Disclaimer: You know the drill. I do not own Rent, Roger, Gordon, etc. They all belong to Jonathan Larson.
Author's Note: So, on LiveJournal, I'm in fanfic100. And my claim is Roger/Gordon. This is the first fic I wrote for it, and it's kind of cheesy, but I like it a lot. I don't know if you'll get all one hundred fics I write, but you'll definitely get some. Anyways. Enjoy!
THERE'S ME
When Roger woke up that July morning, it was, to him, like every other day. He and Mimi were still fighting. Mark was still fighting with himself about whether or not he really wanted to work for Buzzline. The day went on as usual. In the stifling heat, Roger bitched about being uncomfortable and that the heat was keeping him from writing. Mark just nodded in reply, occasionally poking fun at his friend. After a while, the time came for the two to leave the loft-turned-oven.
It didn't take long for Roger to notice that the Life Support meeting was one person short. He looked at the empty seat that separated him and Mimi, frowning to himself. He knew that Gordon wasn't particularly fond of Life Support, but it wasn't like the man to simply not show up. He wondered if anyone else was thinking the same thing. Paul started speaking, cutting off Roger's thoughts. When he asked who wanted to start, Steve put his hand up slowly.
"This isn't ... I'm fine," Steve began. He cleared his throat. "It's Gordon. He's really sick. He got sent to the hospital this morning."
A heavy silence descended upon the group. For some of them, the news just couldn't sink in. Gordon had always seemed so healthy. He was definitely one of the last people they expected this to happen to. Paul, as usual, was the one to bring them back to Earth. He led them through a sort of prayer for Gordon, and things went back to their normal routine. Of course, Gordon weighed heavily on their minds.
After the meeting, Roger caught up with Steve.
---
Roger let out a breath when he walked into the hospital. He walked over to the woman at the front desk and got the number of Gordon's room. When he pushed open the door to his room, he hadn't expected Gordon to look so sick. His skin was pale, his cheeks were flushed from fever and, under his eyes, there were large, dark purple circles. Roger swallowed and walked inside.
"Hey, Gordon ..." Roger moved slowly. He had never seen someone at this stage in their sickness. For all the times he had complained about being HIV+, Roger really had no idea about what actually happened.
Gordon looked at his visitor, and smiled as best as he could.
"I didn't expect you of all people to come visit. Sit down. Stay a while."
Roger did his best impression of a smile as he sat down. He folded his hands, unsure of what to do. After all, he barely knew Gordon.
"How are you?" Gordon, who sounded as though he was thankful to have someone to talk to, turned his gaze to the ceiling.
"I'm alright, I guess." Roger looked at Gordon. "Shouldn't I be asking how you are?"
A small laugh escaped Gordon.
"I'm ... I've been better." There was a small pause, and all traces of humour were gone. "I've always been afraid of this virus. There have been a lot of times where I've decided to face the facts, realize that I'm not getting any healthier, but that fear has always been there. And, it's funny, because I've always thought I was afraid of going through pain or of death itself. But that isn't it at all. Now that I'm here, at this stage, I'm afraid of dying alone." Gordon glanced at Roger. "Does that sound pathetic?"
Roger sat still for a moment. This was the last thing he thought they would talk about. When he noticed the awkward silence stretching between them, he shook his head.
"No ... It doesn't sound ... It sounds ... You've got your friends. And us ... At the meetings. You aren't alone." It sounded so stupid coming from Roger. What else was he going to say?
Smiling tiredly, Gordon shook his head.
"I know. That's not what I mean. I don't want to die without someone loving me. Not the friendly, family love. Relationship love." Gordon's exhaustion was catching up with him. He was starting to sound delirious.
"I'm sorry ..."
"Don't be."
A nurse walked in to the room, relieving Roger of the tension that was beginning to build. He got up and gave Gordon a nod. When he left, he got the feeling that he'd be seeing more of Gordon before his time was through.
---
The next few weeks were filled with visits to the hospital. There had been a few days where it looked as though Gordon was getting better. Now, though, he seemed to be getting worse by the hour. It was hard for Roger to keep visiting him. Roger didn't want to watch someone die, especially someone he had grown so close to in such short time.
An unspoken consent had formed between Roger and Gordon. It was what made Roger bring flowers sometimes (roses, if he could afford them). It allowed the two of them to hold hands or talk cutesy to each other, but there was never anything more than a kiss on the forehead while three tiny words hung, unused but completely acknowledged, in the air above them. The reason for this, of course, was partly do with Roger's uncertain relationship with Mimi, and mostly because of the harsh truth that Gordon was going to die. It would be too much for either of them to admit anymore truths, especially truths like that. Perhaps, Roger liked to think to himself, if Gordon survived then they could finally say what they wanted to.
---
The sun was out in full force on the day that Gordon was buried. A group of people stood around the fresh grave, their tears mixing with the unwanted sweat. The people left one by one, until all that was left was Roger, Mark, Mimi, Collins, and Angel.
"C'mon, guys," Mark said softly. "Let's go."
They all nodded and murmured their agreements. While they walked away, Roger took one last glance at the grave. He wasn't sure what Gordon was thinking when he had died, but he hoped that Gordon had died knowing that he had the loved that he had wanted.
Author's Note: ::snivvle:: That actually makes me so sad. Really. I heart Gordon. Reviews make me a happy writer. D