A/N: This is it… I can't believe I finally finished this damn fic! It started out as one of the random ideas I have in biology and grew into my first chaptered fanfiction… I hope you all enjoyed it!

Dedications to GoldStarGrl, Angelic Prophecy and crzyRENThead for being my three most dedicated and enthusiastic reviewers. :D I love you three! You gave me a reason to keep writing!

Disclaimer: I think the concept of rent is that you don't own something, so… it's only fitting that I don't own RENT. :(

Chapter 7: Make a Conclusion

It was a squeaking sound, like bedsprings, that caught Collins attention. That and the soft, familiar male voices that issued from beneath the door. He felt an incredulous grin creep onto his face. "No way," he murmured to himself, but yes, yes there actually was a great chance that he'd already guessed what was going on in the next room. Tiptoeing across the small stretch of cold floor, the anarchist leaned gently against the door and listened.

"Roger," came Mark's voice, breathy and on the verge of a moan. Collins bit the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling like one of Roger's old groupies. "Now? Collins is in the other room…"

"He hasn't noticed that you haven't been in your own room all week," Roger replied slyly. His companion's breath hitched as he gave a quiet laugh, and Collins didn't even pause to imagine what he was doing to the other man. As curious as he was… Did he want to know the details of his two friends' secret sex life?

Hardly a moment passed before images of Roger's fingers skillfully manipulating Mark's nipples as the smaller man writhed beneath him flooded his mind in a resounding YES.

"He's oblivious," Roger continued in that teasing tone of voice. The sexual energy in the room was practically leaking out from under the door as Mark gave a small whimper. The sound of the bedsprings squeaking ever so slightly was giving Collins the most graphic mental pictures. Most of them involved Roger's hands straying over Mark's bare chest and downwards towards the line of light blonde hair that lead to the filmmaker's crotch. "He won't notice… we can be quiet."

"Really?" Though he was still breathing too hard to be innocent, Mark's voice managed to have a sarcastic edge. "Because we've always been so QUIET before. Do you remember when we woke Mimi up that night-"

"That was all you, Marky boy," Roger laughed. He shifted and the bed squeaked some more. That noise was going to be imprinted on Collins mind forever as the sound of Mark and Roger getting it on. Great. "I wasn't the one screaming my name, was I?"

"I wasn't screaming," the filmmaker huffed in embarrassment. "I mean, I guess I was a little loud-"

"You know you were screaming my name," Roger said huskily, and the anarchist could imagine the shiver going down Mark's spine at his tone. It was so frustrating not being able to see anything; it left everything up to Collins overactive imagination, and that was NOT a good thing. He wondered if he could possibly open the door a crack without them catching on… "It's not your fault. I just know EXACTLY where to touch you…"

Eyes widening and mouth forming an "o" of surprise, Collins struggled not to laugh out loud at what he'd been hearing. He could hardly believe he'd never picked up on any of this in the past… Of course, the last time he'd been here, Roger had still been attached to his dancer, so he couldn't be faulted for not seeing the early signs. Still, he wished he had… this was a priceless moment.

"Oh, fuck… Roger!" Mark groaned, sucking in a sharp breath. Who knew what mischief Roger had gotten into now; whatever it was, it was pleasurable for the vocal recipient. "Please," he whimpered.

"Quiet," the rocker growled seductively. The sound of skin sliding on skin was enough to make Collins dark skin flush even darker. Were they really risking this when they knew Collins was in the house? That was a tad daring for Mark, but then again, if anyone could talk him into it, it was Roger. "Wouldn't want to wake Collins, would we?"

"God, no!" Mark sighed in horror. "That would be so- ROGER!" he squeaked louder. "We really shouldn't-!"

"Shhhhhh, you might wake Collins!" Roger taunted. Whatever the hell he was doing to Mark was causing him to spiral out of control rather quickly. Unable to resist any longer, Collins darted back into the filmmaker's room and snatched his camera up off of his otherwise bare dresser. He thought that he remembered how to use it… Mark had shown him once when he asked, happy to explain to someone who was genuinely interested in how his treasured camera worked.

Well, now was the time to test it out. He did his best to turn the contraption on, and when he'd gotten it right- or so he hoped- the anarchist pointed it at himself with an impish grin.

"You'll NEVER guess what's going on behind this door," he gushed in a whisper, pointing behind him briefly with one hand. "Actually, you probably could… I bet Mark has made at least ten sex tapes by now with Roger… Anyways." He cleared his throat, preparing himself for this victory speech to the camera. It was going to be the most hilarious thing when Mark watched this reel and discovered that Collins had found him out. He hoped, to the very depths of his heart, that he was still there when it happened. Mark's blushing was always spectacular, and it was bound to be even more so in this compromising position.

"Unbeknownst to my two friends in there, I've been doing my own little project the past week that I've been here. I got bored, so… I decided that it was about time I figured out why Mark was single still. I mean, come on. It's been almost two years since Maureen and from what I know he hasn't even had sex ONCE since!" He paused for emphasis and then continued, still straining to hear what was going on in the next room. Collins wanted to time this perfectly. "I st- INVESTIGATED for a few days and finally, two theories occurred to me. One," he ticked off on his fingers. "Was that Mark was a flamer. And two, he was in love with Roger."

"With the help of Joanne, we performed an experiment on Christmas Eve and all of the evidence pointed to my being absolutely RIGHT. Finally, I've come to this simple conclusion; Roger and Mark are together. And they've loved each other for a loooong time. Of course, when I come to talk to Mark about it- assuming he was still drunk enough to admit anything- his bedroom is EMPTY."

The triumphant smile on the anarchist's face and the increasingly loud bed-squeaking in the background would be enough for someone to piece together what was going on behind Roger's bedroom door. But Collins wanted to make sure he documented a special moment like this to the very best of his ability. Taking a chance, he set the camera on the floor, still running, and ever-so-carefully twisted the knob of Roger's door and pushed it inwards. It didn't even creak; success! Mark's incessant moaning became that much louder to his ears, unobstructed by the door, and he could see them in the candlelight. Of course Roger would keep a candle lit. He probably liked to see Mark's face twist in pleasure.

Picking the camera up gingerly, like the baby it was to Mark, he pointed it at his face once more to show the future audience his wicked grin before the real show started. "Needless to say, I went snooping… and this is what I found." The lens was redirected to the scene in Roger's room, which was better than Collins had even imagined. With his wrists bound together to the bedposts above his head, blonde head thrown back as he desperately twisted against them and groaned out Roger's name again and again, Mark lay in the middle of the bed stark naked and glasses-less. His legs were wrapped around roger's waist as the songwriter pounded him into the mattress, grunting.

"Fuck, Mark," he muttered as he thrust down particularly hard. Mark yelped, his begging reaching a crescendo. Just as they were about to reach their climax, Collins began his narration.

"December 25th, whatever the hell time it is in the morning Eastern Standard Time: Thomas B. Collins stumbles upon undeniable proof that he is a genius, because he was RIGHT. Enjoy the show, Marky," he laughed cheekily, and switched the camera off and shut the door behind him before replacing Mark's baby where he'd found it. As he padded down the hallway to his place on the couch, he yawned, and a thought struck him.

That was one question answered. But now… Now that that enigma was solved, he didn't have much of anything to do. And he was here a few more days…

Tom Collins, part time professor and full time vagabond anarchist, was bored.

And the cycle began to repeat itself.