late-night Rent fic
This has been buzzing round my head for a few days now, so I figured I'd better write it down before I lost it entirely. Is... very nearly post-canon, but not quite, and therefore a bit on the 'buckets of angst' side.
Come Back and Haunt Me
Taking the job had seemed like a good idea at the time, in the way that only that sort of thing can. He didn’t think it would end up driving him crazy, and at any rate it would be a distraction from the fact that everything was going to hell in a handbasket without Angel there.
Funny how no one had quite noticed how much he was holding them together, before that.
As it turned out, though, it wasn’t where Mark needed to be. It was driving him crazy after all, and everyone else needed someone to be the stable point, and, well... Angel had been right. Alexi did think like Maureen. Just when you thought you had her squared away, she’d come up with something else to bother you about.
Even quitting is shaping up like that. And the stream of calls is really starting to wear thin, especially now that they’re interrupting both his attempts at putting a film together and Roger’s bouts of inspiration - though to be fair, Roger ends up interrupting himself half the time. If only they could just find Mimi and be done with it--
And there’s the phone again. He might as well answer, it’s not like the film’s going anywhere at the moment. Besides, just about anyone likely to call right now will understand his lack of enthusiasm.
“What?”
“Mark Cohen! This is Alexi Darling! Are you really sure about-”
“Yes, I’m positive, my answer hasn’t changed in the last three hours, now fuck off, would you?” And with that, Mark hangs up.
And he’s prepared to swear that, in the back of his mind but clear as day, Angel’s congratulating him for finally getting the last word in (well, most likely, anyway)...
God, but that hurts. It’s the hardest thing about putting the film together, too, in its way - seeing and hearing one of his best friends on a daily basis, more or less, and not being able to have an actual conversation.
He sighs and grabs his coat. The aim isn’t so much to go anywhere in particular as to get out of the loft, away from the film and Roger’s angst and, most importantly, the fucking phone.
ETA: This now has an optional Milliways-fic follow-up, which has rather a lot of fun with Millitime: It Ain't What You Want (It's What You Need)
Come Back and Haunt Me
Taking the job had seemed like a good idea at the time, in the way that only that sort of thing can. He didn’t think it would end up driving him crazy, and at any rate it would be a distraction from the fact that everything was going to hell in a handbasket without Angel there.
Funny how no one had quite noticed how much he was holding them together, before that.
As it turned out, though, it wasn’t where Mark needed to be. It was driving him crazy after all, and everyone else needed someone to be the stable point, and, well... Angel had been right. Alexi did think like Maureen. Just when you thought you had her squared away, she’d come up with something else to bother you about.
Even quitting is shaping up like that. And the stream of calls is really starting to wear thin, especially now that they’re interrupting both his attempts at putting a film together and Roger’s bouts of inspiration - though to be fair, Roger ends up interrupting himself half the time. If only they could just find Mimi and be done with it--
And there’s the phone again. He might as well answer, it’s not like the film’s going anywhere at the moment. Besides, just about anyone likely to call right now will understand his lack of enthusiasm.
“What?”
“Mark Cohen! This is Alexi Darling! Are you really sure about-”
“Yes, I’m positive, my answer hasn’t changed in the last three hours, now fuck off, would you?” And with that, Mark hangs up.
And he’s prepared to swear that, in the back of his mind but clear as day, Angel’s congratulating him for finally getting the last word in (well, most likely, anyway)...
God, but that hurts. It’s the hardest thing about putting the film together, too, in its way - seeing and hearing one of his best friends on a daily basis, more or less, and not being able to have an actual conversation.
He sighs and grabs his coat. The aim isn’t so much to go anywhere in particular as to get out of the loft, away from the film and Roger’s angst and, most importantly, the fucking phone.
ETA: This now has an optional Milliways-fic follow-up, which has rather a lot of fun with Millitime: It Ain't What You Want (It's What You Need)