Five Years, a rent fanfic

Title: Five Years
Author: AC (a-bit-of-wit)
Feedback: Needed. It's another one of those fics of mine that didn't come out how I wanted it too. It got a little out of my hands, really.
Pairing: All Past Canon.
Rating: G. No cursing, No nothing. :O
Genre: Urm. Reflective?
Summary: "It's been five years. Five long years since Maureen's been on stage. But today, unlike five years ago, Maureen Johnson is playing Maureen Johnson."
Notes: Okay. This might be hard to follow. It's not five years post-RENT, it's five years after Roger's death which took place three years after RENT, which makes it seven years post-RENT. Which makes Maureen anywhere from 29-33? Roger, Collins, and Mimi are dead. Mark left New York right after Roger's death, unable to cope. Confused and with no other friends close enough to stabilize their relationship, Joanne and Maureen broke up and Joanne moved to LA for a lawyer job shortly after. Maureen dropped her dreams of the stage but stayed in NY.
Special Thanks: To... you. For reading.
Spoilers: N/A
Warnings: Um, some freaky present tense writing and over-eloquence.
Disclaimer: I don't own. I RENT. :D

It's been five years. Five long years since Maureen's been on stage. But today, unlike five years ago, Maureen Johnson is playing Maureen Johnson. There's no set and no costumes, no flashy lighting and bursting musical numbers like there used to be. No confidence- because it's been stripped away to reveal a human sort of fear for the place she loved. There's nothing there but a woman and a story.

lj-cut

It's the same idea for Maureen though. She's still standing up and offering a piece of herself to those willing to take it. Expect, it's a large portion of her. It might be all of it. She doesn't know.

What Maureen does know is that the little piece of her she's offering is all she has left. That's all she is these days- a woman and a story.

It doesn't matter though, because it's not just any story, it's an i amazing /i story.

But Maureen isn't telling the story because she's the best one to tell it. She's telling it because it needs to be told.

When the curtain rises for the first time in years, Maureen's expression is blank and steady. The mirage of blurry teenage faces is making her stomach lurch, and she can see a little Roger in some of them, a little Mimi, a little Mark. In the scattered remains of those too lazy or too lost to leave after school, she finds something she can recognize. She finds common ground. She finds crazy young people with crazy young people dreams.

Maureen used to be crazy and young, once.

The gym is a stuffy humid place, and Maureen is drowning on air. She takes a few blind steps forward, silently gaping for breath and grabbing onto the microphone too tightly and it whines in reply. No one seems alarmed, and Maureen knows she's the only one who notices how odd she's acting.

Her gaze sweeps over the masses again, and she slowly releases her strong grip on the microphone, and it shrieks again. But this time, it's louder, and heads pop up from their view on the ground and on her.

Maureen almost shrinks back at their gazes, as if to prove to herself that she is only a shadow of what she once was. At this point, she's a very shadowy looking woman anyway- thin and tall with hints of beauty around her face masked under an expression that's far too old for someone in their late twenties.

Five years ago, these kids wouldn't scare her. Five years ago, she'd look them right in the face and laugh at them.

Five years, Maureen reflects, is a very long time. She'd know.

She's not warning them go down that road. She'd do it all again. She'd cry like that again if only she could laugh like that again. That's not the sermon Maureen's here to preach.

That's not what Maureen's scared to tell them.

Maureen here to tell them that all fairytales always start with "Once upon a time..." but don't always end with "And they all lived happily after." She's here to tell them that misfits and outcasts of society make the best friends- because they need to be befriended but because they really do. She's here to tell them to listen to their friends and take their AZT. She's here to tell them about acceptance and love in all shape and forms, and like the Maureen she used to be she's going to say it loudly and with a lot of good natured jokes in between. She's here to tell them that what she's learned over the last five years is that there really is no day but today.

But that's not what Maureen's scared of. She's not even scared of losing the little part of herself in all of this explaining of her life and time anymore. Oddly, Maureen isn't scared of losing herself anymore.

She's scared that they aren't going to listen. She's scared she's going to be lost to them like all the other lecturers they've heard in their highschool years.

Maureen doesn't want to save alot lives. One enough for her. If one of these after school rejects came out with a little something from her story, her performance, then she'd be satisfied. Losing the little piece of them she had left would be worth it.

In this long pause, a few sputter coughs and stare awkwardly at her, wondering why her eyes are bouncing from teen to teen in this sea of random people.

And so, Maureen prepares to tell her story.

The story of rock stars and cameramen and of lawyers and philosophers and of dancers and actresses and a landlords who are just a general all around asses.

Maureen swears upon the fact that somehow, in a vague way, they are all there and ready to listen to her story and ready to remember it as she remembers it.

And so, Maureen takes the leap. She closes her eyes, tilts her head forward and begins. And that feeling is back again.

And as soon as she starts talking, the whole gym audience knows that she's only a woman and a story. They know that Maureen's offering them herself. As soon as the charming part of Maureen, left behind five years ago, appears- they graciously listen. They graciously take what she offers.

And somehow, the twenty-something sparkle comes back in her eyes. The wide smile and the charming demeanor returns, and she laughs and sings a few words of her protest and hums Mussetta's Waltz under her breath. She reacts a mocking narration of Mark's.

And that feeling of screaming from the rooftops, praying that someone's listening. The feeling that she's flying on nothing really concrete. A feeling very vague, of course, but so much stronger and bigger then she is that it's tangible.

It's been five years since Maureen's felt like that. For the first time in five years, Maureen is making a difference is something. Maureen's turning something that might just be normal and make it good. And unlike five years ago, it's all out of good intention.

Maybe, for the first time in five years, Maureen's truly alive. /lj-cut