Death of a Muse.

Legal Disclaimer-the joy of art is that other people's characters can stay with you, wether you like it or not. This is fanfiction. There is no money taken here, no money given as well. If you sue me, you're focusing on my empty wallet.

Author's Note-So, saw the play, saw the movie and I am HOOKED. Dang it. Yep, it's a little Mary Sue ish, but, you'll understand why when I get there. Reviewing keeps me in the department of sane. I would appreciate thoughts on it. Thanks.

Mark's POV

Roger told me that I had to get out and experience life. I hate to admit that he is right, but he is. Seeing him and Mimi together is fantastic, I'm happy for him to finally find someone and actually have the loft filled with new music again, but I do have to admit to envy. He has love. I have, well, I have my camera and a job that I reluctantly went back to, with new terms so that I don't have to sell my soul.

The only problem is I have artistic block. I have no earthly clue what to shoot next. No film, no money and rent is coming due, so, I need to figure something out. Roger tried to help, suggesting all sorts of shit, and Mimi smiled, offered the stories of the Cat Scratch Club, but I hated to remind her that I can't run that on television.

The thought occurred to me as Christmas fell on New York again, that maybe I could do something to celebrate this season where everyone was supposed to be nice to each other to explore it. I only know Christmas through Roger, I grew up with a menorah and dradles. Eight nights of gifts makes you a little spoiled, but I always wondered what you do on one night of gifts.

New York though was great with the pre-Christmas stuff. I got on my bike, rode down to Rockefeller Center and shot the tree. It was beautiful to see in the daytime, and I made a mental note to see it that night, hopefully I had enough for a bus ride, because I wasn't going to ride my bike down here. I started to wander, shooting whatever came to mind, hoping to catch New Yorkers being nice to each other. I know what you're thinking, not a chance in hell.

I got lucky. VERY lucky as I got around Broadway and closer to the home offices of the American Ballet Theater. The beauty of the dancers heading into the theater's halls was a painting in itself, at least on film you could catch their beauty in simply moving. Jesus, they were beautiful.

"You could at least ask if you can film them," a hard, yet female voice asked behind me.

I turned to face the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. They were contained in the face of an irritated woman, whose red hair was complimented by the flare of her green eyes.

"Public property," I replied instantly, "I can shoot them, and I am not doing close ups."

"Likely story," she glared, as I fumbled with my camera, "You a stalker or a real filmmaker?"

I fumbled for my card. Alexi Darling made sure I had them when I took the job back, so that at least I could talk my way out of a situation when I needed to. Long fingers took it from me, glanced at it, and then the green eyes that reminded me of pictures of the sea took me back in.

"God, I hate Buzzline," she said, "But you don't seem like their usual sleazy reporters. Why are you following dancers, Mr. Cohen? A story on eating disorders?"

I shrugged. I really didn't know why I went there. Should I admit that watching the beautiful women at least would past the time? Did I want to admit it her that I was looking for a story? I decided on Christmas.

"I'm Mark, Mr. Cohen's my father, " I started, outstretching my mittened hand, "and I am actually looking for Christmas. At least in the city."

Her face changed from the fury of protector of her friends to soften into that of an angel.

"Good luck," she smiled, "Do you want to film rehearsal?"

"Nutcracker?" I asked, knowing that as my only tidbit of ballet knowledge. Hopefully, she wouldn't notice.

"Time of year for it," she replied, "My name is Mary, Mary Blaine, and today is your lucky day, Mark Cohen, you can film rehearsal, because you are my guest."

Guest, I thought to myself, following her as we entered the rehearsal hall, What part is she dancing?

I saw the poster for the performances and instantly knew I had just met one of the principal dancers for Nutcracker. She was dancing the Sugar Plum Fairy Role.

That evening, Roger looked at me with a newfound respect. I had developed the film I had shot and was getting the rare chance to show it to him. Mimi had to work that night and he was going to kick back at home.

Images of Mary filled the room as she rehearsed. I had managed surprisingly to get the best of her movements down to the simple smile she gave me when she realized that I had nailed her entire routine. She lit up when she smiled and I guess Roger noticed that I did too.

"You think you'll be able to film an actual performance?" Roger asked, "I mean it's fantastic that she let you in to see rehearsal, but you could get the whole feel with her in costume."

"She's trying to find that out for me," I replied, remembering how I offered to buy her a coffee after rehearsal, "She said she'd call."

She had agreed to join me only if it was dutch. She also boldly asked for my number. It was odd that she did, but I realized instantly that she was as interested as I was. I was smitten.

"I think you've managed to capture how I see Mimi when she dances," Roger said, his silence more of awe than critique, "Excellent work, Mark."

Roger wasn't only my best friend, he was also my best critic. It was great to hear him say that, and I let the film run a bit more, capturing her expression when I made her laugh.

"She's going to call? Mark, you might have to do something that you don't want to do," Roger teased.

"No, this time, I might actually go out with her," I smiled, "It is time to commit."

And hopefully not be committed.