Welcome Home! (Roger/Mark!)

[ROGER DAVIS]

Flipping the pages of the voice, Roger propped his feet up on the armrest of the couch, chewing on the bottom of his lip as he read the random news article. There was nothing really interesting in the Voice, surprisingly. At least sometimes, there were really interesting articles, but at this time? Nothing.

Sighing out, he tossed the paper on the floor, draping an arm across his eyes. He was so bored! Mimi was at work, Collins was at school, Maureen was...well, Roger hadn't tried to figure out where Maureen was, and Mark was still in Scarsdale. He sort of wished he would have gone to Scarsdale with Mark, just for a change of scene. Besides, the last time he had spoken with Mark's mother, she had wondered when Roger was going to make a visit to see them. But Mimi had been feeling under the weather, and Roger hadn't wanted to leave Mimi alone, besides, her work schedule wouldn't let her take the few days off.

So, Roger stayed behind. Which was proving to be a very boring decision. "Sooooo bored." Roger half spoke, half sing-songed to no one in particular. "Sooooo--"

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!

He turned his head to look at the phone that was ringing on the metal coffee table. Maybe it was Maureen? "Please let it be MJ, please let it be MJ." Roger murmured in a prayer before the sound of the answering machine clicked on.

Speeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak.

"Mark? Mark, are you there? It's Cindy?"

"YES!" Roger exclaimed with a smile and launched himself over, excitedly reaching for the phone. While he did, however, he tripped over his own legs and landed hard on the ground, phone in hand. "Son of a bitch!" Roger mumbled and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey, Cindy. No, baby, I just fell. No, baby, I'm cool. How are you!" Roger laughed slightly. "Oh, really? That's awesome, baby! Yeah, I know Mark was gonna be down there. I know, I wish I coulda came to see you but I haven't been feeling well." he twirled the cord around his fingers and smiled. "I know, baby! I miss you, too! What's it been like, a year since we've seen each other." he paused and then smiled wide.

He didn't hear the door to the Loft open, as he was too caught up in the conversation with Mark's sister. M?rk knew of Roger's little crush, as it were, on his sister, but of course, his sister was married, and had children. It was all in good fun. But it sure was fun to watch Mark get frustrated and annoyed at him.

He laid back down on couch, feet back on the armrest. "What am I doing? I'm sitting here talking to you. You still with Aaron?" Roger asked, and then rolled his eyes. "Baby, listen. I can't help the fact that you married Aaron and not me. I know you're upset about it, but so am I. I'm always willing to run away with you if you want me to." He laughed slightly, moving an arm behind his head. His tone was teasing.

"Oh, stop. You know you wouldn't hang up on me. You love me. I know, I love me, too." He felt his lips spread into a smile. "I don't know where your brother is, baby. Maybe he got lost in the subway. Yeah, I figured he was coming back, today. But enough about me. What're you wear--" He glanced up over the edge of the couch to see Mark.

"Oh hey, baby. Your brother's right here. Being a cock-block as usual." Roger said, giving Mark a slight wave. "Trip go okay, darling?" he asked teasingly before he put the phone back to his lips. "Okay. Okay, I'll tell him that you love him with all your heart, but I know you really mean me." He laughed slightly and nodded. "Yeah, love you too. Bye, baby. Tell your mom I said hi. I will. Bye."

He hung up the phone, looking over the couch at Mark. "Your sister wanted me to tell you that you left a sweater at your mom's. And that she loves her widdle Marky-Warky with all her heart. God, I miss your sister, dude. She's just fantastic. Why'd she have to marry Aaron, anyway?"

[markcohen]

The subway was not Mark's favorite mode of transportation, but he very well couldn't have ridden his bike from the bus station. The ride into the city from Scarsdale had taken longer than expected due to traffic, and the entire time there had been a couple literally making out in the seats in front of him. Honestly, could they have waited a couple of hours? The sounds alone had made him wish he had headphones--not necessarily music, but those noise reducing ones. Then he might have been able to bear the trip.

After getting off of the bus, he had quickly grabbed his duffle bag and headed to find the subway, checking the schedule with enough ease that a few people asked him for directions. He was a little surprised. Usually, with his camera, people assumed he was a tourist. That was when he realized--oh god, where was it?! Turning on his heel, he broke into a run back toward the bus. When he got there, he spotted the bus driver holding his most prized possession. "Uh...sir, I left that on the--" The man laughed a little, saying it was no problem, and handed it back to him. 'That's a nice one', he commented, and Mark nodded in agreement, giving a quick thanks before rushing to catch his train.

Once in the subway car, he tried to avoid getting knocked to the ground by the shaking motion. It wasn't very uncommon for him to fall over into someone, and he honestly did not want any confrontation. Getting home in one piece was the main goal. Holding onto one of the poles, he thought back to Collins playing around on the train that one time, and smiled a little before his expression saddened. Back when Angel was around, he thought, before trying to push that away. He couldn't be dwelling like this, especially not in public. When his stop finally came, he squeezed past some passengers and headed off in a brisk walk, wanting to be back at the loft already. Mark wanted to see his friends, who he had missed while back in Scarsdale. He had acquired some food while there, though, which he knew the bohemians would appreciate. Hell, he swore he had put on a pound or two.

Back in Alphabet City, he took a deep breath. Okay...maybe he had gotten a little too used to the air back where his parents lived. As Mark walked, he thought about how the day might go today. He and Roger had reunited with a hug, sure, but they hadn't really spoken about the things they had said to one another. The accusation that his life was a lie still wasn't sitting well with the filmmaker, and he wanted to clear the air. After all, Roger was like his brother. Speaking of siblings, that was just who the rocker was talking to on the phone as Mark got into the loft. His sister, to be exact. Oh, he had missed this, really. The joking, happy Roger as opposed to the sulky angst ridden one. He listened to what he said, and laughed a little before his brow furrowed. "I don't know, it's probably about the two kids." He said before smiling and putting his stuff down. "And hello to you, too...'darling'. I come bearing food."

[ROGER DAVIS]

I don't know, it's probably about the two kids.

Roger scoffed, shaking his head and waving his hand as if the entire subject didn't matter. "Kids-schmids." Roger said as if dismissing the subject. "He hates me anyway. I don't know why he hates me, Mark. I didn't do shit to him. I mean, it's not like I actually slept with your sister or anything. He just doesn't know how to take a joke."

However, Roger saw bags in his best friend's hand, and for a second, his brows narrowed as he sat up fully, looking over the edge of the couch to his best friend. However, the word 'food' hit his ears, and he instantly launched himself over the edge of the couch. "Food!" he said excitedly, digging into one of the bags to grab a bag of chips. "Oh, precious food. I love you, Herrs." he said, kissing the bag before ripping the top open. "Your mom got us this food, huh?" Roger asked, and the nodded, talking as he chewed on a handful of chips. "Yeah, she probably saw how skinny you were getting and decided to stuff you full of food. Which, again, is one of the reasons why I still am kicking myself for not going with you."

Mark's mother's food was just as good as his own mother's food, and the last time Mrs. Cohen had seen Roger, she had made sure to fill him to the brim with food. It wasn't anything that Roger was complaining about. She had commented over and over about how skinny Roger had gotten, and he hadn't had the heart to tell her that he had AIDS. Later on, after a few hours and a noisy beeper later, he had taken Mrs. Cohen out back, under the stars, and told her. Her reaction, at first, was shock and surprise, and then comforting, as much as she could have been. She had held him, told him that she loved him, and that in her family, he was just as much their son as Mark was. She had then asked if Roger had told his own mother, and a 30 minute conversation later, Mrs. Cohen had exhausted herself on trying to tell Roger that he needed to tell Mrs. Davis, and then had swore that she wouldn't tell both Roger's mom and Cindy about what they had talked about. And for the most part, he was sure that Mrs. Cohen had kept her word, because he hadn't gotten any phone calls from Cindy or his mother.

"How was Scarsdale? Your mom and Cindy? They cool? There's coffee in the pot." Roger said, taking the bag of chips back to the couch where he had sat before plopping back down. "And thank god you came home when you did. I was literally about to go get into trouble just to relieve my boredom. Can you believe no one is willing to come entertain me? Collins is at school, my girlfriend's working, and Maureen won't call me back! She's probably just as bored as I am. Plus, I was hungry, so that grocery store down on the corner probably would have given me a five finger discount. But now? They don't have to! Everyone's happy."

[markcohen]

Mark shrugged. "Well, he's never liked me much, either." He pointed out before he watched with a laugh as Roger launched himself at a bag of potato chips. As the musician stuffed some into his mouth and spoke, the filmmaker made a face before nodded. "Yeah, that's actually right." He then imitated the woman. "You're so skinny, are you eating? Here, take some food while your father complains about it." That part was true. As Mrs. Cohen was offering her son food to take home with him, Mr. Cohen was trying to explain to her that Mark was an adult. His mother had taken that opportunity to remind her husband that their son was unemployed, which didn't make matters any better.

It wasn't like he was close with his mother; actually, he wasn't close to either of his parents. But his Mom had a lot of guilt for not always being as attentive to her son as she could have been. So she made up for it by hovering and trying to help him. He appreciated it, but it made him feel a little bitter. Why couldn't she have cared this much when he had really needed it? Mark had never really given Roger all the details of his bullied days in high school, and didn't care to. That was all in the past, and it wasn't like he could change it. 'No day but today', he reminded himself while helping himself to an apple.

'How was Scarsdale?' He heard his friend ask, and Mark took a bite of the fruit he held before chewing and letting his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. After swallowing, he answered. "Pretty much the same. Mom being all over everything, Dad hiding out in the den and Cindy wanting to know whether or not I've met anyone." He sat down in a chair and sighed. "I'm glad to be back, actually...although the heat was nice." Upon hearing that everyone was busy, he nodded his head, a thoughtful expression on his face and drawing in on his eyes before he looked up at Roger. "How is Mimi?" He asked, his tone and expression holding some concern now. Mimi had become like a sister to him, and he knew that she had essentially come back from death to continue living. He couldn't help but have the fear that he might lose her; that he might lose all of them. It hung over his head a lot sometimes, when he didn't try to avoid it; with his work, of course. Right. 'Mark hides in his work'.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Well, he's never liked me much, either.

"Because you're the best friend of the guy who, in his imaginary bizzaro world, fucked his wife." Roger pointed out with a mouth full of chips before he swallowed. "Hell, it's my imaginary bizzaro world, too, but the fact is? Didn't happen. It's not gonna happen. Dude needs to stop being a jerk to me."

When Mark imitated Mrs. Cohen, Roger turned his head to look at the filmmaker with a half smile. "The only way we'd both get fat is if your mother moved in here and cooked for us every night. And you know how much I love your mother's cooking. However, this much is true; wonderful, wonderful Jewish cooking does not outweigh the fact that if your mother lived here, there's a good chance she'd either A) see me naked. B) see Mimi naked. Or the worst, C) see and/or hear us fucking. And I like your mom. She's a sweet old lady. I don't want to scar her with that."

Roger managed a laugh at the mention of Cindy. "Don't worry, dude. Sooner or later you'll find a girl that you'll be able to tell your sister about. And hey? If you're lucky? You'll find that special girl that shares your love of the Jews. Extra points with the family for that, I'm sure. "

How's Mimi?

Roger pursed his lips. "She's feeling better, I think." he said honestly, and then sighed out slightly, setting the bag of chips on the floor. "I think she's shooting up at the Club." Roger said honestly, looking over at his best friend. "I tore the bathroom and the bedroom apart and I didn't find anything. So I'm thinking that she shoots up at the club, because she's came home and I just...know she's high." He didn't mention the fact that he got a strange sort of...was it longing? Was it the actual need or want of the drug again? He would always be an addict. Forever. And that was what worried him.

"I don't know if she thinks I know...but I do. I know she's not doing it to be a bitch or to lie to me, she's doing it so she doesn't have face it again, but...but I gotta get her clean again. For good, this time. For both our sakes."

[markcohen]

Mark's brow furrowed before he nodded. "Yeah, that must be it." He said sarcastically before biting into the apple again, the fruit making a perfect crunch. No one needed to be reminded of that one day when he bit into a rotten apple. Roger, of course, had found it hilarious. Collins had laughed and apologized for not checking if they were good, and Mark had run into the bathroom and thrown up. Actually, if you took out the vomiting part, it was almost a fond memory. Weird.

"What can I say? He's territorial." Mark reasoned, and added, "Not to mention, he's trained the kids to know the word 'geek' so as of last week, I'm 'Uncle Geek'." He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "It's one of the better nicknames I've gotten." He laughed a little to diminish any chance of Roger asking about that further. Of course, in high school, he'd been called much worse than a geek. Having an indepth conversation about his past bullying experiences would not make this return a good one. "Like...what did Collins say? 'Pumpkin head?'" Okay, that actually made him chuckle, but he knew Collins meant it in an endearing way.

Mark made a face upon the mention of possible nudity or sex around his mother. "Right." He said, "And the fact that she'd a, drive me insane and b, hover over me 24 hours a day to make up for...I'm gonna go throw out this apple core." He quickly changed the subject before Roger spoke again. It was about him meeting a nice woman eventually. Sometimes, he doubted he would. Was he even at a point where he could have a good relationship? For god's sake, he even hid things from Roger.

Upon the mention of Mimi's drug use, Mark's features turned serious, but softened when he noticed Roger's. It was almost helpless, he realized sadly. "Do you think...rehab maybe?" Roger hadn't gone, and he knew Mimi had tried it, but judging from past events Mimi probably wouldn't stick it out in a rehab facility. Then again, Roger trying to help her quit hadn't worked out, either. "You know I'm here for you guys, whatever you need." He reminded his best friend. Helping Roger through withdrawal had probably been one of the most mentally (and physically) taxing things he'd ever experienced, but it had helped the man to get clean.

[ROGER DAVIS]

So as of last week, I'm 'Uncle Geek'.

"Aww, that's cute." Roger said in a overly sweetened tone. "Then again, the fact that he's a dick aside, he makes some adorable little kids."

Like what did Collins say? 'Pumpkin head'?"

"Pumpkin headed albino-looking motherfucker." Roger corrected, and then shook his head. "It's no worse than the time I decided that I wanted to grow my hair out and he saw he was in love with my long, flowing locks. I knew that had been a bad idea." There had been three months that he had decided to abandon the short hair, more out of boredom than anything, and Collins would not let it go. Thankfully, Roger had decided that long hair was A) too unmanageable and B) horrible looking. "I'm never growing it out again. I don't know what I was thinking. I blame the coke I was on at the time."

When Mark spoke of his mother, Roger rolled his eyes. "Dude, your mom's not that bad." he pointed out, and then rolled his eyes, not catching Mark's change of subject. "Oh, throwing out the apple core that your mother gave you. You're so rebellious. My inner girl is getting so turned on by this display of rebellious manliness." Roger muttered with a smile before he stuffed his mouth with more chips.

Do you think rehab, maybe?

"We don't have money for rehab, Mark." Roger pointed out, a slight sigh escaping his lips. "We don't have money. And she won't stay in rehab, you and I both know that." However, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to do it again. "I just...I don't know if I can do it again. Watch her go through that. But every time she comes home..." He wasn't sure how he could tell Mark that there was temptation.

"I don't want to put you through that again, man. I mean, last time..." Last time, there had been screams. Tears. Punches. Words of pure hatred and he didn't want Mark seeing that again.

"I know you are, dude. I know you are."

[markcohen]

Mark couldn't help but agree with Roger's point: the kids were adorable. Maybe when they were older they'd learn to call him Uncle Mark. Then his roommate decided to give the correct wording of Collin's term of affection. "Right, that." Mark pointed at Roger with a small nod before shaking his head with a chuckle. "I miss the guy." He admitted. Collins was definitely the funniest of the bohemians. Mark hoped he was doing well, since Angel. He couldn't imagine what he was going through: probably traveling when he could: he'd heard a good train hopping story from him before.

Ah, the hair. "It did look...awful, Rog." He pointed out to his friend. "Maybe that's why you didn't leave the house...although we could've found you a hat." He grinned at his own joke before taking a swig of the bottled water he had brought. When he came back from throwing out the apple core, he heard Roger say that Mrs. Cohen wasn't that bad. Then, he made a joke. Usually, jokes at his expense wouldn't have bothered him. That one hit a nerve, though, and he scoffed. "You can be such an ass..." He mumbled as he fumbled in his duffel bag for the bag of coffee.

Then, the subject of rehab. Right; that cost money. Benny had paid for it the first time, and Mark knew that Roger wouldn't allow it. Mark frowned. "We could ask Collins?" He suggested, "That ATM code or whatever...unless it doesn't work anymore." He didn't think about that. Of course, the bank who owned the ATM at the food emporium probably would have noticed that they took money out a while back, before Mark had gone to Scarsdale. He sighed. "Nevermind."

'I mean, last time...' Mark's blue eyes showed that he understood, but he was determined guy. "So...I got a few bruises." He reasoned, "If it'll help Mimi..." He was sure that Roger knew how he saw the latina almost as a sister, and that she was important to him. Hell, Mimi had been the only one who had asked Mark if he was alright that time that Maureen and Joanne started making out in front of everyone at dinner one night.

[ROGER DAVIS]

I miss the guy.

"I do, too." Roger found himself murmuring, looking down at his hands before he leaned over, grabbing his guitar from the edge of the bed. He remembered the acoustic guitar had almost gotten sold after April had died, but Mark had told him to hang onto it. Keep it, because like the man's camera, it was who Roger was. Roger was thankful that Mark had said something, because without the guitar, Roger wasn't sure where he'd be. Who'd he be. He plucked out random notes as Mark continued.

He missed Collins more than Mark probably knew. Collins had been the one to come into Roger's room shortly after he had gotten clean and sit with him, not saying a word. At first, Roger didn't say anything. He was too proud to say anything to the man that he had thought of as more of a father figure than his own father. He had been too proud to say that he fucked up his life and now he, like Collins, had a death sentence. And then, Collins had spoke the first words in the dimly lit, silent bedroom. I know you're scared. Those words, no matter how hard Roger had tried to hide it, had sent him over the edge and into tears. The two had spend the next three hours talking, wondering, and realising, at least for Roger, that it wasn't over.

But now Collins was gone again, just as he had been before, and he felt a sort of...piece missing. One that needed to be put back. "I hope he calls soon."

"I don't wear hats." Roger protested, shaking his head. "It's never happening again, so don't get all excited to see me wear a hat." However, as Mark scoffed and turned, mumbling that he was an ass, Roger felt himself grin slightly. "I know I am. But you love me."

We could ask Collins.

"You know I don't like asking Collins." Roger said, shaking his head. "And I don't think the ATM works anymore. Last time I went to go try and get money out, a cop asked what I was doing. It bordered on harassment, dude, but I mean, he's got a point. I didn't have a card." Roger lifted his shoulder in a slight half shrug.

So I got a few bruises.

Roger pursed his lips, eyes looking instantly down onto the neck of his guitar, even though he didn't need to, but needed a distraction from what Mark had said. "A few." he murmured in almost amused irony. "I punched you so hard that you had a bruise on your face for a week."

It wasn't the physical scars that hurt Roger the most about what had happened between the two men. It was the mental scars he was sure he had created. Or made deeper. Whatever the case may be, he knew he had hurt his best friend. Even when he had been shaking and cramping and out of his mind with pain, anger and frustration, in the back of his mind, he could remember trying to stop himself. The back of his mind begging and pleading and telling him to stop. Stop saying all of those horrible things about Mark. But his mind had been clouded by the overwhelming pain that withdrawal could do to a person, and he hadn't been able to stop. There were jabs about the fact that Maureen didn't love him. That there was a reason why his father ignored him. There was a reason why even though every single person was around him, he was alone.

And then, when the pain had subsided and the hurt had turned from physical to mental, he had begged and pleaded with Mark, got down on his knees and sobbed, begging for his forgiveness. That he hadn't meant all that fucked up shit he had said and that he had only had said it because he had been scared. He was scared, he had repeated over and over again to Mark.

That would be Mimi. That had been Mimi.

"Even though she was the best girl I've probably ever met...I really hate Heroin." And that, sadly, was the truth. Heroin had been one of the best things about his life. It had made him feel better than any person, really, could make him feel. It sent calming waves through him, it brought him down from soaring heights to ride on a perfect cloud of happiness. She was like the best lover a person could ever have. Always willing to give a hundred and ten percent.

"It's like the best girlfriend in your entire life. Always willing to please you if you ask. And god, she will please you." Roger said after a moment, almost talking to no one but himself. "But if you ignore her...even for a second...she starts getting mad. She'll scream at you. Make you shake with fear. She'll make you cry and scream and say things that you'd never really say before and then...once you bring her back...it's like she never left." Roger pursed his lips. "And that's what I'm afraid of, Mark. The second Mimi brings that home...if I find it and I'm...if I'm feeling weak that day...I don't want that temptation. It's not just for her sake, Mark. It's for mine. Because I know if I do it again..."

He didn't want to think of what the outcome would be. Would he try to shoot what he had shot before, only to find that it was an overload for his system. Sure, he was thinking logically now. But in the moment? There would be no logic. Only longing. Lust. Lust for a woman that only existed in metaphor.

"I think Mimi's going to have to do it at home. I just...I gotta find whatever strength I have left in me to be her strength."

[markcohen]

Mark nodded in agreement. Collins had become an older brother to Mark over the years. He'd crack jokes on his behalf, but Mark always knew that it was never in venom and that he never wanted to hurt him. He was the man with a fatal disease who refused to let it make him 'dying'. Instead, he chose to be one of the most alive people they had met. His optimism and love of life really made Mark look up to him. Along with that, Tom Collins had been an absolute godsend during some points of Roger's withdrawal. When the rocker would get that fire in his eyes and try to charge at Mark in order to get out of the loft. When Roger needed someone who understood what it meant to get a diagnosis like AIDS. There had been one particular event where, in his haze of needing a fix, Roger had called Mark a fag, in connection to Mark's relationship with Maureen (which had been in a rut as soon as he was 'ignoring' her for Roger). Collins had been there, and of course had taken care of both of them. That night, Mark had gone out for one of the first times since his best friend had stopped shooting up. When he had returned, Roger had apologized profusely: this would become a regular thing.

'I hope he calls soon'. "Yeah, me too." He responded as he put on a pot of coffee. When the words were mentioned of punches in the face, Mark shrugged, still not facing in the direction of his roommate. They were both thinking the same thing. The physical bruise had faded quickly. The emotional ones had been forced into cuts, wounds that attacked Mark's self confidence. Not that that had been a huge amount there before, but hearing all of those horrible things from Roger had hurt more than...well, about the same as getting dumped. Throughout that entire withdrawl period, Mark had fears that after it was over, Roger's cutting words would become the ones he chose when he was clean. Finally, he turned around and shook his head. "We got through it." He stated simply, his blue eyes meeting Roger's green before he glanced away again, aware of how his expression showed his vulnerability. Thinking about how he had felt those days could bring it all back, sometimes. He liked to avoid those feelings.

The metaphor of heroin made Mark frown, but he listened as his friend spoke. When the mention of fear of relapsing came up, he shook his head a little. No, Roger wouldn't do that. He wouldn't put himself or the rest of them through that...would he? Mentally, Mark told himself to stop thinking like that: he needed to keep faith in his best friend, despite everything that had been said and done all that time ago. He took a breath. "I'd flush it down the toilet." Mark admitted, "If I found out it was here..." He knew, though, that that would make him a target of an angry Mimi. "Sometimes...I didn't care that you were pissed at me. I was just happy that you were alive." His fingers tapped on the sides of his coffee mug and he laughed a little, but not in a happy way. "God...I get back and we're having a big...what, heart to heart?"

[ROGER DAVIS]

We got through it.

They had gotten through it, and had gotten better because of it, because in the end, they had stuck together. Mark had, for whatever reason, managed to stay around with Roger while the most horrible things had happened to them. For some reason, Mark stayed. Roger couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why Mark stayed, or even why he and Mark were friends at all. They were complete opposites on things at time. Mark was an introvert while Roger had been, at one time, one of the most outgoing and risky people on he planet. However, they were both artists. They bonded over each of their passions for the arts; after all, music often went hand in hand with footage. Footage without music was simply silence. Roger had thought that he would have been alright without Mark, but in the end, while he sat in the old, dirty hotel room in Sante Fe, he realised that he had missed his best friend. Mark and Roger didn't have an outrageous relationship; their relationships, at times, were simply built on conversations. Talks about nothing. That's why they worked so well, Roger figured, because while they could sit in complete silence together, they always felt a constant need to talk to each other. Even when it hurt.

"Yeah," Roger said, his voice almost a whisper. "We got through it."

HE didn't like to think of those days. What he could remember, the memories that weren't clouded with the heavy fog of withdrawal were disgusting. Mark had seen a side of him that he hadn't even seen himself. Mark had seen every range of emotion in Roger in a very short amount of time, and while Roger wished at times that Mark hadn't seen it, it made Roger realise that the man sitting across from him knew him better than Roger knew himself.

I'd flush it down the toilet, if I found out it was here.

"You wanna watch someone try to shoot toilet water? You'll do some crazy shit when you're desperate." Roger asked, and then shook his head. "I don't think she's going to bring it here. She knows. She knows how I feel about it and she knows, at least in theory, what I went through."

Sometimes...I didn't care that you were pissed at me. I was just happy you were alive.

Roger focused back on the neck of his guitar, pretending to tune the guitar that didn't need tuning. A few months after April had died, after Roger had gotten clean and sober, Collins had told Roger what had happened that night. The night of the funeral was something that Roger didn't remember much of. He remembered getting home and taking a few pills to try to get to sleep. Then? Then, he remembered nothing. Collins had filled in the gap saying that at some point, Roger had over-shot a hit of heroin into his veins and mixed with the pills he had taken had knocked him out. Mark had found him, Collins had said. He was blue. Collins had rushed in and started CPR while Mark had called the cops, and as he had told him the story, he had clasped Roger's shoulder with his large hand and told him he never, ever wanted to see him that way. He never wanted to see him blue and pale and dead. Sometimes, Roger felt dead. He felt like a ghost simply haunting a place. Other times, he felt so alive than he could ever express. "Sometimes, I wasn't happy to be alive. I can't lie to you. But...but I think I'm happy now. I have more good days than bad, I guess."

God, I get back and we're having a big...what, heart to heart?

Roger managed a slight chuckle at that, and almost ironic sad sort of sound that escaped his lips. "Maybe we're just finally--

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

Speeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak.

"Roger? Roger, it's your mother. I guess you must be out or something but...but when you get this, call me back? I miss you, Roger. Oh, would you believe? I thought I saw April the other day. I know you said she moved out of state, but for a second, I thought it was her. I was about to say hi, but she rushed off, so I wasn't sure if it was her or not. I really do hope you two get back together, I know you were happy. Anyway, call me back, Roger. Maybe you can come and stay for a weekend. I miss my baby boy. I love you, Roger. Bye."

Swallowing, Roger looked from the answering machine to Mark for a brief second before moving to grab the pack of cigarettes on the table. He grabbed the lighter, flicking it to light the cigarette. "Better a heart to heart with you than a heart to heart with her." Roger pointed out honestly, blowing the cigarette smoke out in a sigh.

[markcohen]

Why were they even friends? That's what plenty of people wondered when they got to know the Boho Boys. They were practically polar opposites. Mark was introverted, shy, and made sure not to step on toes. Roger was a bit more up front, confrontational, and even after withdrawal and everything else he had more confidence than his friend. The thing that bonded them, primarily, was their love of the arts. Mark's love of film and Roger's music went hand in hand, basically. They started out being close when Mark would film The Well Hungarians during their gigs. Thinking back, those rolls were probably somewhere in the loft. The ones with April in them had stayed hidden for a while. Mark had found a place for them after she killed herself, to make sure Roger wouldn't find them, watch, and relapse or worse.

'Yeah. We got through it', Roger spoke, and Mark smiled a little bit, glad to be back in the company of his friend. His brother, in fact. Still, thinking back on those days? It hurt. Not just because of the number of times Mark was pushed, slammed, thrown, whatever; but because he had sometimes thought Roger wouldn't make it through all of that. He'd been the one who had attended to Roger when he was sick and shaking, and assured him he'd be alright. Most days, he hadn't been sure. It was like a comfort to him, as well, hoping and pretending that things would eventually work themselves out.

Toilet water? Ugh. Mark made a face and shook his head. "That's just..." He couldn't find a word for it, really. Then, he nodded. "Yeah..." He said, and took a breath before speaking again, opening his mouth, closing it, and then looking away. He bit his lip and then shook his head, deciding that he should just say what he needed to say. "She has to want to stop...if she doesn't, she won't..." Mark's glance met Roger's, a worried one before he focused on the floor. He didn't want to start an argument. "you know what I mean..." He meant that Mimi wouldn't make it through another Christmas if she kept using.

'Sometimes, I wasn't happy to be alive.' Mark frowned a little, and sighed. "Yeah...I know. You used to tell me." He mentioned, "When you weren't lucid...you'd just tell me...it doesn't matter, I guess." During their conversation, the phone rang. The answering machine picked up the call, and they heard their recorded voices. Mark smiled a little, wondering if Roger appreciated that Mark hadn't changed it during the time of Santa Fe.

As he listened to the message, Mark clasped his hands in front of him and let his head bow slightly. He turned it toward the window and flinched when Mrs. Davis mentioned April. He rubbed his brow before looking up at Roger when the message ended, who was lighting a cigarette. He'd tell Roger to quit, but it wasn't like 'those things will kill you' meant anything to him. 'Better a heart to heart with you than a heart to heart with her', the musician admitted. Mark frowned, and waited a moment to speak. "...you never told her." He figured out. "Rog...do you tell her anything?"

[ROGER DAVIS]

That's just...

"Disgusting?" Roger asked, and then nodded. "Yeah, it's disgusting, but trust me, if it came down to that, it would happen if she was jonesing enough. You don't think when you're sick." She has to want to stop. Roger knew this was true, but he also knew that he hadn't wanted to stop, and he knew that if he hadn't stopped, he probaby would have been dead, something that Mark pointed out that Mimi would be if she didn't stop. He swallowed, nodding slightly at the man's words. He didn't want to think of Mimi dead; he already had that image burned into his brain of her, lying on the metal table in his arms, limp and lifeless. The thought alone made a lump form into his throat, and he tried to swallow again to swallow it down. Then, Mark spoke of something that Roger didn't remember saying to the man, but as he thought about it, he remembered lying in bed one night, not even realising that Mark was in the room until he saw the outline of a black figure moving in the darkness.

Just let me go...

It had been a plea, croaked and cracked and weak, it had been a request to just leave. To let him die because at that time, he had felt more sick, more in pain than he had ever felt, and death, even permanant death had felt like a better option. Not to mention that back then, he had still been so brokenhearted about April that he would have easily followed her if he could have. He had tried once and failed...but a second time? But Mark being Mark, wouldn't let him go. While Mark knew everything, his own mother, the woman who gave him life and had raised him knew absolutely nothing. Of course, she knew things about him, as every mother did, but in the end, Mrs. Davis knew nothing of her son. She knew he was in a band. She knew he lived in Alphabet City and she knew he didn't eat enough.

Rog...do you tell her anything...

"What do you want me to say, man?" Roger asked, though his voice wasn't angry. It wasn't even frustrated, but it was simply...tired. "I've tried. I've tried to work out in my head the exact way to tell her and..." Roger stopped plucking on the strings of the guitars, finally looking over at Mark. "Somehow, I don't think 'Hey, Mom, my girlfriend killed herself because we were both drug addicts and now I have AIDS' would be a good phonecall." He paused, and then leaned slightly on his guitar. "Right now, she thinks I'm out. She said it herself. I'm out doing something like I always have done because that's the kind of person I am. She doesn't know that almost two years ago, I nearly died. She doesn't know that every second of every day, a part of me is dying. I want you to promise me something, Mark, and so help me god if you break this promise I'll haunt the Loft for the rest of your life playing Barney songs on my little ghost guitar at two in the morning so you'll never sleep again."

The lump was still there and he tried desperately to get it to go down. "When I die, don't tell her. I want her to think that...that when she sees that person in the city that sort of looks like me and she just can't catch them? I want her to think that's me, living my life. Because that? That's hope. That's the thought that I'm out there doing something with my life. That I'm living out all the dreams she's always wished I could do." He paused, shaking his head lightly. "I can't tell her that all of the things she told me not to do in life, I did. I did with so much...ferocity that it's killing me. She already tried so much with me after my dad left, Mark. This would kill her and honestly? I've seen enough death. I want hope. I want someone to always thing, no matter what, that I'm happy somewhere."

[markcohen]

Mark wasn't someone who cried very much. But when Roger had, all that time ago, asked to be let go? That had made him cry like a fucking baby. Roger, his best friend, the guy who had always been able to handle anything, had been dying. Even worse, he had been just letting it all kill him. Finally, it had been Collins who had knocked some sense into that head of his. Collins, who understood far more than Mark about facing a death sentence in the form of a medical diagnosis.

Then Roger tried explaining why he couldn't tell his mother. The filmmaker frowned. "You wouldn't have to tell her on the phone." He explained, slightly incredulous at the fact that his friend couldn't contact his mother. Hell, Mark didn't get along with his parents, but he still visited home--maybe once every year. Any more than that, he would go insane. Then, the other man went on a rant that ended in 'if you tell her, I'll haunt you'. Frowning, Mark nodded a little, sad to know that he would have to keep that secret from her. The secret that would eventually be, that her son had been sick and had died, and she hadn't known a damn thing about it.

'When I die, don't tell her'. Wait, what?! Mark set his jaw as he saw Roger swallow hard. He listened to what his friend had to say and then shook his head, closing his eyes. "But...Rog, she's your mother..." He looked back up at his friend. "You're saying that...what, you don't want her at your funeral?" He choked over the last word of the sentence, and then became a bit angry, standing up. "I don't want to talk about this..." He didn't want to talk about Roger dying. Maybe he was denying emotion and hiding from all that, but it was easier than contemplating the fact that his best friend would die.

[ROGER DAVIS]

You wouldn't have to tell her over the phone.

"Right. Like I'd tell her in person." Maybe over the phone would be better? Then, he couldn't see her look of disappointment. He wouldn't be able to see her tears. Her sad looks. He'd be able to hang up the phone...and be done. Of course, if he told her over the phone, she'd rush down to Alphabet City to try to see him...and that could end up bad. "I don't get on with my mom, okay? I mean, she's a cool chick and everything, and yeah, she raised me the best that she could, but the fact is...I screwed up. I don't want her blaming herself because I decided to do every drug I could and fuck every girl I saw. Those morals that she thought she put in me, I want her to think she actually did okay with me. I mean, she had it hard with my dad leaving like he did, I don't want her to think that the reason her son died is because she let her marraige go."

But, Rog. She's your mother. "And the exact reason why I can't tell her anything. I'm already drowning every day in regret, Mark, telling her would just tie the cinderblock around my leg and drag me down." You're saying you don't want her at your funeral. A sigh escaped Roger's lips. "Look, if she finds out, it's not like I'll be able to stop her from coming. I'll be dead. I'd rather her not be there, but it's not like I can stop her."

He brought a hand up, running it across his face as a sigh escaped his lips. "Mark, I just--I don't want to disappoint anyone else." He set his guitar aside, standing up to move to the coffee pot. He poured himself a cup, taking a sip before grimacing slightly at the heat. He moved back to the couch, grabbing the blanket to pull it around his shoulders. He grabbed his guitar, strumming lightly before he looked over at Mark.

"You're gonna have to talk about it sometime. With someone." Roger said after a moment, his voice softer. He leaned his chin against the guitar for a moment. "Might as well be me." he told him honestly before he let a sigh escape his lips. "I know I've disappointed you. And don't lie to me and tell me that I haven't, because I have. I saw it in your eyes after--" His throat got tighter, and he cleared his throat. Even though it had been a blessing that he hadn't died, he still had wished at times that he had. Of course, he would have left everyone he loved behind. Just like April had. "--After April died. When I said all that...shit about you, I know it hurt you and I know you were disappointed. Why don't you just tell me. Instead of keeping it all in."