(no subject)
Title: Some Things Are Best Left Understood
Author: thesilentpoet
Rating: PG-13/light R
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. These lovely boys belong to the brilliant Jonathan Larson, yitgodal v'yitgodosh...
Fandom/Pairing(s):Rent, Mark/Roger (with some mention of various other canon-pairings)
Warnings: Slash, couple mentions of sexual acts, drug use, and some swearing
Summary: They never would flounder, for as long as they had the other.
A/N: Based on a combination of both play-verse and movie-verse, with some book facts and personal canon thrown in. (Loosely-connected/Companion fic can be found at two_of_us_fic - (direct link can be found here) under my name, or in my memories. Be warned, however. Fiction/fan-fiction on my personal journal is tightly locked - I like new friends?)
I. 1989, December
"Look, about last night...?"
Roger's hands tighten instinctively around his coffee mug. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You know Mimi's going to be at Maureen's show tonight." Mark paused, swallowing. "You should come too. I'd hate to see you pass something up that could be good for you. You'll only regret it."
"I'll live."
"Right." He hesitated in the doorway, fiddling with the strap of his bag across his shoulder. "Roger... look, just about last night?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Yeah, I know." Mark sighed, briefly closing his eyes as he pulled the door closed behind him. "You never want to talk about it."
II. 1988, December
"Come on, Marky, please? It's the '80s, for god's sakes. It's got to be a practically a requirement." Maureen had both hands on Mark's face across his cheeks. "For me?"
"I'll think about it," he promised.
"Which means you'll do it," she grinned, kissing him.
"Which means I'll do it," he agreed reluctantly, slipping an arm around Maureen's waist. "You look beautiful tonight, you know."
"Oh, honestly, stop swooning," she teased, letting his face go long enough to poke him in the ribs, "but thank you." She sipped at her beer. "What exactly is it we're waiting for?"
"Roger. He should be out soon."
"Oh." She sipped again at her beer. "Isn't that him?"
Mark looked to where Maureen pointed, only to see Roger in a crowd, guitar in its case swung over his shoulder, arm around a girl's waist, smoking with his other. He waved frantically, calling out. Roger looked up, smiling in recognition, but kept walking.
Mark sighed, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Come on," he pulled slightly at Maureen's coat. "Let's get out of here." Perhaps he only imagined the second emotion behind the initial grin.
"Sure." Maureen finished her beer, and flirtingly thanked the - female - bartender, but held Mark's hand while they pushed their way through the dwindling crowd.
III. 1989, March
"You're leaving."
"Yes." Collins poured them glasses of vodka. "It's time, I think. You'll be fine. You'll have Roger, and Maureen, and Benny, and I'm not leaving officially until May."
"Benny's getting married."
"I heard." Collins downed his alcohol in one swallow. He held the glass for a moment in his hand. "Mark. I have AIDS."
"AIDS, but you mean - you have time, right?"
"Sure, I have time." Collins gave a tight smile, setting the glass on the table. He stared at the bottle before he poured himself a second shot. Mark still hadn't touched his first. "You'll be fine, Mark, you'll see."
"You just found out you're fucking dying, and you're comforting me."
"I'm not dead yet," Collins shrugged. "But this isn't something you can just ignore, it's life. I'm still surprised, frankly, but I'm not going to let it define me. Yes, I'll have to be careful, yes it will always be there and part of me, but it's not who I am. I won't let it be." He gulped the second shot. "Besides it's only Boston, it's not like I'm leaving for Santa Fe."
"Not yet at least."
"I'll give you fair warning."
"You better," Mark almost laughed. "We'll open up a restaraunt."
"And charge the wealthy cliente," Collins agreed.
Mark shook his head, and finally swallowed his vodka, making a face as it burned his throat. He gingerly set the glass on the table again. "I still can't believe you're fucking leaving." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's starting to feel like I'm the only one left."
"We're not falling apart, Mark."
"I know, just... How'd you get it , do you think? AIDS."
"From Logan."
"Oh."
"Mark."
Mark looked up, startled. "Yeah?"
"How is Roger?"
"Roger's... he's around, I guess."
"Yeah." Collins poured them both another drink.
IV. 1991, March
"Roger?"
"Hey," answered Roger's voice from somewhere inside the refrigerator. "Do we have any milk?"
"I think we're out. Didn't Mimi have a doctor's appointment today?"
"She said she wanted to go alone." His head popped out of the refrigerator triumphantly, carton of milk in hand. He opened it, making a face as he smelled it. "Yep, definitely out." He sighed, pouring it down the drain. "Can we afford more?"
"Probably."
"Hmm. Coffee's on."
"Thanks," he mumbled, pulling a mug from the shelf. "Someone called for you last night, you know."
"Say who?"
"Wes, I think? He left a phone number for you to call him at."
"I'll listen to it, thanks."
"Roger?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you happy?"
"What?"
"It's just something I've been thinking about - are you?"
"Yeah, sure, I guess. Feels a little like cheating to be so, doesn't it?"
"Some, yeah." Mark smiled into his coffee. "Collins said something about all meeting at the Life Cafe again for dinner?"
"To celebrate Maureen dressing like a groundhog?"
"It was a metaphor."
"It was still a groundhog costume." Roger actually laughed. "I'll ask Mimi if she wants to go."
"Sure." Mark nodded, and sipped at his coffee. "Do you ever feel like maybe we're all just living on borrowed time?"
Roger swallowed. "All the fucking time."
V. 1989, December
"He's such a fucking prick." Roger started to rant as soon as they were inside again, still shivering slightly from the cold. "If he thinks he can just waltz in here like that - he left us! I mean, god Mark. How'd you manage it, sharing a room the size of a shoebox with him for two years at Brown? What made you want to share an apartment with him in New York?"
"He asked me to."
"What?" Roger stopped his pacing mid-sentence.
"He had graduated, and there was nothing left in Providence for me, so when he said something about going to live in New York, I jumped at the chance. I met you, right?"
"Yeah, I guess." Roger sighed, collapsing against the door, sliding along to the wall to a sitting position on the floor. He looked up at Mark. "What happened to him? What did happen to all the ideals he once pursued?"
"He made it into Real Estate, and he got married." Mark sighed, and sat next to Roger on the floor, close enough that their knees brushed. "Who's to say we're not just like him?"
"We haven't give up."
"But we're not pursuing anything either."
"I suppose." Roger grimaced. "I should tell you, you know."
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing." He stood, padded across the floor for his guitar.
Mark scrambled to his feet awkwardly. "I was going to try to go find Collins. You want to come? I thought maybe we could all grab some dinner."
He strummed a note. "Zoom in on my empty wallet."
"Touché." Mark sighed. "Take your AZT."
VI. 1990, April
"She going to stay here?"
"Is that ok?"
"Yeah, of course, it's fine."
"Mark."
"I suppose this means I should sleep on the couch for a few weeks."
"Mark."
"It's only fair after all."
"Mark..."
Mark looked up, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "It's fine, Rog. Honest."
"Liar."
He squeezed Roger's shoulder as he walked by. "Don't push it."
Not yet.
VII. 1990, October
"I hear there are great restaurants out west."
"Some of the best - how could she?"
"How could you let her go?"
"You just don't know - how could we lost Angel?"
"Maybe you'll see why when you stop escaping your pain."
Roger humphed, threw a shirt into the suitcase.
"Are you insane?" Mark sputtered, continuing. "There's so much to care about there's me there's Mimi-
"Mimi's got her baggage too."
"So do you."
"Who are you to tell me what I know, and what to do?"
"A friend!"
"But who Mark are you? "Mark has got his work" they say "Mark lives for his work" and "Mark's in love with his work". Mark hides in his work." His voice was almost soft, nearly a cross between anger and need.
"From what?" It was all too much.
"From facing your failure, facing your loneliness facing the fact you live a lie yes, you live a lie, and I'll tell you why. You're always preaching not to be numb when that's how you thrive. You pretend to create and observe, when you really detach from feeling alive."
"Perhaps because I'm the one of us to survive." He was desperate, and throwing stones, and he knew it, but he took a step closer to Roger anyway, attempting to reach, and to see sense out of it.
"Poor baby." Roger's word held just as much sting, and venom.
He sighed, it dawning on him. "Mimi still loves you... Are you really jealous or afraid that Mimi's weak?"
"Mimi did look pale." Vulnerability was in his voice again, and Mark took another step forward.
"Mimi's gotten thin, you know. She's running out of time, and you're running out the door." He was close; he gingerly touched his hand to Roger's shoulder. He swore he felt Roger lean into the touch.
"No!" Roger nearly shouted it. He shrugged off Mark's hand, swung his bag across his shoulder. "Just... No more... I've got to go..."
It was his last chance. "Hey for someone who's always been let down who's fucking heading out of town?"
Roger paused in the doorway, half-turned his head. "For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera, alone?"
Mark sighed. "Roger, about last night?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You never want to talk about it." His voice sounded plaintive, even to his own ears.
"I'll call." The words were whispered on a breath. "I just... I hate the fall."
VIII. 1989, May
“So, what, she’s not moving out now?”
“Just for a while longer, it’s only temporarily. We have the extra space, especially now that both Collins and Benny are moving.”
“She’s been living here for almost five months, Mark. My god. You barely knew her a fucking month before she moved in here. Why do you think I’ve been spending so much time at the bar, at the other guys? You kicked me out of my fucking room when she moved in.”
“I thought you didn’t like sharing a room.”
“That’s not the point.” Roger sighed, and took another drag on his cigarette. “It was my room.”
“And mine.” Mark’s voice was firm. “You’re barely here any more anyway, what do you care?”
“So now it’s my fault.” Roger crushed the cigarette between his foot and the pavement, and stood in one fluid motion. “I’m finally making something of myself, Mark, and all I want… all I want…”
“Making something of yourself, Roger? You… when was the last time you practiced? You’re too busy trying to get a new hit with April that you can’t even see straight when you play your guitar. You’re hands are shaking even as you sit here, and you have sweat on the back of your neck, and it’s fucking almost summer out here, and you’re shivering, and… I haven’t even met April yet! You’ve been dating her for almost six months and I haven’t even met her, and you’re a fucking addict, and you need help, and goddam it, Roger! Are you even sober right now?”
Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Mark.”
He turned away then, ready to strode off. Mark reached a hand out at the elbow, and Roger shook it off, not even bothering to look behind him. Mark waited a split second before he ran after Roger, only to see the bleached blonde already gathering his stuff from the apartment, the other three watching helplessly.
“So, you’re leaving?”
“Obviously nothing is worth keeping me here.”
“Roger…” His voice pleaded, he knew. “You don’t have to,” oh god, he almost hated himself right now, “don’t leave, not like this, please…”
“For what?” He didn’t even bother looking up, just balled up the shirt he had found underneath the couch, and shoved it into the paper bag he had taken from the kitchen. “So I can listen to more of your artist’s bullshit. No thank you.”
“This isn’t you, Roger. It’s the drugs, the music, the… You need help.”
“What do you know what I need?”
He swung his guitar over his shoulder, and walked away. Mark glanced at Collins, who shrugged, and he was out the door, leaning precariously over the railing, calling down, “Roger, wait!”
Roger hesitated on the steps. “You are so pathetic.”
“Just tell me where you’ll be, just in case. I mean. Collins is leaving next week, and there’s Benny’s bachelor party and wedding to consider, and…”
“April’s,” floated up the reply. Roger stared at the steps. His voice faltered. “I’ll be at April’s.”
“Roger…”
“Hey,” Roger finally looked up. “Don’t go all emotional on me, you understand. Don’t start thinking you can start just because you’re some goddam bleeding heart camera man?”
“Well, for someone who longs for a community, who’s walking away alone?”
“Ass.” But Roger was almost grinning. “I’ll call. I hate the fall.”
He started walking again. “It’s not even fall yet,” Mark called down.
“No shit,” Roger’s voice floated up again. “You haven’t finished your documentary yet.”
Mark almost laughed when he turned around, only to see the others staring at him. “You, uh, heard?”
“Every word,” Maureen confirmed.
“Man, you have got problems,” Benny added.
“Yeah, well…”
“No need to say it, mate,” Collins interrupted, holding up a hand.
IX. 1990, November
“Why did you come back?”
“Guess I just missed you.” He handed Mark the cup of coffee from across the counter, and sipped at his own. “Is that too much to believe?”
“Just now, up on the roof, Roger, you…?”
“Just as much you as me.”
“But it -”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You never want to talk about it.”
“Mark.”
“No, it’s fine. We won’t talk about it. Just… you do still love her too.”
“Yes.”
“Maureen and Joanne are talking about marrying again.”
“Yeah, Benny mentioned something. He and Maureen apparently ran into each other, at the Life Café. Muffy was there, with him.”
“Allison.”
“They’re talking about getting a new dog. Collins promised not to meet any more potential dog-killers.”
“Rog?”
“I met Benny at the Life Café just few days after getting back. He’s not a bad sort perhaps, after all.”
“He has his moments.”
“He won’t be buying stock into this place.”
“Allison pulled the plug.”
“Muffy.”
Mark smiled into his coffee. “They’re trying to work their marital problems out.”
“Good for them.” Roger sipped at his coffee again. “Mimi’s still missing.”
“I know. At least you have your song.”
“Yes, I have my song - my one last song before I go - now if I could just find Mimi.”
“Roger…”
“She’s not the only reason I came back, you know, and I should tell you -”
“No.” Mark reached a hand across the counter, and momentarily placed it on Roger’s, squeezing. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
X. 1989, June
He hadn’t seen Roger in nearly a week. He shouldn’t be this worried, there had been times Roger had disappeared for longer, but there was just something he didn’t like about this, something that didn’t feel right.
He didn’t know how he had found it, April’s apartment, but he knew somehow just where it was, and raced the stairs, two and three steps at a time. The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open.
“Roger?” he called quietly. No answer. “Roger!”
The bathroom door was ajar. Silently, he pushed it open, not without some trepidation. Roger was in the bathtub, holding a limp body in his arms, covered with blood.
“Roger!” Mark raced forward.
“No,” Roger’s voice was strangled, and rough, like sandpaper. “Don’t - don’t - touch me.”
“But - you’re - the blood.”
“It’s not mine.” He closed his eyes. “Mark, the mirror. April and I - we’ve got AIDS. She slit her wrists.”
Mark’s hands curled into fists at his side. He glanced at the mirror, only to see that April had written just that - “We’ve got AIDS” - in bright red lipstick.
“Sick irony, huh?” He collapsed against the wall underneath the towel bar. “The lipstick color, I mean…” he quickly elaborated, gesturing helplessly at the mirror, and slumping even further into the tiled wall. “You’re sweating.”
“I haven’t had - nothing - in three days.”
“You..”
“Careful where you sit. I think I may have been sick a few times already.” He tightened his hands around April.
“I - I will.” He sighed. “You have to let go of her, Roger.”
“No.”
“You - you need to come home, and sleep, and it’s going to be ok…” His voice only shook a little. “It’s going to be ok…”
“It’s…”
“We’ll get you help, and to the doctor’s, and…”
“I’m going to die, Mark.”
“Well, fuck.” He closed his eyes. “We’re all going to die.”
“You don’t have to go through this.”
“You don’t have to be alone.”
Roger shook his head, opened his mouth, only for another wave of the nausea to pass through him. He grimaced through it, rocking in the bathtub, April still in his arms. “I - should - tell- you…”
“Quiet.” Mark’s eyes fluttered open again. “It’s the end of the millennium, it’s all about what you own and making it count, and… and you don’t have to tell me anything.”
“Why are you doing this?” Roger’s voice was still shaky.
“Because.”
“Yeah.” Roger nodded wearily. “Ok. Just - just I can’t move.”
Mark gave a weak smile. “We’ll figure it out.”
Author: thesilentpoet
Rating: PG-13/light R
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. These lovely boys belong to the brilliant Jonathan Larson, yitgodal v'yitgodosh...
Fandom/Pairing(s):Rent, Mark/Roger (with some mention of various other canon-pairings)
Warnings: Slash, couple mentions of sexual acts, drug use, and some swearing
Summary: They never would flounder, for as long as they had the other.
A/N: Based on a combination of both play-verse and movie-verse, with some book facts and personal canon thrown in. (Loosely-connected/Companion fic can be found at two_of_us_fic - (direct link can be found here) under my name, or in my memories. Be warned, however. Fiction/fan-fiction on my personal journal is tightly locked - I like new friends?)
I. 1989, December
"Look, about last night...?"
Roger's hands tighten instinctively around his coffee mug. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You know Mimi's going to be at Maureen's show tonight." Mark paused, swallowing. "You should come too. I'd hate to see you pass something up that could be good for you. You'll only regret it."
"I'll live."
"Right." He hesitated in the doorway, fiddling with the strap of his bag across his shoulder. "Roger... look, just about last night?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Yeah, I know." Mark sighed, briefly closing his eyes as he pulled the door closed behind him. "You never want to talk about it."
II. 1988, December
"Come on, Marky, please? It's the '80s, for god's sakes. It's got to be a practically a requirement." Maureen had both hands on Mark's face across his cheeks. "For me?"
"I'll think about it," he promised.
"Which means you'll do it," she grinned, kissing him.
"Which means I'll do it," he agreed reluctantly, slipping an arm around Maureen's waist. "You look beautiful tonight, you know."
"Oh, honestly, stop swooning," she teased, letting his face go long enough to poke him in the ribs, "but thank you." She sipped at her beer. "What exactly is it we're waiting for?"
"Roger. He should be out soon."
"Oh." She sipped again at her beer. "Isn't that him?"
Mark looked to where Maureen pointed, only to see Roger in a crowd, guitar in its case swung over his shoulder, arm around a girl's waist, smoking with his other. He waved frantically, calling out. Roger looked up, smiling in recognition, but kept walking.
Mark sighed, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Come on," he pulled slightly at Maureen's coat. "Let's get out of here." Perhaps he only imagined the second emotion behind the initial grin.
"Sure." Maureen finished her beer, and flirtingly thanked the - female - bartender, but held Mark's hand while they pushed their way through the dwindling crowd.
III. 1989, March
"You're leaving."
"Yes." Collins poured them glasses of vodka. "It's time, I think. You'll be fine. You'll have Roger, and Maureen, and Benny, and I'm not leaving officially until May."
"Benny's getting married."
"I heard." Collins downed his alcohol in one swallow. He held the glass for a moment in his hand. "Mark. I have AIDS."
"AIDS, but you mean - you have time, right?"
"Sure, I have time." Collins gave a tight smile, setting the glass on the table. He stared at the bottle before he poured himself a second shot. Mark still hadn't touched his first. "You'll be fine, Mark, you'll see."
"You just found out you're fucking dying, and you're comforting me."
"I'm not dead yet," Collins shrugged. "But this isn't something you can just ignore, it's life. I'm still surprised, frankly, but I'm not going to let it define me. Yes, I'll have to be careful, yes it will always be there and part of me, but it's not who I am. I won't let it be." He gulped the second shot. "Besides it's only Boston, it's not like I'm leaving for Santa Fe."
"Not yet at least."
"I'll give you fair warning."
"You better," Mark almost laughed. "We'll open up a restaraunt."
"And charge the wealthy cliente," Collins agreed.
Mark shook his head, and finally swallowed his vodka, making a face as it burned his throat. He gingerly set the glass on the table again. "I still can't believe you're fucking leaving." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's starting to feel like I'm the only one left."
"We're not falling apart, Mark."
"I know, just... How'd you get it , do you think? AIDS."
"From Logan."
"Oh."
"Mark."
Mark looked up, startled. "Yeah?"
"How is Roger?"
"Roger's... he's around, I guess."
"Yeah." Collins poured them both another drink.
IV. 1991, March
"Roger?"
"Hey," answered Roger's voice from somewhere inside the refrigerator. "Do we have any milk?"
"I think we're out. Didn't Mimi have a doctor's appointment today?"
"She said she wanted to go alone." His head popped out of the refrigerator triumphantly, carton of milk in hand. He opened it, making a face as he smelled it. "Yep, definitely out." He sighed, pouring it down the drain. "Can we afford more?"
"Probably."
"Hmm. Coffee's on."
"Thanks," he mumbled, pulling a mug from the shelf. "Someone called for you last night, you know."
"Say who?"
"Wes, I think? He left a phone number for you to call him at."
"I'll listen to it, thanks."
"Roger?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you happy?"
"What?"
"It's just something I've been thinking about - are you?"
"Yeah, sure, I guess. Feels a little like cheating to be so, doesn't it?"
"Some, yeah." Mark smiled into his coffee. "Collins said something about all meeting at the Life Cafe again for dinner?"
"To celebrate Maureen dressing like a groundhog?"
"It was a metaphor."
"It was still a groundhog costume." Roger actually laughed. "I'll ask Mimi if she wants to go."
"Sure." Mark nodded, and sipped at his coffee. "Do you ever feel like maybe we're all just living on borrowed time?"
Roger swallowed. "All the fucking time."
V. 1989, December
"He's such a fucking prick." Roger started to rant as soon as they were inside again, still shivering slightly from the cold. "If he thinks he can just waltz in here like that - he left us! I mean, god Mark. How'd you manage it, sharing a room the size of a shoebox with him for two years at Brown? What made you want to share an apartment with him in New York?"
"He asked me to."
"What?" Roger stopped his pacing mid-sentence.
"He had graduated, and there was nothing left in Providence for me, so when he said something about going to live in New York, I jumped at the chance. I met you, right?"
"Yeah, I guess." Roger sighed, collapsing against the door, sliding along to the wall to a sitting position on the floor. He looked up at Mark. "What happened to him? What did happen to all the ideals he once pursued?"
"He made it into Real Estate, and he got married." Mark sighed, and sat next to Roger on the floor, close enough that their knees brushed. "Who's to say we're not just like him?"
"We haven't give up."
"But we're not pursuing anything either."
"I suppose." Roger grimaced. "I should tell you, you know."
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing." He stood, padded across the floor for his guitar.
Mark scrambled to his feet awkwardly. "I was going to try to go find Collins. You want to come? I thought maybe we could all grab some dinner."
He strummed a note. "Zoom in on my empty wallet."
"Touché." Mark sighed. "Take your AZT."
VI. 1990, April
"She going to stay here?"
"Is that ok?"
"Yeah, of course, it's fine."
"Mark."
"I suppose this means I should sleep on the couch for a few weeks."
"Mark."
"It's only fair after all."
"Mark..."
Mark looked up, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "It's fine, Rog. Honest."
"Liar."
He squeezed Roger's shoulder as he walked by. "Don't push it."
Not yet.
VII. 1990, October
"I hear there are great restaurants out west."
"Some of the best - how could she?"
"How could you let her go?"
"You just don't know - how could we lost Angel?"
"Maybe you'll see why when you stop escaping your pain."
Roger humphed, threw a shirt into the suitcase.
"Are you insane?" Mark sputtered, continuing. "There's so much to care about there's me there's Mimi-
"Mimi's got her baggage too."
"So do you."
"Who are you to tell me what I know, and what to do?"
"A friend!"
"But who Mark are you? "Mark has got his work" they say "Mark lives for his work" and "Mark's in love with his work". Mark hides in his work." His voice was almost soft, nearly a cross between anger and need.
"From what?" It was all too much.
"From facing your failure, facing your loneliness facing the fact you live a lie yes, you live a lie, and I'll tell you why. You're always preaching not to be numb when that's how you thrive. You pretend to create and observe, when you really detach from feeling alive."
"Perhaps because I'm the one of us to survive." He was desperate, and throwing stones, and he knew it, but he took a step closer to Roger anyway, attempting to reach, and to see sense out of it.
"Poor baby." Roger's word held just as much sting, and venom.
He sighed, it dawning on him. "Mimi still loves you... Are you really jealous or afraid that Mimi's weak?"
"Mimi did look pale." Vulnerability was in his voice again, and Mark took another step forward.
"Mimi's gotten thin, you know. She's running out of time, and you're running out the door." He was close; he gingerly touched his hand to Roger's shoulder. He swore he felt Roger lean into the touch.
"No!" Roger nearly shouted it. He shrugged off Mark's hand, swung his bag across his shoulder. "Just... No more... I've got to go..."
It was his last chance. "Hey for someone who's always been let down who's fucking heading out of town?"
Roger paused in the doorway, half-turned his head. "For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera, alone?"
Mark sighed. "Roger, about last night?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You never want to talk about it." His voice sounded plaintive, even to his own ears.
"I'll call." The words were whispered on a breath. "I just... I hate the fall."
VIII. 1989, May
“So, what, she’s not moving out now?”
“Just for a while longer, it’s only temporarily. We have the extra space, especially now that both Collins and Benny are moving.”
“She’s been living here for almost five months, Mark. My god. You barely knew her a fucking month before she moved in here. Why do you think I’ve been spending so much time at the bar, at the other guys? You kicked me out of my fucking room when she moved in.”
“I thought you didn’t like sharing a room.”
“That’s not the point.” Roger sighed, and took another drag on his cigarette. “It was my room.”
“And mine.” Mark’s voice was firm. “You’re barely here any more anyway, what do you care?”
“So now it’s my fault.” Roger crushed the cigarette between his foot and the pavement, and stood in one fluid motion. “I’m finally making something of myself, Mark, and all I want… all I want…”
“Making something of yourself, Roger? You… when was the last time you practiced? You’re too busy trying to get a new hit with April that you can’t even see straight when you play your guitar. You’re hands are shaking even as you sit here, and you have sweat on the back of your neck, and it’s fucking almost summer out here, and you’re shivering, and… I haven’t even met April yet! You’ve been dating her for almost six months and I haven’t even met her, and you’re a fucking addict, and you need help, and goddam it, Roger! Are you even sober right now?”
Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Mark.”
He turned away then, ready to strode off. Mark reached a hand out at the elbow, and Roger shook it off, not even bothering to look behind him. Mark waited a split second before he ran after Roger, only to see the bleached blonde already gathering his stuff from the apartment, the other three watching helplessly.
“So, you’re leaving?”
“Obviously nothing is worth keeping me here.”
“Roger…” His voice pleaded, he knew. “You don’t have to,” oh god, he almost hated himself right now, “don’t leave, not like this, please…”
“For what?” He didn’t even bother looking up, just balled up the shirt he had found underneath the couch, and shoved it into the paper bag he had taken from the kitchen. “So I can listen to more of your artist’s bullshit. No thank you.”
“This isn’t you, Roger. It’s the drugs, the music, the… You need help.”
“What do you know what I need?”
He swung his guitar over his shoulder, and walked away. Mark glanced at Collins, who shrugged, and he was out the door, leaning precariously over the railing, calling down, “Roger, wait!”
Roger hesitated on the steps. “You are so pathetic.”
“Just tell me where you’ll be, just in case. I mean. Collins is leaving next week, and there’s Benny’s bachelor party and wedding to consider, and…”
“April’s,” floated up the reply. Roger stared at the steps. His voice faltered. “I’ll be at April’s.”
“Roger…”
“Hey,” Roger finally looked up. “Don’t go all emotional on me, you understand. Don’t start thinking you can start just because you’re some goddam bleeding heart camera man?”
“Well, for someone who longs for a community, who’s walking away alone?”
“Ass.” But Roger was almost grinning. “I’ll call. I hate the fall.”
He started walking again. “It’s not even fall yet,” Mark called down.
“No shit,” Roger’s voice floated up again. “You haven’t finished your documentary yet.”
Mark almost laughed when he turned around, only to see the others staring at him. “You, uh, heard?”
“Every word,” Maureen confirmed.
“Man, you have got problems,” Benny added.
“Yeah, well…”
“No need to say it, mate,” Collins interrupted, holding up a hand.
IX. 1990, November
“Why did you come back?”
“Guess I just missed you.” He handed Mark the cup of coffee from across the counter, and sipped at his own. “Is that too much to believe?”
“Just now, up on the roof, Roger, you…?”
“Just as much you as me.”
“But it -”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You never want to talk about it.”
“Mark.”
“No, it’s fine. We won’t talk about it. Just… you do still love her too.”
“Yes.”
“Maureen and Joanne are talking about marrying again.”
“Yeah, Benny mentioned something. He and Maureen apparently ran into each other, at the Life Café. Muffy was there, with him.”
“Allison.”
“They’re talking about getting a new dog. Collins promised not to meet any more potential dog-killers.”
“Rog?”
“I met Benny at the Life Café just few days after getting back. He’s not a bad sort perhaps, after all.”
“He has his moments.”
“He won’t be buying stock into this place.”
“Allison pulled the plug.”
“Muffy.”
Mark smiled into his coffee. “They’re trying to work their marital problems out.”
“Good for them.” Roger sipped at his coffee again. “Mimi’s still missing.”
“I know. At least you have your song.”
“Yes, I have my song - my one last song before I go - now if I could just find Mimi.”
“Roger…”
“She’s not the only reason I came back, you know, and I should tell you -”
“No.” Mark reached a hand across the counter, and momentarily placed it on Roger’s, squeezing. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
X. 1989, June
He hadn’t seen Roger in nearly a week. He shouldn’t be this worried, there had been times Roger had disappeared for longer, but there was just something he didn’t like about this, something that didn’t feel right.
He didn’t know how he had found it, April’s apartment, but he knew somehow just where it was, and raced the stairs, two and three steps at a time. The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open.
“Roger?” he called quietly. No answer. “Roger!”
The bathroom door was ajar. Silently, he pushed it open, not without some trepidation. Roger was in the bathtub, holding a limp body in his arms, covered with blood.
“Roger!” Mark raced forward.
“No,” Roger’s voice was strangled, and rough, like sandpaper. “Don’t - don’t - touch me.”
“But - you’re - the blood.”
“It’s not mine.” He closed his eyes. “Mark, the mirror. April and I - we’ve got AIDS. She slit her wrists.”
Mark’s hands curled into fists at his side. He glanced at the mirror, only to see that April had written just that - “We’ve got AIDS” - in bright red lipstick.
“Sick irony, huh?” He collapsed against the wall underneath the towel bar. “The lipstick color, I mean…” he quickly elaborated, gesturing helplessly at the mirror, and slumping even further into the tiled wall. “You’re sweating.”
“I haven’t had - nothing - in three days.”
“You..”
“Careful where you sit. I think I may have been sick a few times already.” He tightened his hands around April.
“I - I will.” He sighed. “You have to let go of her, Roger.”
“No.”
“You - you need to come home, and sleep, and it’s going to be ok…” His voice only shook a little. “It’s going to be ok…”
“It’s…”
“We’ll get you help, and to the doctor’s, and…”
“I’m going to die, Mark.”
“Well, fuck.” He closed his eyes. “We’re all going to die.”
“You don’t have to go through this.”
“You don’t have to be alone.”
Roger shook his head, opened his mouth, only for another wave of the nausea to pass through him. He grimaced through it, rocking in the bathtub, April still in his arms. “I - should - tell- you…”
“Quiet.” Mark’s eyes fluttered open again. “It’s the end of the millennium, it’s all about what you own and making it count, and… and you don’t have to tell me anything.”
“Why are you doing this?” Roger’s voice was still shaky.
“Because.”
“Yeah.” Roger nodded wearily. “Ok. Just - just I can’t move.”
Mark gave a weak smile. “We’ll figure it out.”