Author's Note: MissB8604 said she'd like to hear more of Paul's backstory and I realised I'd like to write more of Paul's backstory! So I got this out in like two hours. Backstories are fun. Please R&R. I believe we can pioneer a new trend of RENT fics!
Disclaimer: Thank you, Jonathan Larson.
The Lives That Made Him"You're gonna make a good lawyer, Paul. A really good lawyer."
Mr. Krazinsky sits across from him, tapping the ash off his cigarette, into the tray on the table. This is their monthly lunch and the topic of what a good (a really good) laywer he will make comes up once again. The doctrine is wearying.
He muses that the man is starting to look faded. Lines gather on his charming square face. White streaks make an appearance in his wavy dark hair. Under the smart shirt and suit pants is a weakening frame. His father, his manager.
He figures this is what he will resemble at forty, after eighteen years of law. The thought tires him even more.
Thank God he has an incentive to stay.
RENTRENTRENTRENTRENT"It's just not working for me anymore, Paul."
He crosses his arms, leans back against the wall and lets his eyes drift. He can't look at her anymore. She is beautiful. Not classically, but she has that thing about her. The auburn hair, the long awkward nose, the fierce green eyes, the full mouth that smiles and makes you think she means it.
"I guess it's working with you and Ryan then," he mutters. She's been wailing for months that she can't chose between the two. They're both so wonderful.
Jennifer sighs sadly, reaches over and plays with the collar of his shirt. He clenches a fist.
"You know I love you, Pauly. And I don't want things to be awkward for us." She means for her. "We're studying in the same college, aren't we? So we should be friends. We were great friends before this."
"Yeah, Jen. We were."
She bites her lip and glances down at her watch. "Well…I've got a lecture to get to so…bye."
She turns and leaves. He waits until she is at a reasonable distance before he stares after her. Even if she looks back now, she won't catch the tear racing down his cheek.
RENTRENTRENTRENTRENT"I was so stupid, Paul…"
He has the phone secured between his ear and his shoulder as he pores over a book. But when he hears his sister's sobs he slams it shut and grips the phone.
"Stace? What's wrong? Why are you cry-"
"Could you just come over here please?" she sniffs.
They are twins. His life is linked to hers, no matter how different they may be. When he gets to the apartment she shares with two other girls, Stacey is sitting on the kitchen floor. She sees him and stretches out her arms like a child. He drops to his knees and hugs her as she stammers out her story…
She met this guy in a bar. He was nice, smart, funny. She brought him back here after eight hours. When he left the next day, one of her roommates told her she should get herself checked out. There were all kinds of weird things being passed around these days.
She got lucky on the first try. Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. A new disease, incurable, working its way into America.
He sits with her on the kitchen floor, arms wrapped around her shoulders.
"He's gonna hate me even more…"
He rests his head on hers, feeling they're both dying.
"Dad doesn't hate you."
"He does!" she snaps. "And he just loves you. You're the golden boy. You make everybody so proud."
He sighs. "Well, I'm considering being the disappointing one for once."
"What do you mean?"
"This Jen thing…it makes me wonder why I'm still around."
"Uh…maybe because Dad's been pouring money into this for years?"
"Precisely. I should stop now. Before he expends any more time or money."
"Paul, you're talking like a crazy person. He will kill you. Or worse- cut you off."
"I don't need his money. I need…to feel like I'm happy with my life. Like I'm living."
She sighs. "I know the feeling."
RENTRENTRENTRENTRENT"It's nice to meet you, Paul."
The African-American woman with a round smiling face and heavy braids looks around the circle. They all share the same scared, lost expression.
"I'm Phyllis. Welcome to Life Support."
He looks at his sister, sitting next to him on one of the old plastic chairs. She glares discreetly at him. Meetings such as these have never gone down well with Stacey. But this isn't just a stint in rehab or an occasional AA meeting. The mess that she's gotten herself into, that she's gotten him into, feels real. It feels final.
"Who would like to begin?"
Stace suddenly becomes fascinated by her chipped nail polish. The others are equally dreamy. Except one.
"Well I…" They all look with thinly veiled relief to a fair-haired guy. He flushes slightly at the sudden attention. "I uh…well, I think that maybe there's a purpose…to all this. At least for me." He rubs his hands together slowly for a moment before speaking again. "All my life I've never really known what I want to do. What the point is, of just being here, you know?" Some nod slowly. Stacey's expression is blank. "I've basically been living out this plan my family drew up for me, thinking eventually I would start to feel like I was doing something worthwhile. Then two years ago, I got sick. They told me I wasn't going to get any better. And it hit me. I've got this one life. Just this one. I don't want waste it."
Silence. Phyllis smiles gently. "Thank you, Alan."
The weight of room is lightened suddenly by the sound of applause. He looks to his sister. She is clapping vehemently as tears race down her cheeks. He touches his face and realises he's crying, too.
After the meeting, Stacey is talking to Alan by the refreshments table.
He approaches Phyllis uncertainly while she talks to the others. She excuses herself and they walk together a little.
"Everything all right, Paul?"
He nods, then stops in his tracks and turns to face her.
"I just…" he stares around the room absently. "I'd like a chance to work with you. To work with people. I-I think I can…do this."
She beams. "I think you can, too."
RENTRENTRENTRENTRENT"Steve."
"Gordon."
"Ali."
"Pam."
"Sue."
"Hi. I'm Angel."
"Tom. Collins."
He looks around at them all. Different people, with the same struggles. Five years on and he has yet to grow weary of helping them.
It is with quiet assurance that he speaks. "I'm Paul."
Author's Note: Well, this was certainly a lot longer than my first. I think I needed to get the Paul craze out of my system. And this fic just about did!
Please review if you liked it. If you think it was maudlin or anything tell me honestly and I shall whip myself with a dog's leash!
Peace and GBU