jam a tube down her throat for a day or two to measure something or other. She’s barely three months old, Mark. Mimi said no and we left.”
“He probably just wants to test the amount of acid in her esophagus,” Mark explained, “It is done over a 24 hour period, usually in a hospital.”
“See, there was nothing about a hospital.” Roger paused a moment. “Shit. It is serious.”
“Maybe, but probably not. Most kids outgrow it in a year or so when their esophagus gets longer. Since Angel was a preemie, her muscles didn’t develop as strongly as they could. They will catch up. A lot of times, you just need to feed her different formula or make sure she sucks on a pacifier in between feedings. The sucking makes the stuff in her stomach stay put.”
“Damn, Mark. That’s why we want you to graduate.”
Mark grinned. “Want me to graduate, huh? This coming from the guy that four years ago asked why the fuck I wanted to go to medical school?”
“I didn’t have a kid, then,” Roger simply said. Roger very rarely apologized. It was almost like sorry wasn’t a word his brain ever let him utter. In fact, Mimi was the only one he ever used the word “I’m sorry” with.
“So,” Roger continued. “You think you and Kara might want to look at the apartment in Brooklyn?”
“I don’t know. Brooklyn?”
“It has a park. Maureen comes over to help out Mimi at night while I’m playing at the club. I’m sure she’d help you and Kara out.”
“It’s still not…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
“The loft?” Roger answered. Mark should have guessed Roger would understand. “I know.”
The two of them were silent for a minute and Mark’s gaze traveled towards the shattered club and scattered contents of the room. The couch was torn, the window broken, and the kitchen area was littered with strewn utensils.
“Brooklyn,” he repeated. “I’ll think about it.”