Blackbird
Blackbird
By: Ethiwen
Disclaimer: Still don't own RENT or the characters of said show. It all belongs to the late (and great!) Jonathon Larson. Blackbird belongs to The Beatles, and a later version belongs to Sarah McLachlan. Electric Blue Eyes Belongs to the Cranberries.
Summary: In his last days, Roger Davis finds flight in the love of a friend.
Ships: MarkRoger!friendship Will be eventual MarkRoger. If you don't like it, then don't read it.
Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Deals with the severity of the AIDS virus.
Spoilers: April committed suicide. This is post-RENT, so Angel has passed on. Didn't know that? Go watch the show…Listen to the soundtrack…anything. In my story Collins and Mimi have also passed away, and Maureen and Joanne have moved away.
Author's Notes: I have noticed a distinct lack of MarkRoger fiction in the fandom these days, and that depresses me. This is the brainchild of that frustration-- a serious angst MR fic that deals with a primary issue people seem to conveniently forget about: The AIDS virus. RENT is a fun show full of the promise of hope and new life, but it also deals with very serious topics, and I often feel that adversity can become lost among our desire for triumph and happiness. Misfortune has its own set of advantages.
Sorry it took so long to get the second chapter up. Life has been crazy.
This chapter is dedicated to my very dearest friend, The Versatile Scarf: You are my guardian angel. Thank you for being my everything—I love you.
Electric blue eyes, where did you come from?
Electric blue eyes, who sent you?
Electric blue eyes, always be near me.
Electric blue eyes, I need you…
Always be near me, Guardian Angel
Always be near me, there's no fear.
—"Electric Blue Eyes"-The Cranberries
Roger lay in his hospital bed, staring at the grey-white hospital ceiling for the last time. He didn't know quite how Mark had done it, but he had. He had managed to free Roger from the hell he had been living in this sterile prison, finding a way to get him discharged from the hospital and allowed to change to personal home care.
Calloused hands gripped crisp linen sheets, knuckles turning as white as the cloth they held, and tired eyes closed, allowing his thoughts to wander. He was going –home-. He wondered if it would be the same. Whether the coffee would still taste burnt, and if his own bed would feel the same under his weight. He smiled slightly, his rough cracked lips, widening. Knowing Mark, it would be the same as ever. Thinking of his quirky, longtime roommate his smile grew, parting his lips into a genuine, heartfelt grin. His eyes opened slowly, his green eyes full of mirth; though muted with illness, they became alight with life and hope. Even with the lesions that blemished his once beautiful features, he looked like a demi-god—there was beauty to be found in the broken. Slowly, he propped himself on to his elbows, raising himself into a sitting position.
"Mark? How long have you been standing there?" Roger raised an eyebrow, startled by the filmmaker's sudden presence.
"Long enough to see you grinning like a fool." The smaller man gave a little half-smile.
Roger laughed then, a raspy deep laugh, almost as though his voice had forgotten how and was rediscovering exactly how to make the sound. He turned to his best friend, grinning devilishly.
"Get me the fuck out of here."
This garnered a small chuckle from Mark.
"Will do."
The sun smiled upon the two men as they walked down the streets of Alphabet City, Roger's weight supported by the arm he had slung around Mark's shoulder, and the arm that Mark had placed comfortably about his waist. Mark was keeping their pace almost unbearably slow; though Roger was eager to explore the world; he knew that he was also very weak. Mark was looking out for him as always. In fact it was only at Roger's insistence that they were walking at all—Mark had suggested a cab, but after gentle reminding from Roger that they really didn't have the money for that, and a request to be allowed to celebrate his newfound freedom, Roger had won Mark's approval. Roger knew when he grinned that devil-may-care smile of his that made men agree and women weak in the knees, Mark couldn't say no. He never had been good at saying no to that smile.
"Mark have you ever seen anything as blue as the sky is today?" Roger stared in wonder at sights that ought to have been familiar to him. Illness had rendered him a stranger to all that he had once known, and he felt as though it was his first time experiencing it. The sky seemed to hold a brighter hue than he remembered, and the noise of the streets, once a discordant cacophony, was now music to his ears. Even the graffiti on the walls of the broken down streets held art for Roger.
"The sky is always blue, Roger. I wish it weren't as hot as it is today."
"No, it's -really- blue today. I don't think I've ever seen anything that blue. Reminds me of the Pacific Ocean."
"We're home…let's get you inside, huh?"
"You just sit there on the couch. I do not want you to move from that spot unless I help you. Got it?"
"Mark, I'm a big boy. I can handle myself, you know."
Roger frowned in protest, but his felt a warmth in his heart. Mark was so protective almost like an angel. That was it. Mark was his guardian angel.
"I mean it, Rog. I said we do this on my terms."
"Alright, Mother Hen, alright." Roger grinned. "Then you have to come and entertain me. Come sit here with me and tell me what's been going on." His felt his heart flutter when Mark smiled back at him, and seated himself close to Roger on the couch.
"Well, not a whole lot. I've been doing a lot of work as a projectionist, and that's about it. I mean my life's bee-"
"Wait, Mark." Roger put his finger to Mark's lips. "Hold still, just a minute." Roger put his hand on Mark's cheek, and drew his face closer to his own, studying his eyes intently. This passed in silence for a while before Mark finally spoke.
"Uh…Rog? What are you doing?"
"I just never noticed your eyes before. I found it, Mark."
"Found what."
"Something more blue than the sky."
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