Author's Note: I have been sitting on this idea for, like, ever – and, since I'm actually going into the City in three hours to go see RENT on Broadway (yes, you can be envious), I thought I would finally start this baby. With the completion of A Virgin's Touch, I once again have my Wednesday's free. And, rather than taking one of my update-on-a-whim stories and setting it so that it's done on Wednesday's, I've decided to start a new one.
And what better sort of fic than a cross-over/adaptation-type dealie. Right? Enter LOST, an adaptation of RENT starring our boys – an AU taking place in the mid to late 1990's… Now, doesn't that just sound uber spiffy? Yes, I know.
This first chapter is just a teaser, really. A way to gage the response – to see if people are interested in seeing my interpretation of Rent/Newsies goodness – short and sweet. Do you like the little taste of this story? Let me know – I plan on long (I hope) chapters, if the response is positive. Knowing me, I'll ride as far as I can on this wave of inspiration but positive reinforcement is a good thing. Eh?
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from Newsies – they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, RENT, is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson.
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LOST
How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray? – "Rent", RENT
Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...
October 10, 2006
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December 24th, 9pm, eastern standard time, from here on in I shoot without a script…
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"Dave? What the hell are you doing?"
David Jacobs lifted his hand, the left one – the one not currently clutching the battered and nicked Nikon N90 – in an effort to hush his roommate. "Don't move, Jack," he said in response, cocking his head to the left, never removing the camera from in front of his bright blue eyes. He squatted low, aiming the lens at the pen the other boy was impatiently tapping against a virgin sheet from an open spiral bound notebook. Well, it was not entirely clean; there were countless drips of wax dotting the paper but, despite three wasted hours, there was not a single word written yet. Hence the scowl that was etching itself ever deeper into Jack Kelly's handsome face.
It was dark in their apartment (the top floor loft they shared in their grungy, grimy New York neighborhood), the only light coming from sporadically placed candles, such as the lopsided white candle perched on the scratched coffee table, right beside Jack's notebook. It was the flicker of its flame against Jack's hand that was creating such a great effect, to David's artistic eye. He just had to capture it on film.
Snap.
"Can I move now, Dave?" Jack asked, sounding bored. The boredom was forced, David could hear; it was covering up the frustration that he was feeling just below the surface.
David, from behind the camera, stuck out his tongue but continued to watch the dancing flame. A chill wind blew in through the broken window on the opposite side of the room, lifting the sheet covering up and causing the flame to bend over almost sideways. In that moment, the shadow of Jack's hyperactive hand seemed to expand. It would make the perfect companion piece to the picture he had just taken. An almost before and after.
Snap.
"I take it that that was a no, then." The frustration was beginning to eek out with Jack's new tone.
David stood up, rolling his eyes at Jack's impatience. One would think, after rooming together for five years, he would learn to deal with a photo-phile as a best friend. You never ask a photographer if they're done yet, or if you could move. It ruined the mood of the shot. But, taking Jack's attitude into account, David lowered the camera, setting it down on the coffee table.
He saw Jack's large brown eyes, darker than normal – the pupils had dilated at the bright flash – stare mutinously at his faithful Nikon and quickly scooped it back up. "What's the matter, Jack?" While Jack could get as bitchy as his sister had been during her time of the month, David could see no good reason why he looked like he was about to smash his camera. His camera was as a part of the family as he was. All of their friends would vouch for that.
In a fit of annoyance at David's seemingly innocent question, Jack Kelly tossed his black Bic pen down on top of the blank paper. He ran his hand through his shaggy sandy-colored hair before leaning back into the overstuffed floral print sofa that took up the middle of the loft. "What's that matter Dave?" he snapped, dropping his hand into his open lap, "Let me see. The electricity got turned off on us this morning," he said, jerking his head at the candle slowly melting before him – it was steadily dripping as it had been ever since night had fallen a few hours ago, "and, of course, the goddamn window is still broken. It's fucking freezing in here and, to top it all off, I can't even come up with one opening sentence for this damn story." He sighed and lifted his booted foot off of the floor. With a swift kick, being careful of the candle beside it, he knocked the book and his pen to the floor.
David watched with a raised eyebrow. He knew it had been a smart idea to get his camera out of Jack's reach.
Jack sighed, the breathe coming out in a relieved exhale as he finished his mini-rant. "You tell me, Dave. With all that shit going on, why should I pretend to be happy?"
"It's Christmas Eve. Be happy about that."
It was Jack's turn to look at David with an interested expression. He cast a glance at the boy standing before him, clutching his beloved camera to his chest as if it was his child. With his curly brown hair, fair skin and features, there was no way that anyone would believe that he was not the stereo typical New York Jewish boy. "Christmas, Dave?"
David shrugged, his lips quirking into a smile. "Hey, none of you guys are Jews. I figure I'd adopt your holidays in favor of mine. Besides, who can resist a fat jolly man in a red suit? Not me, that's for sure."
Despite his melancholy mood, Jack laughed. Sometimes, with the things that came out of David's mouth, he just couldn't help it. "I'll remember that next time you refuse to eat my cooking. Kosher, my ass."
Glad to see that, at least for the moment, Jack's gloomy mood was lifted, David joined in on the laughter. For that one moment, David could watch as his friend lost that haunted look, that depressed look, that 'lost' look that had plagued him since… well, since it happened, since Jack learned the truth about his fate, since the day she died...
And, with the way things were going, and the way things were looking to be, David Jacobs would take those moments when he could get them. Even if it came at his own expense. Because, he knew, one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last.