A/N: Life got busy. Working full time and taking classes got in the way. Excuses, excuses. Not 100% happy with this, really, but wanted to post something to get my muse back in gear. Reviews always appreciated.
He spent every spare moment he could editing the film into a very rough draft, even if it meant bouncing Tom in his baby seat with one hand while he scrolled and marked cuts on the film with another. Kara, for her part, just dropped his beeper in his eye line, and left him a sandwich and cup of tea when she headed out for her shift.
Maureen came at one point, letting herself in with the key he'd given her. His hand was lifted off the baby seat and he heard the snap of straps being undone and the still foreign tones of Maureen cooing to the baby.
He had to get through this reel before his shift started at six. He was on call for the twenty-four hours after that shift, so the chance he'd have another few interrupted hours were slim to nil.
He paused at footage of Collins, stopping the reel and marking the frame. He swallowed past Scarsdale, his father, past the footage of himself on rounds with Maureen's choppy narration.
Watch, stop, mark.
Mark, mark, mark, Mark.
His film. His focus.
Yet, it still felt unfinished. The footage was choppy and he had no idea why he'd called Alexi Darling, telling her he'd drop off a reel next week. She could take one look and laugh for all he knew. Still, she'd seemed interested. Well, as interested as a former tabloid producer could be, he rationalized.
Watching himself on film was painful. Okay, perhaps painful wasn't the proper word, but Mark hated seeing himself in view. Sure, he'd narrated to the camera before, but in reality, he'd never planned for the world to see his face. Remaining a nameless voice meant he could step back and observe, recording someone else's smile, someone else's tears, someone else's life. It was easier that way.
That way he'd never stopped to think about the decisions and choices he'd made, except perhaps to defend them.
He'd changed. That was a fact he'd always been aware of, but seldom liked to acknowledge. Change certainly wasn't a bad thing. Roger and Mimi had changed; Maureen had changed. Change was a part of life, part of the twists and turns life hands everyone.
He'd just never found his own twists and turns worth mentioning, let alone documenting. His own story was the only one he actually controlled and because of that fact, he'd tried to simply ignore it.
But by doing so, was he ignoring life? That was something Roger had basically accused him of doing at Angel's funeral, years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago, when he knew it wasn't.
So he'd changed and he'd build a new goal. But had all of him really changed? And if so, the next question was where did he go from here? It was a question that he didn't think he was going to find in the reels of footage he had.
Or maybe, more accurately, he was afraid that he actually would.
"I'm stuck," he said out loud, five days later, knowing well that no one except his son was around. He sighed, trying to get his fuzzy brain to concentrate, when something slimy touched his hand.
He looked up to find Tom leaning out his high chair as far as possible trying his very best to pass along a damp and half-chomped cookie. He had a look on his face that seemed to sincerely believe that cookies made everything better.
Mark took the cookie and set it down on the table. He got up and scooped Tom out of the high chair. Tom giggled.
Maybe all things weren't on film after all.
Things changed, yes. He was a dad now. Despite work, filming, anything, he had this little person that seemed to believe in him.
He ruffled Tom's hair once more before setting him down in his playpen.
He had to think about his decisions now and couldn't just bother with defending them. A nameless voice wasn't something he could remain, not with the path in life he'd found himself on. Passion never dies, but he needed to channel it differently. People still relied on him, but it was in completely different way.
But, why?
His story, his life. His plot to plan. Maybe the answer was closer than he thought. He had to stop being afraid to find it.
He went back to editing.
Two days later, he dropped off an edited reel on his way to work, thinking he'd probably never again hear from Alexi Darling.
He got a phone call three days later at work.
"How probable is it that you can get releases signed?"
Mark almost choked on the coffee he'd been sipping. "Um, releases?"
"Permission from all the people featured in your footage. I know you've been out of the business for a few years, Mark Cohen, but I don't think you completely forget the logistics. We're going to need permission from the hospital, of course, but I can spin this as good PR. Are you represented by that lawyer...Jefferson, I think her name was, right?"
"Good memory," he muttered. He'd be on the phone with Joanne the second he was through with Alexi.
She liked the damn film. Collins would find a way to haunt him just so to make him eat some serious crow.
"It's not one hundred percent finished, though, is it?"
That question through him for a loop. He wasn't sure exactly what to say. "It's been a work in progress," he admitted.
"I'd like to hire someone to help film some more. Nothing high tech, of course, to keep with the same style. After we get releases, of course."
She was mentioning releases again. He really needed to call Joanne.
And he did, only it was a few hours later, after work settled a bit to allow him another five minute pocket of peace. Joanne had been as shocked as he was, sounding genuinely happy and agreeing to contact Alexi directly on his behalf to talk details. He'd beeped Kara, briefly speaking to her. He went through the rest of his shift as usual, getting on the subway when he was done.
He'd been so deep in thought he'd almost missed his stop.
Alexi liked it. She was interested. This wasn't riot footage, this wasn't Angel. This was him and she wanted to see more. Was his life actually that interesting?
Kara had mentioned they were out of milk, so he stopped at the corner market. Dropping a couple of dollar bills on the corner (he still needed to get used to fact that he had more than a couple of crumbled dollar bills in his pocket these days), another thought hit him.
Kara.
He had to stop being afraid of complete change. He had to take charge. He slipped his key into the lock, a smile forming.
Kara.
She turned from the sink, a dish still in her hands. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and there were circles under her eyes, testament to the long hours they had both been putting in lately.
He thought she looked beautiful.
"Are you excited?" she asked, reaching for a towel to dry the dish. "And did you get milk?"
It was his life after all. His story to create and control.
"Marry me."
She blinked, tilting her head slightly, sending a loose strand of hair across her eyes. "What?"
"I know," he started. "It is what both our parents wanted and of course, that automatically means we want it less, right? But," he stepped closer towards her. "I love you."
He watched Kara swallow, and slowly place the dish in her hands on the counter. She let a moment of silence pass between them. "I love you, too," she finally said, softly. "I'd..." She stopped to shake her head, a small smile crossing her face. "I'd love to."
"Love to?" he asked. "Love to..."
"Marry you," she finished. "But nothing big. No frills. No fancy rings, no big white puffy dress. And since religion would be a huge clash between our parents, city hall would probably be the best, I think."
"Okay," he agreed. "You know, I somehow thought this be harder."
"Harder?" Kara asked.
"To convince you. I had a defense prepared, but then you just go ahead and..."
"Surprise you?" Kara finished. She stepped even closer to him. "I'm not taking your name, though."
"Of course not." He grinned. "If you'd agreed to that, I'd think you'd been replaced with a pod person." She hit him gently with the dish towel still in her hands.
"Very funny. You never answered my question, though. Are you excited? About the film, I mean."
He just smiled, stepping forward to close the gap between the two of them. With one hand he placed the bag containing the milk on the corner, using the other to circle her waist. He caught her off guard once again as he kissed her, harder and deeper than he had in a while.
When they broke apart, both were slightly breathless. Kara simply blinked.
"Mark," she whispered.
He just shook his head slightly. "I'm excited. I really am."
Even as he uttered the words, a silly, stupid grin on his face, he knew he had much more to be excited about. Who knew what the future would bring?
And this time, he'd face head on.
