I don't own RENT. Only Mary Jane is my creation. The chapters are going to be relatively short, so I apoligize in advance. Not much more to say, so enjoy!
For challenge 32 of Challenge Central.
CHALLENGE 32: Must be about Mark and/or Roger. Must at least mention the other. Can be friendship or slash. Can include any other characters/pairings but focus must be on Mark and/or Roger. Must be told be an outsider's POV. Outsider: someone who is not in the family, not in or mentioned in RENT, does not have a history with either character, and cannot be an inanimate object.
Mary Jane was lost, and she knew it. She was seven years old and lost in the middle of Central Park.
Sniffling, Mary Jane walked around, the brightly colored leaves crunching underneath her new boots. She looked every which way for her mom, but alas, the caretaker was nowhere to be seen.
Mary Jane spied a young man sitting on a bench. He was wearing a tan jacket and fiddling with some kind of camera. He kept running a free hand through his blonde hair and pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. Mary Jane decided the man looked harmless enough, so she decided to ask for help.
"Excuse me, mister," she said, yanking on the hem of his jacket, "Have you seen my mommy?"
The man looked up from his camera and shook his head. "Nope, sorry, I haven't. But you can sit here and wait for her if you like."
Mary Jane smiled and nodded. "Okay," she said.
The man moved a fairly small suitcase from the bench to the ground and resumed his work. Mary Jane watched him intensely for a moment before she began to sense his uneasiness and he put the camera in his lap.
"What might your name be?" he asked.
"Mary Jane Cecelia Parker," the girl answered formally, "And what's your name?"
The man smiled. "I'm Mark," he answered, "Mark Cohen. It's nice to meet you Mary Jane Cecelia Parker."
Mary Jane blushed. "What's in your bag?" she asked, pointing to the suitcase on the ground.
"Just some of my stuff," Mark answered, "At least everything I could carry with me."
"Why don't you just leave it in your closet?" Mary Jane questioned.
"Well, this bag is kind of like my closet, except it comes with me everywhere I go." Mark replied.
"But then what do you put in your closet at your house?"
Mark rubbed the back of his neck and diverted his eyes to the ground. "I…uh…I don't really have a house."
"Don't you live with your mommy and daddy?"
"No, I ran away."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
Mary Jane nodded slowly. "I guess that's old enough to not have to live with your mommy and daddy anymore." She said finally.
Mark laughed. "Yeah, I guess so, too."
"Wait, but if you don't have a house, where do you sleep?" Mary Jane asked.
"On this bench," Mark answered, rubbing his hands along the chipping, red paint.
"Isn't it cold?"
Mark nodded. "Yeah, it is. But sometimes you have to give up what you're comfortable with in order to get what you believe in."
"Mary Jane!" a voice called, "Mary Jane, where are you?"
"That's my mommy," Mary Jane said, "I guess I better go."
"Bye," Mark said, waving as the girl disappeared out of sight.