A/N: Just a short little thing I wrote. Blatantly movie-verse.
"I'd hate to see you pass up something that might be good for you," Mark tells him softly, eyes entreating him. "You'll only regret it."
Roger looks down, busies himself looking out the window and drinking coffee. He laughs once, a little bitterly. "I'll live," he assures Mark, seeing him fight to hide the hurt Roger's words provoke. It's not difficult, because the hurt quickly turns to anger, frustration, crushed hope… in a word, disgust. Roger has to struggle slightly to not physically react to that unfamiliar expression on Mark's face, because he's not sure he's ever seen it before. He's been reclusive nearly a year, Mark's been with him through months of withdrawals and countless relapses. Why, Roger wonders, should it be something as simple and as common as him refusing to leave the house that sets Mark off?
Regardless of his incomprehension of the situation, it only gets worse. Mark gets to his feet and adjusts his scarf, practically spitting on the way out the door, "Right."
The heavy metal door to the loft slams, and the sound feels like it's reverberating in the pit of Roger's stomach. It's when the feeling lingers that Roger recognizes it for guilt. Well, isn't that nice, Roger wonders a little darkly. Just a day of new emotions around here. Mark finally learns to hate me and I get guilt back.
The guilt only gets worse, because, sighing softly, he starts thinking about why he feels it. It's about last night, when Mimi and Mark and Angel and Collins had been standing there, their expressions ranging from challenging to hopeful, begging him to come back to real life, to the world they inhabit. He starts thinking about the fact that the guilt doesn't come from Mimi's bright, hopeful smile, or Mark staring up at him with that too-familiar look in his eyes that says he's bleeding inside. It's sure as hell not Collins or Angel, because much as he loves Collins and Angel seems like a nice girl, it's not Angel's well-meaning offer of support or Collins' frustrated, almost utterly defeated face haunting him now. It's the tension in Mimi's posture as she walks away in Angel's arms, Mark trying to hide his upset from Collins even as the bigger man pulls him into a supportive embrace, saying he's done all he can. Great, Roger thinks, even disgusted with himself now. All this thinking and all I've done is realized that I only care about people when I think they might give up on me. Mimi's smile and Mark's hurt blue eyes are the images stuck in his mind, but they don't sway him in the least. He only begins to think that he has to fix things when he envisions life without Mark; what he could have with Mimi.
Still, he muses, even if it's motivated by selfishness, maybe this is his chance to make things right? To stop pretending that every cell in his body hadn't been set afire by Mimi's kiss, that he hasn't heard Mark trying not to cry at night? He's not quite narcissistic enough to credit Mark's upset to himself alone, but if he's honest, he knows damn well he's a big part of it. It may not be because Mark is grieved for him personally, but because Roger is a microcosm of the state of Mark's life at large at the moment. Mark pours everything he has into Roger – into anything he gets devoted to, often several things simultaneously, things that end up taking more than he really has to give – and never seems to get any return. Sure, he's got a room full of footage and Maureen's friendship; sure Roger's clean, but he's not really better. What exactly has Mark gotten out of everything he's done for him? Been sworn at and called names a lot, even been hit during the worst of the withdrawals, been let down repeatedly… No more, Roger thinks with a sudden surge of conviction. Goddamnit, there's no fucking reason for it.
Before he's even entirely sure what he's doing, he's pulled on his boots and his jacket and is winding his scarf around his neck. It's when he realizes what he means to do that he stops a long moment, staring at the loft's door with trepidation. He's sure he remembers where the community centre is, it's not like it's really that far, but… Christ, he hasn't left the apartment in almost a year. Isn't this kind of spur-of-the-moment?
Yes, of course it is – if he'd thought about it long enough he'd have started brooding, and then he wouldn't have been standing where he is because he'd have given up. Go before you give up, the part of his mind that's found its drive insists, go now. With a deep breath, touching the door as if it might burn him when he opens it, Roger does. He opens the door, jogs down the stairs, and steps onto the crowded New York streets as if he'd never left them. The city is big and intimidating, as always, and Roger manages to reflect on this for all of a minute before he finds himself with his head bowed, going over all the reasons he has to be guilty once more. New York gets into your blood, he thinks, once you learn how to get along there it doesn't matter how out of practice you get; it's like riding a bicycle. But for once, it's not April dominating his thoughts – it's still Mark and Mimi, two people he has in the here and the now, one who cares for him deeply and the other who'd like to, given the chance.
He stops before the door of the community centre, too, watching it as if it's going to spring open and suck him into the building. Once again, he draws a deep breath to steel himself and goes through the door. He hears singing, and, momentarily, is stopped in his tracks. It's a simple round with simple words, and by the time the group has gone through it twice, he has it committed to memory. He sees everyone else before they see him, and what he sees only reinforces his feeling that he's finally doing something right. They're all standing in a circle, Collins and Angel and a group of people he doesn't know. The credo they're singing is broken up into groups, and Mark is to the side with his camera, echoing the song all alone in a sweet, sad tone.
Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare? With a start, Roger realizes that even if he can't be sure – no one can ever be sure - he does have answers to those questions. Dignity is something afforded to you by other people, to his mind, and even when he's been at his lowest – shaking and sweating with withdrawals, so sick he felt like he was dying much faster than he is from the side-effects of his new medication, a bitter recluse who wants to hate the world – even then, Mark has treated him no differently than he ever has, and in spite of all of it Mimi still seems to want him. She doesn't know about his death sentence, or how bad it could get before he goes, but if she really grew to love him she'd stay. Mark's already promised he will, that even if Roger's completely alone in the world otherwise, he'll still be there. Mark, even if he's the only one who will among the doctors and nurses and people who don't know and don't care, will always let him cling to some scrap of dignity. That having been established, it's obvious he'll always have someone who cares. That last bit, though… HIV was a nightmare from which there would be no waking, only an eventual death. But what about his life as it is, even if it has to be cut short? Mimi makes him feel things he never thought he would again, he has love of a slightly different sort both for and from Mark, and Collins, Angel, and Maureen can't exactly be dismissed, either. Is it really so bad? At least, is it really bad enough that he has to be like this?
It's not, but he still can't help having doubts, and he's beginning to realize that it's the doubt that's turned him into what he is. He can't fight them alone, but he's been trying to, and all he's done is hurt others and himself. No more. He at least has to try. The first thing trying means is stepping over the threshold of the door and making his way towards the circle of people. It means forcing a weak smile when Mark sees him, looking uncertain for all of a second before his eyes light up. He doesn't stop filming or singing, doesn't even skip a beat, but his eyes stay locked on Roger's. It could almost be intimidating, coming from anyone else. Not here or now, though, with Collins and Angel each wrapping an arm around him and Mark so plainly relieved.
The funny thing is, they never talk about it. Collins says he's proud of him when they leave the community centre, and it's obvious he means it, but Mark doesn't do anything more than give him a significant, wistful smile. When they part ways with Collins and Angel, Mark wastes no time seizing him by the shoulder and insisting he's coming to help set up for Maureen's show, and Roger senses his uncertainty then. Like he thinks Roger could just go back home and it will be like nothing ever happened. That can't happen, because if Mark is afraid, or if he can't convince Mimi he's really changed his ways, it will all have been for nothing.
Roger stops Mark just before they reach the lot, grabbing him by both shoulders. Mark jumps and squirms away, whirling to face him with a surprised sound. "Yes?" he prompts in a terse, slightly shaking voice.
On an impulse, Roger grabs him and hugs him hard. "I just wanted you to know… It's not over, Mark. It might never be. But I'm ready to try again; this wasn't a one time thing. If you need me… I'm here again, okay?"
Mark looks stunned, eyes wide and shining behind his glasses. Finally, he croaks out, "Yeah," and Roger ignores the tears threatening his voice, not because it's easier but because it's what Mark would want. He holds him silently until the tremors stop, there in the middle of the street, and then they pull apart and walk onto the lot, once more acting like nothing has happened.
Mark understands. Mimi, well, Mimi just might. Forget regret, she'd said, and he knows he's done wrong. That's the only real way you can wrong someone, hurting them, and Roger thinks he might finally have what it takes to make amends.