Hold My Hand
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but I wish I owned Roger and Mark. (lol)
Author's Note: This idea just came to me one night. I wasn't trying to make this a Roger/Mark fic, but it kinda turned out that way. I hope you like it!
OoO
Roger was sitting with his guitar on the couch in his loft. He was strumming randon strings, not really playing a particular song or rythem. He starting humming a light tune to himself as he starting playing a familiar song. He ehard the door open, and he set his guitar beside the couch.
"Hey," Roger greeted as his friend walked through the door.
"Hey yourself," Mark greeted back as he closed the door behind him. "Working on a new song?" He motioned to the guitar next to the couch.
"No," Roger said, shaking his head. "I'm lacking lyrics."
"You sure you're not lacking inspiration?" Mark asked, walking toward his room.
"I have plenty of inspiration," Roger answered. "I've go Mimi, Collins, Maureen,...you."
"I would love to hear that one," Mark scoffed from his room.
"What was that?" Roger asked, standing in the doorway of Mark's room.
"Nothing," Mark lied, "just messing with my camera."
"Oh, well I'm going to grab something to eat," Roger said, "you want to come?"
"I'm not really hungry," Mark answered.
"I'll pay," Roger coaxed.
"I'm fine," Mark replied. Roger could sense that Mark was agitated, but he wasn't sure why.
"Are you alright, Mark?" Roger wondered.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Mark sighed. "This film is just pushing my nerves."
"Why don't you just give yourself a break for a bit and come to lunch with me," Roger suggested.
"I can't," Mark said. "I really need to finish this."
"Well, I tried," Roger sighed. "I'll be at the 'Life Cafe' if you change your mind."
Mark shook his head, and Roger grabbed his coat to leave. He took one more look at Mark before closing the door. He arrived at the 'Life Cafe' a few minutes later and ordered himself a sandwhich and some coffee. Half way through his lunch, Collins came into the cafe and rushed over to Roger.
"Roger," Collins began, out of breath, "we got to get to the hospital."
"What's wrong?" Roger asked in a worried tone.
"It's Mark," Collins explained.
That was all Roger needed to heear. He beat Collins out the door of the cafe, almost forgetting his jacket. The two ran into the hospital, Roger infront, and they ran to the nurse's desk.
"Mark Cohen," Roger breathed. The nurse pointed them to a room just down the hall, and Roger and Collins rushed to Mark's room. A doctor walked out of Mark's room, and Roger froze.
"Are you a member of the family?" the doctor asked.
"No, but we're good friends," Collins answered. "Do you know what's wrong?"
"You're friend is suffering from severe lack of nutrition," the doctor explained. "That's why he passed out. We're going to keep him here until he regains his strength, and then I'll recommend him to a rehabilitation center."
"Rehabilitaion?" Collins asked.
"Mhmm," the doctor said, "you're friend is suffering from anorexia."
Roger thought his heart had stopped when the doctor said anorexia. He looked at Mark through the crack in the door, and he felt tears stream down his face. Mark looked so pail and fragile lying in that hospital bed. Roger acctually blamed himself for not noticing it right away. He was jolted back to reality by a faint voice.
"Roger," Mark whispered.
"Go on, man," Collins said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'll wait here."
Roger shook his head and walked slowly into Mark's room. He closed the door behind him and took a seat next to Mark. He had IV's stuck both of his arms and a breathing tube up his nose.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Roger asked, holding back tears.
"Beacouse I thought you'd kill me," Mark joked. "The one time we acctually have enough money to keep food, I starve myself. I didn't want you to hate me."
"I don't hate you, Mark," Roger said, tears falling from his eyes, "that's something I could never do. You should've told me you had a problem. I could've tried to help you."
"I know," Mark admitted. "Guess it's too late to ask now, huh?"
"No," Roger corrected, "I'll help you. All you have to do is tell me how."
"Don't make me go to the rehab clinic," Mark suggested.
"I can't do that, Mark," Roger said, "but I can hold your hand." Roger took Mark's hand and smiled.
"Okay," Mark smiled.
OoO
A/N: Feedback is much apreciated.