A/N: It's been about eleven months since the last time I've posted something here, so one can only imagine my relief at finally being able to write something. Though, I never expected for a Rent fic to be my comeback. That's because this idea hit me very much out of nowhere, while I was listening to Light My Candle. I've always been curious about just how familiar Mimi looked to Roger, and thus this was born. Now that I'm getting back into the habit of writing, I hope to publish my usual Saw very soon. If you're one of my old readers, know that there is some possible Amanda/Lynn coming your way. Until then, I'm back, bitches. -Jessi Slaughter voice-

Without the Handcuffs

The crisp night air nipped at Roger's skin as he stepped into the alleyway, and he was more than grateful for it. It was a much needed difference from the feverish atmosphere of the Catscratch Club, what with its abundance of hot bodies and eager crowds. Tonight, he had held off from his usual routine of spending the night with April to celebrate one of his bandmate's birthdays. And while he was always up for hanging out with some of his favorite people, a strip club wasn't necessarily his first choice. He felt like he was being unfair to April just by stepping foot in the place. However, after much prodding and convincing, the others had gotten him to loosen somewhat.

If being able to look one of the dancers in the eyes for more than two seconds counts as loosening up, anyway.

Roger leaned against the brick wall of the Catscratch, sighing appreciatively as his heated skin cooled. He'd somehow managed to pull away from the guys, claiming to want a quick smoke. Though, he really had no such craving for tobacco at the moment. He would never admit it, even to himself, but he'd been captivated by a routine that'd been performed onstage, especially by one particular dancer. She'd attracted Roger's attention from the word go, and had held it until she was finished. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling that she'd left behind. And based on the way everyone had cheered, she was the favorite of many others as well.

Her dance had included a pair of handcuffs.

Suddenly, the door he'd just exited from swung open, the creaky hinges being the only thing saving him from getting crushed. Swearing a bit loudly, Roger just barely dodged the blow by jumping to his left, watching the door slam into the wall he'd been leaning against seconds ago. He looked up to see a petite woman, still gripping the handle and staring at him curiously. There was little lighting to see with, but based on her tight clothing and the tote bag slung over her shoulder, she was one of the Catscratch's dancers, heading home after a long night.

"Oh. Oh, I almost hit you, didn't I? Jeez, I'm sorry about that."

She shut the door, with a much gentler touch this time, and dusted her hands off. Knowing that he was expected to say something, Roger cleared his throat.

"Ah, it's fine, it's fine. Probably shouldn't have been standing there in the first place."

Roger rubbed his face with shaky laugh. He'd been doing it quite often tonight. The dancer cocked her head to the side, noticing this as well.

"You were just inside, near the front. With a group of guys." She paused, seeming to remember something. "You didn't look very comfortable."

Roger looked up as she spoke, and his mind clicked. It was her. The sole and lone girl that had stood out to him, made everyone else fade to the background. It felt surreal; to be standing in her presence when she'd affected him so suddenly less than half an hour ago.

"I'm guessing you don't do this sort of thing a lot?" she continued, oblivious to his quiet discovery.

"Not really. But it's one of my buddies' birthday today. I think he was the one who slid a twenty in your top."

Roger didn't just think that it'd been Jared, he knew. Though, he didn't quite feel up for telling her that.

She laughed, a light and enticing sound.

"Well then, on my behalf tell him happy birthday, and that I said thanks."

The dancer glanced down and fumbled through the pocket of her extremely tight pants, a detail of them that was not particularly missed by Roger. After a moment, she managed to pull out a cigarette.

"Got a light?" she asked, gesturing to his pockets. He nodded and retrieved his small pack of matches. After easily striking one, he transported it over to where her cigarette was, already nestled between her lips. The flame brought with it a light that was stark compared to the previous dimness, and it threw her face into complete view.

Roger couldn't help but stare, at least for a few moments. And immediately he felt bad, of course. This girl had men ogling at her scantily-clad form all day, and here he was being no different. But there was something about her features that immediately hit him, clung to him like his favorite sweater. They spoke softly of purity and youngness, a type of innocence that had been hidden before under the stage lights and her heavy makeup. It seemed almost impossible that she was old enough to work at a joint like this. Yet her warm brown eyes gazed unwaveringly back at him, acting as the only giveaway to the maturity he was sure she possessed. And to frame the admittedly lovely picture was her long dark hair, radiant in the moonlight.

Right then, Roger could honestly say that it was the second time that night that she'd taken his breath away. Only this time around was clearly different.

Her cigarette soon caught the flame and lit, and he was left without an excuse to gawk at her without being officially creepy. Dropping the now used match to the concrete, Roger followed the action with his eyes and cleared his throat again. He could sense that by normal standards their conversation would be ending soon, and he found himself not liking that fact.

He glanced up at her as she extracted the cig from her mouth so she could exhale, and noticed a flash of silver locked around her wrist.

"You know, if you keep up what you did earlier, pretty soon people won't be able to recognize you without those."

She grinned at his humorous jab, and raised the arm that bore one half of the infamous handcuffs. Making sure she had his attention, she made a show of transferring the cigarette to her other hand so she could twirl them around her wrist in a shining circle.

"It's too late to stop that, baby. It's happened. If they've gotten me this far, I don't want to let go anytime soon."

Roger chuckled, mildly in awe of how she had no shame in her profession. Now that he was talking to her, it was easy for him to actually see her as a human being, and not as soulless eye candy like most others probably did. She was just enchanting, plain and simple. It really was a shame that this probably was the only time they'd ever speak to each other.

As if she could read Roger's mind, the dancer met his eyes.

"Well, I should probably go. I've had a really long night at work," she said, light sarcasm blanketing her voice. Despite not wanting to see her go, Roger couldn't help but grin at it.

Stepping closer, she flashed him a smile that wiped all innocence from her face completely. Roger instantly recognized this particular smile, for he'd seen it multiple times during her routine.

"See you around, maybe?" she asked, maintaining the allure like it was second nature. Her free hand briefly brushed against his.

He nodded somewhat eagerly, though he wasn't even sure if he was telling the truth.

"Yeah, sure."

Maybe he was just imagining it, but she looked more than happy at his response. He watched as she turned to leave the alleyway and join the rest of the world, ever so gently popping the bubble that they'd formed. She glanced back, waved, and turned the corner, out of his sight just like that.

Roger was much too enthralled with the final jingle of her handcuffs to even notice that she was headed in the direction of his building.