Author's Notes: Guess I should have said earlier that the RENT characters aren't mine, but people know that. Had a few questions, yes, this story goes way beyond what I posted at Speedrent, it currently sits at 65 pages without the few add-ins. So we're looking at about 6-7 chapters. Sending thanks to Abby; the reason I didn't update at SR was because I wanted the story to do it's own thing. And again thanking Greens for starting all this!

Fic4rent at yahoo group. Email for info.

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He stood with his back turned. His hands were deep in his pockets, his brow was furrowed. The large window before him looked out over the city, a city not unlike New York, only much larger, much taller, much cleaner. Far below, the lights twinkled and winked up at him. He knew they were running out of time.

Another man entered the room, a smaller, wispier man, but then most seemed small and wispy as compared to the person looking down onto the streets. "I think I know who has been tapped," he said slowly. "But they're going to need help. It's already begun, they aren't ready for this."

"I know," said the man at the window with a heavy sigh. "I suppose you should go to them."

"We can't let them handle this on their own."

"And you can't tell them anything. They have to figure it out." The larger figure glanced over his shoulder. "You know that. Otherwise they will be of no use to us."

"But I can guide them. One of them has already experienced an attack."

The man turned. "Already?" His voice held a measure of concern. "This isn't possible."

"The situation is dire. At this point, I would almost venture to say there are no rules."

Large shoulders squared back toward the window. "No. We must try to retain some sort of order. But if you feel you must go, then do so."

"I do."

"Just watch yourself." A look of affection was tossed toward the smaller man.

"I always do." He walked over and stood behind his friend. "Try to get some rest."

"Not tonight."

"But . . ."

"Go, if you're going to." The man had frozen, every sentence of his body language suddenly blocking off any further show of concern.

"Going." The smaller man nodded, and exited the room quickly.

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"Mark?" Roger's brow furrowed as he watch his friend suddenly clutch at his head. "You okay?" Mark nodded, then cried out, causing Roger to twist around in his panic. "Mark! What's . . .shit!" The agonizing scream that followed had each one holding the tormented man, trying to still him. He dove off the sofa and would have landed hard on the floor if not for the hands holding him steady.

Roger wasn't ready for this. No one could possibly be ready for this. "Mark, what is it? What's happening?" With all the discussion going on he half expected his friend to either turn into a giant green creature with bulging muscles or start throwing lightning bolts across the room. The more practical side of him said he was having an epileptic fit, though he never suffered from those, or he had an aneurysm that was about to burst. "What the hell is this?" he demanded of Collins, who just shook his head, fear evident in a normally calm face. "Well, come on! Don't you have all the fucking answers now?" Collins just met his glare with a pained expression.

Roger watched as Benny grabbed Mark's hands and forced them down by his side, then was pushed away with a force he didn't think Mark had in him. He landed on his ass as the poor man tore himself away from the others and launched himself toward the door, just in time for it to swing open and let a stranger in.

This man caught Mark by the arms and forced him harshly to his knees, cupping his hands over Mark's ears. Mark's own hands covered his as he tried to get away, then visibly calmed, though he still trembled. "What do you see?" the man asked him urgently.

Roger was on him. "What the – let him go! Who the hell are you?" he demanded, bent over them, his hands firm on Mark's arms ready to jerk him away, but a shake of the man's head silenced him.

"Not now." He nodded toward the man he held. "What's his name?"

"What?"

"What is his name?"

Roger stood still for a moment, then squatted down beside him. "Mark," he replied. He decided that, for the moment, he didn't care who this strange guy was because whatever he was doing to ease Mark's pain, it was working. He looked more calm, though obviously still hurting.

"Mark. Listen to me." The man's voice was smooth, gentle. There was a hint of an accent. "My name is Nathaniel Greer, and I'm here to help you. Now tell me, what do you see?"

Mark's hands tightened over those holding him. He shook his head rapidly. Tears squeezed out of his eyes.

"What's happening to him?" Roger asked sharply, his hands now on his friend's shoulders, gently massaging, gently comforting. What he really wanted to do was wring the information from this man's neck. He didn't like to be put off.

"I said, not now," the man insisted, and he gently removed Mark's glasses. "Mark, I must know, now please tell me. What do you see?"

"Nothing," Mark managed to whisper, squinting his eyes. "There's – noise." He winced again and ducked his head down away from the grip, but the man caught him. "Stop!" Mark whispered frantically.

"It will pass." Nathaniel smiled. "Trust me, I used to have these too. Feels like you're a tiny atom about to be split open and distributed all over the universe. Shredded. Pain like a mother, isn't it?" Mark's vivid blue eyes finally rose to meet his, and he nodded. "You'll learn how to mange the pain and get past it. You'll have to."

"Or?" Collins asked, now bending down beside Roger.

"You've heard the expression, 'brain turning into jelly'?"

Oh, hell no. This was too much. "Make it stop!" Roger ordered. "You know so much about it, stop this!"

"I can't." The man shook his head sadly, still holding on to Mark. "No more so than you could stop yourself in that alley when you and your friend were threatened."

Roger's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about that? How did you know that? Who the hell are you?"

"I'll tell you, but let's get your friend settled first. See, it's better, isn't it?" His voice was trusting. He relaxed his grip on the sides of Mark's head, his thumb gently rubbing the young film maker's forehead. Mark visibly slumped into the caress, exhausted. "Help me get him back to the sofa. He must lay down."

"I have a bed," Collins offered.

"Even better. The quiet will still the confusion in his mind."

"Should he be alone?" Benny asked. He had been standing back the whole time, observing anxiously.

"We'll keep the door open." He wrapped his arms around Mark's thin torso and nodded to Roger. "Get his feet."

Roger did so, only then realizing that the tormented man had passed out. They carried him to Collins' bed, which was a real bed, not a mattress on the floor, and gently laid him on it. Roger took the glasses that was handed to him and set them on the bedside table, then covered Mark with a blanket that lay over a nearby chair. Without his glasses, with his features relaxed and his thin body tucked underneath the blanket, he looked like a young boy.

Nathaniel looked surprised. "What age is this man?"

"'Bout the same as me," Roger offered. "A year younger." He looked offended when the new arrival merely snorted and walked into the living room.

Collins was clearing away books from another chair. "Guess I ain't reading after all," he muttered as they walked in. He picked up a pile and let it thump heavily onto a table. "Now, who the hell are you, what the hell did you just do, and would you like some tea?" Collins stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for an answer. Any answer.

"Tea, yes, thank you." Nathaniel made himself comfortable, and waited expectantly.

Collins just shook his head and walked to the kitchen. This time Roger didn't follow. Instead he watched this new man with every ounce of his being.

Benny leaned forward after taking a seat across from the stranger. "While he's getting your tea," he said slowly, "would you care to explain what the hell is going on?" His eyes were pointed, his gaze almost metallic. Roger had never seen anything like it.

But the man smiled and shook his head. "Ah, it won't work, mate. I know the trick." He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back, then jumped forward as Collins handed him a mug. "Thank you."

"Look," Roger cut in, "is he going to be okay? What the hell happened to him?" He had taken a seat next to Benny, and leaned forward anxiously. There were two things he didn't like. One was uncertainty. The other was continued uncertainty.

Nathaniel sipped at his tea, considered it for a moment, then gave an approving nod. "Not too bad." He sat back once more, crossing his right leg over his left. "My name is Nathaniel Greer, as I have started before, and I have come here to help."

"Help with what?" Roger demanded.

"Oh, come now," Nathaniel said in irritation. "We don't have time for these games. It is obvious that something is happening to all of you, and it is obvious that this something is happening very, very quickly. Too quickly. Now if you prefer, I can leave, and let the lot of you handle this growing situation for yourselves. I can guarantee you it won't work. Or, you can sit quietly and let me tell my story, and why you four have been chosen."

"Chosen for what?" Collins asked, melting into a chair in disbelief.

But Roger held up an impatient hand. "Is. My friend. Going. To be. Okay?" He annunciated each word carefully.

Nathaniel raised his chin. "Yes. What your Mark has experienced is generally referred to as a psychic attack." His voice lowered. "Someone was trying to get to him. Assessing his skills, I bet."

Roger wanted to throw Nathaniel's words back at him in a question, but his mouth just worked around them. "What?" he finally managed to ask.

Nathaniel gave an impatient sigh. "Look, if I may start at the beginning . . ."

"Just don't leave out anything important," Collins said, leaning back and mirroring Nathaniel's position.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Nathaniel replied lightly, giving Collins a stern look. "Are you ready to listen?" Collins waved his hand at him, signaling for Nathaniel to continue.

The older man shrugged out of his long, black coat and draped it over the side of his chair. "I can't tell you absolutely everything, but I can give you enough information to ease this transition."

"Why can't you tell us everything?" Roger cut in.

"Let the man speak!" Collins reprimanded, and nodded to Nathaniel.

"What you are experiencing, is a sort of . . . evolution."

Collins looked like he just tasted something unpleasant. "You mean like X-Men?" Nathaniel looked puzzled, and Roger waved it away.

"We assist those that are chosen to go through this phase," Nathaniel continued. "The how's and why's are not important at this stage, though I can guarantee that all of your questions will be answered. For now, it simply will be too much information on top of a transition that will be difficult enough. Trust me when I say that this is for the good of humankind."

Collins leaned over to Benny. "Did he just say 'humankind'?"

"Uh-huh."

Roger bounced his leg as he closely regarded Nathaniel. His hair was greying. His face was youthful in that he looked healthy rather than younger than his years. His frame was slender, long, and Roger had an idea that he was fast and spry. Long fingers curled and flexed around the arms of the chair as he talked, not out of nerves, but more an inability to keep perfectly still. His grey eyes were keen, and kind. There was a definite ease about the man, yet Roger wasn't certain he trusted him. "This transition. How long does it take?"

"That's up to you. What I need right now, is to talk to each of you individually, to see exactly what is happening to you. Would that be permissible?"

"Sure." Collins shrugged and looked at Benny. "This is so fucked up anyway, don't see how it could hurt."

Nathaniel grinned. "I'm going to like you. What is your name again?"

"Call me Collins."

"Collins. My friends generally call me Nate."

"Generally?"

He shrugged. "It depends on the mood I'm in. I've heard worse. Who would like to start?" Collins pointed to Benny, and leaned back.

Nate smiled and pulled out a small notebook. "My mind isn't what it used to be," he said apologetically, and flipped open the cover. "First subject . . .your full name?"

Benny shot Collins a glare. Collins merely smirked. "Benjamin Coffin the third. Benny."

"Right. And what is your gift?"

Benny laughed at the absurdity of the situation, and the questioning that seemed so mundane for such a situation. "I have no idea."

"I dubbed it 'omnipotent'." Collins said.

"Omnipotent. And in what way?"

Benny laced his fingers together. "I guess, I can manipulate. Been happening consistently for two days now. If I want something from someone, I – I know what to say or do to get it."

"Jedi mind trick," Roger muttered.

"And this started two days ago?"

"Yes."

"Headaches?"

Benny frowned. "No."

"Describe your first realization."

No way in hell was he going to be able to sit through all of this. "I'm going to go check on Mark," Roger said, realizing that he was in for a Benny lecture, which weren't nearly as interesting as Collins'. That, and he suddenly felt sick, tense, and needed to just get away from things for a moment. Nate nodded at him and returned his attention to Benny.

Roger walked into the room and carefully closed the door behind him. The heavy curtains made the room darker than one would expect. Collins liked as little light as possible when turning in, Roger could remember trying to pile blankets over the large windows in the loft while Collins tried to decide who to room with, sleeping on the couch in the meantime. At that time Maureen was shacking up with Mark, and Benny shared his room. Of course this left the sofa, until Collins decided the small pantry was large enough to cram in a worn twin sized mattress, and had no windows to boot. So he slept for a year in a pantry.

Roger waited for his eyes to adjust. The bed was calling to him, to his aching body and distorted sense of reality. Maybe his dreams would make more sense. He removed his shoes and padded his way to the side of the bed. Mark looked to be sleeping peacefully. He had turned on his side, the blankets pulled around him, his body curled. Roger put his hand on the narrow shoulder, checking for movement. There was nothing but gentle breathing, a relaxing rhythm that made Roger realize just how tired he was himself. "Push over," he muttered, nudging at Mark's back until the other man grunted and complied. Roger lay beside his friend, on top of the covers, his fingers laced behind his head. There was a certain comfort he found, lying there with Mark at his side. He needed that. He needed quiet, and dark, and stability.

His eyes closed.

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The late afternoon sunlight glared through the windows, or tried to, but that wasn't what woke Roger. It was the insistent ringing of the telephone in the living room, and the hurried voice that answered it, and then tried to settle whoever was on the other line. Roger blinked several times and looked to his side. Mark was still sleeping, flat on his back, his light hair fully tousled, his lips barely parted. Roger pushed himself up and rubbed at his face as the door opened, and Benny stuck his head in. "You're up. Good. You've got a pissed-off woman looking for you."

"What?" The comment took a moment to register, and to Roger's embarrassment he found himself running through a mental catalog of names before landing on the right one. "Oh, shit. Mimi." He bounced off the bed, hearing Mark complain at being jostled. The phone was snatched from Collins' ear and placed to his. "Mimi? Honey, it's okay. Yeah, I'm sorry, something happened . . .no, we're fine, just met some idiots in an alley. I should have called, are you okay? Yeah?" He walked into the hallway as far as the cord would allow, and his voice faded.

"Don't think he'll tell her, do you?" Collins asked, watching Roger with a grin.

"Hope not." Benny shook his wrist until his watch spun face side up, and looked at it. "Shit. I gotta go, it's almost six. When did Nate say he'll be back?"

"Probably not for another two hours or so."

Benny sniffed at his clothes and grimaced. "Damn. Gotta stop by my place and grab some clothes. Told Brooks I can't play basketball in this suit, but he cornered me when I left the office. Had to play a game." He walked to the kitchen.

Collins followed. "That explains why you look like you did when you got here. How'd you get off work early?"

Benny merely raised his eyebrows. "You're kidding, right?" He ran the faucet, filling a glass with water, gulped it down thirstily, and gave a satisfied sigh. "Try and keep them here, will you?"

"I don't think Mimi will like that." Collins grinned toward the hallway.

"Not much choice. You know what Nate said. These two don't know it yet."

Collins thought back to the strange conversation, and nodded. "I'll watch out for them and explain things. And hey," he grabbed Benny's arm as the other man started to leave, "don't think this changes anything, you got some shit to make up for with those boys." His amiable gaze was suddenly tinged with frost. "But you watch yourself."

Benny slowly pulled away. "Yeah. You too." He let his gaze linger on Collins, and walked out.

Roger emerged from the hall and gestured sheepishly with the phone as he hung up. "I forgot, I was supposed to meet Mimi for lunch at two." He sulked over to the sofa. "She's pretty pissed, but more because she was worried than because I stood her up."

"Come on, you didn't stand her up," Collins replied tiredly.

"Essentially."

"Did you ask to get beat up in an alley? No? All right then." He looked Roger over, then sat at his desk and eyed his books. "Look, Nate's coming back by later. Benny thought it would be a good idea for all of us to stick together for a bit."

"And . . .Benny left. So ixnay the ondingbay. Just because he's here, doesn't mean I have to get along with him."

Collins wanted to say something along the lines of, 'I hear ya', but he couldn't do that. "I thought all that was long past us. He did ease up on the whole rent thing. You guys got to stay."

"That's not it. And you know this is a temporary fix. They're still going to tear the place up."

Collins' hand fell from rubbing his forehead. "He isn't a sell-out, Roger. He got married. And divorced."

"So hooray for the martyr! We were close, Collins. Tight. You do remember, right?" Roger's voice rose. "We were like the goddamn four musketeers. It's no wonder Maureen moved out when she did."

"We can be again, if you'll let us." Collins let his gaze linger. "She didn't stick around long though, did she? Course that place doesn't really suit five people living together. Hardly suits three."

"Not like she was around that much in the first place."

"Not like Maureen and Mark got much privacy. Bet that didn't help her case, any."

"Nah, Maureen just found out she likes cats better." Roger looked up at a shadow crossing the room, and couldn't hide his smile. "Speak of the devil."

"Thought I heard my name taken in vain," Mark groused, rubbing his face. His pale lashes were trying to flutter open, but for the most part he was sleepwalking.

Roger crossed the room and steered him toward a chair. "How you feel?"

"Like shit."

"Tea?"

"Absolutely." Mark fell bonelessly into the soft chair. His head lolled back and his eyes closed.

Roger nodded. "Collins, we got to get you a coffee maker."

"Harms my metabolism. You didn't get enough sleep?" Collins asked Mark wryly, but giving him a stern lookover.

"Screw you. Kept having the weirdest dreams. Thanks." His eyes had opened, and he accepted the lukewarm mug that Roger handed him. He sipped carefully. "Felt like I was waking up, but I never really did. So I didn't really sleep, either."

"What sort of dreams?" Roger asked, sitting across from Mark and leaning forward attentively.

"Probably of the two of you snuggled up together all cute like bugs in a rug," Collins teased deeply.

Mark popped to attention. "What?"

"I was tired. Sue me. What dreams?"

Mark gave Roger a rather incredulous look before shaking it off. "I don't know. Nightmarish stuff, not in the sense that there was any danger, but that I couldn't make sense of what I saw. Just . . .jumbled up stuff, colors, sounds, thoughts. I kept trying to sort it all out, but I couldn't."

"Sound to me like you're adjusting to this new power of yours," Collins said simply.

"Cut it out," Mark muttered around his mug.

"What? It makes sense. Everything that we're doing is more an outward thing, you know? You've got all this inner crap going on. You gotta find a way to adapt."

"What about you soaking up everything you read?"

"Maybe my brain's bigger than yours," Collins quipped back.

Mark just winced at him. "Anyway, that's not it. Probably just a result of having the crap beat out of me. Again." His eyes closed, and he relaxed. It was the only way he didn't hurt. His eyes opened to silence, and to find the two men looking at him. "What?"

"Nothing. You're just cute when you're asleep," Collins teased.

"God, I'm going home," Mark moaned.

"Nope. Gotta stay here for a while."

"Courtesy of our landlord, who not only governs our household and lives, but our new abilities as well," Roger muttered.

Mark turned to Collins. "How are we going to live through this?" he asked.

Collins sighed with a smile. "One day at a time, my friend."

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Nate showed again, but it was late in the evening. He entered without knocking and tossed a bag onto the kitchen counter. "Thought you might be hungry. I brought sandwiches," he casually called out as he removed his coat and draped it over a chair, then started unpacking the bag. It took a moment for him to register that there were no voices, no bodies crushing in to get at the food the way he figured hungry males were prone to do. "Hello?"

He turned. He peeked around the small half-wall that divided the kitchen from the main living area. There was nobody there.

Nate sighed and walked to the center of the room. He eyed the area, turned in a circle in disbelief, confirming that there was in fact no one around, and yelled out, "You left your door open!" He flung his arms out in exasperation and returned to the kitchen to eat his food.