Disclaimer - I don't own RENT or the song How Can I Keep From Singing?. Both belong to their respected owners. 'Nuff said.
Italics are song lyrics and thoughts
A/N: I've had the song How Can I Keep From Singing stuck in my head for at least a week, so I thought that it would be a cool idea to turn it into a story.
Summary: AU: When Roger loses his voice from laryngitis, he writes the song How Can I Keep From Singing to pass the time. Post-RENT. Eventual Mark/Roger. Rated T. One-shot.
Genre: General/None
Rating: T
Roger Davis put the eraser of the pencil to his mouth, thinking. He had caught a bad cold a week and a half ago, which caused him to lose his voice. Since he couldn't talk, he had written everything down, which was a problem because no one could read his horrible handwriting.
"How are you feeling, Rog?" Collins asked, walking over with a bowl of soup and a bottle of water.
'How do you think I'm feeling, Col?' Roger wrote, glaring up at his friend.
"Jeez, man - I was just asking. Don't have a cow." Collins told him, setting the soup and water on the table in front of the couch were Roger was lying on.
'Sorry - it's just that I miss singing, you know' Roger wrote again. Collins took the pad of paper from Roger and tried to read it.
"Boy, you need to take a writing class or something - I can't read your handwriting." Collins told him, handing the pad of paper back to Roger.
'Do you know when Mark will be back?' Roger wrote. Just then, the loft door opened and Mark entered, dripping head to toe in water.
"It's really coming down out there. Hey Col." Mark greeted his friend, taking off his coat and put it in the closet.
"Hey Mark. Since you're home, I'm gonna get going - I have a class to teach in half an hour." Collins told his friends, getting up from the armchair next to the couch.
"Okay, Col. Have fun." Mark told him, taking Collins' seat after he left. He then turned his attention to Roger, who was fast asleep on the couch. Mark smiled and put another blanket on him before going to the bathroom to take a shower.
Returning fifteen minutes later, Mark walked back over to the couch and saw Roger awake, writing in his journal.
"Hey Rog." Mark greeted him, sitting back in the armchair. Roger ignored him, his green eyes focused on the paper in front of him, the pencil moving rapidly. Mark heard a snap and saw a pissed expression on Roger's face.
"That's why you use pen, honey." Mark told him, not realizing what he had said. Roger's head snapped up and his green eyes got big.
'What did you call me?' Roger wrote, handing the pad to Mark.
"I didn't dial anyone." Mark told him, trying to read Roger's handwriting. Roger rolled his eyes and took back the pad of paper as Mark handed him a pen.
Two weeks later, Roger's laryngitis had taken a turn for the worse and his tonsils had become infected. Mark stayed with Roger throughout the surgery, holding his hand and letting him know that he was there for him.
A month later, Roger tried out his voice for the first time. It was his and Mark's first anniversary together as a couple.
"Mark." Roger croaked.
"Yes?" Mark called from the kitchen. He was making grilled cheese sandwiches for them for dinner.
"Come here, please." Roger croaked again.
"Rog, I'm making grilled cheese and if I leave it, it'll burn." Mark told him.
Five minutes later, Mark came over to his friend and sat down on the old armchair next to the couch.
"What's wrong?" Mark inquired.
"Nothing. I want you to hear my new song."
"Babe, I don't want you to lose your voice again."
"You're right. It can wait until later."
Two days later, Roger's HIV had returned and he spent the rest of his days at the hospital. His visitors included Mark, Joanne and Maureen. The others had passed away or had moved.
On his dying day, Roger gathered everyone in his hospital room and handed everyone a piece of paper.
"Rog, what's this?" Maureen asked, sitting down in one of the hospital chairs. She was expecting twins the week before Halloween. She and Joanne had found a donor after trying to have a baby for almost a year.
"A song I wrote when I was sick with laryngitis - it's written in parts and as a dying wish to me, I want all of you to sing it." Roger explained, resting his head on the pillow.
"I would love to sing one of your songs, baby." Mark told him, kissing Roger's forehead.
"I know - the parts are Joanne, you and Maureen. The final verse, all three of you sing it…" Roger's voice trailed off.
"My life goes on in endless song
Above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing.
It sounds an echo in my soul
How can I keep from singing?" Joanne sang, handing the piece of paper to Mark.
"While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth
And though the darkness 'round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?" Mark crooned, tears streaming down his cheeks as he handed the piece of paper to Maureen.
"When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?" Maureen crooned, taking Mark and Joanne's hands in hers as they sang.
A short time later, their beloved friend Roger James Davis, was gone from their lives forever.