Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise.

This is going to be my first RENT multi-chapter work of fiction, and will follow all canon couples. I need to make sure that I've got all RENT stuff accurate so any sort of feedback is hugely appreciated.

.:.

So, Collins' girlfriend had killed his dog.

With each night that Benny stayed up tossing and turning becoming longer and longer, it was only depressing that he could no longer blame the dog's noise. With the dog barking every hour of the night it was easy for him to pretend that the sounds were the reason for his continuous insomnia. Something should have come up when Alison fell asleep every evening without a problem—but he'd always assumed that because she'd had Evita since she was nine she'd just gotten used to it.

But then Collins' girlfriend had gone and killed the dog.

And he still couldn't get to sleep.

It was two am. That's two o'clock in the middle of the morning. He lay on his back, half the blankets off him, leaving his bare chest exposed to the air. He would have been cold if Alison wasn't resting her head right beside him, providing a completely natural source of heat.

If he had been back in the loft he would have been up. When he couldn't sleep there (which was a rare occurrence because in those days he was working almost continuously on his feet and by the time sleep came he greeted it kindly) he would be up and about, doing all the things he had no time to do in the day.

It wasn't like he was stretched on time, anymore, and there was really no work to be done that he hadn't done already, or that couldn't be done the following day. But was there really anything more tiring that being forced to stay still when all you wanted to do was move?

It wasn't worth the fight. He'd found that out in the early days, when his insomnia had first hit and he'd blamed it on the dog. Waking Alison up before her nine hours were done spelt trouble for everything—his marriage, his work, his timing. Generally, his entire life was better if Alison wasn't tired.

The loss of Evita had obviously affected his wife more than it had him. The first emotion he'd felt upon hearing the terrible news was nothing but sweet, sweet relief. Alison had broken down in hysterical sobs and buried her face in the crook of his neck and it wasn't as though he was a terrible person. He's helped her, consoled her—but he knew better than to wake her up now.

As if on cue, Alison rolled slightly, removing her weight from him and freeing him from her embrace. Taking the opportunity as soon as it opened, and endeavoring to just be quiet so to keep Alison asleep. He slipped off the bed smoothly, straightening his boxers and creeping out of the room. The carpeted floors meant that his feet didn't make noise as he left the room. He pulled the door as close to closed as he could without making a sound and progressed into the room.

He found himself in the same place he usually did these sleepless night, as he sat on the leather couch of their living room. The material was cold against his legs and back, but he ignored it, reaching for the draw beneath the coffee table and pulled out the video that lived there.

He stared at the tape for a moment, turning it in his hands as he watched the cold black square. Making his mind up, he slipped the tape into the input slot (a gift from his brother in law, who also showed him how to use it). Doing as he had been instructed, he plugged in the infinite number of wires that he needed for the image to show up on the large, box machine that this latest generation seemed so obsessed with.

Flashes of his old life were quickly exhibited to him. Mark had filmed this footage as when they had all moved into the loft. Benny watched as shots of a happier him laughed while carrying furniture up four flights of stairs. Roger, Mark and Maureen were laughing with him—hell, they were even enjoying his company—and there were occasional shots of Collins, before he left. April could be seen in the background sometimes, but she and Roger had been a personal couple (so personal that no one had noticed that she'd introduced Roger to drugs until it was too late to wean him off them).

He swallowed dryly.

He'd muted the television, a precaution for Alison, but he knew the music that Mark had put to it. One of the songs that Roger always used to go on about being a piece of brilliant music. Something he wanted to emulate—music that he idolized. Benny didn't know who sung it, but he knew the tune and the beat, and in the silence of the night he tapped his foot along to the sound in his mind.

"Benny?"

He was unable to hide the flinch before he froze, hearing Alison's fatigue ridden voice from behind him. He twisted in the couch and looked at her nervously, pushing himself to his feet quickly.

She was standing, in her expensive silk night gown that probably cost more than he'd ever seen before falling in love with her, watching his quizzically. Her blonde hair was ruffled—the result of moving around in her sleep, but her face was as immaculate as ever. She'd taken the time to slip on her fluffy slippers, and was rubbing her eyes with her left arm while her other arm moved up to her hip.

"Why're you up?" She enquired tiredly, frowning.

He hastened for an explanation, but was well aware of the still running tape behind him. Her eyes flicked between him and the screen as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Benny ran a nervous hand across the globe of his shaven head and watched her nervously.

"Look, Al," he began. "I know that—I'm sorry for waking you up. I just, I couldn't sleep and—"

She shushed him.

He paused, frowning, as she moved around the side of the couch and stood beside him. He turned, watching her as she moved, until they were both facing the television.

Benny watched as a shot of a younger him and Collins flashed on the screen. Collins had swung a hand around his neck, and was hanging off him laughing gleefully. Benny cringed away from him, but was laughing as well. With his free hand he snatched the beanie off of Collins head and dangled it out of his reach.

The scene changed.

"You watch this tape a lot, don't you?" Alison asked, sinking onto the couch. Benny sat down beside him and braced his hands on his knees.

"I, uh, I didn't think I'd wake you up." He admitted with a slight smile.

Alison rested a calm hand on his forearm. "You think I wouldn't notice you get out of bed at two o'clock every morning?" she laughed airily. "Give me more credit than that, sweetie. I've gotten used to sleeping next to you."

Benny smiled at her.

They were silent, as the film continued. There were a few more shots of the group of friends, and one rare slow shot of Roger and April strolling down a dirty street, holding hands and grinning at each other.

"They were your friends?"

Benny nodded his head slowly, a bit confused about how quiet Alison was, despite the fact that he'd interrupted her sleep pattern. "They were." She didn't respond, and continued to watch him, obviously waiting for more information. Once he'd caught on, he obliged.

"Uhm," he said, leaning forward. He quickly stopped the tape, pausing on Roger's and April's faces (their bright smiles the results of drugs more than anything). "Mark is the camera man," he began to explain. "And that's Roger. We used to share a house with another guy—Collins."

He played the video again, waiting until Collins reappeared on the screen. He stopped the video again, and the image began to shake slightly. Pausing wasn't good for the tape, and he didn't want to damage it. He glanced at Alison and she was frowning.

"Who's the red head?" She asked, reminding him to continue explaining.

He nodded. "That's Roger's girlfriend, April. She—she, uh, died. Just before I met you, actually."

Memories hit him quite quickly after that sentence. He could remember meeting her (after being called in to give a local's perspective on how to revolutionize his home district) and she'd been his everything. A woman like her, showing interest in someone like him? It was unheard of, and he wasn't going to let her get away.

And then April found out that she had AIDs. Her suicide promptly informed Roger that he too was afflicted with the disease and then all anyone could focus on was Roger and making sure that he didn't follow April and that he got off the drugs as soon as possible.

But life went on. And Alison was still there and Benny couldn't be expected to give her up just because of this. He tried to be there for Roger, but someone had to pay the rent in Mark was only following his artistic dreams and Collins wanted to stick to his anarchist principles (and everyone knew that Maureen only did stuff for attention, not cash).

Alison seemed to sense that April's death was something that Benny didn't really want to talk about, and instead reached forward to play the tape again.

The couple watched the rest in silence. It wasn't a long recording—only about five minutes from start to finish, but as Benny watched it (for the hundredth time) it seemed longer than anything he could remember. All he could focus on was Alison's hand softly rubbing his own as she simply watched.

Once it was finished, there was a pregnant silence.

Then Alison took a deep breath in.

"You miss your friends."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement that proved that she understood why he'd been watching this video at two am in the morning every night for the last since Halloween. Benny let out a dry laugh, glad he could finally talk to her about it.

"I miss having friends who don't hate me."

Alison was silent for a moment. Then she spoke again. "Is this because of the message you won't erase from our answering machine?"

The message had been sent on Christmas Day (which was only two days ago, if he really thought about it). They'd been doing presents with Alison's brother on the UES (the Upper East Side to the uninformed masses) at the time the message had been recorded.

"Hey Benny, its Mark. Uhm, we've found Mimi. She's alright, and we're looking after her. Uh… so, I just thought you're like to know. Uhm… don't come by or see her or anything because Roger's got a bit, well… yeah. Um, bye…"

Again, Benny ran his hand over the globe of his head before nodding slightly. "Uh, yeah. Mimi is—uh, she got sick. And she was missing for a while." He didn't need to expand on that. Alison knew about Mimi, mostly because he'd done a lot of unofficial searching for her in the months between Halloween and Christmas.

He clearly wouldn't have to worry about that anymore.

"I could collect their rent this month," Alison offered. "If you like?"

Benny shook his head quickly. "No," he said, "I'm not a coward, and I won't… I'm their friend, even if they're not mine."

Alison hastily backtracked. "I didn't mean—"

Benny hushed her, resting his hand on her knee and rubbing her leg reassuringly. "No, I know you weren't," he said with a smile. "I just mean that I don't want them to start hating you because they hate me."

Alison smiled slightly, resting her hand on his. "I'm sure they don't hate you," she started, interrupted by Benny's scoff of disbelieving laughter. "And if," she continued strongly, "they do, then you find a way to make them realize that they're being foolish."

Benny was silent. Alison let out a sweet sigh, and stood, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of his head. "I'm going back to bed," she announced softly. "I have work tomorrow. Wake me up like this tomorrow and there'll be hell to pay." She smiled again, proving she was only (slightly) kidding, and then walked quietly back to their room.

Benny reached towards the television, and as he packed up the tape he thought about what Alison had said. Was there really any way to make the guys know that he hadn't change? He was still Benny. He was still their friend and there had to be a way to make them know that.

He was still thinking as he slipped into bed with Alison minutes later. He reached towards her still-not-quite-asleep body and pulled her to him, pressing his front against her back and closing his eyes.

For the first time since October, Benny slept for five straight hours.

.:.

Making his way into Westport Corporation the next morning, Benny had the game plan laid out ahead of him. He'd pressed his suit and arrived as normally as he would have any other day, but the briefcase that he held wasn't filled with just business papers as they would have been. Inside, was all the information Alison and he could dig up in her personal files about the corporation's properties this morning. This trip to work was to create an explanation for his boss (and father-in-law) and get the information that they couldn't get at home.

"Good morning, Mr. Coffin," the secretary (a young blonde whose name was Stella) said with a bright smile. Still typing with her right hand, she lifted her left to move the mouthpiece of the black phone she was speaking into away from her mouth. "You're right on time. Mr. Grey has you scheduled for the next fifteen minutes."

Benny smiled at her and proceeded to make his way through the large mahogany doors that held the oversized office of his boss. Knocking quickly, he opened the doors and slipped inside, smiling as he saw his grey haired investor.

"Good morning, Sir," he greeted him, emulating Stella from moments ago. "Did you have a nice evening at the theatre?"

Ever since his long courtship of Alison, Benny had made a point to know what Mr. Grey was doing and how, just to impress the man. Now that it was actually his job, however, he was being paid for coming across as a good son-in-law.

Unfortunately, Mr. Grey didn't look pleased.

"Benjamin," he said slowly, upon recognizing who it was that had entered his office (as though he didn't have a personal secretary to announce every person who came into his office before they did so). "You're here. Take a seat."

Instantly recognizing the tone that this conversation would take, Benny dropped his smile. Lowering his chin to his chest and looking to the floor, Benny moved forward and took the seat that Mr. Grey was offering him.

"Do you know who I had meet me at the theatre last night?" Mr. Grey rasped, raising an archaic eyebrow at him.

The sentence made Benny flinch. He had been hoping it was a work related problem, but if something work related had intruded on the time Mr. Grey took for personal matters it was his ass. It seemed that Benny wasn't going to start off his plan on a good note, unless he was incredibly quick on his feet.

Still, what could he really do to fix it without knowing what would happen? "Who did you meet, sir?" he asked, swallowing to hydrate his suddenly dry throat.

Mr. Grey let out a smile that cracked parts of his lips. "Mr. Tate, Benny," he said slowly. "I ran into Mr. Tate last night at the theatre."

This latest piece of information sent Benny's (relatively sly) mind into overdrive. Instead of wasting time panicking, he quickly considered all the options that he had at this point and made a decision concerning his approach to what was now a delicate situation.

Mr. Collis Tate was a young British business man who'd recently arrived in New York with the seemingly obvious motive of buying out all the slums and transforming them into high rise condos. Unlike Mr. Grey, Mr. Tate didn't have any employees (or son-in-laws) with soft spots for tenants who didn't pay their rent, which meant that the competition was getting steeper and steeper every day.

Apart from the obvious conflict in the professional business, at twenty-seven, the billionaire Mr. Tate was also a relatively insufferable human being. With arrogance that rivaled even the largest movie star and cash to substantiate all his crude, false claims, a person was unable to spend more than five minutes with the man (boy) without wanting to clench their fist and punch him in the face. (Except for women, that is—and only the cheap ones—who supposed that 'mistress' was the highest they were going to get in this world).

Benny made his decision quickly.

"And what did Mr. Tate have to say to you?" Benny enquired. Having lived with the man's almost constant presence for over a year now, Benny knew exactly how to play Mr. Grey to his best ability. It had been his initial game plan when all he'd had on his mind was the loft and its occupants, but it wouldn't abandon him now with these new complications. With a heavy emphasis on Mr. Tate's name and a light laughable sound ending his sentence, Benny effectively conveyed the message he wanted to.

Mr. Grey smiled, hearing the sound. He relaxed a bit, and sat himself down in his own chair. He was a graying (ironically enough) man who had remained at a steady height of five foot seven for his entire life. He hadn't stayed quite as constant around his waist, however, and he now needed a walking stick to support himself as he walked. But his smile, despite his terrifying image, was a nice smile and with it, Benny relaxed as well.

"He's an irritating little boy," the old man sighed. With his words, Benny had implied that Mr. Tate wasn't worthy to speak to him, which had softened him enough for him to calm down. Just as Benny was about to smile with him, the smile fell from the old man's features. "But he's a dangerous one. He asked me about the performance space that we have been kind enough to loan to the homeless people of New York."

Benny swallowed.

That wasn't the news he'd been hoping for, but he could certainly make it work for him. If he could twist his initial plan around and make Mr. Grey believe it was his idea there was still hope for salvaging his friendships with the bohemian believers.

"That's what I was here to speak with you about, sir," Benny said, turning the conversation away from Mr. Tate and instead directing it to a solution. "The Performance Space that the protest stopped us using for six months."

Mr. Grey scowled. "What were you here to say about it that I don't already know? He certainly was quicker about it than I thought he'd be but doesn't that just prove that he's an arrogant little—"

"What does?" Benny interrupted bravely. "Sorry, what's surprised you, Sir?"

Mr. Grey surveyed him with angry eyes. "I know that I'm old, Benjamin," he said slowly. "But I'm not senile. Those papers you have in your briefcase—Mr. Tate had the decency to forewarn me about his attempt to buy the property from us, and I'm afraid that if we don't get those damn people out of there then we'll have to sell."

Benny swallowed, digesting this new information. Right, so he hadn't really seen that coming, but didn't this help him?

While thanking whatever god he believed in, Benny sat himself down with his Boss and smiled.

"Don't worry, Mr. Grey, I have a plan."

.:.

So, there's your first chapter. Hopefully your hate for Benny hasn't kept you away. I decided that I'd really like to write a follow up and have it be from a unique perspective. I was also kind of intrigued by Benny and his relationship with Alison because we don't hear much about it. I haven't seen the play in over four years, so as of this point I'm working mostly with the movie and Google for the facts that I can't remember. Otherwise, I might put my creative liberties to use

Speaking of creative liberties, in this fic I'm going to follow the idea that Benny's and Mimi's relationship was three years ahead of her relationship with Roger (as the film did). My reasons for this basically concern the plot that I've got in my head, so I won't explain, but I hope this doesn't bother too many of the die-hard RENT-heads out there (if anyone's actually reading this :P)

Hopefully you're intrigued enough to stick with this fic, even if you don't like Benny that much. While it is from his perspective, it really is about the next year for the bohos, with Benny an observer.

Please review, and (get prepped for shameless plug) please check out my other Mark-centric one-shot 'Five Stages'. I haven't received any feedback and I'd really love to hear thoughts about it.

Cheers.

G