Author's Note: It was cutting it a little close, just making the ten review mark but, because there were ten reviews, I delivered. Once again, another chapter of LOST. Woot. Back to the normal length – I'm sure I could have doubled the word count in this chapter, too, but I decided to tease you all and not do the Today 4 U scene until next chapter (mwahahaha).

Two quick things: 1) The 'poem' from the last chapter is actually song lyrics blatantly stolen from the musical Jekyll & Hyde (that I totally recommend). It's a song called Dangerous Games and I am enamored by it. Because of my own obsession, I decided to throw it in here. It's gotod to be the writer ;) 2) Just so you people don't think I'm totally strange, I wanted to say that the story about someone being kidnapped and kept in a box under a bed – it's a true story. I, actually (like Dave), get a kick out of reading crime journals and that happened to this California woman in the '70's for seven years. Crazy, crazy…

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. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, RENT, is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson.

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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 29, 2006

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Your equipment won't work?
Okay, alright, I'll go…

--

Jack went to sleep not much after Jess left the apartment. Well, no – that's not entirely true. He actually went back over to his sofa, sat down with his notebook and continued to work on his poem. Then, once he had finished it (54 stanzas later), he went back over to the door and opened it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had hoped that the girl would find some excuse to come back upstairs.

She did not, though. And, given that he only knew that she lived in the building but had no clue to which apartment was hers, he could not search her out. Jack did have her phone number but he could not bring himself to call her up.

What would he say? Hi. Something about you scares me. I thought I'd get to know to you a bit, just enough to figure out what it is about you that makes me intimidated. Then we can go on our separate ways because I am definitely not interested in another girl. Oh, did I forget to tell you? My last girlfriend – you know, the girl that I thought I was going to marry? Sarah Jacobs? Yeah, her… Well, she gave me AIDS and, get this: as soon as she found out that we were both infected, she jumped in front of a bus. Nice, huh? Yeah. Damaged goods… that's me.

Jack snorted as he blew out the candles in the room, purposely keeping his mind off of the apparently defective candle (of course it was defective, the way it could not hold a flame) Jessica had.

In the darkness of the loft, chilly as the winter winds blew in through that damn broken window, Jack stood by himself. If David had been there, the photographer in him would have been in his glory; the way that the faint echo of the flames, little wisps of white smoke, surrounded him in the center of the apartment would have made a great photograph.

But Jack was not a photographer. He did not enjoy the beauty of the serene scene. Instead, Jack snorted a second time. "Merry fucking Christmas."

And, with that, he went to bed.

--

David blew on his hands, trying his best to warm them up. As it was, they were too numb to even open his apartment door. He only hoped that Jack had had enough sense not to lock the door when he closed it.

Hurriedly he rubbed his hands together using the friction to heat up his fingers. When he finally felt the feeling return to his digits, he wrapped them around the handle and pulled. He would have crossed the fingers on his free hand but he was afraid that they might seize up and cramp that way. David was pretty sure he had read about that happening to someone before.

The door gave way with a quiet click. David sighed audibly before sliding the door open. Good. Jack didn't lock me out this time. Last time David returned late to apartment and found the door locked, he had had to sleep on the cold concrete floor right outside of the apartment. Jack had laughed it off when he found David the next morning; David had thrown his notebook into the toilet in retaliation. Ever since then, David worried that Jack would lock him out just in spite – it took him three whole days to decipher the runny writing and copy it over in another notebook.

He shut the door behind him quietly, making sure to lock it. If Blink (if he was still alive) ever showed up at the apartment, he deserved to have to sleep outside the door. That would teach him not to make David worry so.

It was still dark in the apartment, dashing David's hopes that Spot had seen reason and had turned the electricity back on. All of the candles that he and Jack had lit up as darkness settled over the City earlier that night had been extinguished, though, making the room seem even darker. The only light filtering into the room was that of the streetlights outside, casting an eerie glow over the entire room.

The light was insufficient, though, and David squinted into the center of the room, looking for his roommate. Jack was no longer sitting on his couch, he saw, and he was surprised. Jack's butt was normally glued to the tacky floral print – half the time, when he was up late working on a particular trying passage, Jack even slept on that lumpy piece of furniture. I guess he finally decided to sleep in his own bed again, he thought to himself.

David entered carefully and set his camera down on the phone stand. The answering machine's light was blinking red and, for a second, he wondered if he should listen to the recording. Then he remembered what good the earlier phone calls had done (none) and shook his head. Whatever the caller had had to say, it could wait until tomorrow.

He felt his way across the room, his hands groping out in front of him to make sure that he did not trip and fall. Jack was normally a night owl, despite his newfound hermiticism; it was rare that he went to sleep before David did and, for that reason, David was taking great care not to wake him up. Jack was cranky enough when he had his sleep – he was downright intolerable when he was stolen from his slumber.

David took the opportunity to sit on Jack's couch, sprawling out so that his lanky frame was stretched out across the two-seater. It was not as comfortable as it looked, it was much too lumpy, but David was tired. He had spent three hours searching for Blink, covering a ten block radius, going in each direction. It was cold and he was exhausted.

And, to top it all off, there had no sign of Blink. No splatters of blood, no signs of a struggle, no eye patch fluttering in the wind, no ransom note demanding a million dollars for his safe return… Nothing. It was as if he had just disappeared of the face of the earth.

David could not understand it. He was there one moment and gone the next, without any sign of him ever being outside the building. He nodded to himself. There was only one explanation for it…

"I knew it. He's under some whack-a-doo's bed right now, waiting to be given bread and water," David said to himself. He sounded remorseful. "And I came home just because I'm cold. I'm such a bad friend." He shut his eyes, trying to block out the mental image of Blink trapped in a cardboard box, frantically trying to scratch through the thick paper in order to crawl out to safety.

David was not sure when his vivid imagination gave way to dreams (all of which replaced Blink with Annie inside the terrible box, with David jumping on the bed so that the box pressed against her) but they did. He fell asleep on Jack's couch, still in his coat.

--

David woke up to the tantalizing aroma of a fresh pot of brewed coffee. Seriously, he was drooling even before he was fully conscious. Though, of course, that could have happened because Jack had, upon finding David passed out on his couch, made fresh coffee, poured himself a mug and was, currently, holding it just above David's face. A couple of slow waves over the mug's mouth, just enough to ensure that the coffee smell was wafting right into David's nose, and Jack was smirking. There was no better way to wake Dave up.

Just like Jack had known, David opened his eyes not too long after the percolator began to whir. At the first sign of his stirring, Jack stepped away from the couch, tucked the black permanent marker away into his back pocket and made it safely to the kitchen before David was fully awake. "Morning, Dave. Merry Christmas." He was in a better mood than last night; he purposely left out the expletive this time. He even managed a genuine smile.

David yawned and stretched – he could already feel the soreness in his back that accompanied a night on that blasted couch – as he sat up. He did not even realize that he was still in his coat, or that Jack was smiling. If he had been thinking clearer, he would have thought that something was up then; Jack never smiled in the morning. But, alas, David was not thinking clearly. His senses had been dulled with the prospect of fresh morning coffee.

"Merry Christmas to you, too, Jack. I see you made coffee."

Jack nodded and, almost as if teasing David, took a long drink from his mug before smacking his lips loudly. "Yup. Power came back on this morning. Thought I'd celebrate by making a nice cup of joe. You want?"

"Definitely." He stood up from the couch, rubbing his back. It was only then that he realized that his coat was still on. He smiled sheepishly and unzipped the zipper. "I guess I was more tired that I thought," he said with a chuckle as he took off his coat and sat it down neatly across the back of the old sofa.

Jack continued to nod (more than you think, couch-stealer) but he did remove a chipped Mickey Mouse mug – David's favorite, oddly enough – from the cabinet. He poured out a cup of coffee. "So, did you find Blink last night?" he asked as he offered the steaming mug out.

David shook his head. He accepted the mug with a faint smile but immediately set it down on top of the counter. He could never understand how Jack could drink his coffee black. He busied himself with pouring a liberal amount of milk into his mug before adding four sweet 'n' lows. Now that was coffee. He took a quick sip, savoring the taste, before addressing Jack's question. "No. Three hours and not a sign of him."

"Maybe he went to see some friends," Jack said, trying not to stare at David's marred forehead. He was sure if he kept glancing at it David would figure that something was up and check it out. He could not have that. With a snicker, he lowered his emerging grin back into his coffee mug.

David did not notice. He just shrugged. "I would say maybe to that if it wasn't for the fact that we're his only friends."

"True." Jack paused. "So where do you think he went, then?"

Not the best question to ask David. Given that David had had three hours to brood on that question while he was out searching the area the night before, he had many theories as to where Blink could have gone. Unfortunately for Jack, most of those theories were quite disturbing and all featured Blink in some sort of bodily harmful scenario.

However, luck was on his side that morning. Just as David opened his mouth to tell Jack some of his theories, the phone rang. Vaguely David remembered that there had been at least one message on their machine the night before and that he still had not listened to it. Oh well.

He was quite intent on letting the phone go to the machine. Jack, it seemed, had a different idea. He actually crossed the room and, before the machine picked up, he answered the phone himself. "Yo."

"Jack. I want to talk to Dave." Direct and to the point. Had to be Twister. That, and the fact that it was a girl looking for Dave – and it was not his mother. Definitely Twister.

"Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, Twist."

David's ears perked up. "Annie's on the phone?" He started to walk over to the phone stand.

Jack hushed him, waving his hand at David, before turning his attention back to the phone. What was it that she was saying? Oh, yes. Something about cutting his nuts off and feeding them to him if he didn't give the phone over to David right now. "Whatever you say, Twist," he relented. He was quite attached to his nuts. "Dave. Phone. It's your girlfriend. I mean 'ex'. Old habits die hard, you know."

David rolled his eyes and snatched the phone out of Jack's hand. "Annie?"

"Dave, honey. How are you?" Her voice was much sweeter than when she was talking to Jack. She wanted something.

David had not known Annie Banister for all those years without learning how to get wise to her schemes. He could only imagine what it was she wanted him for this time. "I'm good. And you?"

"I'm doing great… kinda." She paused. Here it comes. "But I need a favor."

I knew it. "What's the matter?"

"Didn't you get any of my messages? I left you about three last night."

So that was who called. "No, sorry. I was… uh… out on a date last night," he lied. He might as well try to make Annie jealous, right? Only one problem: Jack was laughing in the background, totally blowing his credibility. David scowled at Jack; he laughed harder. "Yeah, well, I didn't get in until late and never got the chance to listen to the machine. What's wrong?"

If he expected her to sound anything but casual when she spoke, he was partially right. She did not sound casual – she sounded singsong sweet as she tried to manipulate him into doing whatever it was she needed. "I don't know. Kara," she said, without elaborating on who Kara was. They all knew who Kara Allen was, "is trying to get the sound system set up for the show Monday and, despite her fancy schooling, that girl doesn't know what the hell she's doing. It's… it's not working, Dave. I need your help. You're good with this stuff."

"So, your… equipment won't work? That's why you're calling me?" Any fantasies that this phone call was about her dumping Kara and begging to get back together with him flew out of his mind.

"Yeah. What do you say, Davey? Will you do it? For me?" He was not sure but it sounded as if Annie added in a sniffle for good measure.

It did not matter, thought; 'Davey' already clinched it. She knew that he could never say no to that – or 'pookie'. David sighed in resignation. "Okay. Alright. I'll go. When do you need me?"

Annie sounded a lot happier and normal when she spoke again. "Tomorrow. I'm actually going to visit with Kara's family for the holiday but we'll be back tonight. How about noon tomorrow, at the lot?"

"Sure," David answered, sounding even more dejected. Annie had never spent a holiday with his family.

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow, Dave."

"Tomorrow, Annie," he agreed. "Bye."

She did not even have the decency to say goodbye. The phone just disconnected. David shook his head as he laid the phone back on its cradle. That had been happening to him a lot, lately.

"Sucker."

David made his way back across the apartment and picked his coffee mug back off of the sticky counter. He glared at Jack; Jack, he was glad to see, was not meeting his gaze. "Excuse me, Jack. Did you say something?"

Jack snorted before lifting his head up, defiantly. "Yeah. Twister dumped your ass. For a chick, I might add, in case you forgot. But all she has to do is call and you're her little bitch. You're a sucker, Dave."

He had nothing to say to that. In a way, he knew Jack was right. Okay, Jack was right entirely. He could not tell him that, though – Jack's head was big enough already. So, rather than continuing in that conversation, David did something quite unlike him: he kept his mouth shut.

The quiet did not last. It was broken up just then by someone fiddling with their door. There was a scratching at the door, then a muffled "Shit. The keys? Where'd I put them?", before the lock gave. The door slid open and, to David's surprise (and Jack's expectation) there stood Blink. Alive and definitely not dead.

He was carrying a full white bucket in his left hand, David's keys held between his teeth and striking a ridiculously flamboyant pose with his free right hand. "Merry Christmas, bitches!"

Blink entered the room, commanding all presence with every step. Let it never be said that he did not know how to make an entrance. In fact, he left them speechless – though that would because they were wondering just what the hell he was wearing. While Blink was gay – there was no denying that – he was anything but the stereotypical queen. But, for some reason, he was wearing a frilly white peasant blouse, a fluffy white coat and a pair of some skintight leather pants. Throw in his eye-patch and he looked like a queer pirate; all he was missing was a sword and maybe a fancy feather.

He walked over to the kitchen, because, obviously, it would kill David and Jack to walk towards him to say hello. He grinned at them both but that grin faltered when he took a good look at David. Blink laughed and, without saying a word, he turned his good eye on Jack.

Jack shrugged but there was a childish amusement about him. No doubt about it, he was responsible for David's interesting markings. And poor David had no idea.

Blink reached forward and gave both of them tight hugs. "I missed you, too, you bums," he said, still smiling, as he passed off his bucket to Jack.

Jack was confused but took the bucket. His confusion switched over to a mild excitement when he saw what Blink had stowed inside the empty-of-paint paint bucket: a bottle of cheap Vodka, a few bags of chips, a bag of fresh bagels and a stick of real (real!) butter.

"Holy shit, Blink. Where did you get this stuff?" He pulled out each item and set them on the counter before lifting the Vodka up. "Great Christmas present, buddy."

Blink did not have a chance to answer Jack's question, though. There was someone else he needed to answer to first.

David watched as Jack eagerly fought to get the lid off of the bottle. He rolled his eyes and, placing his hands on his hips, he looked sternly over at Blink. "Where the hell were you? I've been worried sick. It's been almost thirteen hours since you called. And… and, Jesus Christ, I really do sound like my mother."

Blink laughed, a deep laugh at odds with the girly way he was currently dressed. "I love you too, Dave," he said.