A/N: After seeing the show live again a couple weeks ago, I've officially decided that Mark and Roger's fight in "Goodbye Love" might possibly be my favorite scene. The actors really pulled it off well, and the Roger was so amazingly angst-filled; his anger came through everywhere, but especially in this confrontation. So...this is dedicated to the wonderful cast of that production of RENT, and especially to the portrayals of Mark and Roger :)

Based on the musical version...because, sadly, the movie cut this particular scene. Also, the title and a tiny bit of the dialogue comes from a song between Mark and Roger called "He Says" that was in the 1994 New York Theatre Workshop version of RENT. Check it out on Youtube - it's great.

Happy Halloween!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own RENT.

He Says

The past year had sucked. It had its good moments, but mostly it sucked. And now Angel was dead, and it was Halloween, and Mark was fighting with his best friend, the best friend who was leaving him alone.

Roger's voice was low, angry. "Who are you to tell me what I know—what to do?"

"A friend!" Mark insisted.

"But who, Mark, are you?" Roger took a step forward, but Mark held his ground as Roger's tone became sarcastic and bitter. "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!"

"From what?" The question, meant to be disbelieving, came out small.

"From facing your failure, facing your loneliness, facing the fact you live a lie! Yes, you live a lie! I'll tell you why!" Roger took a step closer, leaning into Mark's personal space, but the filmmaker still did not budge. "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!"

Mark's eyes burned with angry tears, and he pushed Roger away. "Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to survive!"

He felt the fist seize his coat but was so caught up in his emotions that he didn't see the other one flying toward his face.

The blow was hard. It was hard and it stung and it was…cold. His glasses were knocked askew, and, caught off-balance, he slipped and tumbled to the ground.

There was silence.

Roger stood above him, always taller but now frighteningly massive, his eyes black and full of rage. There was no regret in his face, not even when Mark, completely baffled, reached his hand up to his mouth and pulled it away, bloodied.

The reply was menacing and icy.

"Poor baby." And Roger turned to go.

Mark's anger drained away as he straightened his glasses and scrambled to his feet, smearing the rest of the blood across his cheek accidentally. He had to stop his friend.

"Hey!"

Roger turned and eyed him curiously, his eyes daring the smaller man to do something. He wanted to let his rage out. He was only waiting for provocation.

"Mimi still loves you. She's dying, Roger. She's running out of time. And you're running out the door!" His voice rose and his fists clenched. Maybe there was still anger there, after all.

Roger darted forward, and Mark, who had never been able to defend himself in fights, didn't react in time. He found himself slammed against the wall, gasping for air, as Roger shouted at him, his face inches away and spittle speckling the filmmaker's face.

"I'm dying, Mark! And just who the hell do you think you are? What the hell do you know about this?" And he yanked up his sleeve, baring the track scars he would always have as a mark of his biggest mistake, as a mark of his disease. "You watch from behind a camera—you live a pseudo-life, because you can't freakin' take the fact that your real life is one big failure!"

Mark laughed bitterly. "My life is a failure? I'm not the guy with HIV who wastes his days mourning his dead girlfriend and can't even write one stupid song!"

Roger snarled. "No—you're just the guy who's so people-repellant he loses his girlfriend to another woman and then spends all his time documenting other people's happiness so he doesn't have to face how big of a coward he is!"

Mark shouted back through angry tears, so riled up he couldn't stop himself even though he knew he should.

"I'm not the coward, Roger! You're scared shit-less of loving again. But you have to let her go! April's dead, Roger! She's dead! And whose fault is that, huh? Whose fault is it you got into that shitty stuff in the first place?"

Roger's face went white. He pulled Mark away from the wall and slammed him back into it, harder. Mark choked and squeezed his eyes shut. He'd gone too far.

Roger radiated animalistic fury. "Who was supposed to be watching her?" he screamed.

"You can't blame all your problems on everyone else!" Mark shouted, shoving his roommate away. Roger was heavy—he only went back a couple of feet. "You think you're so special, some goddamn king! What gives you the right to make assumptions about me, about Mimi, about everyone?"

Roger advanced; Mark ducked out of the way, but Roger's knee came up and knocked him over. And then Roger was on top of him, hitting him, and even though Mark fought back he didn't fight back hard. Because he was used to this. This was withdrawal Roger—the Roger who took his anger out on anyone in his path. And Mark was just there, as always. It wasn't personal anymore. The musician needed to vent—he needed to hurt someone.

"Shut—the—FUCK—up!" Roger shrieked.

"That's enough!" Roger was suddenly yanked back and Mark completely collapsed on the grass, shaking. Collins held tightly to Roger's jacket. His face was livid. Behind him, Mimi and Benny were watching, identical stricken expressions on their faces. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He flung Roger away from him, moving deftly to stand in front of his fallen friend, as Roger was still glaring daggers at Mark and it didn't seem out of the question to assume he'd lunge again.

No one spoke. The graveyard was eerily quiet, and they all stood apart, feeling oddly alone in the moment.

Finally, Roger shoved his trembling hands in his pockets and turned away. "I hate the fall," he growled, striding away.

Mark tried to sit up silently, but an involuntary moan escaped his lips. Collins crouched next to him, supporting the filmmaker as he stood, wiping blood off his face with his palm.

"I'm sorry, Collins," he said quietly, looking as if he might cry.

In reply, Collins found a Kleenex in his pocket and handed it to his friend.

"Why?" he asked simply.

Mark's shoulders slumped. "...I don't know."

"You...don't know?" Collins repeated softly. "Why today, of all days? God, Mark, why?" He glanced back toward the church, to where Angel's body rested in its coffin.

"I couldn't just let him leave!" Mark shouted, swaying.

Collins grasped his arm. "Are you okay?"

Mark started laughing, a crazed hysterical sound, and couldn't seem to stop.

Collins waited for him to sober.

Mark crumpled the tissue in his hand and stared down at it, white flecked with red.

"He says...love isn't possible anymore. And he'll take that car April left him and fly. I don't believe a word he says..." His voice broke and he sighed and straightened. "Yeah, sure. I'm great."

"You should go to a hospital."

Mark snorted. "Like we can afford that!"

Collins sighed and cast a faraway look over the graves around them. "Then let's go get drunk." He half-turned to include Benny and Mimi in the proposal. Mimi's face was tear-streaked, and she shook her head and slumped miserably against Benny's side.

"I can't," Mark said finally, pushing his glasses up on his noise. "I have an appointment."

He took one step and his knees gave out. Collins caught him before he could hit the ground.

"The only place you're going is back to the Loft to get patched up," he said firmly.

"My appointment…" Mark insisted, trying to pull away.

Collins effortlessly pulled him along. "Screw it."

"I can't believe Roger would…" Mimi began as the two reached her. Her eyes were red and her voice was filled with tears.

The three guys exchanged glances.

"You didn't see him when April died. When he was in withdrawal." Mark blanched as he realized what he'd just said. "God, Mimi, I'm-"

"Will he be back?" she cut across him, her eyes pleading, searching his for some reassurance.

He shrugged. "I don't…I don't know. I'm sorry."

Mimi let out a strangled sob and pulled away from Benny, running away in the direction Roger had gone.

Mark leaned against Collins. He was suddenly very tired.

"Let's go home," he whispered.

A/N: Not sure if I'm going to continue this. I've written most of another chapter featuring Mark, Maureen, and Joanne, but I don't know...I kind of think it works as a one-shot. What do you all think?