Disclaimer: RENT and it's characters do not belong to me.
Author's notes: Well, this is just another fic, that as the title suggests, involves fire. I'm trying a new writing style type thing where at the beginning of the chapter there's a narration that sort of sets the scene and let's me set the scene without having to really talk about everything that's not necessary and it lets me say the time and date without having to conveniently mention it.
Oh, and just to clear any confusion up, when I say that it's one am on December 24th, I actually mean of that morning, not of the night of December 24th where it would end up actually being December 25th. That probably did nothing but confuse you, but I had to put it anyways because if I didn't then someone would mention it.
It's one year after the end where Mimi makes her miraculous recovery.
Italics are the narration thingies that were mentioned above.
December 24th, One AM, eastern standard time. We begin with Mark Cohen, asleep in his bed. He is tossing and turning in the sheets, coughing as an acrid gray smoke rises around him. It is with a particularly large cough that he falls to the floor, landing on a myriad of items, and jolting him into a state of being awake.
Mark ignored the little pain that was in his bones room falling off the bed as he started to grope for his glasses on his bedside. He was coughing at the smoke that was invading his lungs. "What the…" He squinted at his surroundings, trying to bring them into focus to no avail. His hands didn't seem any closer to find his glasses, but there was an intense heat that he was sure didn't belong because it was never warm in the loft this time of the year, and it was a this point that realization hit him. "Oh shit." The glasses were forgotten as Mark struggled to his feet. "Roger!" He shouted, starting to stumble out of his room, his arm going to his mouth as he coughed into the crook of his elbow. "Roger get your ass out of bed now!" Even without his glasses he could see the orange glow of flames against the wall he would usually project his films on. There was a crackle and roar echoing in his ears. "Roger!" He found his way to his roommates closed door, coughing violently before pounding his fist against the door. "Roger, get up now!"
"What the hell?" Roger muttered, lifting his head from the pillow as Mark opened the door, one eye lazily opened as he looked on confused.
"Up! Now!" Mark ordered, walking in grabbing Roger's arm, and trying to pull him up to little avail.
"Why?" The smoke started to reach Roger, and he coughed. "Shit, what's going on?" He sat up at Mark's insistence.
Mark coughed again. "Fire. Now come on!" Without further instruction Roger got up and started out of the room, looking around the loft and coughing more. "Roger come on!" Mark was shouting once more, but coughed again. "Let's go!" He stumbled over, grabbing Roger's arm, dragging him over to the window that led to the fire escape, where the fire was heading towards, but had yet to reach. "Go!" He yelled as he forced the window open, shoving Roger out, as they both coughed some more. "I'll be right down!"
"Where are you--."
"I'll be down!" Mark cut him off. "Just go!" He watched as Roger started down the escape, and then ducked back into the flaming building apartment. His arm went back up to his head, mouth and nose getting buried in his sweater as he started to search as Roger had been. It went with difficulty, as he didn't have his glasses and the little vision that he had without them was blurred by stinging tears coming from the smoke. The heat was bombarding his body, causing beads of sweat to appear on his face.
It was a few minutes of searching before he tripped over something on the floor that was concealed by smoke and his virtual blindness and was propelled onto his face, his head colliding with his sought after object. He coughed a bit, and once more forced himself up, before closing his hands around the neck of Roger's guitar. Mark turned around to go back to the fire escape. "Fuck." The fire was now blocking the fire escape. Somehow Mark wasn't laughing at the irony of that.
He turned around frantically for a moment, trying to wrack his brain for another plan of escape. It didn't occur to him to use the door until he saw it. Running forward, he disregarded any and all rules of fire safety, grabbing the handle and yanking it open, the momentum of which sent him pitching forward down the stairs as he started coughing again. This pattern of movement continued until he collided into the railing of the stairs, which simply crumbled under the force. And down he went with it. He didn't really think to scream or cry out as he fell, just groaned at the impact of landing on the floor, a few floors below the one that he was previously standing on.
Mark's head lolled to one side as his vision continued to swim more, an eye catching what he could only assume to be the advancing fire at one side of the space he had landed in. Then his eyes closed as he gave in to the overwhelming need for unconsciousness.
Roger coughed into his hand, looking up at the burning apartment building in a state of utter shock. His home was on fire. He couldn't believe how fast it was all happening. He had just woken up and there it was. Fire. Actually, he hadn't just woken up, Mark had woken him up. Mark had gotten him out of the fiery death trap. Mark had saved his life.
Mark…Mark was still inside. At least he hadn't gotten around to Roger. If he had come back out. There was a large crowd gathering of people watching the fire. From what he could tell quite a few of them were homeless and using the raging flames as a heat source. Not that he could blame them. Even though he had fallen asleep in his jeans and one of the few long sleeved shirts, if it weren't for the fire he would be freezing.
What he couldn't understand is why the fire department wasn't arriving. The building had about half of it covered in flames, and not everyone in the neighborhood was dirt poor. Someone had to have been able to call 911 for help, and yet, nothing was coming to help. He knew the real answer was because of the location, but was trying to ignore it, instead focusing on the idea that they might make it in time to save part of the building.
And Mark. Roger coughed as his train of thought went back to Mark. He was starting to worry more, wondering if Mark was OK. "Mark!" He shouted, starting to walk around hurriedly, looking around, trying to spot his friend. "Mark!"
He shoved his way through the crowd, looking around as the panic started to grow. "Mark!"
He continued the search as sirens in the distance started to get closer, even as the fire trucks and ambulances arrived and as a hand was placed on his shoulder. "Sir, what's wrong?"
"My friend Mark is inside." Roger began urgently, as he turned facing a paramedic. He only stopped to cough a bit. "You have to find him."
The paramedic gave him a look. "Sir were you in the building?"
"Yeah, but that's not the point. The point is my friend is in there and he needs to get out!"
"Sir, if you were in the building we need to treat you for smoke inhalation and give you an exam. If you could just come with me than--."
"I am not going anywhere until somebody can promise me that Mark is getting the hell out of that building and is going to be fine!" Roger protested with his last shout ending in a fit of coughs.
"I can promise you that your friend will be well taken care of. Now come with me."
Roger looked on as a few firefighters transferred a soot-covered bruised body onto a stretcher. There was no doubt who it was. "Mark!" He abandoned the oxygen mask he had been given and rushed forward. "Mark! Is he OK?"
The paramedic from before didn't look up as he started his work. "We don't know yet…" For a moment he said nothing, as another paramedic took Mark's vitals, and he started assessing injuries. "Let's get him to County." They started to move the stretcher into the ambulance, and the paramedic looked back to Roger. "If you put the oxygen mask back on like a good boy you can come with us."
Roger wanted to roll his eyes and send an annoyed comment at the look, but was too worried, so settled on running back and grabbing the oxygen that he had been given, and hurrying back, climbing into the rear of the ambulance.
"Sir, can you think of any medications that your friend is allergic to, or anything we should be concerned about?"
"Uh, god…" Roger ran a hand through his hair, suddenly wondering why he had never paid much attention to Mark after his rare doctor's appointments. "He might have said something about penicillin… and I think he donated blood today." Roger was pretty sure about that. It was times around the holidays that Mark would see signs begging for donations and he would feel bad for 'all that they had' and he would go donate.
"Well neither of those should be a problem."
Roger coughed a bit more. "He is gonna be OK right?"
"We'll see."
Somehow this didn't assure Roger.
OK, there is the first chapter. And I must say, if I never have to write the word cough again it will be too soon. I tried looking up synonyms, and there are just about none. But, anyways….
I need help picking a title. So please vote, do you like:
Heat of the Future's Glow
An Eternal Flame
One Teeny Tiny Spark
Or if you really wanted to we could stick with the temporary title of A Display of Pyromania.
Please vote in your reviews, and also tell me what you think.