Hey peeps! Kris here!
it's been a REALLY long time since I last updated but... tHATS OKAY! BECAUSE HERE! HAVE SOME CRIPLLING MARKER ANGST!
I recently heard the song "A great big world, say something" Christina Aguilera Ft, and it really made me think of marker. With Roger dying. Soo.. this fic is pre written, with the lyrics factored in! I hope you all enjoy! dont forget, if you really wanna see more stuff from me, I often take requests on my fanfic tumblr .com! You can also scream at me for giving you feels!
if you dont like the marker pairing... then... dont read? I mean that's kinda obvious..
One year. Twelve months. Three hundred sixty five days. Five Hundred Twenty Five thousand, six hundred minutes. December twenty fourth, nineteen ninety four, nine pm, eastern standard time. I can't believe another year has gone by so fast. I can't believe he's still gone.
People say death is something nobody can prepare you for. It comes into your life, it happens, and it leaves, and you're stuck, moving in slow motion, hoping every day when you wake up, that it isn't true.
Roger was dead. He had been dead for a year, but it still wasn't real to me. How could it be? Death is something I still cant understand. I'm not afraid of my own, but when it comes to people in my life, it scares the hell out of me.
You spend most of your crazy life, stumbling around without a clue in this world, but you always have people, whether you like them or not, as a constant. A grounding force. When you have the same people around all the time, it reminds you that you're not alone, that in all the harsh realities, the cruel endings, you aren't suffering it by yourself.
Roger was everything to me. He still is. Even death couldn't hope to change that. He had been there through everything, every day, all the time, that when I was faced with the harsh truth, the cold fact that id never see him again, hear his rare laugh, see his smile, feel the heat of those vibrant green eyes burning into me, or the comfort of his strong arms around my waist, I couldn't handle it.
It had been the worst day of my life. I remember every detail, the place of every spec of dust, and if you challenged me otherwise, id paint it out for you on a piece of paper exactly. It's /that/ burned into my brain.
Roger was getting pale for awhile. Losing weight. Needing more and more help out of bed everyday. His T cells were giving up, and so was he, and nothing I said or did could save him. He was slipping away, and from the looks those green, green eyes gave me, I knew it was only a matter of time, and by time I mean: any day now.
I was his nag, his constant, his best friend, boyfriend, and sometimes, he even teased me for being a hen, and last year, the bastard had the guts to leave a mother's day card on my nightstand. I knew that was his way of saying thank you, and I appreciated it. Even small gestures such as those were big steps for him. I still have the ancient piece of paper in my dresser.
"Take your AZT." meant: Please don't leave me.
An annoyed snort followed by a sarcastic "Okay, mom." meant: I'm holding on as long as I can.
When people saw me, it always came down to him. I can't even begin to blame them, though. Roger was my right hip, from the time we were kids, right until the day he died. He was my shadow, my protector, and he's always been there.
Roger had gotten up one morning, and I knew the minute his gaze met mine, something was wrong. Walking slowly, almost like a zombie towards me, I barely had time to react before the bigger man was collapsed on my lap, shaking violently, and struggling to choke out my name.
Say something, I'm giving up on you
"Rog- ROGER!" I had screamed, holding tight, my hand instantly reaching out to cup the side of his face. Those damn eyes staring up at me, he cracked a smile, and I felt my own heart beginning to shatter.
"Marky… M'sorry… I don'... I don' wanna…" I ran my fingers through his wild blond hair, and leaned my forehead against his, feeling the tears streaking down my face. I knew exactly what he was trying to say before he could even say it. That was our dynamic. We were connected, had this weird sixth sense about the other. I always found it scary how well Roger could read me, finishing my sentences whenever he could, knowing that I was falling apart simply by taking a short glance into my eyes, almost as if he had a manual guide to my emotions embedded in his brain.
I'll be the one, if you want me to
Through his ramblings, I knew three things. One, he was regretting everything he thought he had done wrong. Two, he was scared. Terrified. Three, he wasn't ready to leave me yet. We had talked about it before of course, but is anyone ever ready for something unexpected? You don't smile during a fire, or nod acceptingly during a hurricane. Roger had always been one to bluff his acceptance of death. I wish someone could have saved him, kept my sunshine, my purpose for being alive here longer.
Anywhere I would've followed you
He had been forced to grow up, as we often all are, in a blur of screaming fans, late nights, and needles hanging precariously from his pale arm, that same glint in those wonderful emerald-like eyes. I was soon snapped out of my haze when his clammy hand grabbed a fistful of my shirt, and a whine left his raspy throat. He was in pain. /Of Course he's in pain! Do you think dying on the hardwood floor tickles?/ I mentally rebuked myself. Roger needed me, but I was helpless. I was forced to watch this. So much to say… so much that wouldn't be said.
Say something, I'm giving up on you
He was my boyfriend. Scratch that. He was my fucking /soul mate./ He had been ever since Mimi went back to Benny, and he dragged me out into the snow, rambling through tears about how he messed up, how she hates him, and how he doesn't know what to do, or how to fix things, and despite fears he would hate me, I pulled him into my arms that night, and a few seconds later, he had lunged forward, pressing a desperate kiss to my lips.
It was unspoken how much we adored each other, even before we were a thing. Hell, we didn't need to. Roger had a manual in his mind about me, but of course I had one about him. From the moment we met, I began to record. He only likes a certain kind of cereal, and he likes coffee, not tea. When he falls to his knees in the bathroom silently sometimes, glancing with regret at the red rimmed tub, he needs a hug.
When his temper gets the best of him, he needs his space. When his eyes begin to water, I act like I don't see his tears. He loves his tough guy ego. His laughter is rare, and something to be treasured. His smile can light up a room. When he's sleepy, he likes his hair pet. He loves being pet. He is very vocal, making all kinds of growls and grunts constantly, and when he wraps his arms around my waist, and headbutts my shoulder blades, he's needy, he wants attention, and unless I want an hour and a half of whining, I better put my camera down, and treat him like he's the only thing in the room. It was never hard. Focusing on Roger was almost like admiring a lazy sunset, or the frozen winter stars. You were drawn in anyway.
"Rog… shhh… baby, I know…" was all I could manage to choke out. The loft door sliding open caught my attention. "Collins! call 911, now! hurry!" I screamed, and Roger speaking again made me look back.
And I am feeling so small
It was over my head
I know nothing at all
"Mark… I lo-ve you…." and then he smiled. A sob rose out of my throat, and I kissed him. He returned it as best he could, slinging an arm across my shoulders for one last hug. I had a vice like hold already, but somehow, it got tighter. He was trying to keep it together. Be strong for my sake. He didn't have to be. I would love him even if he went out begging and crying, because the adoration I had for him dictated something: No matter what, he was still, and always would be, my badass, tough guy, rockstar, who got everyone's attention.
And I will stumble and fall
I'm still learning to love
Just starting to crawl
"Rog- you c-an't go… you c-an't…. I /need/ you…. pl-please…. please do-n't…" I stammered, my face in his neck, inhaling his familiar, comforting scent, and trying desperately to ignore his shallow breathing, that would soon cease.
"You're gonna do just… fi-ne… you better… pr-omise m-e…." he whispered. I shook my head, and he began to cry himself. Silent tears ran down his face, and he continued. "Th-ank yo-u…. fo-r everyth-ing… fo-r making m-y he-ll of a death sentence… worth enduring…" I picked my head up to gaze at him, and he winked at me.
"Roger…" I spoke quietly. He reached up, running a hand through my short blond spikes. I returned the favor, and he let out a purr at his hair being touched, just like I knew he would.
"You're… /always/… go-nna… b-e… my… dorky… ca-mera man…" he gasped, wincing in agony. I sobbed once more, Grasping his hand tightly.
"An-d you'll always… b-e… my guitar… pl-aying… sar-castic…. a-asshole…." I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, Roger…." I murmured.
"Bye.. Mark… I love you… it's… been fun…" He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
"I love you more…. You… You better be waiting for me… when I fi-nally go…" He let out a small chuckle.
"I pr-omise…." I felt his grip begin to relax. I watched in horror as he cringed one last time, then let out a long breath. His bright eyes went dull, rolled back in his head, and fell closed. He went limp in my arms, the color and warmth draining from his face.
Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
Anywhere I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you
"R-Rog?" I asked gently. No. No. No. No. "Roger…" I whispered louder, shaking him. "Pl-ease… don't do this to me, okay? you just… you can't do this today…" I guess I really had been paying attention to just Roger, for I jumped as Collin's hand rested on my shoulder. "Roger…" I said again, ignoring the taller man now beside me. I felt every emotion welling up in my chest. Anger, pain, sorrow, regret. All I could do was scream, so that's what I did.
"ROGER! NO! YOU AREN'T GOING! YOU COME BACK RIGHT NOW! DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME!? ROGER MICHAEL DAVIS, DON'T YOU /DARE/ DO THIS TO M-!" my rampage was cut short as I sobbed harder. With a desperate whine, my head fell onto his still chest, and I held him tighter. "I'll do anything… I'll go anywhere… why did you have to take him away? wh-y?..."
"Mark…" whispered Collins, kneeling beside me. His hand on my back drew out more pained noises. It took the paramedics less than five minutes later to arrive, and he was ripped from my lap, being raised onto a gurney, and taken away, even though I knew it was too late. When Roger said goodbye, he was serious. He didn't bullshit people he loved. He wouldn't lie to me. He was gone, and that was that.
I curled in on myself. Collins had tried to hug me, but I wasn't having it. I didn't want him. I didn't want anyone. All I wanted was Roger. I wanted to be comforted in his arms. I wanted him to kiss my head, or hold my hand, or mess with my camera so I could bitch at him until he gave it back.
For the first time in forever that night, I was without him. I couldn't sleep, for he was my blanket and pillow. I wasn't safe anymore. My protector was absent. I stayed up, gazing at his guitar, refusing to believe he was really gone. I hate death, I hate death, I hate it. He was just in my lap, stroking my hair. I just saw him, and now he's gone?
And I will swallow my pride
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye
I had to be reminded a week later. Funeral arrangements were handled by Maureen, Joanne, and Collins. Benny offered to payed, and I thanked him. I chose the words for his headstone.
At the funeral, I didn't put a rose on his coffin. I didn't sprinkle dirt into his grave. I didn't film it all. I stood there, dumbfounded as the others were crying, trying to come to terms with it. I avoided the crowd like the coward I was, and it wasn't until sheer habit forced me to grab for Roger's hand, did I breakdown. I cried for all the times he said he hated me. I cried for all the times I returned the favor. I cried for all the worrying he caused me, and I cried for all the times we fought. I cried for the times we made up, and I cried for all the nights we ended up drunk, or high, tangled up in the other, talking about life, and love, and giggling like two idiots.
As I traced his name on the cold marble, my eyes, and throat burning, I lowered my gaze. I would always love my Roger. Not even this could separate us.
Say something, I'm giving up on you
And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
And anywhere I would've followed you (Oh-oh-oh-oh)
Say something, I'm giving up on you
I can't believe a year had gone by so fast. He was still gone, and I gazed up at the starry sky, his old leather jacket around my thin frame, I wondered if maybe he was watching me, thinking the same.
"I miss you…"
I'm alone.
Say something, I'm giving up on you
Say something...