Blinding Lights |(Mark/Rog) [Casual] FINISHED

[markcohen]

What seemed like one not so very special morning, the usually fairly calm park was buzzing with a faint air of excitement. It had partially to do with the fact that the wet weather was finally clearing up, and the barren gray trees had begun to show some green, little buds forming at the very tips of their spindly branches. New York was finally coming out of it's winter cocoon.

Mark trudged quietly through Central Park, both hands clenched firmly around his messenger bag as he looked for something to film. It was the best distraction from what happened with Roger a few weeks ago, so he had filmed the crap out of every old man playing chess, every stray dog, and every adorable little kid with an ice cream cone. It wasn't his favorite (the camera angles were too sharp and angry) or even usual footage, but it was still something to prove that he'd spent his time well and had totally ignored the gaping hole in his chest.

A couple stood near a bench before a bald man with exaggeratedly large glasses who scribbled furiously at a pad of paper, glancing up every few seconds to glance at the two and snapping at them if they moved the slightest bit. Mark pulled out his camera and zoomed in on the furrowed brow of the artist and the prominent artery in his neck before slinking away.

Mark pulled himself over to the nearest empty bench and sat down, a light frown on his face. Everything he filmed didn't feel right anymore. What the hell was wrong with him?

He didn't want to dig any further into that subject.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Usually, Roger loved Mimi's schedule. Roger's body, even after two years of sobriety, still held onto what Collins used to call 'Junkie's Hours' which mean that Roger would stay up until the crack of dawn and sleep until dusk. Mimi would be home in the early morning hours, and he could have the Feline all to himself for as long as he wanted (or until Mimi had to go to work) which usually did not work in their favour; they would spent hours up talking or worse, ravaging each other to the point of complete and utter exhaustion. Which was what happened last night.

Except, though while Roger's body was completely spent (muscles ached and burned and certain parts of his body held deep bites and bright red welts from candle-wax) he was wide awake. He had been wide awake since 12 that morning, and even though New York had brightened and awoken, Roger still found himself not fully...there. It was a strange feeling; being awake and foggy all at the same time. But while his body wished to crash, his mind still raced.

He hadn't spoken to Mark in over a week. The man had been busy, out filming, and Roger had been busy catching up on Mimi. Though, Roger hadn't stopped thinking about what Mark had said. He hadn't told Mimi about the fight that he and Mark had. Mimi would have asked what they had argued about, and then Roger would have had to tell her about what Mark had said. About how Mark had spoken the thoughts that Roger had about Mimi. The Feline hadn't let up, and Roger had silenced her with a kiss, and then one more, and soon, all thoughts of Mark had been forgotten.

But then, as everything, the thoughts came back. The worry and the frustration and the complete and utter truth of what Mark had said hit him, and brought him down once more. So, he came to where he had always loved, even though sometimes it brought him little to no money. Working in Central Park had it's ups and downs. While it held alot of tourists that would be willing to give him money, it held lots of stuffy, uppercrust people that would pop the chewed gum wrapped in paper into his guitar case. Which was basically how it was at the moment. Roger had gotten all of a dollar in loose change, so Roger moved, strapping his guitar onto his back and shoved his hands into his pockets. He walked in silence, kicking a stray rock before glancing up.

He should have expected Mark to be in the Park; it held alot of beautiful things, shots and the like, and even if Roger hadn't been trying to get anything he could, he did like to walk around and take in the sights. It was what everyone said; a paradise in the middle of hell. All though Roger wanted to be angry at Mark, he couldn't help but smirk slightly at the blonde, thin man. He moved silently behind Mark, peering over the man's shoulder as if trying to see what Mark saw in every bag in the street or every old woman or man sitting at the bench playing chess. But Mark was good like that; Roger could never see it. He pulled back to stand up straight.

Sooner or later, they would have to talk about what happened. But Roger told himself that he'd push it off for as long as he could. Simply because, through everything, that was what they did. They both avoided things because it was easier to deal with.

"...hey, man."

[markcohen]

Mark jumped when Roger spoke up behind him, nearly dropping his beloved camera. Instead of saying a greeting back, he scowled and spun around, camera in hand, and came up with the perfect low angle shot of the Rocker. Just like almost everyone else he filmed, Roger hated being an unwilling subject. He raised an eyebrow and zoomed in on a bitemark on Roger's neck, "So Mimi's part vampire now?" He asked, keeping his voice only slightly icy.

Mark then lowered the 16mm and turned away from Roger, putting the equipment back in his bag. He took a breath, steeling his nerves. This was going to be just like every other time they fought; they were just going to ignore the tension and everything would be fine until the next little thing made them explode.

He reached up and pushed his glasses up so they would stop slipping down his nose. "You can sit down." He offered quietly, "You look pretty beat. Is it Mimi or something else?"

That was it. They just had to fall back into their old patterns. Mark would have to constantly worry about Roger, while the other man would just shrug it off. It infuriated Mark to no end.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Roger smirked slightly at Mark's comment about Mimi being a vampire. "She bites. I can't help it." Roger replied, lifting a shoulder in a slight shrug. "And what can I say, man. I'm an animal."

It would be a lie to say that he didn't feel the tension, but he chose to ignore it for a moment, nodding slightly when Mark told him that he could sit. He moved his guitar off of his back, and sat down next to the film maker on the still slightly chilly bench in Central Park. His eyes traveled over his surroundings, and he took in a breath of chilled New York air. In this distance he smelled food. Mark spoke again, and Roger turned his head to look at Mark. So, he noticed he was tired. It wasn't exactly the best kept secret, he knew. "Yeah, uh...the AZT's been giving me headaches lately. Stomach aches, too. Spent the entire night before last puking my guts out." Roger didn't mention the fact that his body felt more and more like it was dying every day. His muscles ached. Head pounded. Stomach lurched. "Haven't really been sleeping much, either. I mean, Mimi kept me up last night, but I just can't really sleep anymore." He shrugged as if that ended the statement.

"I think I'm gonna go to the clinic in a couple days." Though he quickly added to his statement, "I'm fine, dude. Just wanna get this stomach thing taken care of. Just don't tell Mimi, okay? I don't want her to freak out or anything."

He paused then, leaning down onto the neck of his guitar for a moment before he spoke once more. "I uh, I wanted to um, tell you that I was sorry, too. For what I said. And before you say it, you weren't wrong about what you said. About Mimi. About me. You were right about all of it." He felt himself sigh slightly. "I'm scared she's going to leave me. I'm scared of dying. I'm just...I'm scared. And I know I'm not the guy I used to be. I think...honestly, I think I forgot how to be that guy anymore. I'd like to remember how, 'cause I remember that guy wasn't a dick like I am."

Roger felt himself frown and then smile only slightly. "you better film this, Photo opportunity, dude. I don't think you'll hear this again." he tried to joke, but it sounded flat.

[markcohen]

Mark scrunched up his face but didn't say anything. Mimi biting Roger was no worse than what Maureen used to do to him (no one but Maureen knew about the whip mark on his lower back). He then shrugged off all thoughts about Maureen, because they would bring guilt, and waves and waves of anger.

A wave of panic washed over him when Roger brought up that his AZT was giving him stomach aches. He tried to fight it down, but hey, the man was his best friend, and at the end of the day, Mark just cared too damn much. "Don't think about going to the clinic. Go to the clinic!" Mark snapped, then paused, "Wait... you have an apointment with the doctor... tomorrow. They left a message this morning, and you are going." Mark knew he sounded like his mother, but it was a must. Roger hated the doctor, and the film maker would usually have to drag him there in the end.

Granted, the last time they actually went to the doctors, Roger was going through the early stages of withdrawal, so maybe it would prove to be easier this time...

"And tell Mimi, or I will. She'll find out eventually."

Mark gulped and developped a sudden interest in his feet when Roger apologized. This was totally unlike their usual behavior. Neither one ever apologized when they fought, except for the times when they would get into fights in front of Collins, and the older man would make them hug afterwards.

"I wasn't completely right. I was just...really really angry," He muttered, not looking at Roger. Mark smiled lightly, but it didn't feel right. "And you were always a dick."

They fell into a loaded silence, and Mark shifted uncomfortably on the cool bench. He fiddled with the worn out strap on his bag, still not looking over at his best friend.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Roger felt a frown spread on his face, his nose scrunching up slightly as Mark all but forced him to go to the clinic. He had forgotten that he had an appointment at the clinic. "Dude, I'll go. Shit!" Roger said harshly, bringing his knees up to his chest, letting his guitar rest on the edge of the bench.

A silence passed through the part for a moment before Roger looked at Mark almost gingerly. "...I'm going." Roger said, his voice losing the harsh edge that it had before. He almost felt strange asking Mark, though Mark was the one that had gone with him after April had died and he had found he was positive. Mark was the one that had drug him to the doctor, kicking and screaming.

When Mark spoke, saying that he was angry, Roger nodded slightly. "...I was, too." Roger said honestly, though he felt himself smirk slightly at Mark's statement. "Right. I guess I was."

Silence spread once more through the two friends, and Roger found himself picking at the worn material of his jeans at the knees. He glanced over at Mark, swallowing slightly.

"...you, um, you wanna come with me? To the clinic?" Roger asked honestly, and then continued, almost as if making an excuse for the man to come. "'Cause, I mean, like, the wait time in the lobby is like, wicked long. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to that isn't, you know, talking to themselves or some shit."

He was more nervous, as he always was whenever he went to the clinic. The news was usually never good. The last time he had went with Mark, the news hadn't been good. His counts had been painfully low, so low that the doctors had told him that there was a good chance that if his withdrawal got any worse, he could very well die.

But he hadn't. However, it had almost happened that way. At least this time, Roger wouldn't be shaking and cramping with withdrawal. He wouldn't be sweating and puking. He'd be...decent. As good as one could be with AIDS, that is.

[markcohen]

Mark nodded quickly, "I'll go!" He promised, but there was something about his voice that sounded uncertain. He decided to shrug it off.

"I could maybe film some stuff while I'm there..." He added in a smaller voice.

They lasped into an even longer silence. In the distance, church bells rang out, making the moment even stranger.

It was as if Mark and Roger barely knew each other. They were just two complete strangers, sitting on a bench and making small talk about the weather or something. Where did that effortless-yet-at-the-core-difficult friendship go?

He tugged at the frayed edge of his scarf so that it tightened around his skinny neck. "Why Maureen?" Mark blurted out suddenly, "I mean, out of all of my girlfriends- though she was really the only one- why her? You introduced us. You were the one who convinced her to go to the prom with me even after I puked on her lap from drinking too much. You--" He closed his eyes. The excuses were getting old. He opened them again.

"Why? And don't give me a bullshit answer."

[ROGER DAVIS]

The silence passed over the park and in the distance, he heard church bells chime. Roger looked over as Mark blurted out his question, and felt himself sigh, not of frustration, but of understanding. Why had he done it? He could have easily blamed it on the alcohol, blamed it on the coke that had been corsing through his system, but for whatever reason, Roger knew it had been something else. "April was asleep." Roger started, looking intently at his feet. "I was in the bedroom and...and she just walked in. She was just as drunk as I was. If you think it was some sort of...romantic event where we confessed our undying love for each other as we...I don't know, fucking came together as one or whatever...that's not how it happened. We just both happened to be at the same place at the same time and in the right state of mind." Roger tried to explain it without hurting Mark's feelings. "Did I ever tell you why I did drugs? It wasn't because I was addicted. I--" Roger narrowed his brows slightly. "I love the feeling of being alive. The rush. Whether it was the manic of coke or the floating feeling with smack. I love feeling things. If I feel, I know I'm alive. Even if thatv feeling's pain. I know I'm alive if I'm hurting."

Roger took in a breath. "MJ's the same way. She loves the feeling. I'm not gonna lie to you, Mark. I love Maureen. I love her probably a little more than I should 'cause I really shouldn't defend her when she does stupid shit. But I'm not IN love with her. We just happened to be, at the time, two people who loved to feel. It wasn't about whether I loved her, it was about getting into her pants. Call it crude, whatever you want, but that's what it was. When I sobered up, I felt like shit 'cause I knew sooner or later you were going to find out." roger sug into his pockets for his cigarettes. "Honestly, dude, I was just horny. I didn't mean to sabatoge you or hurt you feelings but that's what happened. It was the alcohol and the drugs and me being...well, me." he looked over at Mark, wondering if the man understood.

[markcohen]

Not trusting his voice, Mark merely nodded thoughtfully, trying to take in all of Roger's words without freaking out too much. He rubbed his palms against his pants, trying to focus on the feeling of the material against his hands. What Roger was saying made total sense, but at the same time... it didn't. And that was really bugging Mark.

When they were dating, Maureen had always whined that he was constantly hiding behind his camera, and poured all of his love and emotion into his work. Well, she may have been right, but did she really have to turn to Roger to make herself feel better? Who cares if she was drunk and horny, and that Roger was the same? It would have been so much better if she had gone and done it with a stranger. Which she did later, he reminded himself bitterly.

And amazingly, Mark understood better than Roger would know. He just didn't show it.

"You forgot about all the anger." He muttered when Roger spoke about why he took drugs, "You were a loud to throw your life away, but when any of us did something stupid, you would freak out."

Mark took a breath and reached back into his bag to pull out his camera. He turned the handle on the 16mm and started rolling, slowly panning across the park till he landed on Roger.

Hiding behind film was so much easier than talking.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Lifting up his guitar, Roger moved, tucking his legs indian-style on the bench, watching as Mark panned the camera across the park and then to Roger. He plucked out random notes, looking down at the neck of his guitar.

The anger was something that had been a by-product of not having drugs when he needed them. The frustrations of his drug habit had lead to anger, and he wondered if the anger had also been a warning sign, Roger's way of letting people know to not turn into him. "I freaked out 'cause I didn't want you all to fuck up like I did." Roger said honestly, fingers sliding over the neck of the guitar. Glancing up, Roger felt himself smirk only slightly, something he always did when Mark had turned the camera onto him. "Dude, didn't you say like, ten years ago that you were gonna make a movie about me? You've got enough footage." Mark had once mentioned to him that he'd make a Well Hungarians movie a long time ago, but the band was gone. Roger was sure that the man could make some sort of cautionary tale if he really wanted to, but Roger wasn't sure if he wanted to see the finished product.

"Y'get any more offers for the movie? Sunny said she heard some people talking about it down at the Life. Y'really could be makin' a name for yourself, dude."

[markcohen]

"You always freaked out on me the most," He mused, flinching slightly at the memory, "I was never a loud to stay out after dark."

Mark frowned and tilted his head to one side, squinting slightly when Roger brought up the film. Of course he had more than enough reels of footage of the Rocker, but some of it wasn't his favorite. A good chunk of that footage was Roger half-out of his mind, giggling at the stupidest of things. "Your movie will show up when you least expect it."

"Yeah, well, maybe people should mind their own business," Mark grumbled, zooming in on the chipped wood on the neck of the guitar, "My films are my business." He actually hated it when people took a big interest in his filming. His tapes where like an extension of himself... Well, it was difficult to explain.

"So, have you landed any gigs?" He asked smoothly, trying to turn the topic away from himself.

It was starting to feel as if their argument never happened.

[ROGER DAVIS]

"I freaked out on you 'cause...'cause I did." He had always felt protective of Mark for whatever reasons; maybe it was because in school, Mark had been the guy everyone picked on. Roger had always been there to stop them. He hadn't been a fighter, but he held his own. He sucked on the cigarette between his lips and spoke. "Besides, when we were little, your mom woulda killed you if she found out you were walking around Scarsdale at night." Though, Roger knew what Mark was talking about. It wasn't when they had been little...it had been only a few years ago. "...bad shit happens at night in New York." was all Roger said to the statement, not wanting to go further on it. He hadn't been ashamed to say that he had been a drug addict to anyone but Mark.

Mark spoke of the movie that would come when Roger least expected it, and Roger felt himself scoff, smoke escaping through his mouth and nose before he stopped plucking, reaching up to take the cigarette out of his mouth. "Right. Be sure to screen that shit at my funeral so I can't see it."

"They weren't saying anything bad about the movie. They actually really liked it from what she said. Said it was bitchin'."

At the mention of gigs, Roger lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug, placing the cigarette back into his mouth, sucking in a drag and returning the cigarette back between his fingers. "Dunno. Went to the Bronx the other day with Sunny. She said there was a couple dudes auditioning people. Turns out there was no one there. Though, I'm taking her with me more. She told me while we were on the subway that if the guy said no, she'd fuck him 'till he signed me." Roger felt himself smirk slightly. "I was touched. It's not everyday that I find a girl that's willing to be my own little hoover vac to get me ahead in life." Roger teased, and shook his head. "Hey, Sunny was talking about having a shindig at the Life sometime soon. Collins talked about it too, since he seems to be having a decent flow. Sunny said it's been too long since we got kicked out of the place. I have to agree with her."

[markcohen]

Mark frowned, his face turning oddly white when Roger brought up... his funeral. The day Mark didn't want to see coming so soon. "It's not shit," He complained, his voice slightly strained, "And besides, maybe I was planing on showing it... tomorrow night. Or the next time we go to the Life." He added defensively just for measure.

"Forgive me for not believing in your words," Mark said dryly, lowering his camera so Roger could see him roll his eyes, "Or Sunny's. But when do people ever have anything good to say about my movies? Besides Alexi Darling, but hell, why should she count? You guys mostly complain about me not respecting privacy."

"How... nice of Sunny," He struggled with the words and his amusement, "I'm sure any girl would do it if you asked them nicely." Mark snorted.

"Too right..." He mused, panning his camera slowly across the park to follow a stray plastic bag, "I'm sure somebody there appreciates our table-top dancing." Mark paused thoughtfully, "Why is it always me that starts it off, though?"

[ROGER DAVIS]

Arching an eyebrow, Roger looked at Mark as he spoke of showing the movie for him. "Right. Remind me not to be there. That's the last thing I need is for Collins to rag on me for the rest of the night."

"Dude, I've had pleanty of good things to say about your movies." Roger defended honestly. "I've learned long ago that you film whatever you want, whenever you want. It doesn't bother me anymore. The only person that had a problem with it was Benny."

At the mention of Sunny, Roger smirked, bringing the cigarette up to his lips. "I love that wacky little asian girl." Roger scoffed slightly. "Not any girl. That's what makes Sunny special."

When Mark spoke of the Life, Roger smirked slightly. "Hey, the last time we did that shit, we danced on tables and I got laid that night. Many times." Roger lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "It was a good night." When Mark asked the next question, Roger scoffed slightly. "'Cause you do. I don't know why, but you do. And hey, you wanna do that again? Dancing gets Mimi off. I'm all down for ten minutes of dancing for hours of sex later."

[markcohen]

He quietly set his camera down next to him. "Collins'll rag on you no matter what." He promised, grinning slightly. Mark then frowned slightly and reached into his coat pocket, fishing around till he pulled out a small rubber ball. It had been the perfect stress reliever for him lately. He bounced the ball against the pavement a few times, already feeling slightly better.

But what he was stressed about, he did not know.

"When did it ever bother you?" Mark muttered, his hand clenching around the ball as he stared down at his feet, "How many porno's have you asked me to film because you don't know how to work my camera?" He shuddered. "Those offers were just... gross." It's not like Roger had to know about the interesting movie he and Maureen made when they were still together.

Mark rolled his eyes when Roger stated his love for Sunny, "Well... she's got nothing on Erica." He said loyally, his face flushing ever so slightly.

"Oh, that's nice. You want me to dance on the table so you can get laid?" Mark scoffed, "Forget it. I don't act like a spaz on command, you know."

((OOC: Erica is the boho chick with the arm warmers you see Mark dancing with in La Vie Boheme. I've had many wondering's about those two...))