Disclaimer: You guessed it. RENT doesn't belong to any of us, it's Jonathan Larson's. So are the lyrics from tick,tick...BOOM! (Except for the first set, those belong to BBMAK, from the song "Ghost of You and Me")
Authoress Note: Nobody has any idea who the 'vengeful presence' is? The chocolate thing about West Africa is true, and I'm starting a boycott of the companies who harvest their cocoa like that. If you wish to help the cause, let me know.
This is AU.
Chapter Eight: Why
Alexia was fully aware of Benny's presence behind she and Roger. She didn't know what to think. Oh, Benny was capable of it, defiantly, sure, but something just told her that he didn't shoot Mark. Roger thought otherwise.
"He's behind us, isn't he?" the musician whispered to Alexia, not daring to look over his shoulder.
Roger held the door for Alexia and she looked behind her. Roger let the door go in Benny's face. Benny didn't say anything, after all, he wasn't really in th position to. The landlord just calmly opened the door, following the musician silently.
ALEXIA'S POV
I took a deep breath and sighed, shaking my head. Damn, I wanted to think that Benny did it, I really did. He was someone with motive, as the cops say. He was some one with the means. Benny probably owned a gun, even though he claimed to not know how to use one, or if he didn't he could certainly afford to hire someone to do it. (I shook my head again, I could afford that, too. I couldn't help but wonder if anyone else but Roger had their thoughts about my possible guilt. But, then again, it was clear how much I loved Mark, wasn't it? Roger was just upset, like I was. If we had been calmer, we would have realized right away that neither of us could shoot Mark.) I wanted to think that Benny did it, not because he had been on not so great terms with us lately, but because he was someone to blame. If it wasn't Benny, then my fiancée was dying and there was no one I could blame. There was no one I could shriek at, no one I could hurt to try and make it better, to justify it. To make myself feel like I was actually doing something to help. I wasn't a surgeon or a doctor, hell, I wasn't even a nurse or a paramedic. The only medical training I had was the CPR/ Babysitting license I got when I was fourteen, and still carried with me in my wallet after all these years. I couldn't do anything to save Mark other than hold his hand, stay by him at night, and find who did this to him. Find who did this to him, who attempted to take his life, and who may still get their way, and settle the score. With Roger's help, we could change things, find that person, that animal, no, that monster, and show that person who is in charge.
I wanted it to be Benny, because if it wasn't, I had failed. I hadn't found anyone, or anything.
Alexia caught sight of her reflection in the shining glass door of the hospital gift shop. She stopped for a second, her hand on the door handle, but then hastily entered anyway. When Angel got there, she would certainly take Alexia into the ladies room and fix her make-up and hair. Angel did things like that. Little things that could just turn the rest of your day around, or, if your day had been going as badly as Alexia's had, it could make you at least attempt to smile just a little bit. Mark was going to be fine, he had to be. Mark had to be alright, so Alexia would attempt to smile when Angel tried to get her to. He and Alexia would get married and buy a penthouse, or, if Mark protested enough, a regular apartment, somewhere close to the loft, still in the East Village, and they would adopt a dog. Alexia really didn't like kids, neither did Mark. They didn't like kids to the point of almost hating the little snot balls, as they called them when they heard a kid crying in a crowded movie theater, or when Alexia was on stage and a little kid was crying, distracting she and her fellow cast mates, and also forcing Mark to cut the sound, if he was filming, and dub over with a voice over.
She pulled the glass door open and steeped into the little shop that smelled heavily of roses and chocolate. Alexia scoffed, she and Mark hadn't eaten chocolate since they found out about the child slavery ring that was run in West Africa to harvest the cocoa beans to make the chocolate that so many people inhaled like oxygen everyday. They didn't like little kids, but no one deserved a fate like that, certainly not children. She and the other girls had even boughten t-shirts that were just a little too tight that had originally said "Drop the Chocolate and Nobody Gets Hurt". They had crossed out the D in drop and replaced it with a bright red S, so that the shirts now read: "Stop the Chocolate and Nobody Gets Hurt". Maureen had written a protest piece about it, she and Alexia led, and Angel, Joanne and Mimi sang back-up. Roger played back-ground guitar, Collins and Angel were on the drums. Mark filmed, and the footage was on Buzzline the next night with the headline: Chocolate Kills Global Society. Alexia's fathers office was flooded with calls the next morning. People were screaming at the Democratic Senator, some in ecstatic support for the cause, some in vivacious opposition.
"Can I help you?" A cheery red-haired woman asked from behind the counter. She smiled pleasantly at Alexia.
Alexia ran her hand over a blue pillar candle for sale on a nearby shelf. "Do they allow these in patient rooms? I mean, can they be lit in a patient area?"
"I can't see any reason why not." The woman answered, and Alexia sat the candle on the counter, digging in her purse for her wallet. "Will this be all?"
Alexia nodded, never looking up.
"Who's in the hospital, can I ask?" The clerk asked her while turning the volume on the overhead television down so low that it was barley audible, making Alexia finally pay attention. "I don't mean to pry, but maybe I could help you pick something out, something that could go with the candle, something a little more...personal."
Alexia looked up at the woman, whom she realized was close to her mother's age. Streaks of gray ran through her fiery red hair, and slight crow's feet edged around her kind eyes. Alexia really didn't want to reveal anything to the total and complete stranger, but something in her told her to. "It's my boyfriend, uh" she remembered the diamond ring on her finger, "fiancée."
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry to hear that. Is he going to be alright?"
"We're not sure."
The clerk looked at Alexia sympathetically. "Well, I'll add you both to my prayers tonight."
Alexia shivered. A stranger, a person she had never met before, had just somewhat renewed her faith in mankind. "Thank-you." was all Alexia could think to say, then she payed for the candle and left the little gift shop, jingling the little bell hanging on the door as she did.
The P.A. Buzzed on overhead as Alexia, Benny and Roger restarted toward the elevator to return to Mark's bedside. "Code Red, room 508, Code Red, Cardiac Arrest." The female voice said mechanically.
"Shit!" Alexia shouted, "Roger, 508, that's Mark!"
The elevators loomed ahead, slow, too slow. They had to get to Mark's room fast. The door to the stairwell beckoned beside them.
Roger reached for the door handle, but he and Alexia were practically knocked out of the way by Benny, who frantically rushed ahead, followed intently by the footfalls of a pair of high-heels, and a pair of boots.
Second Floor.
Third Floor.
Fourth Floor.
Benny flung open the brushed steel door that led from the stairwell on to the fifth floor, the Intensive Care Unit. He had to apologize to Mark, he had to beg his forgiveness before it was too late. Mark was his oldest friend, and his truest friend, even after what had happened since Benny had married Alison, and alienated his friends. He could hear Alexia and Roger following behind him, shouting, cursing, as he came to the doorway of Mark's room where an entire team of nurses and doctors and surgeons hastily bustled about, bumping into each other occasionally. Mark lay, still, pale and unmoving, not breathing. A surgeon shouted "CLEAR!" and put two off-white paddles to Mark's chest and fired the defibrillator. Benny watched in horror as Mark jolted ever so slightly, but didn't respond to the shock, the harsh wail of the flat line on the heart monitor persistent.
"No, no, no..." Benny backed out of the doorway just as Alexia and Roger approached.
I hear the voices call,
Following footsteps down the hall,
Trying to save what's left of my heart and soul.
It couldn't be happening again. They'd been through this already, it wasn't supposed to happen again. Alexia heard herself begin to scream as Roger attempted to pull her out of the doorway and out of the way of the doctors working to save Mark's life. She fought her way out of the musician's grasp and they shocked Mark again, to no avail.
And again.
And again.
The same nurse that had shoved Alexia out of the way the first time this had happened now slammed the door in her face and pulled the venetian blinds on the window so that Alexia, Roger and Benny couldn't tell what was going on inside Mark's room. Alexia hated her for that. Mark was as still as death, and Alexia couldn't do anything to help.
Love so still,
Can you feel it?
What more can you want?
Is this Real Life?
It wasn't real, and it wasn't happening.
Benny slid down the hallway wall, his face buried in his hands. "No...no...not Mark. No." The Landlord began to sob, as did Alexia.
Roger clenched his fists and responded the only way that seemed natural. He drew back and punched the wall in anger. He hit it again and again, pretending it was who ever did this to Mark, to his best friend.
The following few minutes seemed to stretch on forever. Nothing could be seen or heard from Mark's room, and the three in the hallway now sat, just simply crying. Roger had finally put his fist through the wall, causing quite a hole, and Alexia had subdued her screaming.
"Mark and I've been best friends since we were kids." Roger said abruptly. "When I was nine, Mark and I entered a talent show down at the Y. When we went to rehearse by some stairs, Mark said he couldn't sing, I said no one cares."
"What did you sing?" Alexia asked, looking up at Roger, her eyes reddened from crying.
"We sang Yellow Bird, and Let's Go Fly A Kite, over and over and over until we got it right." He paused, taking a deep breath. "And I thought, hey, what a way to spend a day. I make a vow, right here and now that I'm gonna spend my time this way."
Roger sat down next to Benny. "Mark and I were roommates at Brown. We really didn't say anything to each other, we just kind of, you know, co-habituated. I would bring a girl home, and Mark would go out and film and not ask any questions. But, when I was nineteen, Mark and I got parts in West Side Story. Three o'clock, we went to rehearse in the auditorium. Mark was the lead, I played Doc who didn't sing, which was fine with me. He sang "Got a Rocket in Your Pocket" and "The Jets are gonna have their way tonight" over and over and over until he got it right. That was Mark, the artist. Mark, the lead. Mark, the hard worker. Mark's the best friend I have."
Alexia, sensing that it was her turn, began her story of how she and Mark met.
ALEXIA'S POV
"You were there Roger, remember?" I asked.
"I can't say that I do." he answered, and I took a deep breath, beginning my story.
FLASHBACK
I knocked softly on the blue gymnasium style double doors. No one answered, so I knocked harder. No one answered again, so I just stepped in. A woman in an awesome multi-colored dress and pink platform heels rushed forward to meet me. "Is this LifeSupport?" I asked her.
Her expression changed to one of sadness. "Yes honey, are you here for the meeting?"
Oh god, I thought, she thinks I have AIDS. "No, no, I don't have AIDS, I'm Alexia Hemmingway, the new counselor."
The woman smiled and clapped her hands together. "Alexia! Wonderful! I'm Angel! We spoke on the phone!" She hugged me like we'd known each other for years. It felt that way, and I knew that I'd made a friend. "Let me go introduce you to the group."
Angel took me by the hand and led me through another set of double doors into an auditorium where about ten people sat in folding chairs that were arranged in a circle. A few stuck out. There was a girl who looked a lot younger than the rest of them in black leather boots and a mini-skirt, a long-haired rocker type looking tough in his worn leather jacket and jeans with the knees ripped out. A tall African-American man sat next to the rocker and blew a kiss to Angel as she and I entered the room. I then saw a handsome blond guy with the most striking blue eyes I had ever seen standing away from the group, half of his face hidden by an old movie camera, filming our every move. We made eye contact, and he moved the camera aside. My heart did a somersault, then it settled back down, saddened. We were at a LifeSupport Meeting. I was probably the only one in the entire room that didn't have AIDS. No one else looked up, they just kept singing their creed:
"There's only us,
There's only this,
Forget regret,
Or life is yours to miss."
Angel held up her hands to stop them. They obeyed and Angel cleared her throat. "Everyone, this" she gestured to me " is our new counselor."
I stepped forward and tripped ever so slightly over a camera case. "Sorry, excuse me, oops."
"And you are?" The rocker demanded rudely.
"Oh, I'm not, I'm just here to, I don't have," I stopped myself from rambling any further. "I'm Alexia. Alexia Hemmingway." I couldn't keep my eyes of the filmmaker. It was strange, like nothing I'd never felt before. I could hardly think straight.
"And do you have AIDS?" the rocker looked like he wanted to throw me out, like I was an intruder.
I should have seen that coming. I looked at Angel who just looked back. "No, I don't." I looked at my feet. Here it comes.
"Then how can you help us?" the rocker turned away, and said to the African-American man under his breath. "Hypocrite."
The filmmaker heard it, and sat his camera, which he carried with such an ease, it looked like he'd been doing it his entire life, down and crossed over to us. "Roger!" he turned to Angel and I. "I'm sorry." he said to me, "He can be a real jerk sometimes." he extended his hand to shake mine. "I'm Mark. Mark Cohen."
When I shook his hand, that strange feeling intensified about a thousand fold. Stop it, I told myself, he's off-limits. "Nice to meet you Mark. I'm Alexia."
Angel smiled at me, like she could read my mind. When I think back on, I'm convinced that she probably could. Mark then introduced the rest of the group. "That's Roger Davis, Tom Collins-"
"Call me Collins." The African-American man said, waving, "nice to meet you."
Angel leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, "That's my boyfriend." I smiled at her and remembered that I didn't have a boyfriend at the moment. Too bad that Mark had AIDS, he seemed perfect.
"That's Mimi," he continued, the girl in the mini-skirt waved and smiled poiletly before smacking Roger, the rocker on the arm. Mark went on to introduce the rest of the group, and I noticed that he looked slightly less healthy than the rest, the closest to losing the battle, the weakest. I felt like crying, just being Myself, the only truly healthy one in the whole group, of course.
When the meeting was over, Angel showed me my office. It was tiny, and cramped, but I loved it at first sight. "All yours." She said, waved, and retreated to go find Collins, her boyfriend. I sat down at my desk and put a picture of my cat, Lucy, up. After a while, there was a knock on my door.
"Come in." I called as the lights flickered. I looked up.
It was Mark, the handsome filmmaker. "It does that in here." he said. "Actullay, it does that in the entire East Village." he laughed a little. "Look, I'm sorry to bother you, I just came by to apologize for my roommates behavior," Ah, they lived together. That explained it. Now, he was REALLY off limits if the whole AIDS thing hadn't deterred me already. "Roger can be a real moron sometimes."
"It's fine, really. I should have expected something like that to happen." I paused, "But, it seems like you love him, anyway."
Mark's blue eyes grew wide. "Oh, no, we're not-" he laughed. "We're not lovers! I'm straight. He's more like my brother, actually."
Well, I'll ask him out if he's not positive, either, I though to myself knowing that with my luck with love, that would never happen. The only picture on my desk was of my cat, for god's sake. "Would you like to sit down?' I offered, motioning to the chair on the other side of my desk.
"Sure, thanks." he sat down, his camera bag in his lap. "Are you new to the city?" he asked.
"God no!" I answered. "I grew up just outside of the city, but I went to NYU."
"I went to Brown."
That was strange. "My cousin's husband went there." I answered, thinking not fondly of Alison and her new husband, Benjamin Coffin the Third. He seemed alright, but she was Alison.
"Do you know his name, maybe I know him." Mark asked me.
"Benjamin Coffin."
Mark gasped. "Benny! I was his roommate! Hey, tell him you met me, he'll laugh."
"Why?" I goaded, "We're you the 'wild men' of the campus?"
"Not us, no, but some pretty crazy things happened. Bad choices."
"Oh," I didn't really want to pry, but I was a counselor now, I had to. "Is that how you got AIDS?"
Mark was speechless for a minute. "You thought I was positive? No, no way, ask Angel. I'm just here to support my friends." He paused for a second, now I was the one that was speechless. Could I really be this lucky? "I don't know if you have plans tonight, but my friend Maureen is doing a protest piece at the eleventh street lot's performance spot, would you, uh," I could tell he was nervous, "like to go with us?"
I smiled broadly. "Of course. Where should we meet?"
END FLASHBACK
I found myself crying hysterically at the end of my story. Roger placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, just as the surgeon came out of Mark's room. "We got him back." he said, "But, Ms. Hemmingway, can I speak with you for a minute."
I got up and followed the surgeon to the end of the hallway, just out of earshot of Roger and Benny.
"Ms. Hemmingway, would you happen to know what the standards for care of a comatose patient are?" A patient? That's all Mark was to this guy? Just another patient? How could the man that meant my entire world to me be just another patient? I shook my head no. "There are two of them: Crash Rate and Time." I furrowed my eyebrows. What in the hell was this man blabbering about? I didn't have time for his ramblings, I had to see Mark. "If a patient doesn't wake-up in seventy-two hours after they've lapsed into their coma, or the patient crashes more than four times-"
"Wait," I interrupted, "Mark's only crashed twice."
"No, not actually, he crashed twice on the operating table when he was initially brought in."
"I'm sorry?" I asked, stunned, "Why wasn't I told this earlier?"
"We didn't see any revelance."
No revelance? No REVELANCE? "I don't really care what you think is revelant, Doctor-" I looked for the first time at his name tag "-McKenna. And now, I am going to see my fiancée!"
And with that, I took off, and entered Mark's room.