The concept of this story came from another Rent fic I wrote which mentions Mark with an original character (The One of Us). I decided to expand on her even though I'm not particularly fond of OCs.
Reviews are encouraged appreciated.
December 13th, 8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time.
Mark walked the familiar street, its lamps already lit with the absence of an early-setting sun. By that time of year, night meant a cold 15 hours of darkness. Still, Mark continued down the pavement, away from the flat that was a cold as the doorways the homeless huddled in.
Even in the city that never sleeps, the street seemed eerily quiet. Under the light of a street lamp, he holds his camera, letting it take in the surroundings. The whole area is empty. A few cars sit, their eyes dark, on the curb. Nothing moves but the wind on Mark's cheeks. He's alone.
But he isn't.
In the pool of light less than a block away, a shadow moves, then steps into the circle. Boots click along the concrete. A long overcoat dances in a sudden winter gust.
She moves forward, walking out of the lamp's glow, moving slowly, aware of the stranger. Even as she is obscured by the night, Mark can still see her coming in his direction. As she draws nearer, Mark takes in her face clearly. Wide eyes holding distrust. Skin the colour of milk. Deep red hair blowing like a cape around her.
Mark's fingers tremble suddenly under the weight of the camera he is still holding. As if in slow motion, the camera tumbles down onto the pavement.
Mark hears the cry coming from his mouth, his throat, as panic grabs him. He falls to his knees, grasping his most valued possession to his chest with one arm as he runs the other frantically over the ground in search of any missing pieces.
"Here."
Mark's heart skips a beat in momentary surprise as a hand holds out a round object. The woman, on her knees beside him, holds out his camera lens.
He takes it, glancing at her face, focusing back on the camera. His rough fingers run along its surface, searching for dents, jagged edges, anything that could be wrong.
Nothing.
Slowly, he turns the handle, presses a button. The camera comes to life. Its first shot is the face of a woman peering anxiously at the man breathing a sigh of relief.
"Thanks," says Mark, suddenly hyper-aware of his close proximity to this strange woman.
"Anytime."
Mark stands, awkwardly, then extends his hand to help her up, a gesture she ignores and rises on her own. A light smile his way causes Mark to speak sans filter.
"So, um, do you just walk the streets helping lone cameramen or were you heading somewhere?" he asks, trying his best to sound clever, to sound interesting, to sound like anything but a stupid klutz of a person.
She shakes her head, letting her hair fly up in another gust of wind.
"I like to be outside at nighttime. There's something about this part of the city. Sometimes it can be almost…quiet, you know?"
He did know. Here, under that streetlamp, he had found silence.
"Isn't that dangerous? I mean, should you be out so late? By yourself?"
A smirk curls at her lips.
"I can handle myself."
"A lot better than I can, apparently."
"I'm Kay."
"Mark."
She held a palm out to him.
"Well, Mark, this chance meeting could be more than just chance. Maybe you need me around. I think we'd better look into it. I know a café near here. Would you care to join me?"
Mark took her hand, and together they stepped out of the light, into something better.