Author's Note: This is just my take on a few things. First, I wanted to try and capture the argument from "Goodbye Love" in a realistic dialogue style. Second, there were some things I always had issue with: Roger's sudden decision to leave for Santa Fe right after the funeral, the immediate reconciliation between him and Mark upon his return, and the way he kept cutting off Mimi when she was supposed to be the one who was dying.

Disclaimer: The characters and any lyrics-turned-to-lines are, of course, sole property of Jonathan Larson, as is RENT and the storylines.

Roger took a slow breath. "So that's it?"

The doctor stared at the chart, shaking his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis. Your body just isn't responding to the treatment anymore. There are some other possible--"

"No, no, there's not," Roger said. "No insurance."

The doctor nodded reluctantly. "Then I'm afraid there's nothing we can do except make you comfortable."

Roger stood up from the exam table and pulled on the worn leather jacket. "Thanks, doc."

"Mr. Davis, I can prescribe you some--"

He shook his head. "Thanks."

The only way he'd be able to afford medication was Mark.

The doctor started to say something else, but Roger didn't listen. He continued out the door. He was late. How would he tell Mark? How would he tell any of them? They didn't deserve this. Bad enough to lose Angel. But now they had to go through it again? Roger wondered if there was a way to die without them knowing. To die without putting anyone through any more pain.

Roger sat in the church staring at the altar and the framed picture of Angel. That would be him next. Sooner rather than later, if the doctor was right. His eyes filled with tears as the realization hit him. He folded his hands in his lap as the tears started to fall. Mark, he knew, figured it was because of Angel. That was the normal assumption of a crying man in a funeral service.

"You always said how lucky you were to know us all," Maureen was saying, "but it was us, baby, who were the lucky ones."

Roger's tears continued to fall. What would she say at his service? Would she say anything? Here's to Roger—he put us through a lot of shit but he was basically pretty decent? Roger sighed as Collins stood up to speak. He dared a sideways glance at Mark. Mark's hands were folded in front of him as he leaned on the pew in front of them. Roger bit his lip.

"Roger."

He turned his head. People were leaving. Mark touched his arm. "Let's go."

Roger nodded. "Oh. Yeah. Right."

"You okay?"

Roger took a slow breath. "Um, ye-yeah."

They were halfway to the cemetery before Roger worked up the nerve to say it. Collins and Benny had lingered behind to take care of paying the church.

"I, um, I'm going to Santa Fe," he said.

"Yeah, I know," Mark said.

Roger shook his head. "No, I mean, I'm going. Now. Tomorrow."

Mark stopped. "What?"

"I'm going. I sold my guitar. Got enough to buy that old beater car Frankie was selling."

Mark swallowed and for a minute, Roger wondered if Mark was going to hit him. "Okay."

Roger hoped to pack in silence. Mark, unfortunately, was unwilling to let that happen. "I hear there are great restaurants out there."

Roger nodded. "The best."

He grabbed the necklace on the dresser and stopped. A photo of him and Mimi. He'd forgotten about it. It was from the summer. One of the nights they'd all gathered at the loft and watched the sunset from the roof. He grimaced bitterly. "How could she?"
Roger had almost forgotten Mark was there. "How could you let her go?"

"You-you don't know. You just don't know."

Mark sighed. "What is this about, Roger? What's going on?"

"How could we lose Angel?"

"Maybe you'll see why when you stop escaping your pain. At least if you try Angel didn't die in vain."

Roger scoffed. "Angel's death is in vain! How could it not be in vain, Mark? What the hell--"

"Are you insane? Are you listening to yourself?"

Just let me go, Mark, Roger prayed silently. Roger brushed past Mark and headed to the kitchen area. "What's here for me here anyway?"

"There's so much to care about. There's me. There's Mimi--"

"Mimi's got her own baggage."

Mark rolled his eyes. "So do you!"

Just let me go, please. Don't make this harder than it is. Roger slammed his fist down on the counter. "Who are you to tell me what I know? What to do?"

"I'm your friend!"

Roger shook his head. "Yeah but who are you, Mark? Just who the hell are you?"

Mark stared at him, confused. "What?"

"Mark's got his work. Everyone says 'Mark lives for his work' and 'Mark's in love with his work.' You know what I think? Mark hides in his work!"

"From what?"

God, Mark, don't do this. "From facing your failure. Your loneliness."

Mark stared him down, shaking his head.

Roger took a quick breath and blurted out the first things that came to mind. The most hurtful things he could think of. "Facing the fact you live a lie."

"A lie? What the hell are you--"

"You live a lie! Tell you why—You're always preaching at me not to be numb. That's how you thrive! You-you sit behind your camera and pretend to create and observe, when you really detach from feeling alive!"

Mark's eyes were full of tears. "Maybe because I'm the one of us who's going to survive!"

Roger's heart sank. "Poor baby."

Mark sighed. "Mimi still loves you."

"What?"

"Mimi still loves you, Roger. Are you really that jealous of Benny? Or are you just afraid that Mimi's weak?"

"Mimi looked pale," Roger admitted. That's why Roger had to leave. Mimi looked weaker. They were bracing themselves to lose Mimi. He couldn't stay around and hurt them all like this.

Mark nodded. "Yeah. Mimi's gotten thin and-and she's running out of time. And you—you! The one who's supposed to be there for her...Roger, you're running out the door."

"No more! I-I gotta go," he stammered.

He almost reached the door before Mark's voice stopped him again.

"Hey! For someone who's always been let down, who's heading out of town?"

Roger turned around, not bothering to blink back the tears. "For someone who longs for a community, who's with his camera alone?"

He saw Mark wince from that one. That did it. Roger felt a pang of guilt. "I'll call."

Mark said nothing. Roger slid the loft door open. "Mimi."

She stood, arms folded over her chest, tears in her eyes.

"You heard?"

She nodded. "Every word. Is that what I am to you? Baggage? You don't want baggage without lifetime guarantees? No, you don't want to watch me die!"

Roger started to open his mouth.

Mimi held up her hand. "Don't bother, okay? I just came to say goodbye, love. Goodbye, Love!"

Roger shook his head and stormed past her. This was for her own good. For everyone's good. He hummed to himself in a vain attempt at blocking her sobs out. He heard Mark come out into the hallway. Mimi would be fine. Roger continued down the stairs. Someone bumped into him.

"Sorry, man."

Roger continued without answering. A hand reached out and grabbed his elbow. "Roger?"

"I've got to go."

"Roger, what's goin' on?"

"Let me go, Ben."

Benny dropped his arm and Roger continued downstairs as he heard Benny race up the stairs.

Roger sped down the highway, trying his damnedest to ignore the sharp pain in his side. His mind replayed the fight with Mark again and again. Roger wondered if he'd gone too far, crossed a line. In his own twisted way, he hoped so. If Mark was mad, then Mark would just forget about him. He'd move on and actually make something of himself, which was more than Roger was capable of. Roger sighed and flipped on the radio. Static.

Benny finished signing the papers and said goodbye to Mimi. Kid was scared, clearly. Maybe this time the rehab would work. Mark had said goodbye to her at the loft and let Benny take control of everything else. Apparently he'd missed a hell of a fight with Roger before he came upstairs. As Benny headed for the parking lot, he fished the keys from his pocket and debated calling Alison.

"Thanks for coming," Mark said. "I just, uh, I haven't had time to go through everything and I know she left some stuff in his room."

Benny nodded. "I'll see what I can find."

Mark nodded and went to the stove. "Coffee?"

"Nah, man, I'm good. Thanks though."

Benny headed for Roger's room. Best to just get it over with. He was surprised. Roger wasn't kidding when he left. The musician's closet was empty, the dresser nearly empty. Only a few sweatshirts too ratty to be seen and a pair of jeans too stained to be seen in. Benny opened the bag he'd brought and scooped Mimi's jewelry from the dresser into the bag. He folded up her scarf on the bed and added it to the bag. Benny was almost ready to leave when he noticed the notebook. Roger's own form of a datebook. Still made Benny smile. Roger scribbled in dates and appointments in the margins of his doodles and scrawled out lyrics to half-finished songs. Benny leaned down for a closer look and frowned. October 31. Angel's funeral. Before that, though, a different appointment. 9am-Health Clinic.

Benny swallowed hard. Roger hated doctors. He never went to the doctor unless it was serious. Hell, he hadn't let them put him in rehab, preferring the cold of the loft to the sterility of a clinic. "Mark?"

"What?"

Benny picked up the notebook and went to the living room. "You see this?"

Mark shook his head without looking up from his book. "I haven't been in his room since he left."

"His notebook. One of his notebooks, anyway."

Mark shrugged. "So? Toss it."

"It's got an appointment in it. Dated same day as Angel's funeral."

Mark looked up. "Appointment for what?"

"The health clinic."

Mark chuckled. "Right. Roger said he wasn't going to a doctor again unless he could tell..."

Benny nodded. Mark stood up and grabbed the notebook from Benny, reading for himself. He tossed the notebook aside and shrugged. "There's got to be another explanation. Roger's fine."

"You sure about that?"

Mark's cheeks reddened. "Sure? Of course I'm sure. I lived with the son of a bitch."

Benny nodded. "So you know better than any of us how good he is at keeping secrets."

"He's fine."

Benny could see the pain in Mark's face. He was right. Roger was dying. Benny nodded slowly. "Right. Of course. He, um, he mention where he was going?"

"Santa Fe."

Benny continued to nod. "Okay...okay...Well, I, um, I better get going. You need anything?"

Mark shook his head and sat back down. "I'm fine."

Roger stood on the corner outside the bus depot strumming his guitar. He was going out of his mind. Every other girl who crossed his line of vision looked like Mimi. He'd approached the first few before accepting that his mind was playing tricks on him. He stood in the shade of the hot New Mexico sun, a few beads of cold sweat on his forehead. In spite of the heat, Roger kept his long sleeves on. The sores scared him; he couldn't imagine what other people would do. Certainly not give him money.

Benny dug through the top dresser drawer—the one full of receipts and old photos and mementos. He found the most recent picture of Roger he could find. A few months old. He hated taking anything from Mimi, but he had to do this. She'd understand. And she'd hate him if he didn't.

"You're going where?"

"Santa Fe," Benny said, zipping the overnight bag.

"Benjamin, what are you talking about? What for?"

"Roger."

Alison's nose wrinkled, mouth frowning as she tried to remember. "Roger? Isn't he one of those people who-"

"Old friend."

"Ben, those people-"

Benny straightened up and faced her. "Alison, a lot of shit has gone down between me and them, but I have to do this."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't owe those people anything."

Benny shook his head. "I'll call."

It took him three days to find Roger. The overnight bag was decidedly under-packed. By the second day, Benny had to buy a change of clothes and began combing the homeless shelters. He showed Roger's picture to everyone with little or no luck. A few people thought they had seen him, but couldn't remember where or when.

Benny strolled into the diner and slid into a booth. He tossed the picture onto the table and rubbed his forehead.

"What can I get you?"

Benny glanced up at the waitress, a young woman not much older than Mimi. "Coffee."

"Anything else?"

He shook his head, lowering his eyes again.

The waitress returned a minute later with the coffee pot in hand and poured him a cup. "Who's the guy?"

Benny shook his head. "Old friend I'm trying to track down. You seen him?"

She shook her head. "Can't say I have. He a musician?"

Benny smiled at the picture. Roger and that damned guitar. "Yeah."

"Might want to try the pawn shop on 71st. Lot of musicians pick up cheap guitars and things there."

Roger squatted down and counted the handful of bills and coins that had been tossed into his empty guitar case over the course of the day. A shadow crossed over and stopped. Roger ignored the shadow as he stood and shoved the money into his jeans pocket.

"What are you doing?"

Roger looked up at the shadow. "Benny."

"What the hell are you doin' here?"

"I told you guys I was going to Santa Fe. What you're doing here might be a better question, if I actually gave a damn."

Roger tried to walk past him but Benny caught his elbow. Roger tried not to wince.

"I know."

Roger jerked away from him. "You don't know shit."

"Roger, don't do this. You cannot do this."

"I'm not doing anything," Roger said. He started to walk away, Benny following close at his heels.

"Roger--"

"Ben, you don't know what the hell you're talking about. Just go home and take care of Mimi. Or is it Muffy this week?"

Benny shook his head. "So now you're playin' that game?"

"What? What game?"

Benny grabbed his shoulder and made him stop. "Same game you've played since we were kids. Something's freaking you out so you lash out at everyone else and try to be the asshole so that we'll all just leave you alone."

"So why don't you?"

"Because we both know you don't want that."

"Fuck you," Roger said, shoving Benny. "You don't know shit!"

Roger started to walk away again.

"You're dying."

Roger stopped and turned. "No shit. I have AIDS."

"No, I mean, that's why you left. You're dying."

Roger's cheeks reddened. "Fuck you."

Benny followed after him. "Roger, you give me one other reason why you left, why now, why right after Angel died."

Roger spun around again. "What do you want from me, Benny? You want me to tell you that I'm dying? That I'm so fucking pathetic I can't even afford the medication that could at least give me a few more months? Fuck you!"

"Come home," Benny said quietly.

Roger's tears froze in his eyes. Benny reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He forced it into Roger's hands.

"What's this?" he asked. He opened it and saw the bus pass.

"You always hated flying."

Roger tried to smile.

"She loves you," Benny said suddenly.

"What?"

"Mimi. Her and I...we've been done a long time. Only reason she came back to me after you two split up was because she knows I'll give her anything she asks for. Including drug money," Benny said, looking him straight in the eye. "Before you say anything, she's in rehab. She went the day after you left."

Roger stared at the bus pass in his hands. "Ben--"

"Don't. I gotta catch my flight. I'll see you in New York."

Roger nodded slowly, a weight lifting off his shoulders.

Roger called Mark from the bus station. The first time, Mark hung up. The second time, he screened.

"Mark, I know you're there. I don't want to say this on the fucking machine, okay? Please, Mark. I'm...I'm sorry. Just give me five minutes."

There was a click. "You have exactly five minutes before I hang up."

"I-I'm sick. I'm...I...My arm...There's sores on my arms..." he fought to get the rest out before the tears spilled from his eyes. "Please, Mark. You-you have to forgive me. I'm so sorry. I just-I thought it would be easier...I thought if you hated me, if you all hated me..."

"Where are you?"

"Bus station. Benny got me a ticket."

"Come home."

The line went dead.