Dying By Surviving Chapter 7
Title: Dying By Surviving
Chapter: 7/15
Rating: PG this part
Pairings: Mark/Roger
Summary: Set three years postRENT. Roger and Mark deal with losing friends differently. How does Mark deal with the knowledge that he may very well be the last one of their group left alive? What if Mark can't take the pressure?
One hour later; Mark’s apartment:
Mark fumbled his keys, finally fitting the correct one into the lock and opening his door. He could feel Roger’s gaze on his back. He couldn’t begin to sort out the tumult of emotions rushing through him. He hadn’t expected to see Roger again for a while, and the sudden jolt of him being reinstated in his life was hard to process.
A few minutes after their reunion in the green-room, Chris had come back (Mark had glared at his friend over Roger’s shoulder at the amused smirk he’d given to find Mark still comfortably enveloped in the guitarist’s embrace). He’d told them that he’d already rescheduled the interview with the other band members and suggested with a sly wink that Roger and Mark go find somewhere more private to talk. This had earned him another glare from Mark.
He couldn’t deny that Christian was right though, even if his insinuations were off. Roger also seemed to need reassurance that Mark wasn’t going anywhere. The filmmaker could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of his best friend. He’d wasted no time in leading Roger back to his place.
With a jingle, he tossed his keys to the coffee table, throwing his jacket on the closest chair and inviting Roger to do the same.
“Well, here we are,” he stated, breaking the tense silence. He gave a mental grimace. Real smooth, Mark.
Roger gave a slight wince, setting his coat down and looking around. This was unbearable. Things had never been so…. uncomfortable between them before. He hated it. They needed to clear the air between them, and they needed to do it now.
He flopped down onto the couch and patted the seat next to him. With a smirk, Roger thought that Mark looked like he was being lead to his own execution.
“Nice place,” he said, patting the seat next to him again. “More habitable than the loft anyway.” Something inside him melted a little at the small lopsided grin Mark gave at that statement. He thought he’d never see that smile again.
“Yeah, well, I can finally afford it. Even though I hate the idea that I’m turning into a God damn capitalist.” Mark couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He almost expected Roger to get up and walk out at any second. He didn’t really deserve the type of forgiveness he seemed to be getting.
Roger sighed as he saw Mark’s shoulders tense up again at some passing thought. He reached over and grabbed his biceps, giving a comforting squeeze.
“Chill out, Mark. I’m not gonna kill you.” Mark relaxed a little, then let out a short laugh.
“I dunno, Rog,” he started, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “For a second there, you coulda fooled me.”
Roger mentally slapped himself, looking at Mark’s face to see the swollen lip that was starting to bruise. Well, he’d never been good at keeping his emotions in check. All the anger and feelings of betrayal had just built up all at once until he’d needed an outlet. Probably wasn’t the best way to greet a friend he’d missed horribly for the past ten months.
“Shit, I forgot,” he amended lamely. “Sorry about that.” Almost without thinking, his hand raised up from Mark’s arm to cup the side of his face, his thumb darting out to graze gently over the damage he’d dealt. He mentally kicked himself again. He hated it when he hurt Mark.
Mark’s eyes widened momentarily, his breath rushing in at Roger’s gentle actions. Involuntarily, his eyelids began to get heavy, his heart beating faster. He pulled away slowly, stuttering out,
“It’s… it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He stared at his lap.
Roger realized what he’d been doing and looked away, slowly taking his hands off of Mark. What the hell was that? Well, there was time to worry about it later. Now there was business that was a little more pressing.
“Look, Mark,” he started after a few moments of silence, “I’m not quite sure what’s going on. What happened?”
Now that was a loaded question.
“What do you mean, exactly?” There were too many different ways to interpret that one, and Mark didn’t want to screw this up.
“Just what I said. What did you do after leaving New York? How is it that you’re here, now?”
Mark sighed, then explained to him all that he’d done after leaving New York, trying to summarize it all quickly. Arriving in LA, finding a job at Vivre, all the way up to earlier this evening when he’d learned that Christian was planning on doing a story on Roger’s band.
“I didn’t know you were in LA before today. When I heard you’d been signed with Capitol and were playing tonight, well… I just couldn’t help but come to see you.” Roger felt a pang of pain when he realized that Mark hadn’t been planning on reuniting with him. It stung.
“So, you weren’t expecting to see me?” he asked quietly, trying to process all the information he’d been given. Mark winced.
“Not… not yet, Roger. It just kind of… happened.” Roger felt anger swell inside him.
“So when were you planning on coming back, Mark? Hoping that I’d finally be in a fucking coffin before you had to face me again?” He knew the minute he said it that it wasn’t true, that he was being unfair, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been hurt so badly by Mark leaving. And even though he wanted Mark back, for things to go back to how they were more than anything, he couldn’t help but voice some of the bitter thoughts he’d had.
Mark slumped, feeling hot tears coming to his eyes, wanting to disappear under the shame he felt weighing down on him. Here it was, the rejection he’d been expecting from the beginning.
“It’s not like that, Roger,” he choked out, his vision blurring with tears as he looked away. “I just…”
The rage was building in Roger at the weak answer. Rising to his feet, he glared down at him, ignoring the fact that his own eyes had started to burn.
“What was it fucking like then, Mark? You left without letting me know anything! How the hell am I supposed to react to that?” he was shouting, but his voice kept raising louder. He could feel the anger and hurt clawing at his stomach. He hated feeling this helpless. “You were gone! Fucking left just like everybody else I’ve ever cared about! How could you betray me like that, Mark?” How could you be happy without me there? Don’t you need me at all? Like I need you? his mind screamed, but he bit down on his tongue, tasting blood.
Mark was shaking now, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. All the guilt he’d felt at leaving like he had, all the angry questions he’d asked himself in the dead of night were rushing at him accusingly out of his best friend’s mouth. And he knew he deserved it, deserved it and much worse. Roger had every right to walk out the door and never come back, leave Mark like Mark had left him. But the thought of that made his blood run cold, made his stomach do flops. He couldn’t stand to lose Roger. Not again. He wasn’t strong enough. But he knew he couldn’t stop it from happening, either.
“I… that is… I couldn’t,” he stuttered, trying to form a coherent sentence. He could feel the tears flowing freely down his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to wipe them away. The guilt was tearing him up inside. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to hear Roger slam the door on his way out.
Roger stopped in his tirade long enough to look down. He froze at the pained, panicked look on Mark’s face, his trembling form trying vainly to stifle the sobs. He looked so God damn miserable, it twisted at Roger’s chest. Shit. Mark had probably been tormenting himself about this the entire time. He had the worst guilt complex of anyone Roger had ever met. With a start, Roger realized that they were both standing here letting the doubts run rampant. All they were doing was hurting themselves more. This wouldn’t accomplish anything.
He leaned down and lifted Mark from the couch, staring into startled crystal blue eyes. He pulled his friend into a hug much like the one they’d shared only an hour earlier, letting his own tears soak into the filmmaker’s hair, stroking his back in an attempt to calm him. Letting out shushing noises, he rocked them slightly back and forth, hearing Mark let out a few more hiccuping sobs.
The relief Mark felt when Roger pulled him into a hug drained out of him in sobs. He clung desperately to the song writer, trying to murmur apologies through his tears. Roger just shushed him, his presence flooding into Mark’s senses, a balm to his frazzled nerves. He calmed down slowly, still holding on.
Roger leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing off the tears that still rested on his friend’s cheeks. How did Mark do this to him? It was damn near completely out of character for him to be this caring and sympathetic. He guessed it must come from years of being roommates and best friends. Sometimes, though, the bond he had with Mark seemed like it couldn’t be described in such shallow terms. Mark was much more than that.
“I’m sorry, Roger,” Mark choked out, his eyes squinting shut again as a fresh flood of tears threatened to be unleashed. “It killed me to leave. I just, I had to.”
“But why, Mark?” Roger asked, still confused. Mark slumped again.
“I don’t really think I can explain it, Roger,” Mark whispered. “I’m still trying to figure it out. I just needed to leave. I’ll tell you when I understand it more, but right now, I just don’t know.” He knew it sounded lame, but it was the truth. Roger let out a long sigh.
“Okay,” he said, lowering them both back down to sit on the couch. “I think I can deal with that.” He realized he still had his hand on Mark’s shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He needed to know that Mark was really here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was an illogical fear, but a strong one.
Mark placed his own hand over the one Roger had on his shoulder and squeezed.
“Thanks,” he said simply. Roger gave a slight smile, and Mark returned it tentatively.
“So,” he started after a few moments of silence. “What now?”
“Well,” Mark muttered, his gaze shifting over nervously. “Do you think that, maybe, we could… I dunno… just, start over?” Roger gifted him with a smile that finally reached his eyes.
“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea,” he said.
Besides, I don’t ever want to lose you again.
Three hours later; 4 am:
Mark yawned loudly, his eyes cracking open to see Roger sprawled over the couch next to him. Mark was leaning over the other end of the couch, their legs tangled in the middle. He looked at the clock.
Damn. He’d probably drifted off about a half hour ago. And he had work in the morning. Fuck it. Beth would understand if he called in sick. After the emotional roller coaster he’d just been on, he didn’t think he’d be up for going in. Even though he’d have to deal with the suggestive innuendoes Chris would rain on him when he finally did come in. He could just hear them now.
He groaned softly, untangling his legs from Roger and stretching. They’d spent the last few hours talking comfortably, the awkwardness between them disappearing after their blow-up. Roger had filled Mark in on everything that had gone on while Mark was gone, and Mark had told Roger all about his life in LA. Mark marveled at how it had been so easy to fall back into their old routine even after everything that had happened. Roger just made him feel so calm, so safe, even… loved. He knew he’d never be able to leave his side again. He just…fit there, somehow.
He gave a soft smile as Roger snorted, murmured something incoherent in his sleep and turned over. For all his bad ass image, the guitarist could be really adorable when he let his guard down.
Mark froze at his last thought. Roger? Adorable? Meh. He supposed it was true, but that didn’t make the thought any less strange. He didn’t want to analyze it now. He’d just gotten Roger back.
With a slight twinge of guilt, he remembered some of the harsher things Roger had said tonight when he’d been upset. His mood darkened when he remembered one particular accusation, that Mark had only been waiting for Roger to die before he’d see it fit to return. He knew that it was only Roger lashing out, voicing his own fears of never seeing Mark again, but Mark knew that there was a strong basis for it.
Roger had HIV. As much as Mark was tempted to forget it, he knew it was only a matter of time before Roger succumbed to the disease just like Angel, Collins and Mimi had. And with a morbid certainty, Mark knew that he probably wouldn’t survive the loss this time.
Snap out of it, he thought, forcing himself to stand and walk to his room, refusing to wallow in self-pity. He grabbed an extra pillow and a blanket, going back out to the living room and gently rearranging his best friend on the couch so he’d be more comfortable. He propped the pillow behind his head and laid the blanket over him after pulling his sneakers off. Mark smirked. Roger slept like the dead. With another twinge of guilt, he saw the bags under the guitarist’s eyes and knew that Roger was probably really sleeping for the first time in a long time. He hoped he’d be able to sleep just as well tonight. He gave out a contented sigh. God knew they both needed it.
Without really thinking about it, Mark bent over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Roger’s ear. With a start, he remembered how his heart had begun to beat faster at some of Roger’s gentler actions, how a lump had formed in his throat and excitement had pooled deep in his stomach. He cursed himself for it, standing up and walking into his bedroom.
A small part of him had hoped he would’ve gotten over the slight infatuation he’d held for Roger since shortly after Mimi’s death. Resolutely, he refused to give in to any of those feelings. He’d just gotten another chance. He wouldn’t screw this up. His head hit his pillow, and just before he drifted to sleep, there was one last thought swirling in his mind.
I won’t let myself fall in love with him.
Two hours later; 6 am:
Roger woke up with a jolt, his shocked senses taking a minute to remind himself where he was. Mark’s apartment. That’s right, Mark was back. A smile lit his lips, and he sighed happily. Everything would be okay.
He was lying on the couch, a pillow under his head and a blanket over him, his shoes laying on the floor beside him. He grinned. Mark could be such a mother hen sometimes. And he realized he wouldn’t have him any other way.
Who was it, after all, who had taken care of him during those agonizing months after April’s death? Who had stood by him through everything, always reminding him to eat, to take his AZT? The amount of care Mark always gave astounded him. Who the hell would’ve thought that Roger was worth all that time and energy? He owed so much to his best friend.
He came to a screeching halt at this realization. It was true, he owed Mark his life and more. Then surely he could forgive Mark for a moment of weakness, for ten months of absence when he’d stuck by Roger’s side for years before that. He owed it to him. And he didn’t want anything to jeopardize their new-found friendship. It might take some work, but he could do it. He would forgive and forget.
He realized that the old Roger probably would have held a grudge for years, even after agreeing to start over with Mark. But that was a long time ago. He’d learned different. Collins had taught him, Angel had taught him, Mimi had taught him. He wouldn’t let it get in his way. Life was too short.
With a start, he heard a slight rustling and a muffled whimper from the direction of what he assumed was Mark’s bedroom. He realized that the small noise was probably what had woken him up in the first place. Pulling the covers back, he padded across the carpet and into his best friend’s room.
Through the darkness, he saw that Mark had thrown the blankets off his bed, the sheets tangled constrictively around his legs. His eyes, no longer hidden behind bulky glasses, were clenched tightly shut, his hands fisted on the mattress. He let out another slight whimper and tossed around.
“No…” came the whisper from between parched lips. Mark must be having one hell of a nightmare.
Roger walked over quietly, settling on the edge of the bed and lifting his hand to smooth at Mark’s brow. It surprised him again how easy it was to do this for his best friend, to comfort him like this. It was certainly not something he would have done before. Maybe it was because he was so grateful to have found Mark, when he had resigned himself to never seeing him again. He realized that Mark had probably spent many nights by his bedside doing the same type of thing when he’d been going through withdrawal. Well, I guess it’s time to start paying him back, he thought with a slight smile.
Mark whimpered again, a lone tear sliding out of his clenched eyelids. Roger frowned and wiped it away gently. He hated to see Mark cry. Mark was made to smile.
“Shh, Mark, it’s okay,” he soothed, stroking his hand through the filmmaker’s hair.
He was startled at how vulnerable, at how young Mark looked. But then he was young, wasn’t he? He was two years younger than Roger, only twenty-five. And three years ago he’d only been twenty-two. Jesus. Mark definitely had a hidden strength to get through what he had back then at such a young age. He was probably the strongest out of all of them. He was what had held their family together. Roger knew he would have buckled under that pressure.
It clicked in Roger’s mind that Mark was only now starting to show signs of all that stress. Hell, this was the first time Roger had really seen Mark cry since he’d known him. Of course. Why hadn’t Roger noticed before? Maybe that was a big part of the reason that Mark had left. The pressure building up over the years, the loss of so many friends, maybe it had finally pushed Mark past the point where he could handle it. Roger could understand that only too well.
Mark gravitated toward the source of comfort Roger was giving him. His hands darted out to clutch at Roger, his face burrowing into the guitarist’s palm.
“Please…. please don’t leave me,” he murmured, more tears slipping down his cheeks.
With a start, Roger realized that Mark was still asleep. He watched the tears falling down his flushed cheeks. That was enough. He climbed up farther on the bed, gently gathering the filmmaker into his arms, resting Mark’s head on his shoulder as he slid down, lying next to him.
“I’m here, Mark,” he whispered into his ear, still stroking his fingers through short blonde hair, trying not to wake him. “You’re not alone.”
Mark sighed and seemed to calm as Roger brushed the last of the tears away. He fell into a deeper sleep, snuggled into Roger’s side.
Impulsively, Roger leaned over and placed a gentle kiss to Mark’s temple, letting his fingers slow in their rhythmic stroking through his hair. He felt his eyelids get heavy. Feeling the slight moisture still on his fingertips from Mark’s tears, he made him a silent promise.
You’ll never have to cry alone again.
2 hours later; 8 am:
Roger drifted in and out of consciousness for a few minutes. Finally, his stomach made a particularly vicious growling noise. He decided he was more hungry than tired at the moment. Time to get up, root around Mark’s apartment for something to eat, then go back to bed and sleep for the foreseeable future. Right.
His arms reached over his head as he stretched, and he climbed out of the bed carefully when he saw that Mark was still cuddled up to his side so he wouldn't disturb him. He stood, stooping over slightly to rearrange the blankets so that Mark would be warm. The filmmaker gave a little grunt to protest the loss of extra body-heat, but quickly snuggled down into the blankets again without waking.
Roger smiled and leaned down a little more, stopping with a start when he realized he’d just been about to kiss Mark on the forehead before leaving to make something. He asked, not for the first time, what the hell had gotten into him. He was having to literally fight himself to keep his hands off the filmmaker. Overlaying everything was a huge relief at having him back, but underneath there was a deep affection that he hadn’t felt since… well, since Mimi.
He walked out of the bedroom, his brow furrowed. Did that mean he was attracted to Mark, then? Sure, Roger’d never really had any problems with guys liking guys; he’d lived with Collins for years. But just what kind of attraction was he feeling towards his best friend? What did he want?
His head spinning, he rummaged around the cupboards in the kitchen for something edible. Well, no use thinking about it now. Even if he was attracted to Mark, there was no way he would pursue it. Mark meant too much to him for Roger to mess up anything they had. For now, he’d focus on building their friendship back up.
He was looking in the shelves under the sink when the phone rang, making him jump and bang his head. With a muffled curse, he walked over and grabbed it, turning it on.
“Hello?” he practically growled.
“Heeeeey,” came the slightly surprised, drawn out answer. “Geez, I don’t suppose I have the wrong number? This is Christian.”
Roger thought for a minute. Oh, yeah. Christian was that guy who worked with Mark. The show’s host.
“Um, no, this is the right number. Mark’s asleep. This is Roger.”
“Damn. You don’t waste any time, do you?” Roger’s eyes bugged out.
“Excuse me?” Christian chuckled.
“Never mind. I suppose it really isn’t any of my business.” Was it just Roger, or did Christian’s voice sound slightly… disappointed?
“Um… okay,” he muttered after a minute. Damn, this was weird. And awkward. Well, Roger supposed he could understand what this looked like, but still…
“Well, I just called to let Mark know that he shouldn’t bother coming in today. Beth says we’ve been working him to death lately, and he deserves a day off. I’ve got Dan here, anyway. It’ll be fun to break the poor boy in when Mark isn’t here to protect him.” Somehow, Roger felt very sorry for this ‘Dan’ kid.
“Right.”
“Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later, or something.”
“Sure.” Did Roger mention this was awkward?
“Toodles!” Roger stared at the beeping phone with an incredulous look on his face. He sighed and turned it off. The dial tone was bugging him.
He eyed the coffee-maker, delighted to find that it had turned itself on earlier. Nice. Their old one didn’t have a timer. Grabbing himself a mug, he looked through the refrigerator, letting out a little exclamation of triumph when he found leftover Chinese take-out. Breakfast of champions.
He was halfway through the box when a very rumpled looking Mark dragged himself into the kitchen. Roger grinned. Mark never had been a morning person. Come to think of it, neither was Roger. But he guessed it was only natural that he was in such a good mood.
Mark squinted in Roger’s direction, saw the half-eaten take-out and sighed.
“You do know how incredibly disgusting and unhealthy it is to eat cold Chinese for breakfast?” he mumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“That’s your opinion,” Roger smiled, shoving another bite into his mouth. Mark just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, a thought hit him.
“Am I going crazy, or did the phone ring a while ago?”
“I’m sure you lost any scrap of sanity you had left long ago, Marky, but yeah, the phone rang.”
“You pick it up?”
“Yeah. It was that Christian-guy you work with. He said that you didn't have to come in today.” Mark slumped a little with an exasperated smirk.
“Crap. I’m sure when I do come in he’ll have assumed a lot of things. I won’t be surprised if they throw a ‘Mark lost his virginity’ party.” Roger laughed.
“Yeah, I kinda got that impression from him.” He paused for a minute, sipping at his coffee. “Sooo, since you’re not doing anything today, and I’m not doing anything today, wanna not do anything together?” he asked, eating a few more bites of take-out.
“Sure,” Mark smiled, and those were not butterflies floating around Roger’s stomach. “How ‘bout I show you around LA?”
“Sounds like a plan. But first, I wouldn’t mind getting a couple more hours of sleep.”
“You read my mind.”
They finished their breakfast in a companionable silence. Mark took the dirty mug from Roger and placed it in the sink. They left the kitchen, bumping into eachother as they both headed to the bedroom.
“Um… you want me to take the couch since you got stuck with it last night?” Mark asked.
Roger could’ve smacked himself. He’d just automatically started heading for the bedroom. And Mark had been asleep when he woke up, so he didn’t know that Roger had kind of… visited him last night. Somehow, he didn’t like the idea of Mark heading to the couch, though, or vice versa.
“It’s a big bed,” he observed. “We can share.” He saw Mark’s eyes widen fractionally, but he gave him a slightly pleading look before he was refused outright. He knew it didn’t make sense, but Roger still wanted to be sure that Mark wasn’t going anywhere. Mark smiled slightly and shook his head.
“Okay. I guess that works.”
After making themselves comfortable, Mark reached over and turned off the bedside lamp.
“’Night, Roger,” he said through a yawn. Roger smiled.
“’Night, Mark.”
As he drifted off to sleep, Roger felt happier than he had in years.
Chapter: 7/15
Rating: PG this part
Pairings: Mark/Roger
Summary: Set three years postRENT. Roger and Mark deal with losing friends differently. How does Mark deal with the knowledge that he may very well be the last one of their group left alive? What if Mark can't take the pressure?
One hour later; Mark’s apartment:
Mark fumbled his keys, finally fitting the correct one into the lock and opening his door. He could feel Roger’s gaze on his back. He couldn’t begin to sort out the tumult of emotions rushing through him. He hadn’t expected to see Roger again for a while, and the sudden jolt of him being reinstated in his life was hard to process.
A few minutes after their reunion in the green-room, Chris had come back (Mark had glared at his friend over Roger’s shoulder at the amused smirk he’d given to find Mark still comfortably enveloped in the guitarist’s embrace). He’d told them that he’d already rescheduled the interview with the other band members and suggested with a sly wink that Roger and Mark go find somewhere more private to talk. This had earned him another glare from Mark.
He couldn’t deny that Christian was right though, even if his insinuations were off. Roger also seemed to need reassurance that Mark wasn’t going anywhere. The filmmaker could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of his best friend. He’d wasted no time in leading Roger back to his place.
With a jingle, he tossed his keys to the coffee table, throwing his jacket on the closest chair and inviting Roger to do the same.
“Well, here we are,” he stated, breaking the tense silence. He gave a mental grimace. Real smooth, Mark.
Roger gave a slight wince, setting his coat down and looking around. This was unbearable. Things had never been so…. uncomfortable between them before. He hated it. They needed to clear the air between them, and they needed to do it now.
He flopped down onto the couch and patted the seat next to him. With a smirk, Roger thought that Mark looked like he was being lead to his own execution.
“Nice place,” he said, patting the seat next to him again. “More habitable than the loft anyway.” Something inside him melted a little at the small lopsided grin Mark gave at that statement. He thought he’d never see that smile again.
“Yeah, well, I can finally afford it. Even though I hate the idea that I’m turning into a God damn capitalist.” Mark couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He almost expected Roger to get up and walk out at any second. He didn’t really deserve the type of forgiveness he seemed to be getting.
Roger sighed as he saw Mark’s shoulders tense up again at some passing thought. He reached over and grabbed his biceps, giving a comforting squeeze.
“Chill out, Mark. I’m not gonna kill you.” Mark relaxed a little, then let out a short laugh.
“I dunno, Rog,” he started, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “For a second there, you coulda fooled me.”
Roger mentally slapped himself, looking at Mark’s face to see the swollen lip that was starting to bruise. Well, he’d never been good at keeping his emotions in check. All the anger and feelings of betrayal had just built up all at once until he’d needed an outlet. Probably wasn’t the best way to greet a friend he’d missed horribly for the past ten months.
“Shit, I forgot,” he amended lamely. “Sorry about that.” Almost without thinking, his hand raised up from Mark’s arm to cup the side of his face, his thumb darting out to graze gently over the damage he’d dealt. He mentally kicked himself again. He hated it when he hurt Mark.
Mark’s eyes widened momentarily, his breath rushing in at Roger’s gentle actions. Involuntarily, his eyelids began to get heavy, his heart beating faster. He pulled away slowly, stuttering out,
“It’s… it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He stared at his lap.
Roger realized what he’d been doing and looked away, slowly taking his hands off of Mark. What the hell was that? Well, there was time to worry about it later. Now there was business that was a little more pressing.
“Look, Mark,” he started after a few moments of silence, “I’m not quite sure what’s going on. What happened?”
Now that was a loaded question.
“What do you mean, exactly?” There were too many different ways to interpret that one, and Mark didn’t want to screw this up.
“Just what I said. What did you do after leaving New York? How is it that you’re here, now?”
Mark sighed, then explained to him all that he’d done after leaving New York, trying to summarize it all quickly. Arriving in LA, finding a job at Vivre, all the way up to earlier this evening when he’d learned that Christian was planning on doing a story on Roger’s band.
“I didn’t know you were in LA before today. When I heard you’d been signed with Capitol and were playing tonight, well… I just couldn’t help but come to see you.” Roger felt a pang of pain when he realized that Mark hadn’t been planning on reuniting with him. It stung.
“So, you weren’t expecting to see me?” he asked quietly, trying to process all the information he’d been given. Mark winced.
“Not… not yet, Roger. It just kind of… happened.” Roger felt anger swell inside him.
“So when were you planning on coming back, Mark? Hoping that I’d finally be in a fucking coffin before you had to face me again?” He knew the minute he said it that it wasn’t true, that he was being unfair, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been hurt so badly by Mark leaving. And even though he wanted Mark back, for things to go back to how they were more than anything, he couldn’t help but voice some of the bitter thoughts he’d had.
Mark slumped, feeling hot tears coming to his eyes, wanting to disappear under the shame he felt weighing down on him. Here it was, the rejection he’d been expecting from the beginning.
“It’s not like that, Roger,” he choked out, his vision blurring with tears as he looked away. “I just…”
The rage was building in Roger at the weak answer. Rising to his feet, he glared down at him, ignoring the fact that his own eyes had started to burn.
“What was it fucking like then, Mark? You left without letting me know anything! How the hell am I supposed to react to that?” he was shouting, but his voice kept raising louder. He could feel the anger and hurt clawing at his stomach. He hated feeling this helpless. “You were gone! Fucking left just like everybody else I’ve ever cared about! How could you betray me like that, Mark?” How could you be happy without me there? Don’t you need me at all? Like I need you? his mind screamed, but he bit down on his tongue, tasting blood.
Mark was shaking now, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. All the guilt he’d felt at leaving like he had, all the angry questions he’d asked himself in the dead of night were rushing at him accusingly out of his best friend’s mouth. And he knew he deserved it, deserved it and much worse. Roger had every right to walk out the door and never come back, leave Mark like Mark had left him. But the thought of that made his blood run cold, made his stomach do flops. He couldn’t stand to lose Roger. Not again. He wasn’t strong enough. But he knew he couldn’t stop it from happening, either.
“I… that is… I couldn’t,” he stuttered, trying to form a coherent sentence. He could feel the tears flowing freely down his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to wipe them away. The guilt was tearing him up inside. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to hear Roger slam the door on his way out.
Roger stopped in his tirade long enough to look down. He froze at the pained, panicked look on Mark’s face, his trembling form trying vainly to stifle the sobs. He looked so God damn miserable, it twisted at Roger’s chest. Shit. Mark had probably been tormenting himself about this the entire time. He had the worst guilt complex of anyone Roger had ever met. With a start, Roger realized that they were both standing here letting the doubts run rampant. All they were doing was hurting themselves more. This wouldn’t accomplish anything.
He leaned down and lifted Mark from the couch, staring into startled crystal blue eyes. He pulled his friend into a hug much like the one they’d shared only an hour earlier, letting his own tears soak into the filmmaker’s hair, stroking his back in an attempt to calm him. Letting out shushing noises, he rocked them slightly back and forth, hearing Mark let out a few more hiccuping sobs.
The relief Mark felt when Roger pulled him into a hug drained out of him in sobs. He clung desperately to the song writer, trying to murmur apologies through his tears. Roger just shushed him, his presence flooding into Mark’s senses, a balm to his frazzled nerves. He calmed down slowly, still holding on.
Roger leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing off the tears that still rested on his friend’s cheeks. How did Mark do this to him? It was damn near completely out of character for him to be this caring and sympathetic. He guessed it must come from years of being roommates and best friends. Sometimes, though, the bond he had with Mark seemed like it couldn’t be described in such shallow terms. Mark was much more than that.
“I’m sorry, Roger,” Mark choked out, his eyes squinting shut again as a fresh flood of tears threatened to be unleashed. “It killed me to leave. I just, I had to.”
“But why, Mark?” Roger asked, still confused. Mark slumped again.
“I don’t really think I can explain it, Roger,” Mark whispered. “I’m still trying to figure it out. I just needed to leave. I’ll tell you when I understand it more, but right now, I just don’t know.” He knew it sounded lame, but it was the truth. Roger let out a long sigh.
“Okay,” he said, lowering them both back down to sit on the couch. “I think I can deal with that.” He realized he still had his hand on Mark’s shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He needed to know that Mark was really here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was an illogical fear, but a strong one.
Mark placed his own hand over the one Roger had on his shoulder and squeezed.
“Thanks,” he said simply. Roger gave a slight smile, and Mark returned it tentatively.
“So,” he started after a few moments of silence. “What now?”
“Well,” Mark muttered, his gaze shifting over nervously. “Do you think that, maybe, we could… I dunno… just, start over?” Roger gifted him with a smile that finally reached his eyes.
“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea,” he said.
Besides, I don’t ever want to lose you again.
Three hours later; 4 am:
Mark yawned loudly, his eyes cracking open to see Roger sprawled over the couch next to him. Mark was leaning over the other end of the couch, their legs tangled in the middle. He looked at the clock.
Damn. He’d probably drifted off about a half hour ago. And he had work in the morning. Fuck it. Beth would understand if he called in sick. After the emotional roller coaster he’d just been on, he didn’t think he’d be up for going in. Even though he’d have to deal with the suggestive innuendoes Chris would rain on him when he finally did come in. He could just hear them now.
He groaned softly, untangling his legs from Roger and stretching. They’d spent the last few hours talking comfortably, the awkwardness between them disappearing after their blow-up. Roger had filled Mark in on everything that had gone on while Mark was gone, and Mark had told Roger all about his life in LA. Mark marveled at how it had been so easy to fall back into their old routine even after everything that had happened. Roger just made him feel so calm, so safe, even… loved. He knew he’d never be able to leave his side again. He just…fit there, somehow.
He gave a soft smile as Roger snorted, murmured something incoherent in his sleep and turned over. For all his bad ass image, the guitarist could be really adorable when he let his guard down.
Mark froze at his last thought. Roger? Adorable? Meh. He supposed it was true, but that didn’t make the thought any less strange. He didn’t want to analyze it now. He’d just gotten Roger back.
With a slight twinge of guilt, he remembered some of the harsher things Roger had said tonight when he’d been upset. His mood darkened when he remembered one particular accusation, that Mark had only been waiting for Roger to die before he’d see it fit to return. He knew that it was only Roger lashing out, voicing his own fears of never seeing Mark again, but Mark knew that there was a strong basis for it.
Roger had HIV. As much as Mark was tempted to forget it, he knew it was only a matter of time before Roger succumbed to the disease just like Angel, Collins and Mimi had. And with a morbid certainty, Mark knew that he probably wouldn’t survive the loss this time.
Snap out of it, he thought, forcing himself to stand and walk to his room, refusing to wallow in self-pity. He grabbed an extra pillow and a blanket, going back out to the living room and gently rearranging his best friend on the couch so he’d be more comfortable. He propped the pillow behind his head and laid the blanket over him after pulling his sneakers off. Mark smirked. Roger slept like the dead. With another twinge of guilt, he saw the bags under the guitarist’s eyes and knew that Roger was probably really sleeping for the first time in a long time. He hoped he’d be able to sleep just as well tonight. He gave out a contented sigh. God knew they both needed it.
Without really thinking about it, Mark bent over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Roger’s ear. With a start, he remembered how his heart had begun to beat faster at some of Roger’s gentler actions, how a lump had formed in his throat and excitement had pooled deep in his stomach. He cursed himself for it, standing up and walking into his bedroom.
A small part of him had hoped he would’ve gotten over the slight infatuation he’d held for Roger since shortly after Mimi’s death. Resolutely, he refused to give in to any of those feelings. He’d just gotten another chance. He wouldn’t screw this up. His head hit his pillow, and just before he drifted to sleep, there was one last thought swirling in his mind.
I won’t let myself fall in love with him.
Two hours later; 6 am:
Roger woke up with a jolt, his shocked senses taking a minute to remind himself where he was. Mark’s apartment. That’s right, Mark was back. A smile lit his lips, and he sighed happily. Everything would be okay.
He was lying on the couch, a pillow under his head and a blanket over him, his shoes laying on the floor beside him. He grinned. Mark could be such a mother hen sometimes. And he realized he wouldn’t have him any other way.
Who was it, after all, who had taken care of him during those agonizing months after April’s death? Who had stood by him through everything, always reminding him to eat, to take his AZT? The amount of care Mark always gave astounded him. Who the hell would’ve thought that Roger was worth all that time and energy? He owed so much to his best friend.
He came to a screeching halt at this realization. It was true, he owed Mark his life and more. Then surely he could forgive Mark for a moment of weakness, for ten months of absence when he’d stuck by Roger’s side for years before that. He owed it to him. And he didn’t want anything to jeopardize their new-found friendship. It might take some work, but he could do it. He would forgive and forget.
He realized that the old Roger probably would have held a grudge for years, even after agreeing to start over with Mark. But that was a long time ago. He’d learned different. Collins had taught him, Angel had taught him, Mimi had taught him. He wouldn’t let it get in his way. Life was too short.
With a start, he heard a slight rustling and a muffled whimper from the direction of what he assumed was Mark’s bedroom. He realized that the small noise was probably what had woken him up in the first place. Pulling the covers back, he padded across the carpet and into his best friend’s room.
Through the darkness, he saw that Mark had thrown the blankets off his bed, the sheets tangled constrictively around his legs. His eyes, no longer hidden behind bulky glasses, were clenched tightly shut, his hands fisted on the mattress. He let out another slight whimper and tossed around.
“No…” came the whisper from between parched lips. Mark must be having one hell of a nightmare.
Roger walked over quietly, settling on the edge of the bed and lifting his hand to smooth at Mark’s brow. It surprised him again how easy it was to do this for his best friend, to comfort him like this. It was certainly not something he would have done before. Maybe it was because he was so grateful to have found Mark, when he had resigned himself to never seeing him again. He realized that Mark had probably spent many nights by his bedside doing the same type of thing when he’d been going through withdrawal. Well, I guess it’s time to start paying him back, he thought with a slight smile.
Mark whimpered again, a lone tear sliding out of his clenched eyelids. Roger frowned and wiped it away gently. He hated to see Mark cry. Mark was made to smile.
“Shh, Mark, it’s okay,” he soothed, stroking his hand through the filmmaker’s hair.
He was startled at how vulnerable, at how young Mark looked. But then he was young, wasn’t he? He was two years younger than Roger, only twenty-five. And three years ago he’d only been twenty-two. Jesus. Mark definitely had a hidden strength to get through what he had back then at such a young age. He was probably the strongest out of all of them. He was what had held their family together. Roger knew he would have buckled under that pressure.
It clicked in Roger’s mind that Mark was only now starting to show signs of all that stress. Hell, this was the first time Roger had really seen Mark cry since he’d known him. Of course. Why hadn’t Roger noticed before? Maybe that was a big part of the reason that Mark had left. The pressure building up over the years, the loss of so many friends, maybe it had finally pushed Mark past the point where he could handle it. Roger could understand that only too well.
Mark gravitated toward the source of comfort Roger was giving him. His hands darted out to clutch at Roger, his face burrowing into the guitarist’s palm.
“Please…. please don’t leave me,” he murmured, more tears slipping down his cheeks.
With a start, Roger realized that Mark was still asleep. He watched the tears falling down his flushed cheeks. That was enough. He climbed up farther on the bed, gently gathering the filmmaker into his arms, resting Mark’s head on his shoulder as he slid down, lying next to him.
“I’m here, Mark,” he whispered into his ear, still stroking his fingers through short blonde hair, trying not to wake him. “You’re not alone.”
Mark sighed and seemed to calm as Roger brushed the last of the tears away. He fell into a deeper sleep, snuggled into Roger’s side.
Impulsively, Roger leaned over and placed a gentle kiss to Mark’s temple, letting his fingers slow in their rhythmic stroking through his hair. He felt his eyelids get heavy. Feeling the slight moisture still on his fingertips from Mark’s tears, he made him a silent promise.
You’ll never have to cry alone again.
2 hours later; 8 am:
Roger drifted in and out of consciousness for a few minutes. Finally, his stomach made a particularly vicious growling noise. He decided he was more hungry than tired at the moment. Time to get up, root around Mark’s apartment for something to eat, then go back to bed and sleep for the foreseeable future. Right.
His arms reached over his head as he stretched, and he climbed out of the bed carefully when he saw that Mark was still cuddled up to his side so he wouldn't disturb him. He stood, stooping over slightly to rearrange the blankets so that Mark would be warm. The filmmaker gave a little grunt to protest the loss of extra body-heat, but quickly snuggled down into the blankets again without waking.
Roger smiled and leaned down a little more, stopping with a start when he realized he’d just been about to kiss Mark on the forehead before leaving to make something. He asked, not for the first time, what the hell had gotten into him. He was having to literally fight himself to keep his hands off the filmmaker. Overlaying everything was a huge relief at having him back, but underneath there was a deep affection that he hadn’t felt since… well, since Mimi.
He walked out of the bedroom, his brow furrowed. Did that mean he was attracted to Mark, then? Sure, Roger’d never really had any problems with guys liking guys; he’d lived with Collins for years. But just what kind of attraction was he feeling towards his best friend? What did he want?
His head spinning, he rummaged around the cupboards in the kitchen for something edible. Well, no use thinking about it now. Even if he was attracted to Mark, there was no way he would pursue it. Mark meant too much to him for Roger to mess up anything they had. For now, he’d focus on building their friendship back up.
He was looking in the shelves under the sink when the phone rang, making him jump and bang his head. With a muffled curse, he walked over and grabbed it, turning it on.
“Hello?” he practically growled.
“Heeeeey,” came the slightly surprised, drawn out answer. “Geez, I don’t suppose I have the wrong number? This is Christian.”
Roger thought for a minute. Oh, yeah. Christian was that guy who worked with Mark. The show’s host.
“Um, no, this is the right number. Mark’s asleep. This is Roger.”
“Damn. You don’t waste any time, do you?” Roger’s eyes bugged out.
“Excuse me?” Christian chuckled.
“Never mind. I suppose it really isn’t any of my business.” Was it just Roger, or did Christian’s voice sound slightly… disappointed?
“Um… okay,” he muttered after a minute. Damn, this was weird. And awkward. Well, Roger supposed he could understand what this looked like, but still…
“Well, I just called to let Mark know that he shouldn’t bother coming in today. Beth says we’ve been working him to death lately, and he deserves a day off. I’ve got Dan here, anyway. It’ll be fun to break the poor boy in when Mark isn’t here to protect him.” Somehow, Roger felt very sorry for this ‘Dan’ kid.
“Right.”
“Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later, or something.”
“Sure.” Did Roger mention this was awkward?
“Toodles!” Roger stared at the beeping phone with an incredulous look on his face. He sighed and turned it off. The dial tone was bugging him.
He eyed the coffee-maker, delighted to find that it had turned itself on earlier. Nice. Their old one didn’t have a timer. Grabbing himself a mug, he looked through the refrigerator, letting out a little exclamation of triumph when he found leftover Chinese take-out. Breakfast of champions.
He was halfway through the box when a very rumpled looking Mark dragged himself into the kitchen. Roger grinned. Mark never had been a morning person. Come to think of it, neither was Roger. But he guessed it was only natural that he was in such a good mood.
Mark squinted in Roger’s direction, saw the half-eaten take-out and sighed.
“You do know how incredibly disgusting and unhealthy it is to eat cold Chinese for breakfast?” he mumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“That’s your opinion,” Roger smiled, shoving another bite into his mouth. Mark just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, a thought hit him.
“Am I going crazy, or did the phone ring a while ago?”
“I’m sure you lost any scrap of sanity you had left long ago, Marky, but yeah, the phone rang.”
“You pick it up?”
“Yeah. It was that Christian-guy you work with. He said that you didn't have to come in today.” Mark slumped a little with an exasperated smirk.
“Crap. I’m sure when I do come in he’ll have assumed a lot of things. I won’t be surprised if they throw a ‘Mark lost his virginity’ party.” Roger laughed.
“Yeah, I kinda got that impression from him.” He paused for a minute, sipping at his coffee. “Sooo, since you’re not doing anything today, and I’m not doing anything today, wanna not do anything together?” he asked, eating a few more bites of take-out.
“Sure,” Mark smiled, and those were not butterflies floating around Roger’s stomach. “How ‘bout I show you around LA?”
“Sounds like a plan. But first, I wouldn’t mind getting a couple more hours of sleep.”
“You read my mind.”
They finished their breakfast in a companionable silence. Mark took the dirty mug from Roger and placed it in the sink. They left the kitchen, bumping into eachother as they both headed to the bedroom.
“Um… you want me to take the couch since you got stuck with it last night?” Mark asked.
Roger could’ve smacked himself. He’d just automatically started heading for the bedroom. And Mark had been asleep when he woke up, so he didn’t know that Roger had kind of… visited him last night. Somehow, he didn’t like the idea of Mark heading to the couch, though, or vice versa.
“It’s a big bed,” he observed. “We can share.” He saw Mark’s eyes widen fractionally, but he gave him a slightly pleading look before he was refused outright. He knew it didn’t make sense, but Roger still wanted to be sure that Mark wasn’t going anywhere. Mark smiled slightly and shook his head.
“Okay. I guess that works.”
After making themselves comfortable, Mark reached over and turned off the bedside lamp.
“’Night, Roger,” he said through a yawn. Roger smiled.
“’Night, Mark.”
As he drifted off to sleep, Roger felt happier than he had in years.