Fic: When We Are Happy [Mark/Roger]
Author: Stephanie (Gildedmuse)
Series: When We Are Happy
Chapter: Three/Four: Presents & Pretense/Mimoso Art-Albina Pistol Marx Cohen & Us
Pairing: Roger/Mark
Rating: Pg-13 (Language, Boykissing)
Word Count: 7,700
Summary: Cohen doesn't get Ales Beens, Mark gets upset over a scarf, and Roger is just happy he has two guys in his life.
Past Chapters: Part One/Two: Feline Jealousy/How To Play Nice
Cross Posting: _rentfic rentslash fuckingartists & below14thstreet
On an additional note, thank you every one who did some Cohen fanart (I know I saw a cute little comic for it, but I'm lousy with names and don't even remeber the comm it was on) and that cute little Cohen style kitten posted on fuckingartists. ^^ You guys make me so fucking happy.
When We Are Happy
Three/Four: Presents & Pretense/Mimoso Art-Albina Pistol Marx Cohen & Us
Cohen is not stupid. He might not get everything Roger says or be able to do those human things like open doors and play guitar, but he gets the important stuff. He gets the stuff that is above language and species, like how Roger feels. He can sense when Roger needs someone to be beside him, to rub against his leg and purr a little so he knows he's loved. Cohen can sense when Roger is happy and wants to be jumped on and have his hair pawed at. He can even sense Roger's Mark moods, and these are the nasty ones. The ones Roger doesn't want him around for. The ones where Cohen gets swatted away because Roger and Mark are on the couch with all these hormones they're not doing anything about, anyway, making the air tense. It drives Cohen insane.
Today just happened to be one of those Mark days. The three of them are on Roger's bed, with the humans laid out and Cohen curled on Roger's stomach, his favorite spot in the world. Cohen keeps drifting in and out, waking whenever he's shaken by Roger's deep, rumbling voice. There isn't too much talking, though, so Cohen gets plenty of sleep. Mostly it's just the three of them lying there in what might be a comfortable silence if it weren't for the heat the two boys gave off for each other.
After a particularly long silence Cohen is woken up by Roger asking, "Two years since what?"
Cohen yawns and stretches out over Roger, making sure not to claw up Roger's favorite black shirt. "Since Maureen left me," Mark mutters beside them. "November 15, the day she became a lesbian." There they go again, using words like Ales Beeann that they know Cohen can't understand. Half the time when Roger is with Mark, Cohen swears they agree to talk in code just so he won't be able to tell what they're talking about.
Roger's laugh sends Cohen bouncing slightly on his chest. "I don't think it works quite like that."
"Sure it does," Mark reasons, turning slightly on his side so he's closer to Roger. Cohen gets ready to pounce if he comes any closer. He isn't stupid. He knows what Mark is trying to do. He wants Roger's attention all to himself, but Cohen isn't going to give up his Roger without a fight. The thing might have height and weight on him, but he bites off his claws and doesn't even have real fangs to speak of. What is he going to do?
Cohen never gets the chance to attack. He's in place to do some major damage to Mark's face when, "Ah!" Roger turns on his side to face Mark, and Cohen rolls off, landing in a heap behind him. "Roger!" Cohen whines, trying to hop back up on him, but Roger is thoroughly distracted by his other pet, leaving no room for Cohen.
"You're right, Mark. She totally turned into a lesbian in one day, all over you," Roger says, ignoring Cohen's attempt to climb back up on him. He stalks up the bed, putting his claws up onto Roger's shoulder to get his attention. What he sees is horrible. Roger is petting Mark. Right there where Cohen can see him, running his big rough hands through the thing's small, yellow patch of fur. "Wow, you must have really fucked up with that one."
"Come on," Cohen growls, getting back down and taking a few steps backwards so he can jump up onto Roger. That should get his attention back where it is supposed to be. "How can you even stand to pet him? He's mostly bald! And I've never seen him clean himself. He's probably dirty, Roger!"
"Shut up," Mark says, and must push Roger because he nearly rolls back over onto Cohen, who only barely escapes by jumping back again. "You know what I mean. Today's the day...."
Despite being pushed, Roger rolls right back into place. "It wasn't like she was good for you," he answers, scooting closer to Mark. Cohen shakes himself off from the near fall, wiggling back into pouncing place. Mark isn't going to get rid of him that easily.
"I know..." Mark says, and Cohen can see him pressing into Roger's hand. Next thing he'll be purring like some of sort of kitten straight off the street all 'take me in, I don't have fleas'. "I just... I wish I knew what it was about me that sent her running to... from a scrawny, albino starving-artist to a large black lawyer? I mean, could she have made the point any clearer!"
Roger laughs, a low sound that shakes the whole bed. It's the laugh that means Cohen has done something he thinks is amusing, only this time it's for Mark. What does the thing do that is so special, anyway? It doesn't jump when Roger dangles toys for it. It doesn't keep rats and bugs away from him when he sleeps. It doesn't even lick him to make sure he stays clean. It just sits there and talks, and Roger gives it all the attention it doesn't deserve. "Maybe you were just too much albino filmmaker for her to handle."
"Yeah," Mark answers, and even though it is curled up to Roger and being pet it doesn't sound happy. Clearly, Cohen thinks, the thing is an idiot. Actually, Cohen knows it's an idiot. This is the same thing that wants to call him Pistol, and thinks they're friends just because he let it pet him once or twice while Roger had been out. "That must be it."
"I'll bet it is," Roger purrs, a soft sound Cohen never heard before. He didn't even know humans could purr like that. He's about to go investigate when he notices the heat. A strong wave of it washes through the room, throwing him for a second. He smells at the air, picking up on a familiar scent although much stronger, sharper now.
He smells around for a few more seconds before he realizes the scent is coming from the humans. He looks back up at them, and he can barely see around Roger to catch a glimpse of what is going on. It takes him a few seconds to figure it out, but Mark is biting Roger! Or at least that is what it looks like, with their lips smashed together like that and every now and then he catches a flash off teeth. "Leave him alone!" Cohen growls, hopping over Roger and going for Mark's eyes, claws scratching across some weird, glass surface as he attacks.
It works, though, and Mark jumps back from his Roger, panting and staring down at Cohen. Cohen sticks his tail up at him, settling down next to Roger and hissing, "You thought you could hurt my Roger? Like I'd ever let him touch some mongrel like you." He looks back up to Roger, trying to give him a look the human will understand. "See? I saved you. I tried to tell you he was trouble but..."
Roger isn't listening. He pushes Cohen aside, ignoring his protest as he tries to crawl across the bed to Mark. "Look, I-"
"I have to go!" Mark announces, not looking back at them as he hurries out of the room. He's probably too afraid to even look at Cohen. "I have to go film. I'll see you later."
The door closes before Roger even gets off the bed. Cohen looks up at him, padding across the mattress to rub against his hand and wait for a thank you, or at least some sign that Roger realizes Cohen had saved him from Mark.
Roger doesn't even acknowledge him. "Fuck," he says, still watching the door like Mark will come back. Cohen can smell him, though, and Mark is long gone from the whole loft. "Fuck...."
*
The heat that Cohen is used to turns quickly into something more tense. Something that makes Roger drag himself through the loft like each step is a chore, hardly doing more than sleeping or staring blankly at the ceiling. Cohen doesn't understand why Roger is acting like he just got neutered. After all, Mark had attacked him and Cohen scared him off and saved Roger. Now the blonde thing is afraid to stick around the loft too long, always going out to play with his black toy that doesn't dangle or make a noise when you bat at it.
Three days after the attack, Roger is curled up on the windowsill and looking down. Only he isn't really looking, Cohen realizes once he squeezes outside and hops along on the little room right outside the boy's apartment. He gets his claw caught in one of the giant holes in the floor - why do humans build rooms outside with holes in them? - and Roger doesn't even crack a smile. Giving up on bringing Roger out of his mood, Cohen slips back inside and curls up on top of his feet, thinking he might as well catch a nice afternoon nap before the mice come out.
Right then the door slams open and sends Cohen jumping off Roger's feet, heart racing as he looks up at the sudden noise. "God!" A loud, unfamiliar voice calls out. "Don't you guys ever decorate this place?"
Cohen can feel Roger tensing up. He scurries up his leg to sit in Roger's lap and get a good look over the couch. The blond thing is back, and it's brought more people to play with. They look like Collins and the girl who used to own him before Roger. Wait, no. There is a different smell about these two. He cocks his head, looking critically over the two new humans. The dark-furred one is too small to be Collins, and the other one isn't the same color as the girl who used to own him. They're different humans, Cohen thinks. Of course, they all sort of look alike to him. All big, fleshy and mostly balding. How do they even tell each other apart?
Whoever they are, Cohen doesn't like them because Roger doesn't like them. He can feel the human tense and then he scoops Cohen into his arms, holding him protectively to his chest as one of the things bounces over to them. "Roger," it says in just the way that gets Cohen to hiss. The human has an annoyingly high voice, like the bird Cohen has to scare off the fire escape in the morning.
The human leans over and all Cohen can see is her balding, pink flesh she didn't even bother covering up with that fake fur or skin. Maybe she has fleas, Cohen thinks as he studies this new creature Mark had brought home. "Ahhh!" It says, still in that tone that makes Cohen's fur stand on end, "Markie, you didn't tell me you guys got a kitten!"
"I'm not a kitten!" Cohen meows at the same time Mark is saying, "We didn't. It's Mimi's. She just left it with Roger." Cohen hisses at him as well. He doesn't want to go with the flowery smelling human anymore. He wants Roger, and he isn't going back there.
The new human doesn't seem interested in either of their protests. It just keeps looking at him. "She's so cute!" it coos, and Cohen is going to bite her hand off if it tries touching him. He is not a girl, and he isn't going to let it get away with calling him that.
"Just try it," he growls as the human reaches for him. He does mean to bite at it, really, but then the human actually starts petting him, and it's really quite good at that. He'll bite later, he thinks as he closes his eyes and rubs up against its hand.
Just as Cohen starts to purr he gets ripped away from the hand that is doing a great job at scratching just behind his ear. "What do you want?" Roger asks, and Cohen can hear the growl in his voice as he talks to the new human. She's really not that bad, Cohen thinks and wonders what Roger has against her so much. Maybe he thinks she's Mimi, like Cohen had at first. Roger doesn't even have a good sense of smell, so he probably can't tell that this human smells totally different from Mimi. Actually, she smells a lot like the other human Mark brought home. Maybe they're from the same litter.
The new human stands up to speak with Roger. "What is your problem?" She asks, and the other, dark-furred human comes over and grabs her by the shoulder. "I was just trying to pet the poor thing. Living with you two boys, it needs a mommy." She's back to Cohen's level again, flashing her fangs at him. "Don't you, little baby girl? I'll bet they haven't even given you a name yet."
"That's not true," Roger and Cohen say together. "My name is Cohen," he tries to explain, but they don't understand him and Roger just holds him closer to try and get him away from the new humans.
"Its name is Pistol," Mark says from the side. Everyone turns to look at him, and Cohen can see that weird rash on his face coming back again. "I mean, Mimi named it, and... Uh, Roger forgot what it was so...."
The dark-furred human lets go of the girl's shoulder and snorts, bending down to look at Cohen as well. "I would have thought you'd name it something like Tremble or Art." The other humans look at the dark-furred one and it rolls its shoulders back, like it's stretching after a nap. "What? I think Art is a cute name for a cat."
"Well..." The girl is petting him again, and this time Roger doesn't yank him away so he can actually enjoy it. "I think we should call it Albina."
"Albina?" The dark-furred one asks. Cohen has to agree. Albina sounds like a dog name, and Cohen is anything but a dog. The girl might have claws that are just right for petting, but she clearly can't tell a dog from a cat, or a boy from a girl come to think of it.
"If you weren't so good at this, I would be biting you," Cohen warns, but it comes out sounding more like a purr more than anything else, no matter how hard he tries to sound threatening.
"Yeah. You know, like the feminine form of Albino," she answers, still scratching behind Cohen's ear, so it's hard to argue with the fact that that sounds nothing like a real name. "I mean, look at her. She's paler than Mark, and that's really hard to do."
"Maureen!" Cohen purrs a little more, enjoying what sounds like Mark getting his tail stepped on.
At least Roger is there to translate for him. "Why would you even think it's a girl?" he growls, and Cohen is pretty sure his fur would be standing up, too, if it weren't always standing up.
"I can just tell," Maureen says, scratching Cohen somewhere that makes him purr even though he should be clawing her eyes out for thinking he's a girl. "Look how cute she is. She has to be a girl. I can just tell these things."
"And you've been a lesbian how long, exactly?" So that's what an Ales Beeann is, Cohen thinks as he cocks his head slightly and looks over Maureen. Maybe it's just a human who doesn't have enough fur.
Maureen stops petting and stands back up, and in a second Mark is there, between the two. "We're going to lunch, Rog. Want to come along?" Cohen hisses when Mark's hand gets to close to Roger and he jerks it away. After he's sure Roger is safe from the blonde, he looks up at him, meowing a bit.
"Don't go with him," he says, despite the fact that Roger isn't even looking at him and certainly can't understand him. "He might try to attack you again, and no offense, but you weren't exactly fighting him off last time. What will you do without me there?"
For once Roger seems to get what Cohen is trying to tell him. "I'm not really hungry," he says, and Cohen can hear his stomach, but if Roger says he isn't hungry, maybe it will make Mark go away.
The blonde thing doesn't give up so easily. "Come anyway," he pushes, trying to touch Roger and getting his hand scratched at. It moves back pretty quickly.
"I said I didn't want to," Roger answers, moving Cohen slightly to protect him from Mark. It's a sweet thing to do, even if Roger never really fights Mark off, and clearly needs Cohen to save him.
"If he says he doesn't want to go, then he doesn't want to," Maureen says, wrapping an arm around Mark's to keep him back. Cohen decides that he likes this Maureen girl. After all, since she's been over Roger has mentioned Mark once, and she is obviously upsetting Mark, which Cohen appreciates. He should get her something, he thinks as he wiggles out of Roger's arms and lands on the windowsill, jumping down and being mostly ignored by the humans, who are now talking about someone named "Pookie" (probably a dog, with a name like that). He can't go home with her, because then who would protect Roger from cockroaches at night and clean his hands and make sure he napped some during the day? Still, this Maureen human deserves something special for distracting Roger from his other pet for a while.
Cohen is almost to Roger's room when he hears it. A slight scurrying in the walls. Cohen pauses, ears perking up as he waits for the sound to get closer. This is too perfect, he thinks as he stalks over to a nicely sized hole as quietly as he can, getting ready to pounce as he hears the rat sniff around for a way out of the wall.
"Fuck," Cohen growls, using a word he's learned from Roger, as the rat scurries further down the wall. He follows right after it into Mark's room as silently as he can. There it is, kind of small and curling up inside the tangles of Mark's blue and white collar. Cohen sneaks behind it, wiggling down into a position to pounce as he waits for the rat to stop jerking around. It's nervous, and it should be. This is Cohen's home, and he isn't going to let a rat in.
Steady, he tells himself, eyes gleaming in the dark as the rat finally starts to settle. Then he's pouncing, landing on the rat's hind legs with a hiss. It squeals and squirms, and Cohen's claws go everywhere as he tries to get them in the rat's skin. The collar and rat both get scratched up pretty bad, but in the end Cohen prances out of Mark's room with the animal in his mouth.
Proud of his victory, Cohen marches up to Maureen with her present hanging out of his mouth. He drops it at her feet, rubbing up against he leg to get her attention again. She's still trying to talk about her dog. "Oh, give up, pookie," she says, eyes slowly drifting downward as Cohen bats at her jeans. "He's - Fuck!"
Cohen jumps back as Maureen lets out a scream, looking away for whatever is causing the commotion as the panic unfolds around him. "Oh my God," Maureen says, clinging to the other new human who is slowly pulling her away. "Oh, God, a rat!"
"Where?" Cohen asks, lowering himself to the ground and sniffing the air to try and find the animal. The only thing he can see is Maureen's present. "Oh, no. That's dead," he assures her, hopping back onto the body and rolling it over to show where he'd sliced it open. "See? It's for you."
There is another scream, and two of the humans hurry out the door. "Wait!" Cohen says after them, watching as the blonde thing runs out to follow them out of the loft. "I can catch a bigger one, I just didn't have time, that's all."
There is a low, deep chuckle, and Cohen is being scooped up off the present and held against Roger's chest. "Good job, buddy." At least someone understands him.
*
Mark finally manages to drag himself back to the loft at ten that night. After Maureen and Joanne had found him wandering down Madison Avenue with his camera rolling and invited him for lunch, all he expected had been some free food. He hadn't been planning on spending three hours listen to Maureen over dramatize the rat incident. That cat might be cute, and he might be able to put up with Roger, but it is still nothing but trouble. Dragging a rat to Maureen like that? Is it trying to spite Mark? Just because he doesn't pay as much attention to it as Roger? Well, Roger doesn't pay as much attention to him now that he has that cat, and Mark isn't throwing dead rats at him.
"God, I need sleep." Dragging himself towards his room, Mark barely has time to put his camera on the desk before collapsing into bed. He's obviously lost it. He's jealous of a cat, he's putting up with his ex way after they've broken up, and he's jerking off to his best friend in the shower. He just needs to sleep for, say, a month. Then maybe he'll be sane again.
Mark curls up in bed, snuggling against the covers. Sounds like a good plan, he thinks as he closes his eyes. He reaches out for the blanket, finding his scarf. He starts to toss it off his bed when his fingers slip into a hole. Yawning, he opens his eyes and looks down to the striped cloth in his hands.
"I'll kill it!"
Mark throws the door to Roger's bedroom wide open. Roger looks up from the bed where he's sprawled out with Pistol. He tears his necklace out of his claws and hides the kitten behind his back just as Mark throws open the door and comes storming in, flushed and glaring. Roger has the nerve to actual chuckle. Like there is anything amusing about this.
Mark holds out his old blue and white scarf, the tattered ends dripping out of his fist. "It killed my scarf!"
Roger cocks his eyebrows, looking from Mark to the scarf, totally unimpressed. Mark can hear the cat meow, and Roger puts his hands back behind him to try and hold it in place. "So?"
"So," Mark says, looking around Roger and narrowing his eyes again. Stupid little cat that Roger is so concerned with protecting. "It ate it."
"He didn't eat your scarf, Mark." Roger rolls his eyes, obviously not seeing what the big deal is about the scarf. It is a big deal, though, and Mark is standing there with the cloth hanging out of his hand, trying to get Roger to stop smiling. "Look at him, he's like the size of my hand. He couldn't eat your scarf. If anything, your scarf would eat him."
Mark growls, which just makes Roger laugh again, and tosses the scarf around his neck. "It ruined my scarf," he says again, as if this time it is really going to sink into Roger's head. Of course, as far as he is concerned, Pistol can do no wrong and Mark is just overreacting. "I had this scarf for years, Roger, and now it's.... It's a cat toy."
"Five years," Roger says, finally pulling Pistol out from around his back and setting the cat on his lap, petting it softly.
"What?" Mark asks as he wraps the scarf around himself. The tails fall down, shredded and unwinding and he can feel the giant hole in the back.
"Five years," Roger repeats. "I gave you the scarf, you know. For your first winter in New York." Mark nods slowly, amazed that Roger remembers. He had been complaining about the lack of heat, and this scarf ("A gift from my mom. It looks lame on me.") was the best Roger could do to get him to stop bitching about the weather.
"And now it's in pieces," Mark says, pulling at one of the tattered ends.
"He was just trying to play with you," Roger says, lifting Pistol and setting him on his shoulder. The cat wobbles a bit, biting at Roger's ear and knocking around his hair a bit. It's like the cat is purposely rubbing in that he gets to be closer to Roger. "He wants your attention, that's all. He just does shit like that so you'll notice him."
"Well, I noticed him. Now keep him out of my room." Figuring Roger is going to be impossible to argue with, Mark walks out of the room. He closes Roger's door, leaning up against it and sighing in frustration. What is wrong with him? It's just a cat. Why does he have to be so upset with it?
"Why is he so upset?" Mark rolls his eyes just imagining Roger sprawled back out over the bed with Cohen jumping at a string. Like the cat can answer him.
Of course, Roger's question is just followed by silence. Mark starts to get up from the door and head back to his room. Sleep, he reminds himself. Then Roger says, "I don't see what the big deal is. It's only a scarf."
It is only a scarf, and Mark really doesn't care that much about it. Yeah, it's nice to have in the winter but he isn't about to break down over something as small as a scarf. The point is that Roger just lets that cat do whatever he wants and never gets angry at it, never lets other people get upset with it, never runs off to Santa Fe when it's upset him.
Cindy is right. Mark does have deeply rooted emotional problems.
"Sometimes I don't get him," Roger says, totally oblivious to the fact that Mark is standing right outside his door and is clearly insane. He must have lost it, to be standing here listening to Roger talk with a cat while he starts comparing pet handling to real life situations. "I know... He's my best friend and I should... I should tell him..."
Mark leans up against the wall and waits. He isn't sure what he wants to hear. Maybe some sort of confession that he set Pistol up to tearing away at the scarf. He isn't sure, just waiting. "I'm just scared. What if he runs away?" Mark doesn't run away. Roger hasn't done anything yet to make him run away, and Roger has done a whole lot of shit starting with drugs and ending with that cat. Still, if he were going to leave, it would have been a long time ago. Back when Benny offered Mark a job and a way out of watching over a sick, relapsing Roger. Even then he stayed through the withdrawals. Why would he leave for something as silly as a scarf?
"You wouldn't run away, would you Cohen?" Mark freezes up, caught in the act of listening in on his best friend. He should just leave now. "Nah, you're a cat. Cats always know where home is." He named the cat Cohen? Is this because of what Maureen said? He is going to kill Maureen. "You'd stick around even if I told you I loved you, huh?"
In under half a minute Mark is out the door with his camera. It's not running away. It's working.
*
He should be going home. Mark wraps his arms around himself, trying to hide his camera in his jacket. What had he been thinking, walking out into Alphabet City at this time with an expensive piece of equipment? Did he want to get mugged? What the fuck had Roger been thinking when he said that?
Calm down, Mark tells himself as he loops around the block for the fourth or sixth or a hundredth time. Those are exactly the thoughts he isn't supposed to be having. Those had been out of context or something, and even if they hadn't been, what is Mark going to do about it? Okay, so he finds Roger a little attractive. He's always thought that, since the first time Maureen dragged him to see one of Roger's shows and there he was on the stage smiling down at Mark and glowing gold. Mark finds lots of people attractive, though. Mimi is gorgeous, but he would never do anything with her. Just because he thinks Roger is hot doesn't mean he loves him. Mark is a hormonal young artist; he finds lots of people attractive. Hell, he'd sleep with Allison Grey if it weren't for the fact that she is the daughter of one of the over-priced kings of capitalism.
Besides, Mark knows himself in love. He's a sucker for the girls he dates. From Nanette to Sasha to Maureen, it's always the same. He would do anything for them, but they always leave because he spends too much time with school or his work. He obsesses over them. He's still obsessing over Maureen, and he knows that if he weren't thinking about Roger right now he'd probably be thinking of her.
Shit.
Oh shit.
So he does do things that Roger asks, like taking care of Pistol while he's out and follows Roger out of the loft every time he goes anywhere and asks Mark along. Okay, but that's just a best friend thing. That's just Mark being a good friend with Roger. It's not like he's really that obsessed with his roommate.
Fuck.
Mark turns the corner and starts hurrying towards the old, worn down building and the loft and Roger and that damn kitten. He doesn't know why he is rushing into this. He doesn't even think it's possible that he could be in love with Roger whom he has known for years, whom he has seen through so much, whom he already knows so well that there can't possible be anything new or different between them.
He starts up the stairs, past some painted heart. Graffiti left by Collins and Angel. Collins knows, Mark thinks as he looks over his shoulder at the fading images. Collins asked if they were a couple yet, he hinted that Roger and Mark loved each other. He knows. Roger must know, right, if he's talking to a Goddamn cat about it. Is Mark really the last one to catch on? This is like Maureen and girls. Why doesn't anyone ever tell him about these things? They all think Mark is so observant, and he is as far as the outside world is concerned. They should know by now that he doesn't notice his own life as it passes by. The filmmaker is never on camera. How is he supposed to see himself?
He strips off his jacket when he gets into the loft, wrapping his camera inside it and placing it up high where Pistol can't get to it. What is he even going to say? Hey, Roger, I heard you tell the cat you loved me. Can we fuck? Not exactly the best planned speech. Mark sighs, running a hand nervously through his hair as he starts taking slow steps towards Roger's bedroom. They're still best friends. This is easy. Just go to him and tell him what has been rolling around inside Mark's head for some five years now. Try not to sound like a crazed stalker fan while doing that. Definitely leave out the bit where he started jerking off while smelling his coat. Even if Roger does feel the same that is still just weird.
Mark takes a deep breath, resting his hand on the door. He needs to stop beating himself up and open the damn door. No day but today is for everyone. For the junkie stripper who is turning her world around. For the anarchist professor who lost his angel. To the songwriter who keeps losing his songs. To the filmmaker who keeps closing his eyes when things get too graphic. He doesn't want to be the goofy best friend anymore. Just Maureen's ex or just Roger's caretaker or just the friend with the camera. Isn't it about time he recast his own role? Why couldn't he ever write lines like that when he was still using scripts to film?
"You're delaying," Mark points out to himself, staring at his hand as if it will grow a mind of its own and open the door already. Amazingly enough, it does. The door opens, and Mark steels himself for... He doesn't know. Stepping inside, he takes a deep breath and says, "Roger."
There is a light snore in reply. Roger is curled up in bed with the covers bunches around him. "You're an asshole," Mark sighs, flopping down on the bed next to Roger. He can see the drool sliding out from his mouth and pooling on the pillow next to him. Not exactly angelic. "I was this close to having a break down, and you are in here sleeping."
Mark gets comfortable on the bed, twisting and turning until he's curled up like Roger is, but on top of the piles of covers he's managed to tuck around himself. Is he cold? Mark looks through the open door to his bedroom. Maybe he should get him some more blankets. He doesn't want Roger to catch anything. Before he can climb back out of Roger's bed, the other boy starts stirring and making small, odd sounding grunts. Yeah, far from angelic. Mark stops moving, looking back to Roger as he yawns and stretches out slightly. Please don't freak that I'm watching you sleep, Mark thinks desperately as Roger starts to open his eyes. "Mark?"
"Yeah," Mark answers, slowly starting to relax again. He drops back to the bed, smiling at Roger through the pale light from the open door. Roger's squints and rubs at his eyes before smiling back.
"What are you doing here?" He asks, snuggling down into his pillow. Everyone thinks Mark is such a dork, but Roger is the one who treats his pillows like teddy bears. Usually Mark would tease him about being such a teenage girl, but right now he just smiles. Right now he's just glad Roger isn't going to run away if he lets this slip.
"Just checking on you," Mark answers, scooting over the blankets and a little closer to Roger now that he doesn't have to listen to him snoring.
Roger nods a bit, moaning some as he pulls the covers higher over his shoulders. "Where's Cohen?" he asks. Mark starts with a sarcastic answer before he remembers that Cohen is Pistol. Right on time, the cat springs up onto the bed, prancing over the huge waves of the blanket and right up to Roger. "Hey buddy," Roger says in a low, sleepy voice as he reaches for the small kitten.
After a while Pistol apparently gets bored of being sandwiched between the two of them and goes back to destroying Mark's things or killing rats or whatever it does when Roger isn't petting it. "Is it morning?" Roger asks, closing his eyes again and burying himself under the covers.
"Not really," Mark says, shrugging a bit and looking back at the clock. Eleven twenty-seven. "I was just..." Mark had just been walking around the block, wondering why he had to fall in love with someone like Roger. Don't they have enough problems just being friends? Mark already knows all his dirty secrets, his disgusting habits, his fucked up past and he still loves him. He really must be insane, but he doesn't regret it.
"Roger?" Mark doesn't know what he is going to ask. It doesn't matter, because next thing he is aware of he is pulling away from Roger after leaning forward to kiss him. Quick, chaste, almost entirely friendly except for the fact that Mark doesn't want it to be. Swallowing hard as he scoots back into his own space on the bed, leaving behind a confused looking Roger, he says, "Don't ever be afraid to tell me shit, okay?"
"Yeah," Roger says, and as Mark starts moving back he moves forward. Slowly, as if moving too fast will scare Mark off. "Okay."
They kiss again. Roger's chapped lips press against Mark and they just stay there, this limbo of a kiss they don't know how to respond to. Eventually Mark leans closer, licking at Roger's lips to get him to react. Then they're actually kissing, a soft and slow almost lazy kiss, but there is something there. Something more than just friendship sparks between them, and if Mark's brain were functioning he would want his camera so he could see what.
This kiss is broken by a yawn. Roger pulls back, lying back down on his pillow. He's smiling as he snuggles back into place, closing his eyes and yawning again. Mark can't help but laugh. "So that's it? The sex drive of the amazing Roger Davis?"
Roger doesn't even reply. Pistol seems to get it, though, jumping back onto the bed and scratching at Mark's shirt to defend Roger. He is so used to the kitten by now, that Mark just picks him up and moves him away. It's not exactly a movie style romantic ending to their kiss, but Mark likes that. There are no Hollywood fireworks, so maybe this is actually real.
Pistol looks up to him with wide blue eyes. He still seems to be glaring, but Mark doesn't care. He scratches the kitten behind the ears, smiling at the small, fluffy thing. If Mark hadn't heard Roger talking to it, he wouldn't be here now. That's enough to make him like Cohen. "Thanks, Pistol," he whispers, picking it up again and moving it away so he can snuggle up to Roger.
"Mark?" Mark pushes Pistol to the floor, rolling back over and facing Roger. He's still lying there with his eyes closed.
"Yeah?" Mark asks, tugging the blankets over around himself. Two fully dressed boys in bed together with a cat on the floor and a small pool of drool on the pillow. Could this be any less erotic? Mark really doesn't care anymore. He's just happy that he isn't confused.
"Were you talking to Cohen?" Roger asks without ever opening his eyes, moving his mouth only as much as he has to.
"No," Mark lies, putting an arm around Roger's waist. This all feels strangely easy, slipping into something more than friendship. "Go back to sleep."
*
"What do you mean, you lost it?"
Roger holds up his hands, taking a step backwards just in case. He dated Mimi long enough to know her style of fighting is typically more like the silent treatment than anything else. Still, her nails are painted a bright silver that makes them look like knife tips, and he'd rather not be in the way of that. "Look, it just ran away, okay? I'm really so-"
Mimi isn't listening. She throws her hands into the air, choking on a frustrated scream. "I should have known better," she says, shaking her head and shooting Roger a nasty glare. "God, Roger, you probably threw it out the door the first chance you got..." Her big brown eyes turn to Roger, looking for some sign of sympathy. "Please, tell me you didn't throw the poor defenseless thing out..."
"Gee, thanks for the confidence, Mimi." Maybe Mark had been right when he'd told Roger earlier that Mimi isn't the one acting like a bitch, that Roger is the one that causes all these fights. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, or started out this conversation by telling her that her 'stupid little cat' had run off. He can almost feel Mark in the back of the loft, glaring at him for being an asshole. Roger has never been good with his temper, though, and Mimi hurt him. "I'm sure it will come back in a few days. It's only been gone for two."
Holding out her hand, Mimi waves Roger off. "Forget it, Roger," she says turning around and heading for the stairs. Part of him is surprised there is no explosion. What had been between him and Mimi had been all passion and fire and energy, and exactly the sort of relationship Roger needed in his life then. Now that it had cooled down, both of them could hear a soft tick in the background of their lives. "Forget it, Roger, it's not about the cat."
"I know but..." His words are lost to the stairwell. Maybe when she's gotten her life in order they can start seeing each other again. Not even romantically, but he doesn't want to leave her like that. He knows better than anyone what it's like, those first few months after drugs when everything is jarring and all of life seems to hurt so much. She just needs some time, Roger thinks as he slides the loft door closed and walking towards his room. Mimi is a strong, beautiful girl. Stronger than Roger ever was. She is going to be fine.
Before he has taken three steps, there is a small meow that makes Roger jump, eyes flying wildly around the loft.
"Can we keep him?" Mark asks from the doorway of his room with Cohen snuggled up to his chest. Two pairs of blue eyes look up at Roger, big and pleading. Roger almost falls backwards, looking at the white cat in Mark's arms. He hadn't been able to find him for two days and he'd looked everywhere. Around the loft, the fire escape, the halls, the roof. Half the block must have thought he was crazy, roaming around the alleys and calling for the thing.
"Where did you-" He takes a few steps forward, reaching out to pet the cat. It really is Cohen. He can tell from the eyes and the slight cock of its head as it leans into his fingers.
Mark's face goes bright pink, his eyes focusing on the cat instead of Roger. "I, uh, sort of hid him."
If Roger weren't so amused he might have been angry. "You hid him?" He asks, smiling and cocking his head a bit to get Mark's attention. "I thought you hated him."
"I don't... Well, hate's a strong word." Mark smiles back at Roger, cheek still flushed. "But I wanted to keep him. And, you know, we can get Mimi another cat for her birthday or, I guess, if she really wants Pistol back she can set up a joint custody thing where maybe we get him every other week or..."
Roger's laughter cut Mark out of his rambling. "You want joint custody for a cat?" He teases, even if he thinks it's not that bad of an idea. There is more space in the loft for Cohen to run around in than at Mimi's place, anyway, and the boys managed to take pretty good care of him while she was gone. Why shouldn't they get to raise him?
"He's like you," Mark says, smiling down at the cat, which gives Roger time to stare at him. He hasn't seen Mark look that happy in a while, maybe since the day they met Angel and everything had been fun and good. Maybe he's the reason Mark is smiling like that, and that makes Roger start beaming. He hopes that Mark smiles like that more often. It's nice to be like this again, instead of watching Mark watch their lives fall apart from behind a lens. "He just kind of attaches himself to people."
Roger shakes his head, scratching behind Cohen's ear until he starts to purr heavily. "He's like you. He's always watching things and way too curious for his own good." He chuckles a bit at the color that flares up in Mark's cheeks.
"He's so clingy," Mark counters, poking Roger playfully in the shoulder. "He's obviously yours."
"Give up, Mark," Roger says, dodging Mark's hand. "He's too much of a dork to be like anyone but you."
Mark laughs a bit, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks back to Cohen, who playfully bats at a lens. "He's like you, Davis, just get over it," he says, jerking back from the cat's paws. "I like him."
"I like him, too." Both boys go quiet, staring down at Cohen who stares expectantly back at both of them from one to the other. "We should keep him," Roger finally says, breaking the silence slowly. "Maybe for just a little longer." Tried of being carried, Cohen leaps out of Mark's arms, walking to tear up the already ruined couch. While he's doing that, Roger turns back to Mark. "I'm surprised you can get attached to anything other than your camera."
Mark growls playfully, and he sounds kind of like a cat himself when he tries, cuffing Roger in the arm just enough that he pulls back. "It's not true," he says, smiling and ducking when Roger tries to hit him back. "I just don't think Pistol would be that happy with Mimi."
Roger stops what he is doing, mainly trying to find a way to hit Mark back, and reaches down just as Cohen is darting past. Hefting the cat into his arms, he looks over Mark. Like he can find something hidden away in those blue eyes. Like he's asking, what the hell are we doing? "You really think so?" He asks, getting Cohen to calm down as he pets behind his ear, wondering if that would work on Mark. "You think he'll be happier up here?"
"I think," Mark says, taking a few steps closer until his and Roger's hands are resting together on top of Cohen, and both forget to actually pet the cat. "He'd be happy as long as he was with you."
Additional Chapters:
Part Five: Kids Will Be Kids
Part Six: Day Out
Part Seven: Have A Kitten
(All chapters at FF.NET)
Series: When We Are Happy
Chapter: Three/Four: Presents & Pretense/Mimoso Art-Albina Pistol Marx Cohen & Us
Pairing: Roger/Mark
Rating: Pg-13 (Language, Boykissing)
Word Count: 7,700
Summary: Cohen doesn't get Ales Beens, Mark gets upset over a scarf, and Roger is just happy he has two guys in his life.
Past Chapters: Part One/Two: Feline Jealousy/How To Play Nice
Cross Posting: _rentfic rentslash fuckingartists & below14thstreet
On an additional note, thank you every one who did some Cohen fanart (I know I saw a cute little comic for it, but I'm lousy with names and don't even remeber the comm it was on) and that cute little Cohen style kitten posted on fuckingartists. ^^ You guys make me so fucking happy.
When We Are Happy
Three/Four: Presents & Pretense/Mimoso Art-Albina Pistol Marx Cohen & Us
Cohen is not stupid. He might not get everything Roger says or be able to do those human things like open doors and play guitar, but he gets the important stuff. He gets the stuff that is above language and species, like how Roger feels. He can sense when Roger needs someone to be beside him, to rub against his leg and purr a little so he knows he's loved. Cohen can sense when Roger is happy and wants to be jumped on and have his hair pawed at. He can even sense Roger's Mark moods, and these are the nasty ones. The ones Roger doesn't want him around for. The ones where Cohen gets swatted away because Roger and Mark are on the couch with all these hormones they're not doing anything about, anyway, making the air tense. It drives Cohen insane.
Today just happened to be one of those Mark days. The three of them are on Roger's bed, with the humans laid out and Cohen curled on Roger's stomach, his favorite spot in the world. Cohen keeps drifting in and out, waking whenever he's shaken by Roger's deep, rumbling voice. There isn't too much talking, though, so Cohen gets plenty of sleep. Mostly it's just the three of them lying there in what might be a comfortable silence if it weren't for the heat the two boys gave off for each other.
After a particularly long silence Cohen is woken up by Roger asking, "Two years since what?"
Cohen yawns and stretches out over Roger, making sure not to claw up Roger's favorite black shirt. "Since Maureen left me," Mark mutters beside them. "November 15, the day she became a lesbian." There they go again, using words like Ales Beeann that they know Cohen can't understand. Half the time when Roger is with Mark, Cohen swears they agree to talk in code just so he won't be able to tell what they're talking about.
Roger's laugh sends Cohen bouncing slightly on his chest. "I don't think it works quite like that."
"Sure it does," Mark reasons, turning slightly on his side so he's closer to Roger. Cohen gets ready to pounce if he comes any closer. He isn't stupid. He knows what Mark is trying to do. He wants Roger's attention all to himself, but Cohen isn't going to give up his Roger without a fight. The thing might have height and weight on him, but he bites off his claws and doesn't even have real fangs to speak of. What is he going to do?
Cohen never gets the chance to attack. He's in place to do some major damage to Mark's face when, "Ah!" Roger turns on his side to face Mark, and Cohen rolls off, landing in a heap behind him. "Roger!" Cohen whines, trying to hop back up on him, but Roger is thoroughly distracted by his other pet, leaving no room for Cohen.
"You're right, Mark. She totally turned into a lesbian in one day, all over you," Roger says, ignoring Cohen's attempt to climb back up on him. He stalks up the bed, putting his claws up onto Roger's shoulder to get his attention. What he sees is horrible. Roger is petting Mark. Right there where Cohen can see him, running his big rough hands through the thing's small, yellow patch of fur. "Wow, you must have really fucked up with that one."
"Come on," Cohen growls, getting back down and taking a few steps backwards so he can jump up onto Roger. That should get his attention back where it is supposed to be. "How can you even stand to pet him? He's mostly bald! And I've never seen him clean himself. He's probably dirty, Roger!"
"Shut up," Mark says, and must push Roger because he nearly rolls back over onto Cohen, who only barely escapes by jumping back again. "You know what I mean. Today's the day...."
Despite being pushed, Roger rolls right back into place. "It wasn't like she was good for you," he answers, scooting closer to Mark. Cohen shakes himself off from the near fall, wiggling back into pouncing place. Mark isn't going to get rid of him that easily.
"I know..." Mark says, and Cohen can see him pressing into Roger's hand. Next thing he'll be purring like some of sort of kitten straight off the street all 'take me in, I don't have fleas'. "I just... I wish I knew what it was about me that sent her running to... from a scrawny, albino starving-artist to a large black lawyer? I mean, could she have made the point any clearer!"
Roger laughs, a low sound that shakes the whole bed. It's the laugh that means Cohen has done something he thinks is amusing, only this time it's for Mark. What does the thing do that is so special, anyway? It doesn't jump when Roger dangles toys for it. It doesn't keep rats and bugs away from him when he sleeps. It doesn't even lick him to make sure he stays clean. It just sits there and talks, and Roger gives it all the attention it doesn't deserve. "Maybe you were just too much albino filmmaker for her to handle."
"Yeah," Mark answers, and even though it is curled up to Roger and being pet it doesn't sound happy. Clearly, Cohen thinks, the thing is an idiot. Actually, Cohen knows it's an idiot. This is the same thing that wants to call him Pistol, and thinks they're friends just because he let it pet him once or twice while Roger had been out. "That must be it."
"I'll bet it is," Roger purrs, a soft sound Cohen never heard before. He didn't even know humans could purr like that. He's about to go investigate when he notices the heat. A strong wave of it washes through the room, throwing him for a second. He smells at the air, picking up on a familiar scent although much stronger, sharper now.
He smells around for a few more seconds before he realizes the scent is coming from the humans. He looks back up at them, and he can barely see around Roger to catch a glimpse of what is going on. It takes him a few seconds to figure it out, but Mark is biting Roger! Or at least that is what it looks like, with their lips smashed together like that and every now and then he catches a flash off teeth. "Leave him alone!" Cohen growls, hopping over Roger and going for Mark's eyes, claws scratching across some weird, glass surface as he attacks.
It works, though, and Mark jumps back from his Roger, panting and staring down at Cohen. Cohen sticks his tail up at him, settling down next to Roger and hissing, "You thought you could hurt my Roger? Like I'd ever let him touch some mongrel like you." He looks back up to Roger, trying to give him a look the human will understand. "See? I saved you. I tried to tell you he was trouble but..."
Roger isn't listening. He pushes Cohen aside, ignoring his protest as he tries to crawl across the bed to Mark. "Look, I-"
"I have to go!" Mark announces, not looking back at them as he hurries out of the room. He's probably too afraid to even look at Cohen. "I have to go film. I'll see you later."
The door closes before Roger even gets off the bed. Cohen looks up at him, padding across the mattress to rub against his hand and wait for a thank you, or at least some sign that Roger realizes Cohen had saved him from Mark.
Roger doesn't even acknowledge him. "Fuck," he says, still watching the door like Mark will come back. Cohen can smell him, though, and Mark is long gone from the whole loft. "Fuck...."
*
The heat that Cohen is used to turns quickly into something more tense. Something that makes Roger drag himself through the loft like each step is a chore, hardly doing more than sleeping or staring blankly at the ceiling. Cohen doesn't understand why Roger is acting like he just got neutered. After all, Mark had attacked him and Cohen scared him off and saved Roger. Now the blonde thing is afraid to stick around the loft too long, always going out to play with his black toy that doesn't dangle or make a noise when you bat at it.
Three days after the attack, Roger is curled up on the windowsill and looking down. Only he isn't really looking, Cohen realizes once he squeezes outside and hops along on the little room right outside the boy's apartment. He gets his claw caught in one of the giant holes in the floor - why do humans build rooms outside with holes in them? - and Roger doesn't even crack a smile. Giving up on bringing Roger out of his mood, Cohen slips back inside and curls up on top of his feet, thinking he might as well catch a nice afternoon nap before the mice come out.
Right then the door slams open and sends Cohen jumping off Roger's feet, heart racing as he looks up at the sudden noise. "God!" A loud, unfamiliar voice calls out. "Don't you guys ever decorate this place?"
Cohen can feel Roger tensing up. He scurries up his leg to sit in Roger's lap and get a good look over the couch. The blond thing is back, and it's brought more people to play with. They look like Collins and the girl who used to own him before Roger. Wait, no. There is a different smell about these two. He cocks his head, looking critically over the two new humans. The dark-furred one is too small to be Collins, and the other one isn't the same color as the girl who used to own him. They're different humans, Cohen thinks. Of course, they all sort of look alike to him. All big, fleshy and mostly balding. How do they even tell each other apart?
Whoever they are, Cohen doesn't like them because Roger doesn't like them. He can feel the human tense and then he scoops Cohen into his arms, holding him protectively to his chest as one of the things bounces over to them. "Roger," it says in just the way that gets Cohen to hiss. The human has an annoyingly high voice, like the bird Cohen has to scare off the fire escape in the morning.
The human leans over and all Cohen can see is her balding, pink flesh she didn't even bother covering up with that fake fur or skin. Maybe she has fleas, Cohen thinks as he studies this new creature Mark had brought home. "Ahhh!" It says, still in that tone that makes Cohen's fur stand on end, "Markie, you didn't tell me you guys got a kitten!"
"I'm not a kitten!" Cohen meows at the same time Mark is saying, "We didn't. It's Mimi's. She just left it with Roger." Cohen hisses at him as well. He doesn't want to go with the flowery smelling human anymore. He wants Roger, and he isn't going back there.
The new human doesn't seem interested in either of their protests. It just keeps looking at him. "She's so cute!" it coos, and Cohen is going to bite her hand off if it tries touching him. He is not a girl, and he isn't going to let it get away with calling him that.
"Just try it," he growls as the human reaches for him. He does mean to bite at it, really, but then the human actually starts petting him, and it's really quite good at that. He'll bite later, he thinks as he closes his eyes and rubs up against its hand.
Just as Cohen starts to purr he gets ripped away from the hand that is doing a great job at scratching just behind his ear. "What do you want?" Roger asks, and Cohen can hear the growl in his voice as he talks to the new human. She's really not that bad, Cohen thinks and wonders what Roger has against her so much. Maybe he thinks she's Mimi, like Cohen had at first. Roger doesn't even have a good sense of smell, so he probably can't tell that this human smells totally different from Mimi. Actually, she smells a lot like the other human Mark brought home. Maybe they're from the same litter.
The new human stands up to speak with Roger. "What is your problem?" She asks, and the other, dark-furred human comes over and grabs her by the shoulder. "I was just trying to pet the poor thing. Living with you two boys, it needs a mommy." She's back to Cohen's level again, flashing her fangs at him. "Don't you, little baby girl? I'll bet they haven't even given you a name yet."
"That's not true," Roger and Cohen say together. "My name is Cohen," he tries to explain, but they don't understand him and Roger just holds him closer to try and get him away from the new humans.
"Its name is Pistol," Mark says from the side. Everyone turns to look at him, and Cohen can see that weird rash on his face coming back again. "I mean, Mimi named it, and... Uh, Roger forgot what it was so...."
The dark-furred human lets go of the girl's shoulder and snorts, bending down to look at Cohen as well. "I would have thought you'd name it something like Tremble or Art." The other humans look at the dark-furred one and it rolls its shoulders back, like it's stretching after a nap. "What? I think Art is a cute name for a cat."
"Well..." The girl is petting him again, and this time Roger doesn't yank him away so he can actually enjoy it. "I think we should call it Albina."
"Albina?" The dark-furred one asks. Cohen has to agree. Albina sounds like a dog name, and Cohen is anything but a dog. The girl might have claws that are just right for petting, but she clearly can't tell a dog from a cat, or a boy from a girl come to think of it.
"If you weren't so good at this, I would be biting you," Cohen warns, but it comes out sounding more like a purr more than anything else, no matter how hard he tries to sound threatening.
"Yeah. You know, like the feminine form of Albino," she answers, still scratching behind Cohen's ear, so it's hard to argue with the fact that that sounds nothing like a real name. "I mean, look at her. She's paler than Mark, and that's really hard to do."
"Maureen!" Cohen purrs a little more, enjoying what sounds like Mark getting his tail stepped on.
At least Roger is there to translate for him. "Why would you even think it's a girl?" he growls, and Cohen is pretty sure his fur would be standing up, too, if it weren't always standing up.
"I can just tell," Maureen says, scratching Cohen somewhere that makes him purr even though he should be clawing her eyes out for thinking he's a girl. "Look how cute she is. She has to be a girl. I can just tell these things."
"And you've been a lesbian how long, exactly?" So that's what an Ales Beeann is, Cohen thinks as he cocks his head slightly and looks over Maureen. Maybe it's just a human who doesn't have enough fur.
Maureen stops petting and stands back up, and in a second Mark is there, between the two. "We're going to lunch, Rog. Want to come along?" Cohen hisses when Mark's hand gets to close to Roger and he jerks it away. After he's sure Roger is safe from the blonde, he looks up at him, meowing a bit.
"Don't go with him," he says, despite the fact that Roger isn't even looking at him and certainly can't understand him. "He might try to attack you again, and no offense, but you weren't exactly fighting him off last time. What will you do without me there?"
For once Roger seems to get what Cohen is trying to tell him. "I'm not really hungry," he says, and Cohen can hear his stomach, but if Roger says he isn't hungry, maybe it will make Mark go away.
The blonde thing doesn't give up so easily. "Come anyway," he pushes, trying to touch Roger and getting his hand scratched at. It moves back pretty quickly.
"I said I didn't want to," Roger answers, moving Cohen slightly to protect him from Mark. It's a sweet thing to do, even if Roger never really fights Mark off, and clearly needs Cohen to save him.
"If he says he doesn't want to go, then he doesn't want to," Maureen says, wrapping an arm around Mark's to keep him back. Cohen decides that he likes this Maureen girl. After all, since she's been over Roger has mentioned Mark once, and she is obviously upsetting Mark, which Cohen appreciates. He should get her something, he thinks as he wiggles out of Roger's arms and lands on the windowsill, jumping down and being mostly ignored by the humans, who are now talking about someone named "Pookie" (probably a dog, with a name like that). He can't go home with her, because then who would protect Roger from cockroaches at night and clean his hands and make sure he napped some during the day? Still, this Maureen human deserves something special for distracting Roger from his other pet for a while.
Cohen is almost to Roger's room when he hears it. A slight scurrying in the walls. Cohen pauses, ears perking up as he waits for the sound to get closer. This is too perfect, he thinks as he stalks over to a nicely sized hole as quietly as he can, getting ready to pounce as he hears the rat sniff around for a way out of the wall.
"Fuck," Cohen growls, using a word he's learned from Roger, as the rat scurries further down the wall. He follows right after it into Mark's room as silently as he can. There it is, kind of small and curling up inside the tangles of Mark's blue and white collar. Cohen sneaks behind it, wiggling down into a position to pounce as he waits for the rat to stop jerking around. It's nervous, and it should be. This is Cohen's home, and he isn't going to let a rat in.
Steady, he tells himself, eyes gleaming in the dark as the rat finally starts to settle. Then he's pouncing, landing on the rat's hind legs with a hiss. It squeals and squirms, and Cohen's claws go everywhere as he tries to get them in the rat's skin. The collar and rat both get scratched up pretty bad, but in the end Cohen prances out of Mark's room with the animal in his mouth.
Proud of his victory, Cohen marches up to Maureen with her present hanging out of his mouth. He drops it at her feet, rubbing up against he leg to get her attention again. She's still trying to talk about her dog. "Oh, give up, pookie," she says, eyes slowly drifting downward as Cohen bats at her jeans. "He's - Fuck!"
Cohen jumps back as Maureen lets out a scream, looking away for whatever is causing the commotion as the panic unfolds around him. "Oh my God," Maureen says, clinging to the other new human who is slowly pulling her away. "Oh, God, a rat!"
"Where?" Cohen asks, lowering himself to the ground and sniffing the air to try and find the animal. The only thing he can see is Maureen's present. "Oh, no. That's dead," he assures her, hopping back onto the body and rolling it over to show where he'd sliced it open. "See? It's for you."
There is another scream, and two of the humans hurry out the door. "Wait!" Cohen says after them, watching as the blonde thing runs out to follow them out of the loft. "I can catch a bigger one, I just didn't have time, that's all."
There is a low, deep chuckle, and Cohen is being scooped up off the present and held against Roger's chest. "Good job, buddy." At least someone understands him.
*
Mark finally manages to drag himself back to the loft at ten that night. After Maureen and Joanne had found him wandering down Madison Avenue with his camera rolling and invited him for lunch, all he expected had been some free food. He hadn't been planning on spending three hours listen to Maureen over dramatize the rat incident. That cat might be cute, and he might be able to put up with Roger, but it is still nothing but trouble. Dragging a rat to Maureen like that? Is it trying to spite Mark? Just because he doesn't pay as much attention to it as Roger? Well, Roger doesn't pay as much attention to him now that he has that cat, and Mark isn't throwing dead rats at him.
"God, I need sleep." Dragging himself towards his room, Mark barely has time to put his camera on the desk before collapsing into bed. He's obviously lost it. He's jealous of a cat, he's putting up with his ex way after they've broken up, and he's jerking off to his best friend in the shower. He just needs to sleep for, say, a month. Then maybe he'll be sane again.
Mark curls up in bed, snuggling against the covers. Sounds like a good plan, he thinks as he closes his eyes. He reaches out for the blanket, finding his scarf. He starts to toss it off his bed when his fingers slip into a hole. Yawning, he opens his eyes and looks down to the striped cloth in his hands.
"I'll kill it!"
Mark throws the door to Roger's bedroom wide open. Roger looks up from the bed where he's sprawled out with Pistol. He tears his necklace out of his claws and hides the kitten behind his back just as Mark throws open the door and comes storming in, flushed and glaring. Roger has the nerve to actual chuckle. Like there is anything amusing about this.
Mark holds out his old blue and white scarf, the tattered ends dripping out of his fist. "It killed my scarf!"
Roger cocks his eyebrows, looking from Mark to the scarf, totally unimpressed. Mark can hear the cat meow, and Roger puts his hands back behind him to try and hold it in place. "So?"
"So," Mark says, looking around Roger and narrowing his eyes again. Stupid little cat that Roger is so concerned with protecting. "It ate it."
"He didn't eat your scarf, Mark." Roger rolls his eyes, obviously not seeing what the big deal is about the scarf. It is a big deal, though, and Mark is standing there with the cloth hanging out of his hand, trying to get Roger to stop smiling. "Look at him, he's like the size of my hand. He couldn't eat your scarf. If anything, your scarf would eat him."
Mark growls, which just makes Roger laugh again, and tosses the scarf around his neck. "It ruined my scarf," he says again, as if this time it is really going to sink into Roger's head. Of course, as far as he is concerned, Pistol can do no wrong and Mark is just overreacting. "I had this scarf for years, Roger, and now it's.... It's a cat toy."
"Five years," Roger says, finally pulling Pistol out from around his back and setting the cat on his lap, petting it softly.
"What?" Mark asks as he wraps the scarf around himself. The tails fall down, shredded and unwinding and he can feel the giant hole in the back.
"Five years," Roger repeats. "I gave you the scarf, you know. For your first winter in New York." Mark nods slowly, amazed that Roger remembers. He had been complaining about the lack of heat, and this scarf ("A gift from my mom. It looks lame on me.") was the best Roger could do to get him to stop bitching about the weather.
"And now it's in pieces," Mark says, pulling at one of the tattered ends.
"He was just trying to play with you," Roger says, lifting Pistol and setting him on his shoulder. The cat wobbles a bit, biting at Roger's ear and knocking around his hair a bit. It's like the cat is purposely rubbing in that he gets to be closer to Roger. "He wants your attention, that's all. He just does shit like that so you'll notice him."
"Well, I noticed him. Now keep him out of my room." Figuring Roger is going to be impossible to argue with, Mark walks out of the room. He closes Roger's door, leaning up against it and sighing in frustration. What is wrong with him? It's just a cat. Why does he have to be so upset with it?
"Why is he so upset?" Mark rolls his eyes just imagining Roger sprawled back out over the bed with Cohen jumping at a string. Like the cat can answer him.
Of course, Roger's question is just followed by silence. Mark starts to get up from the door and head back to his room. Sleep, he reminds himself. Then Roger says, "I don't see what the big deal is. It's only a scarf."
It is only a scarf, and Mark really doesn't care that much about it. Yeah, it's nice to have in the winter but he isn't about to break down over something as small as a scarf. The point is that Roger just lets that cat do whatever he wants and never gets angry at it, never lets other people get upset with it, never runs off to Santa Fe when it's upset him.
Cindy is right. Mark does have deeply rooted emotional problems.
"Sometimes I don't get him," Roger says, totally oblivious to the fact that Mark is standing right outside his door and is clearly insane. He must have lost it, to be standing here listening to Roger talk with a cat while he starts comparing pet handling to real life situations. "I know... He's my best friend and I should... I should tell him..."
Mark leans up against the wall and waits. He isn't sure what he wants to hear. Maybe some sort of confession that he set Pistol up to tearing away at the scarf. He isn't sure, just waiting. "I'm just scared. What if he runs away?" Mark doesn't run away. Roger hasn't done anything yet to make him run away, and Roger has done a whole lot of shit starting with drugs and ending with that cat. Still, if he were going to leave, it would have been a long time ago. Back when Benny offered Mark a job and a way out of watching over a sick, relapsing Roger. Even then he stayed through the withdrawals. Why would he leave for something as silly as a scarf?
"You wouldn't run away, would you Cohen?" Mark freezes up, caught in the act of listening in on his best friend. He should just leave now. "Nah, you're a cat. Cats always know where home is." He named the cat Cohen? Is this because of what Maureen said? He is going to kill Maureen. "You'd stick around even if I told you I loved you, huh?"
In under half a minute Mark is out the door with his camera. It's not running away. It's working.
*
He should be going home. Mark wraps his arms around himself, trying to hide his camera in his jacket. What had he been thinking, walking out into Alphabet City at this time with an expensive piece of equipment? Did he want to get mugged? What the fuck had Roger been thinking when he said that?
Calm down, Mark tells himself as he loops around the block for the fourth or sixth or a hundredth time. Those are exactly the thoughts he isn't supposed to be having. Those had been out of context or something, and even if they hadn't been, what is Mark going to do about it? Okay, so he finds Roger a little attractive. He's always thought that, since the first time Maureen dragged him to see one of Roger's shows and there he was on the stage smiling down at Mark and glowing gold. Mark finds lots of people attractive, though. Mimi is gorgeous, but he would never do anything with her. Just because he thinks Roger is hot doesn't mean he loves him. Mark is a hormonal young artist; he finds lots of people attractive. Hell, he'd sleep with Allison Grey if it weren't for the fact that she is the daughter of one of the over-priced kings of capitalism.
Besides, Mark knows himself in love. He's a sucker for the girls he dates. From Nanette to Sasha to Maureen, it's always the same. He would do anything for them, but they always leave because he spends too much time with school or his work. He obsesses over them. He's still obsessing over Maureen, and he knows that if he weren't thinking about Roger right now he'd probably be thinking of her.
Shit.
Oh shit.
So he does do things that Roger asks, like taking care of Pistol while he's out and follows Roger out of the loft every time he goes anywhere and asks Mark along. Okay, but that's just a best friend thing. That's just Mark being a good friend with Roger. It's not like he's really that obsessed with his roommate.
Fuck.
Mark turns the corner and starts hurrying towards the old, worn down building and the loft and Roger and that damn kitten. He doesn't know why he is rushing into this. He doesn't even think it's possible that he could be in love with Roger whom he has known for years, whom he has seen through so much, whom he already knows so well that there can't possible be anything new or different between them.
He starts up the stairs, past some painted heart. Graffiti left by Collins and Angel. Collins knows, Mark thinks as he looks over his shoulder at the fading images. Collins asked if they were a couple yet, he hinted that Roger and Mark loved each other. He knows. Roger must know, right, if he's talking to a Goddamn cat about it. Is Mark really the last one to catch on? This is like Maureen and girls. Why doesn't anyone ever tell him about these things? They all think Mark is so observant, and he is as far as the outside world is concerned. They should know by now that he doesn't notice his own life as it passes by. The filmmaker is never on camera. How is he supposed to see himself?
He strips off his jacket when he gets into the loft, wrapping his camera inside it and placing it up high where Pistol can't get to it. What is he even going to say? Hey, Roger, I heard you tell the cat you loved me. Can we fuck? Not exactly the best planned speech. Mark sighs, running a hand nervously through his hair as he starts taking slow steps towards Roger's bedroom. They're still best friends. This is easy. Just go to him and tell him what has been rolling around inside Mark's head for some five years now. Try not to sound like a crazed stalker fan while doing that. Definitely leave out the bit where he started jerking off while smelling his coat. Even if Roger does feel the same that is still just weird.
Mark takes a deep breath, resting his hand on the door. He needs to stop beating himself up and open the damn door. No day but today is for everyone. For the junkie stripper who is turning her world around. For the anarchist professor who lost his angel. To the songwriter who keeps losing his songs. To the filmmaker who keeps closing his eyes when things get too graphic. He doesn't want to be the goofy best friend anymore. Just Maureen's ex or just Roger's caretaker or just the friend with the camera. Isn't it about time he recast his own role? Why couldn't he ever write lines like that when he was still using scripts to film?
"You're delaying," Mark points out to himself, staring at his hand as if it will grow a mind of its own and open the door already. Amazingly enough, it does. The door opens, and Mark steels himself for... He doesn't know. Stepping inside, he takes a deep breath and says, "Roger."
There is a light snore in reply. Roger is curled up in bed with the covers bunches around him. "You're an asshole," Mark sighs, flopping down on the bed next to Roger. He can see the drool sliding out from his mouth and pooling on the pillow next to him. Not exactly angelic. "I was this close to having a break down, and you are in here sleeping."
Mark gets comfortable on the bed, twisting and turning until he's curled up like Roger is, but on top of the piles of covers he's managed to tuck around himself. Is he cold? Mark looks through the open door to his bedroom. Maybe he should get him some more blankets. He doesn't want Roger to catch anything. Before he can climb back out of Roger's bed, the other boy starts stirring and making small, odd sounding grunts. Yeah, far from angelic. Mark stops moving, looking back to Roger as he yawns and stretches out slightly. Please don't freak that I'm watching you sleep, Mark thinks desperately as Roger starts to open his eyes. "Mark?"
"Yeah," Mark answers, slowly starting to relax again. He drops back to the bed, smiling at Roger through the pale light from the open door. Roger's squints and rubs at his eyes before smiling back.
"What are you doing here?" He asks, snuggling down into his pillow. Everyone thinks Mark is such a dork, but Roger is the one who treats his pillows like teddy bears. Usually Mark would tease him about being such a teenage girl, but right now he just smiles. Right now he's just glad Roger isn't going to run away if he lets this slip.
"Just checking on you," Mark answers, scooting over the blankets and a little closer to Roger now that he doesn't have to listen to him snoring.
Roger nods a bit, moaning some as he pulls the covers higher over his shoulders. "Where's Cohen?" he asks. Mark starts with a sarcastic answer before he remembers that Cohen is Pistol. Right on time, the cat springs up onto the bed, prancing over the huge waves of the blanket and right up to Roger. "Hey buddy," Roger says in a low, sleepy voice as he reaches for the small kitten.
After a while Pistol apparently gets bored of being sandwiched between the two of them and goes back to destroying Mark's things or killing rats or whatever it does when Roger isn't petting it. "Is it morning?" Roger asks, closing his eyes again and burying himself under the covers.
"Not really," Mark says, shrugging a bit and looking back at the clock. Eleven twenty-seven. "I was just..." Mark had just been walking around the block, wondering why he had to fall in love with someone like Roger. Don't they have enough problems just being friends? Mark already knows all his dirty secrets, his disgusting habits, his fucked up past and he still loves him. He really must be insane, but he doesn't regret it.
"Roger?" Mark doesn't know what he is going to ask. It doesn't matter, because next thing he is aware of he is pulling away from Roger after leaning forward to kiss him. Quick, chaste, almost entirely friendly except for the fact that Mark doesn't want it to be. Swallowing hard as he scoots back into his own space on the bed, leaving behind a confused looking Roger, he says, "Don't ever be afraid to tell me shit, okay?"
"Yeah," Roger says, and as Mark starts moving back he moves forward. Slowly, as if moving too fast will scare Mark off. "Okay."
They kiss again. Roger's chapped lips press against Mark and they just stay there, this limbo of a kiss they don't know how to respond to. Eventually Mark leans closer, licking at Roger's lips to get him to react. Then they're actually kissing, a soft and slow almost lazy kiss, but there is something there. Something more than just friendship sparks between them, and if Mark's brain were functioning he would want his camera so he could see what.
This kiss is broken by a yawn. Roger pulls back, lying back down on his pillow. He's smiling as he snuggles back into place, closing his eyes and yawning again. Mark can't help but laugh. "So that's it? The sex drive of the amazing Roger Davis?"
Roger doesn't even reply. Pistol seems to get it, though, jumping back onto the bed and scratching at Mark's shirt to defend Roger. He is so used to the kitten by now, that Mark just picks him up and moves him away. It's not exactly a movie style romantic ending to their kiss, but Mark likes that. There are no Hollywood fireworks, so maybe this is actually real.
Pistol looks up to him with wide blue eyes. He still seems to be glaring, but Mark doesn't care. He scratches the kitten behind the ears, smiling at the small, fluffy thing. If Mark hadn't heard Roger talking to it, he wouldn't be here now. That's enough to make him like Cohen. "Thanks, Pistol," he whispers, picking it up again and moving it away so he can snuggle up to Roger.
"Mark?" Mark pushes Pistol to the floor, rolling back over and facing Roger. He's still lying there with his eyes closed.
"Yeah?" Mark asks, tugging the blankets over around himself. Two fully dressed boys in bed together with a cat on the floor and a small pool of drool on the pillow. Could this be any less erotic? Mark really doesn't care anymore. He's just happy that he isn't confused.
"Were you talking to Cohen?" Roger asks without ever opening his eyes, moving his mouth only as much as he has to.
"No," Mark lies, putting an arm around Roger's waist. This all feels strangely easy, slipping into something more than friendship. "Go back to sleep."
*
"What do you mean, you lost it?"
Roger holds up his hands, taking a step backwards just in case. He dated Mimi long enough to know her style of fighting is typically more like the silent treatment than anything else. Still, her nails are painted a bright silver that makes them look like knife tips, and he'd rather not be in the way of that. "Look, it just ran away, okay? I'm really so-"
Mimi isn't listening. She throws her hands into the air, choking on a frustrated scream. "I should have known better," she says, shaking her head and shooting Roger a nasty glare. "God, Roger, you probably threw it out the door the first chance you got..." Her big brown eyes turn to Roger, looking for some sign of sympathy. "Please, tell me you didn't throw the poor defenseless thing out..."
"Gee, thanks for the confidence, Mimi." Maybe Mark had been right when he'd told Roger earlier that Mimi isn't the one acting like a bitch, that Roger is the one that causes all these fights. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, or started out this conversation by telling her that her 'stupid little cat' had run off. He can almost feel Mark in the back of the loft, glaring at him for being an asshole. Roger has never been good with his temper, though, and Mimi hurt him. "I'm sure it will come back in a few days. It's only been gone for two."
Holding out her hand, Mimi waves Roger off. "Forget it, Roger," she says turning around and heading for the stairs. Part of him is surprised there is no explosion. What had been between him and Mimi had been all passion and fire and energy, and exactly the sort of relationship Roger needed in his life then. Now that it had cooled down, both of them could hear a soft tick in the background of their lives. "Forget it, Roger, it's not about the cat."
"I know but..." His words are lost to the stairwell. Maybe when she's gotten her life in order they can start seeing each other again. Not even romantically, but he doesn't want to leave her like that. He knows better than anyone what it's like, those first few months after drugs when everything is jarring and all of life seems to hurt so much. She just needs some time, Roger thinks as he slides the loft door closed and walking towards his room. Mimi is a strong, beautiful girl. Stronger than Roger ever was. She is going to be fine.
Before he has taken three steps, there is a small meow that makes Roger jump, eyes flying wildly around the loft.
"Can we keep him?" Mark asks from the doorway of his room with Cohen snuggled up to his chest. Two pairs of blue eyes look up at Roger, big and pleading. Roger almost falls backwards, looking at the white cat in Mark's arms. He hadn't been able to find him for two days and he'd looked everywhere. Around the loft, the fire escape, the halls, the roof. Half the block must have thought he was crazy, roaming around the alleys and calling for the thing.
"Where did you-" He takes a few steps forward, reaching out to pet the cat. It really is Cohen. He can tell from the eyes and the slight cock of its head as it leans into his fingers.
Mark's face goes bright pink, his eyes focusing on the cat instead of Roger. "I, uh, sort of hid him."
If Roger weren't so amused he might have been angry. "You hid him?" He asks, smiling and cocking his head a bit to get Mark's attention. "I thought you hated him."
"I don't... Well, hate's a strong word." Mark smiles back at Roger, cheek still flushed. "But I wanted to keep him. And, you know, we can get Mimi another cat for her birthday or, I guess, if she really wants Pistol back she can set up a joint custody thing where maybe we get him every other week or..."
Roger's laughter cut Mark out of his rambling. "You want joint custody for a cat?" He teases, even if he thinks it's not that bad of an idea. There is more space in the loft for Cohen to run around in than at Mimi's place, anyway, and the boys managed to take pretty good care of him while she was gone. Why shouldn't they get to raise him?
"He's like you," Mark says, smiling down at the cat, which gives Roger time to stare at him. He hasn't seen Mark look that happy in a while, maybe since the day they met Angel and everything had been fun and good. Maybe he's the reason Mark is smiling like that, and that makes Roger start beaming. He hopes that Mark smiles like that more often. It's nice to be like this again, instead of watching Mark watch their lives fall apart from behind a lens. "He just kind of attaches himself to people."
Roger shakes his head, scratching behind Cohen's ear until he starts to purr heavily. "He's like you. He's always watching things and way too curious for his own good." He chuckles a bit at the color that flares up in Mark's cheeks.
"He's so clingy," Mark counters, poking Roger playfully in the shoulder. "He's obviously yours."
"Give up, Mark," Roger says, dodging Mark's hand. "He's too much of a dork to be like anyone but you."
Mark laughs a bit, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks back to Cohen, who playfully bats at a lens. "He's like you, Davis, just get over it," he says, jerking back from the cat's paws. "I like him."
"I like him, too." Both boys go quiet, staring down at Cohen who stares expectantly back at both of them from one to the other. "We should keep him," Roger finally says, breaking the silence slowly. "Maybe for just a little longer." Tried of being carried, Cohen leaps out of Mark's arms, walking to tear up the already ruined couch. While he's doing that, Roger turns back to Mark. "I'm surprised you can get attached to anything other than your camera."
Mark growls playfully, and he sounds kind of like a cat himself when he tries, cuffing Roger in the arm just enough that he pulls back. "It's not true," he says, smiling and ducking when Roger tries to hit him back. "I just don't think Pistol would be that happy with Mimi."
Roger stops what he is doing, mainly trying to find a way to hit Mark back, and reaches down just as Cohen is darting past. Hefting the cat into his arms, he looks over Mark. Like he can find something hidden away in those blue eyes. Like he's asking, what the hell are we doing? "You really think so?" He asks, getting Cohen to calm down as he pets behind his ear, wondering if that would work on Mark. "You think he'll be happier up here?"
"I think," Mark says, taking a few steps closer until his and Roger's hands are resting together on top of Cohen, and both forget to actually pet the cat. "He'd be happy as long as he was with you."
Additional Chapters:
Part Five: Kids Will Be Kids
Part Six: Day Out
Part Seven: Have A Kitten
(All chapters at FF.NET)