Author's Note: Holy damn. I was definitely not expecting seventeen reviews. I love you. Seriously – love you all. Every time I get a review, I squee. It makes me feel so appreciated and what better way to show your appreciation than to leave a little note about what you think of this story. :) Anywho, like I promised, last chapter hit the ten review mark, so I spent today working on this chapter. It's even longer than last chapter (aren't you all so very lucky). I'm sure you will all notice that the first part is not explicitly from Rent but I figured it sets up the whole Benny/Mimi relationship better. Trust me, this will not be the only creative license I take – hence the reason why I call it an adaptation. Woot. Same deal: Ten reviews equal a quicker update. Otherwise, I'll see you next weekend.

This chapter is dedicated to those awesome people who have plugged this story or e-mailed me about it: Rae, Shoe, Pegasus, Echo and Zippy. That was so nice of you guys!

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from Newsies – they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer – Shoe is the property of Shoe, Singah is the property of Singah and both are used with their permission. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, RENT, is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson.

--

How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?
Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

October 21, 2006

--

There might have been one teeny, tiny spark…

--

Spot ended his phone call with a satisfied press of the red button on his new cell phone. He checked the time on the phone's green screen (9:27 pm) before tossing it onto the seat beside him. He only had to sit there, waiting inside his red '93 Mercedes-Benz, for three minutes more. It was Christmas Eve and he knew that, because of the holiday, the club had shut their doors at nine (much to the dismay of most of their clientele). She would be out by nine-thirty.

Though he had parked on the side street, he left the car idling so that he could keep the car interior warm. The cold was for the bums without proper jobs, after all.

Restlessly, he ran a tan hand through his hair before leaning forward and pushing the car lighter in. He continued to fiddle about in the car, going from tapping his bitten fingernails against his knee to running his hands up and down the seat belt he was wearing. It felt like all he had been doing lately was waiting.

Time was going so slow. Only a minute had passed before the lighter popped out but it seemed more like an hour to the impatient man. He reached inside his long leather coat and pulled out his pack of Marlboro Lights. Spot removed a single cigarette from the pack and rested it on his bottom lip before placing the cigarette box next to his phone; he kept his cyan eyes glued to the neon screen of that phone. It was only 9:28.

Careful not to burn himself on the lighter, Spot brought the red hot coils to the edge of his cigarette. He breathed in deeply before putting the lighter back within its holder. He let the smoke settle in his lungs for a moment and exhaled it out through his nose. His lips were quirked into a rebellious smirk. Rae hated it when he smoked.

Speak of the devil… Just as soon as the idea of his wife – and the face she would make when she smelt the lingering effects of the smoke within the car – crossed his mind, his phone began to vibrate against the seat. He recognized the phone number at once: Rae was calling from the apartment.

Shit. With his left hand, Spot removed the cigarette from his mouth; with his right, he reached for the phone and pressed the green key. "Hello?"

"Liam, darling. Where are you?"

Even if his phone did not have caller ID, he would know that it was Rae just by the name she used on him. Liam – apart from Rae, the only person who called him by his birth name was his mother. He shook his head and ashed his cigarette out the semi-open window. "Hey, baby. I'm on my way over to see Jack and Dave. Get the rent they owe me." It was not really a lie – more an improvement on the truth. He was on his way over to Avenue B… he just needed to stop in front of the Kit Kat Club first.

"Oh," Rae said in response and Spot could imagine the way her cute little nose was wrinkling up at the mention of those two. She was not a fan of his old friends, especially Jack Kelly. In fact, it would be fairer to say that she could not stand him at all. "Well, then, when can I expect you back home? It is Christmas Eve. Can't work wait?"

"I'm sorry, Rae, but your father sent me to collect the rent. You know how much I'd rather be home with you, though, but I had no choice." He was getting a bit closer to the truth now. Mr. Kelly did send him out to collect the rent – the old man just never said to make a stop at the club. But it was not like Spot was planning on telling Rae that anyway.

Rae seemed to accept his explanation. At the very least, she did not press the topic any further. "Don't take too long, alright, honey?"

Spot took another drag off of his cigarette. He blew out the smoke while nodding his head. "Of course. I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Good." She sounded satisfied. "I love you, Liam."

Out of the corner of his eye, Spot could see that three women had just exited out of the front door of the seedy strip club. There was a fair-skinned girl with bobbed bleach-blonde hair and bangs that fell into her dark blue eyes. She was laughing loudly, rubbing her bare arms while walking sideways. She was speaking to a girl slightly taller (though that might have been due to the black stiletto heels she was wearing) than her, with shoulder-length dark hair done up in curls.

However, Spot's eyes were drawn to the girl that was behind them both. She was the shortest of the three and, though the leopard print coat hid it, unfavorably thin. Whether she knew he was there or not, she kept her head down, light brown curls hiding her face from him, as she followed the two other girls.

It must be after 9:30, he thought as he turned to watch as she walked. He could see that she had exchanged her work shoes for a sensible pair of athletic shoes; she was walking quickly and, if he did not hurry up, he would never get the opportunity to speak with her.

"Liam?"

He had forgotten that Rae was on the phone. "Oh… um… I'm sorry. What did you say?"

Rae sighed on the other end of the phone. "I just said that I love you."

"Of course. I love you, too, baby. Look, I just got to the apartment. I'll see you in a little bit, alright?"

"Sure. Goodbye Liam." She did not sound happy. He was sure he would hear it from her later on. Oh well…

"Bye, Rae." He waited until he heard the click that signaled Rae's disconnection before he hung up and tossed his phone onto the seat again. Then, replacing his cigarette back into his mouth, Spot undid his seatbelt and opened his car door. He made sure to slam the door tight; the sound caught the attention of all three girls and they paused.

The blonde recognized him first. She elbowed the dark haired girl in the side. "Lookie, here. If it isn't Mister Spot Conlon."

Her companion looked him over, her violet stained eyes twinkling like mad. "I wonder to what we owe such an appearance," she added, sounding quite amused.

Spot rolled his eyes as he took the final drag off of his cigarette. "Shoe. Singah." He greeted each of the girls in turn, nodding his hello to them both. As most of Skittery's girls down at the Club did, each of them preferred to go by a nickname – it made ties much looser if a client did not know a dancers' real name. Though that never stopped Spot before: he knew that Shoe was really a girl called Cassie, Singah's name was Kay – he just overall preferred nicknames.

Well, most of the time. He never referred to Rae as anything but her true name; he treated the third girl standing before him with the same respect. He turned to face her, not surprised that she was purposely keeping her dark green eyes away from him. "Jess," he said as he threw his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. "How have you been?"

She pulled her coat tighter around her. She kept her face anywhere but within his line of vision. "I'm good, Spot. You?"

"I've been looking for you, actually. It's been three months, Jessie. Where did you go?" It was cold outside but he would rather die than admit that he was shivering. His coat was not warm enough – he could only imagine how the girls were feeling. Shoe was not even wearing a coat over her work clothes.

The other girls, he could see, were torn between listening in on the conversation and continuing on their way. Shoe made the decision; Jess was not answering his question and, if Shoe knew the other girl, she doubted if she would speak to Spot at all. It had been a nasty break-up, after all. Jess had been all sorts of surprised when she found out that Spot was married. The idiot had forgotten to remove his wedding band one night and, though Jess was dense, she was not that dense.

Shoe elbowed Singah again and jerked her head. Singah got the hint. She patted Jess's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, dear. Don't stay out too long, alright?"

Jess nodded and awarded the girl a smile. "You too, Singah. And you, Shoe. I'll see you guys on Sunday."

"Definitely. Night, honey," Shoe added and, rubbing her arms again, she began to lead Singah away. Besides, if Spot tried anything interesting, she was sure she could hear Jess yelling at him as far as three blocks away.

Jess waited until her two co-workers were out of sight before she lifted her head defiantly to face him. "Trust me, Spot. I got as far away from you as possible. Alright?"

"That hurts, Jessie. I loved you."

Now, as far as she knew, the only person Spot Conlon had ever loved was himself. She sneered. "What do I care? Go home to your wife, Spot," she shot back. Then, without another word, she began to walk away from him.

"Jess, stop," he called after her. He did not just spend half an hour waiting in his car for the girl to just walk off on him. Jess, however, was not listening to him. He jogged a few steps forward and grabbed at her arm with his hand. "Stop, alright?"

She stopped but only long enough to jerk her arm out of his grasp. "Fuck you, Spot."

He sighed and pulled his own hand back. He was beginning to look desperate and Spot Conlon did not do desperate. She was right, after all – he did have a loving and beautiful wife at home. If that was true, then why was he running after this stripper? He did not know the answer to that but he did know that he was not about to let her get the better of him. "Listen, Jess. I'm heading in the direction of your building. Let me give you a ride?"

She was surprised at the softer tone he had adopted. Nevertheless, she shook her head. "Sorry, Spot. No can do. I want to walk – besides, it's only a couple blocks away. I think I can handle it on my own. Don't waste this rare bout of chivalry on me."

His eyebrow raised and he crossed his arms over his chest. It was more a ploy to keep his body warm but, if the stance came off as disinterested, that was all the better. "Who is he, Jess?"

"Who is he, who?"

Spot smirked. "Don't play games with me. You're passing up the chance to go home with me. Who's the guy?"

Jess scoffed. "None of your business. Now, if you don't mind…" When Spot did not say anything to stop her this time, Jess pulled her coat even tighter around her and started to walk off.

Spot let her go, never saying a word to stop her from walking away from him. Instead, he was wondering what sort of man had stolen her attention away from him.

--

"I hate you." Kara Allen pushed her dark hair out of her face as she stood over the sound system. She had been fighting with the damn thing for almost an hour and, apart from finally finding the stupid on/off switch, she had not made any further progress with getting it to work. For the umpteenth time, she walked around the setup but it did not help. She still had no idea what to do with machine to get Twister's microphone working. "I hate you," she repeated. The black box seemed to be smiling smugly at her.

Frustrated, Kara began to push wildly at the buttons. She figured that, if she pushed each and every button, one of them would have to work. Right?

It seemed like a good idea – at least to Kara. Unfortunately, the idea went from good to bad in record time. Before she knew it, there was a harsh snapping sound and cloud of smoke erupted from the back of the machine. "Whoops."

Kara stepped away from the black box, her hands lifted up in frustration. "This is what happens when a freaking pre-med student has to work a sound system for her girlfriend. Her missing girlfriend at that," she added, thinking about Twister. Twister had promised her that she would stop by the lot and try to get the equipment running with her. But, surprise… No Twister.

There was a pay phone right outside of the lot, Kara knew. Reaching inside her khaki pants, she drew out a quarter and, once she made it outside, she slipped the coin inside the slot. After dialing Twister's home phone number, she crossed her fingers as it began to ring. She hoped that Twister was home to answer the phone.

She was not surprised when Twister's answering machine picked up. She had gotten the bad habit of screening her calls (if she was even home – one could never tell where Twister was) from her ex-boyfriend, that dud David.

As soon as she heard the beep, Kara began to ramble. "Twist. It's me, Kara. I… uh… I was just wonder where you are, honey. I'm down at the lot and, well, I've been waiting for you. There's bee—"

"Kara? That you?" Twister had picked up the phone.

Kara had to fight the urge to sigh in relief. "Hey, baby. How are you?"

"I'm doing good. Um… Kar? Where are you?" Twister sounded confused.

You've got to be kidding me… "Where am I? Where do you think I am? I'm at this lot of your's. I've been down here all night, working on this equipment. That's where I am."

"Oh. That's right. Sorry about that, dear. I meant to stop by and tell you but I was working on my performance. I just got home. How is it going?"

Kara hesitated for a moment. She remembered one of the reasons behind her phone call. "Well…"

"Well? What does 'well' mean?"

"Well… there may have been one teeny, tiny spark," Kara admitted. "But don't worry about it. I'll have it working for Monday. Promise."

It was Twister's turn to hesitate. "Kara, I have an idea. Why don't you let me call Dave? He's real good with stuff like that. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help me out if you let me ask him."

"No, Twist. Don't call David," she said quickly. Just the idea of asking David Jacobs for help left a poor taste in her mouth. "I'll handle it myself."

Twister sighed. "Of course. Whatever you say, Kar. Come home soon, alright?"

"Let me just clean up my mess and I'll be on my way."

"Good. Bye, love."

"Goodbye," Kara replied before hanging the phone up. She felt much better now, strangely enough, but that was to be expected. There was just something about Twister – no matter how annoyed Kara was, just one conversation with Twister and her normally good mood was restored.

--

Despite Spot telling him over the phone that he would be over in a few, it was not until ten of ten that David heard the tell tale sound of a car driving down his side street.

"Spot's here," David announced, quite unnecessarily. Jack must have heard the car, too. With that one broken window of their's, it was almost impossible to miss anything that was happening out on the street.

Jack, who had turned his attention back to his notebook following Spot's phone call – dealing with Spot Conlon always gave him some inspiration to write angst-filled pieces – looked up from his work. "Whoopee. Let's break out the party hats, eh, Dave? Or, since it is Christmas Eve, let's hang the mistletoe. Maybe then I can get Conlon to kiss my ass."

"Mature, Jack, real mature," David muttered as he crossed the room again, this time heading towards his door. He knew it was only a matter of time before Spot made his way to their loft. He might as well open the door for him now. He opened it wide before heading back, taking the seat next to Jack.

David was right. Not much longer after he sat down (and tried to steal a peek at whatever it was Jack was writing), he heard footsteps.

"Knock, knock."

Jack did not even bother to look up. "Nobody's home."

"Jack," David said warningly as he shook his head. He stood up and waved to Spot. "Come on in."

"Thanks, Mouth," Spot said as he stepped inside. He ignored the clicking sound that came from David as he made his way over to the sofa in the center of the loft. He stopped right in front of the coffee table, allowing the wooden structure to act as a buffer between him and Jack. Just in case. "Hey, there, Jacky-boy. How are you?"

Jack snorted and placed his pen down on top of his notebook. "Spot," he said, nodding. "Sorry about the darkness in here. Strangest thing, you know. Electricity just cut out on us this afternoon for no reason."

Spot laughed and held up his hands in a semblance of faux innocence. "Hey. Got your attention, didn't I?"

"Yeah. Now what do you want to say now that you've got it. Hmmm?"

"C'mon, Cowboy. You give me no credit. Maybe I just wanted to wish you both a Merry Christmas. Did you ever think of that?"

Now, one knows that something comes out as incredibly insincere when David Jacobs has a hard time controlling his straight face. Luckily for him, Spot's attention was on Jack instead. Jack did not even offer any of his witty comments – he kept his mouth shut for that one. It was no fun when Spot set him up.

Spot laughed again. "Alright. You got me. I came for the rent."

"I told you, Spot. We're not paying," Jack answered. "You told us we were taken care of. Don't go back on your word."

"It's not up to me anymore. Mr. Kelly—"

"Your father-in-law."

"Yes, Jacky-boy. My father-in-law," Spot answered. He waited to see if Jack was going to interrupt him. When he did not, he continued. "He heard about Twister's little performance set up for Monday. He knows that she used to live here and in order to try to control her, he sent me to get the rent. But—"

Jack leaned forward and gestured around the loft. "I don't know if you noticed but after Twist dumped Dave, she moved out."

Spot paused. "Twister dumped Dave? When?"

"Two months ago. Left him flat."

"Jack, I—" David began, trying to shut Jack up. The last thing he wanted was for Spot to hear what happened to him. He could just imagine what sort of nickname Spot would come up with him then. As if Mouth was not bad enough…

But Spot's interest had been piqued. "Twist got a new man? Damn, I would have thought that you two would have been the next to get hitched. Who is he?"

David was not quick enough. He tried to reach forward and cover Jack's mouth but the two syllables were out before he had even taken one step closer to his roommate. "Kara."

The way that Spot laughed reminded David of how he used to be when he lived in the loft with him, Jack, Annie and Blink, long before Rae Kelly's money turned him into such an (courtesy of Jack Kelly) asshat. The way that he continued to laugh at David's misfortunes, cemented the fact that Spot had, indeed, fully crossed over to full asshat-dom. Hell, in Dave's opinion, he was the Mayor of all that was asshatiness. (Man, I think I'm spending too much with Jack. He's beginning to rub off on me…)

"But what?" David asked, interrupting Spot's loud laughter. He was getting tired of playing ping-pong, watching as the conversation bounced between the two other men. Besides, if Spot was trying to help them out, it might be good to listen to what he had to say. And, if it took the attention off of him, Twister and Kara, that was even better. He was not like Jack.

When Spot finally got himself under control, tucking that bit of information away until he could come up with some snazzy new name for Dave, he returned to the subject matter at hand. "But I have an offer to make to you both. Listen, I need a favor."

"Of course you do," Jack said, rolling his eyes. Whenever did Spot Conlon do something for someone without keeping his own interests at heart?

David shot Jack a look. Jack ignored it. David sighed and turned his head back to face Spot. "What's the favor?"

"Convince Twister to cancel her little show. She's trying to make a fool out of Mr. Kelly and he won't stand for it. Get her to give it up and you won't owe me a dime."

Jack snorted again. "It's such a shame, too. We don't even have five cents let alone ten. It's going to be interesting, eh, Spot?"

David sighed. He may agree with Jack but, sometimes, David wondered what life would be like if his best friend was not so difficult. He looked over at Spot. "What Jack means is that we can't do that. You want to stop Annie, you're going to have to do that on your own."

"Alright then, that's your loss. I'll expect the rent before January 1st," Spot said, shrugging. Something about his manner told the other two that he had been expecting them to decline his offer; he did not try to argue with them at all. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to be on my way. My wife has been expecting me," he added, stressing the word 'wife'. He smirked one last time before heading back across the room. He stopped right at the open door. "Think it over, boys. If you just do what I asked, things will work out better for you. Trust me. You'll see." And, with that, he left.

It was quiet in the loft for a minute. In fact, it was not until they could make out the faint sound of Spot's fancy new car starting up that David attempted to break the awkward silence that had filled the room. With his hands stuffed into his loose and baggy jeans, David walked over to the broken window and, after lifting the sheet covering up, he looked out into the dark New York streets. He cast his glance around and turned back to face Jack, the sheet flapping down behind him. David was not surprised to see that he was hunched over, writing in his notebook again. After his last encounter with Spot, Jack's inspiration had tripled and he was writing like mad.

David shook his head. "Hey, Jack?" Jack grunted in an indication that was listening. "Where the hell did Blink go?"