A/N: The latest and greatest…well, the latest for sure. Never really attempted an AU story before, so proceed with caution from this point forward. But as always, reviews are always appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own--Jonathan Larson does. And again, I just wanted to take the time to thank the various actors that have been involved with RENT, without whom we probably wouldn't do this sort of thing. Just sayin'….

Muse

On the most important night of his life, Mark realizes to whom he owes his success. POST-RENT angst. AU.

You fidget in your seat a little as they announce your category, trying not to concentrate on the fact that you've been mobbed by press agents and fans ever since the night began, or the fact that the men you've always considered your idols aren't sitting too far away from you--or the fact that your name could be called at any moment. Instead, you try to focus on how fortunate you are to even be here at all. Suddenly, a voice cuts through your thoughts.

"And the Oscar for Best Documentary Feature goes to…Mark Cohen, for Today 4 U : Proof Positive!" The whole auditorium erupts into thunderous applause as you slowly realize this isn't a dream and begin to make your way to the podium. It's taken so long to get this far, and now it's finally your moment.

There's only now, there's only here…

When you finally get there, the presenters give you a brief, congratulatory hug, and leave you alone on the stage.

Alone.

Figures.

The applause begin to die down, and you begin to make the speech you only practiced once, on the limo ride to the theatre.

"Uh…I'm not really good at making speeches," you preface, nervously clearing your throat. "But I'd like to thank everyone for this enormous honor. And…" You glance behind you, at the screen where the sound booth man has begun to play snippets of your film. But it's more than just a film, you know. It's your very life emanating from that film projector. At once, a decision is made.

To Hell with scripted speeches.

That's not how you operate.

"Ten years ago," you say, feeling the apprehension begin to dissipate, "my friends and I were living in the East Village in New York, trying our hardest to live our dreams. Or maybe just to live." You look out over the captivated audience, scanning it for those friends that you wish were there, but know are not. "This documentary started out as a film about homeless people and people with HIV, but it ended as more than that--it was a way to preserve our friendship, our accomplishments, our lives. The people you see were my family…and I miss them." You feel the tears begin to sting your eyes as your voice cracks a little.

I die without you…

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the stagehands waving like mad, mouthing something that looks like 'hurry the hell up,' but you don't care. You tightly clutch the little golden statuette in your hand, and look up.

"But their memories continue to live on through things like this. So tonight, I would like to dedicate this award to Roger, Mimi, Collins, and Angel. I did this for them. Thank you." And as you walk offstage, you avoid the dirty looks from the stagehands, and you hardly notice the congratulations you receive from those you pass. Instead, you can't help but think that somewhere up there, the four best friends you've ever had are gathered around some celestial television set, cheering their asses off.

And you smile.