Title: Ready or not? Here Death Comes.

Summary: Marks POV. Roger's dying and they both have to go through seven different stages of grief. Better than it sounds. Mark/Roger. Oneshot.

Rating: T (For language and death)

POV: Mark

Anger

He coughs a lot now. I can tell its hurting him. He's trying to stop. His coughing is finally fading. Now he's just wheezing.

"Rog?" I ask.

He inhales through his nose slowly as he's trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah?" He pants.

"Do you think… It's almost time?" I ask, avoiding eye contact. He's silent. I look up, waiting for his answer. His jade green eyes are set in a hard glare towards me. "No. I don't think it's fucking time." He snaps.

"Rog-" I start.

"Mark. Don't." He says firmly, staring blankly at his guitar.

"I love you Roger." I say, looking at my lap.

"Don't fucking do this Mark!" He yells.

"I just want you to be prepared."

"There's nothing to prepare for!" He raises his voice even more.

He quickly stands up and grabs his leather jacket before slamming the sliding door as he storms out.

I sigh.

Denial

He's getting really thin now. He's down to 115. I don't like to look at him when he crawls into bed with me, because I know I'll start crying.

I turn on my side in the bed as he starts to take his shirt off.

He crawls into bed next to me, wrapping his arms around me.

I feel him kiss my shoulder blade. "I love you Mark."

"Love you too." I turn over and kiss him goodnight. I accidentally touch his ribs and he smiles, thinking I want to 'play'. "You're getting thin" I mention.

"Don't Mark." He mumbled, turning over so his back is facing me.

"I'm just saying…"

"Well don't. Because I'm not dying. Not yet. I'm only 27."

I nod, not wanting to press him any more.

And as I go to sleep, I can hear him mumbling to himself: "I'm not dying. I'm not dying. I'm not dying."

I'm not sure if he's trying to convince me, or himself.

Desperation

He hallucinates now.

I was reading the paper the this morning while he was drinking coffee.

He just got up and started screaming bloody murder and sobbing.

It took me 10 minutes to calm him down. After he was on the couch, tears starting to stop, he looked in my eyes and just had me hold him for an hour.

He told me he screamed because he was so sure that he looked over at me and saw me on the floor, knife in my back, bleeding everywhere, dead.

I held him for hours on end, him crying.

'Whats happening to me Mark?"

I shook my head, not sure how to answer him.

"There has to be a way. There has to be. To stop me from dying. Oh God, there has to be." He told himself.

He decided he found a way.

The next day he was cutting himself in the bathroom, trying to get all his 'bad' blood out.

I wrapped his arms up before we both went to bed.

Depression

Today we stayed in bed. All day. He refused to get up.

He wasn't hungry either.

So we layed in bed all day.

We woke up, layed there for the day, just holding each other, then went to sleep.

He refused to move at all.

Not to eat.

Not to drink.

Nothing.

Acceptance

I took him to the hospital yesterday.

He knows it now. He knows this room, where the white surrounds him, will be the last room he's in.

When I walked in this morning, he asked me to hold him for a while, so I got behind his back, straddling him. Holding him.

"Mark?" His voice is raspy.

"Yeah?"

"When is the pain gonna stop?" He's shivering in my arms.

I sigh. "Soon baby." I rest my head on his blonde, shaggy hair, trying to make our last moments together memorable. I sniff his hair, trying to remember the smell of it combined with the fruity shampoo he uses.

Fear

I walk in the next morning, him looking worse than before. I sit in a chair next to his bed, taking his pale hand.

"I was talking to the nurse today." He says. "She says its just like going to sleep."

I nod, happy he has some reassurance.

I see the nurse walking over to his IV bag. He doesn't seem to notice.

She pokes something into it, making him drowsy.

His eyes start to close, getting sleepy.

"But Mark. What if when I go to sleep… I have nightmares?" He asks.

He slips into unconciousness.

And when I'm sure he's asleep, I can do nothing else but break into tears.

Fate

"I love you so much." I cry into his chest.

He's been asleep for four days now.

He slipped into a coma, apparently that can happen when you're dying from AIDS.

They say he probably wont wake up.

So I do what I have to.

And tell the Doctor to unplug him.

I leave the hospital after telling him I love him one last time.

I don't think I have enough strength to be there when they do it.

I wont be able to hear that dreaded beep.

Anger

A whole month.

It's been a whole month since he left me.

Since that bastard left me alone.

He knew that I would be alone. He knew that Collins had followed Angel out of the world less than a year after she died.

He knew that Mimi had left again and not come back this time. For all we know, she's dead.

He knew Maureen and Joanne left because they couldn't take the pain of losing anyone else.

He knew.

That asshole knew he was going to leave me. Alone.

No one to talk to. No one to film.

That bastard left me alone.

Denial

I know I'm in denial.

I know this, because every morning I wake up, I expect his arms to be wrapped tightly around me.

Every afternoon, when I walk into the loft, I expect him to be there strumming his guitar.

And every night, I expect him to kiss me goodnight.

But he never does.

Desperation

I need him back.

So I took action.

And tried heroin.

I shot up.

A lot.

More than an addict does.

Because I want to die. I want to be with my love.

I almost overdosed.

When I saw all the blackness, I thought for sure I was going to see his face soon.

I was lucky I guess.

A man who saw me in the alley happened to be a paramedic. He did CPR.

I eventually started breathing and woke up.

He called an ambulance but I had ran.

I couldn't go back to the hospital. Where he died.

Depression

I didn't do much today.

Stayed inside all day and watched films of Roger and I together.

That's what I did all day. Remember my baby.

Acceptance

I stood there, looking at his grave.

I touched the top of the stone, pretending I was touching his gorgeous, shaggy face.

"I can't believe you're gone." I whisper to him.

I wish he would whisper back.

I can feel my eyes prickle as I say goodbye. "Love you." I say as I leave.

Fear

I sit in the church, alone.

Then a thought occurs to me – What if he didn't make it to heaven?

What if they sent him elsewhere?

I can feel myself shaking with fear.

He did some wrong things.

He used drugs.

He swore all the time.

What if he didn't make the cut?

Fate

I got something in the mail today.

When I opened it, I had a piece of paper. I frowned. I guess Roger had left me on last gift.

Mark Cohen –

HIV Test Results: POSITIVE

I smile.

I'll get to be with him sooner than I thought.