Disclaimer: I do not own Rent. I wish I did (more specifically, I wish I owned Mark ) but that's another story entirely. I do, however, own the character of Trai Buscemi, her family, and her friends.

Love For Rent

Chapter One

I Am A Camera

"C'mon, Mark. Get up."

Mark Cohen sighed and rolled over so that he was lying facedown on his pillow. "There's no point," he mumbled.

Roger Davis proceeded to take one of the pillows on the bed and smack Mark with it. "Yes, there's no point," he agreed. "There's no point in being depressed over not having a girl if you don't get your ass out there and actually date!"

"Tell that to Benny and Collins."

"Benny's divorced, and it's only been a year since Angel."

"And suddenly you're Mr. Relationship?" Mark remarked, looking up at his friend with an accusing glare, which was more of an accusing squint since Mark wasn't wearing his glasses.

Roger rolled his eyes and threw the pillow at his best friend, trying to keep his temper as he told his friend, "Mark, I'm not letting you wallow anymore. It's been two years since Maureen dumped you and now you are going to actually go out on a date."

"Yeah. Good luck with that. If I recall, you did the exact same thing after Apr—"

"Don't bring her into this!" Roger warned heatedly. "Mark, as far as I can tell, you have absolutely no reason to be as depressed as I was! Tell me this, Mark. Did your girlfriend kill herself in your bathroom? Did your girlfriend get you addicted to a fucking drug whose withdrawal felt like it could kill you? Did she give you a fucking disease that will?"

Mark stayed silent.

He hated having a best friend who was assertive.

December 24th, 1991. 8 PM, Eastern Standard Time.

It was as normal a Christmas as it could be for the bohemians. Things were changing, and fast.

Roger had proposed to Mimi during that summer, and the wedding was to be in February. However, Mimi had one secret that she hadn't told anyone—she suspected she was pregnant, and was considering not keeping the baby.

Maureen and Joanne were committed, surprisingly. Though Maureen was still a bit of a flirt, she kept it friendly, and Joanne had agreed to relent a little in her constant watch over Maureen's life.

Collins and Benny were slowly putting their lives back in order. Benny had divorced Allison when it became clear their marriage wasn't working out, and Collins was back to teaching after a sabbatical, slowly starting to consider dating again.

As always, Mark was alone.

Maureen had dumped him two years before, as Roger had been so quick to remind him, and even though Mark desperately wanted some kind of relationship, he was having a hard time putting himself back out there after his previous experiences. He'd dated Maureen since they were teenagers, and she'd been pretty much his only relationship. Besides, he wasn't looking forward to the ordeal he'd have to put any potential girlfriends through. He'd have to admit what had happened with Maureen. His parents would want to meet her.

And then there was introducing the poor girl to his friends, which was another story entirely…

Mimi stared hard at the sink in front of her and bit her lip.

"Shit," she whispered, leaning back slowly against the wall of the bathroom.

She'd taken two tests.

Both were positive.

Mimi slowly slid to the floor, putting her head in her hands. She had no idea what to do, or how to tell Roger. They'd gone back and forth on the kids issue before, deciding almost every time that they didn't want to have kids for fear of spreading their virus to their child.

And now she was pregnant.

Fuck.

Mimi heard the door to the loft open and stiffened, quickly throwing the tests into the trash and covering them with tissues. She prayed it wasn't Roger.

"Meems, baby? I'm home…"

No such luck, apparently.

Mimi slowly came out of the bathroom, smiling, a little weakly, at Roger as he set down his guitar case and shrugged off his leather jacket. He'd just returned from a gig.

"Hey, baby," she greeted him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. He wrapped his arms around his fiancée and held her close, breathing in her scent for a moment before he murmured, "You weren't at the gig. Everything okay?"

Mimi bit her lip. She had to tell him. They had to decide.

"We need to talk," she said quietly.

Roger pulled away for a bit so he could look her into the eyes, concerned. "Baby…?"

Mimi led him slowly to the couch, sitting him down but remaining standing herself. Roger took her hands gently in his, asking softly, "Mimi, what's wrong?"

Mimi looked away and whispered, "I'm pregnant."

Roger felt his jaw drop, and if he hadn't been sitting down he probably would have passed out. This… this was not supposed to happen.

"I… I… fuck," Roger whispered.

"I know," Mimi said quietly.

"Fuck," Roger repeated.

"I know," Mimi whispered, blinking back tears. She was scared, so scared.

"How long have you known?" Roger asked quietly.

"I suspected for the last week or so… I only took a test today…"

"And it was positive?"

"Twice," Mimi whispered.

"Shit…"

"Roger… what do we do?"

Roger let go of her hands and pressed the heel of his right hand to his eyes. "I don't know," he said quietly. "This… this wasn't supposed to happen…"

Mimi sat down with a heavy sigh. "Should I…?" She couldn't say it.

Roger looked away and whispered, "I… Meems, I don't know… I really don't."

They'd agreed months ago not to have kids, but now that Mimi was pregnant, he wasn't sure anymore. He just didn't know.

"I need to think," Roger said quietly.

Mimi nodded. "I understand…"

Roger sighed and got up, gently kissing Mimi on the forehead before he went out the window and up the fire escape to go talk to Mark.

Some days Mark really wanted to seriously reconsider his vow to shoot without a script.

Mark sighed in frustration and turned off the projector, giving up on his editing work. He was trying to piece together a new documentary… about what, he wasn't quite sure of yet. Something along the lines of "Today 4 U", but with the focus this time on the role of AIDS in the life of his friends and its place in their art.

Between everything he'd taken Roger's advice and was trying to meet girls.

Most were turned off by the camera.

The knock at the window was an extremely welcome interruption.

Mark unlocked the window for Roger and motioned him inside. He noticed the expression on Roger's face and ordered him, "Talk."

Roger sat down on the couch with a heavy sigh, scrubbing his eyes with his palms. "Mimi's pregnant," he managed in a near-whisper.

"Holy fuck," Mark said slowly, sinking down next to his friend. "When did she tell you?"

"Just before, when I got back from CBGB's… both tests she took were positive…"

"Do you want to… keep it?" Mark asked, slowly.

Roger sighed in frustration. "That's just it… I don't know. We said months ago that we wouldn't have children. As much as I want kids… I don't want to give my kid this… this fucking disease… and no adoption agency would touch our family with a ten-foot pole," he said with a bitter laugh.

"You're right on that… but still. Some kind of decision has to be made…"

"I know," Roger said quietly. "I know."

Mark slowly said, "Look, I was going to go out and shoot… you want to walk with me?"

Roger shook his head slowly. "No, it's okay. I… I need to talk to Mimi. You can go." He managed a weak smile and cuffed his friend on the shoulder. "Go pick up some chick."

"Yeah. Okay. Central Park at night with a camera; that'll work."

Roger shrugged. "You never know."

Mark walked slowly around Central Park, his camera on and filming, just… thinking. Things had been pretty off lately. And now Mimi was pregnant.

He inhaled and then slowly exhaled.

This is so fucked up.

Mark lowered his camera to look around and realized that he was by the duck pond. He had to smile at that. The Catcher in the Rye had been one of his favorite novels as a teenager, God only knew why. Mark had never really been much of a rebel, though he was, in his own right, a bit of a smartass like Holden.

"Hey, Holden!"

Okay… what the fuck? That was weird…

Mark turned to find the source of the shout. The only one around was a young girl sitting on a bench by the pond. Slowly, he approached her and realized that she wasn't too young—she was around his age.

"Hold still for a sec?" the girl asked him. He gave her a quizzical look, but she merely bent closer over something propped against her knees, which were drawn up to the bench. On closer inspection he saw that it was a notebook.

She finally glanced up and shut the notebook, crossing her legs under her and setting down her pen. "Sorry. I just—I needed you for a sec. You look just like one of my characters."

"Are you an artist?" he asked curiously. She was pretty, he saw. Blond, from what he could tell in the half-darkness. Her hair fell to a little past her shoulders, and it was a little wavy. She was dressed in a gray sweater and jeans, with aging black-and-white Chuck Taylors on her feet. A beige backpack was leaning half-open against the bench.

"No," she said with a smile. "I'm a writer, actually."

"Would you mind if I sit?"

The girl shook her head. "No problem. Are you a filmmaker?"

Mark nodded. "If I leave the camera on…?"

"No problem," she assured him with another smile. "I think it's cute. My character is the same way—filmmaker, always carrying his camera."

"What kind of novels do you write? Anything I might know?"

"Novel. Singular. And, ah… if I told you what I write… you'd laugh."

Mark raised an eyebrow. This girl was interesting. "I won't," he promised.

"You will. Trust me. It's… not exactly common," she said with a weak grin. "I write romance."

"Like… paperback romances? Harlequins?"

"Sure, let's go with that. But there's more."

"Please elaborate."

"It's erotic," she said, and had it not been so dark, Mark was sure he would have seen her blushing. "And kind of… paranormal," she said in a rush.

Mark bit his lip to hide a smile. "That's… that's pretty interesting, I have to admit."

"You're not laughing," the girl said, surprised.

"Trust me, I know what it's like to have people laugh at you. My friends still laugh at me over something that happened two years ago."

"Do I want to know?"

"My girlfriend left me for a woman."

"I'm a romance writer and that's… that's a new one," said the girl with a slight chuckle. She smiled and offered her hand. "My name's Trai Buscemi. Nice to meet you."

"Mark Cohen," Mark said with a smile, taking her hand and shaking it. "Do you live around here?"

"Yeah, I'm in the East Village. My boyfriend and I share an apartment."

Mark felt his heart sink a little. She had a boyfriend.

Whoa, whoa. Back up. You've known this girl less than twenty minutes. Why are you getting attracted?

Maybe because I haven't had sex in two years.

You could actually like her, dumbass.

Am I really having this conversation with myself?

"I live on Avenue B," he told her. "The industrial lofts… old music factory, far as we've ever been able to tell. My friends and I… we're squatters."

"Bit of a rebel, huh?" she teased. "Guess I wasn't so far off with the Holden comparison."

"Are you a fan of the book?"

"One of my favorites."

"Mine too," he said with a smile.

Trai grinned at him and checked her watch. "Shit. I was supposed to be home for dinner; my parents are over… I just came out here to think. It was really nice meeting you, Mark. Thanks for being a model—most people freak out." She stood and shoved her notebook into her bag, giving him a small kiss on the cheek.

"Listen," Mark said, "if you need any help—filmmaking questions or anything… d'you want my address?"

Trai gave him a grateful smile. "That'd be wonderful, actually. I could use all the help I can get." She gave him her pen and held out her hand; he quickly scrawled his address and phone number.

So is it a crime that I want something more to happen between us?

She's taken, you idiot.

Things change.

She'd never go for someone like you and you know it.

"Thanks, Mark, seriously," she told him as he handed her the pen. "You're a gentleman and a scholar."

"Glad I can help. And thanks—for letting me film."

"Was only returning an artistic favor. It was great meeting you."

"You too," he said. She gave him another kiss on the cheek and ran off.

Mark could've flown home to his loft.