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Author: Tarie
Title: Death
Pairing: Mark/Maureen
Summary: Mark's battery charger has been broken for some time and he's a bit down.
Word Count: 360
Rating: PG
Fandom: Rent
Disclaimer: Rent is the property of the estate of Jonathan Larson. Not me.
Notes: For [livejournal.com profile] vafizziks, who wanted Mark/Maureen, happier times. Also for [livejournal.com profile] fanfic100 prompt 30: Death. My Big Damn Table is HERE


"What's the matter, baby?"

Mark lifted his head out of his hands and gave Maureen an incredulous look. "Charger's been broke a week and I can't get a new one 'til who knows when. No charger, no battery. No battery, no shooting. No shooting, no film."

"Oh," Maureen said, plopping down beside Mark on the dilapidated couch, putting her feet up on a cable spool doubling as a coffee table. "That silly old thing still got you down?"

Flabbergasted, it took Mark a moment to regain the power of speech. "Silly? Thing? Maureen, I—"

She cut him off, grinning. "I thought maybe your mother called or something."

Despite himself, Mark laughed, then pulled a face. "No, thank God."

Maureen leaned in and pinched both of Mark's cheeks. "Cheer up, pookie. Why don't you go to the cupboard and fix us a drink? Warm beer on a scorching hot day'll make everything all better."

Mark let out a world-weary sigh and padded to the kitchen. Beer sounded good, actually. At least he could drown his sorrows in it. Or maybe die. There was no telling how long those bottles of Bud had been there. He opened the cupboard and then stopped.

It couldn't be. Could it?

Inside the cupboard was a brand new battery charger, still in store-bought packaging.

He pulled it out and turned the box over in his hands before setting it carefully on the end of the table.

Maureen turned around on the couch and stared at him, beaming. "I do think of people besides myself, you know. Sometimes."

"I love you." Mark slid over the table top to land on the floor on his knees, then grabbed one of Maureen's hands and hauled her over the back of the couch so she was a heap on the floor beside him.

"Of course you do," she said, her smile turning more than a little sly. "But I'm thinking of me again. Now that you have juice for your batteries, I think you ought to set up your camera. In the bedroom."

Mark grinned. Screw death by beer. If he was going to die, he'd much prefer experiencing a "little death" with Maureen.
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