So, this is the most obscenely fast I've gotten two chapters that are so long out in a row. Did that sentence make any sense? You know what I mean. Anyways, enjoy! No flames, but constructive criticism appeases the great gods of Pez...


Two months later:

Roger jolted out of his dozing state when the jarring ring of a cell-phone invaded his ear drums. He groaned, shifting in his seat, and brought a hand to rub over his face. Blinking his eyes, he looked out the bus window and watched as a few taxis drove by, a human river bustling down the sidewalk. They were back in good old Alphabet City. And that damn phone hadn't shut up.

"ROGER!" The guitarist jumped as Blake's face came into his line of vision. He was two inches away, and had just screamed into Roger's ear. "Snap out of it, man! Your ass is ringing!"

Roger blinked until he realized that it was his cell phone, packed snugly into his back pocket, that had been ringing this whole time. Blake chuckled as the lead guitarist dug it out and pressed it on. Roger's eyebrow twitched.

"Hey, Roger here."

"Roger? It's Joanne. Heard you were heading back today. Where are you?" Roger smiled when he recognized the lawyer's voice, then quickly glanced outside to check their location.

"We're already in the city. 'Bout five minutes from my apartment, fifteen from the loft. How you all doing?"

"We're fine. How long do you think it'll take you to unpack?" There was something about Joanne's tone that made Roger a little nervous, the way she'd hesitated before answering.

"We should probably be done in a couple hours," Roger answered. "Sort of troublesome that we've made it big enough to go on tour, but not quite big enough to hire roadies. I'll have to tell Blake to start hitting up some of his 'hos' for extra money, since he's so convinced he's a pimp."

Joanne chuckled when she heard Blake's protest in the background of, "I'm not the only one convinced I'm a pimp, asshole! I get more action in a night then you'd get in a year!"

"Well, when you do get done, how about you drop by our apartment? I know Maureen would love to see you as much as I would. We can order out."

"How is 'honey bear' doing? Still driving you bat-shit?"

"Please. At the very least I'd like to think I've built up some sort of immunity by now."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Fuck you. Anyway, can I expect you around six?"

"Sure. Why don't you invite Mark too? I was gonna head over to the loft later anyway."

"Umm… I think he might be busy today…"

"Doing what? Last I'd heard, he'd just finished that film he's been working on, and he can't be so wrapped up in working on the next one that he'd pass up an evening with his favorite superstar. Did he get a job or something?" That seemed unlikely, though. Why the hell would Mark get a job? He ate, slept and breathed his personal work.

"Well, he did start working for Buzzline again about a month and a half ago…" Roger's eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

"What! Why in God's name would he go back to that soul-sucking Alexi Darling?"

"Listen, Roger, why don't we talk about that when you get here. I gotta go." Okay, something was definitely up. Now Joanne sounded extremely uncomfortable.

"Umm…okay, I guess," Roger replied uneasily.

"Don't worry, Roger. Nobody died or anything." Roger let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Well, that's good to know. I guess I'll see you at six, then?"

"Yeah. See you then." Roger turned his cell phone off when he heard the beep of Joanne hanging up. What the hell was going on?

"Who was that?" Jeff asked from his spot behind the driver's wheel, cutting into Roger's thoughts.

"Oh. Just Joanne." He braced himself.

"Joanne? And how is that sweet, sexy lawyer of mine doing?" Blake really grated on his nerves sometimes.

"I told you, Blake. There's no way in hell. Just 'cause you've got some kind of crush…"

"Ain't a crush, man," Blake interrupted him. "I just enjoy a challenge now and then. And that sister is so fine it's a fuckin' shame she's into other chicks. Really, one night with me and I could…"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, BLAKE!" Roger and Jeff shouted in unison.

"Okay, okay. Jesus."


Three hours later:

Roger knocked on the door to Maureen and Joanne's apartment feeling not a small amount of worry. He'd been turning it around in his head for the past three hours, and the idea of Mark deciding to go back to Buzzline just struck him as, for lack of a better term, wrong. He'd tried to come up with reasons as to why Mark would, but there was nothing he could think of that would make Mark ever go back. He'd vowed over and over in front of Roger that he would never sell out again, even on pain of death. So what the hell had happened?

The other thing that bothered him was the fact that he hadn't known. Why wouldn't Mark even tell him? It wasn't like he couldn't get in touch with Roger easily… Didn't he know he could tell him anything? They were best friends. Why would he keep something so big from him?

It had hit Roger then that he hadn't spoken to Mark in over a week. The last time they had spoken had been when Roger was giving him the details about when to expect them back. This was the longest tour they'd ever been on, and before, for the shorter ones, the ones that had lasted only a couple weeks, Mark had called him almost every day, asking about how things were going, telling him about what him and the rest of the gang had been up to. How could Roger have been so blind as to not notice the lack of calls? It all just reinforced his gut feeling that something was really wrong.

His thoughts were cut off as Joanne answered the door. She smiled brightly when she saw him, but to Roger it seemed a little forced. She hugged him and ushered him in.

"It's so good to see you, Roger! Maureen! Roger's here!" Maureen swept into the room like an F5 tornado, her bangles jingling and her teeth standing out stark white against her bright-red lips.

"Roger, sweetie!" she squealed, sweeping him into a rib-crushing hug and leaving lipstick stains on both his cheeks. She grabbed either side of his face, shaking his head slightly back and forth. "You look so good! How've you been?" Before he could even open his mouth to answer, Joanne was practically dragging him to the dining room.

"You'll have to tell us all about the tour," she said as she ushered him into a seat. He took the opportunity to wipe at the marks Maureen had left on his face. "But first, eat. You must be exhausted. I got Chinese food from that restaurant down the street. It's your favorite, right?"

"Of course it's his favorite, pookie! They make the best egg-rolls in the whole damn city!" Maureen accentuated her proclamation by swiping one of said egg-rolls onto her plate.

"I will never understand your obsession with egg-rolls…" Joanne trailed with a sigh.

"Of course you wouldn't, pookie. It would be impossible for a tight-ass like you to understand the glory, wonder and yummyness of egg-rolls."

"'Yummyness' is not a real word."

"As soon as a word is used, that makes it real," Maureen protested from behind a mouth full of egg-roll. "So, Roger," she continued after swallowing. "How was the tour?"

"Were the audiences you brought in very big?" Joanne asked.

"Ooo, did you get any crazy groupies flashing you?"

"God, Maureen. Why do you want to know about other women taking off their clothes?" There was a dangerous tone to Joanne's voice.

"Aww, pookie. I was just asking…"

"Don't answer that question, Roger. Was performing every night that stressful on you?"

"Yeah, how are you feeling, sweetie?"

"Okay! God damn, you two! Stop with the double teaming bull shit and tell me what the hell is up!" Roger cut Joanne off as she opened her mouth. "I used to be on smack, but that doesn't mean all of my brain-cells are dead! Jesus, even Blake wouldn't be distracted by this little performance!"

"That's not true, Roger. You know Blake would be distracted by anything with tits!" Maureen pouted, exaggeratedly sticking out her lower lip.

"Don't try to change the subject!" Roger glared at her, and she lapsed into a real pout. He turned to her lover. "Joanne, level with me. What the hell is going on with Mark?"

Joanne looked stricken for a moment, then grabbed across the table for Maureen's hand.

"It's really complicated, Roger," she said quietly, previous bubbly act forgotten.

"Just tell me. I've been worrying myself to death, and I sure as hell don't need any help in getting there!"

"Well…okay." Joanne nodded at Maureen, and the actress stood up, walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a folder. She passed it to Roger with a sad look on her face.

Roger's heart was beating in his ears as he opened it. A lease stared up at him on the top of a small pile of papers. He scanned over it, and the beating abruptly stopped, then picked up at a faster pace when he realized it was the lease to the loft.

"What the hell…?" he trailed. Maureen and Joanne glanced worriedly at each other.

"Mark… left," Maureen whispered, a tone that seemed so odd coming out of her usually obnoxiously loud mouth.

"What… do you mean, he left?" Roger looked up, his eyes darting, almost in a panic. Joanne put a hand on his forearm to try and offer some support.

"He said he had some stuff he needed to do," she offered, giving Roger a sympathetic look. "He didn't want you to worry, but he refused to let us know where he was going and when…if… he'd be back."

"The fuck!" Roger shouted, slamming his hands to the table. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me? He's gone already!"

"He's been gone for almost a week," Maureen put in after wincing at Roger's outburst. "He didn't want us to tell you. He knew you'd stop him."

Roger was in shock. He didn't know whether to scream, cry, or kick both Maureen and Joanne's asses. How the hell had this happened? Why? Why did Mark leave? Roger was on the verge of a major blow-up, the like of which he hadn't had since when him and Mimi would fight over Benny.

"Roger, calm down," Joanne soothed, running her hand rhythmically up and down his arm. "You didn't see him when he came and asked for my help. He was… desperate. He needed to get away. He needed to figure something out."

"What? What did he have to do?" Roger practically screamed into her face.

"I'm… not sure. He wouldn't give us any details," Joanne said, glancing down at the table, unable to meet his furious gaze. "But the way he looked at me, Roger… I know he needed this."

Roger could feel his eyes burning with angry tears, and he wiped at them roughly. He couldn't believe this was happening. It was too fast, too strange, too soon. It almost didn't seem real. How could Mark be gone?

"Why did he come to you for help?" he heard a voice he recognized as his own ask. He was clenching his jaw so tightly he thought it might break.

"He needed a lawyer to put all his affairs in order," Joanne paused, and took a breath. "He left… everything to you…"

Roger glanced back down at the folder. So that's why the lease for the loft was staring back up at him.

"I see…" he whispered almost inaudibly.

His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he sprang up, almost running towards the door in his haste. He ignored Joanne and Maureen when they called for him to wait. He rushed out into the street and ran, heading towards the loft. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. His harsh breaths panted out into the air as he ran faster, one thought pounding through his head.

Mark can't be gone!


5 days earlier:

Mark stuffed the last sweater he owned into the single large suitcase he was taking with him. He'd decided to leave all the furniture and appliances behind, even the hot-plate. He smirked. His mom would freak when she found out what he was doing. Maybe he just shouldn't tell her. That would make her freak out more, but at least he wouldn't have to deal with it.

He did a once-over around the loft, making sure everything was turned off and he hadn't forgotten anything essential. He grabbed his coat, checking his pocket to make sure his ticket was in his wallet, then wrapped his ever-present scarf around his neck. He looked around once more, taking it all in, trying to fix it in his memory. It was strange to think he may never come back.

He replayed a few of his more fond memories that had taken place here. Angel drumming out a solo on the living-room end table. Collins clapping him roughly on his back with a laugh when he'd choked on a glass of Stoli after trying it for the first time. Maureen giving him her real smile for once, not the fake one she was constantly throwing at people. That small glance him and Joanne had shared when they'd realized that they had a lot more in common than either of them would like to admit. Benny laughing and joking with the rest of them before he'd married Alison. Mimi coming in from the fire escape to say hi, even though she knew that Roger was out. Roger sitting on the couch strumming out the notes of Musetta's Waltz awkwardly. Roger…

Mark felt bad about just leaving like this. It was the way it had to be though. And even though it was some consolation that he knew Roger would tie him to a chair with broken guitar strings to keep him from leaving, he knew, deep down, that Roger didn't really need him anymore. Maybe he hadn't ever really needed him.

It started all closing in on him, the enormity of what he was about to do making him balk for a moment. Finally, he forced his fingers to close around his single bag and the case that held all his film equipment and camera. His mind screaming at him to stop, to turn around, that it wasn't too late to stay, he walked determinedly over to the door, locking it behind him and heading for the stairs.

The only thing left out of place, the only sign that he'd left at all, was a single sheet of paper on the kitchen counter held down by the handle of a broken mug.


Present:

Roger's boots echoed into the stair-well as he clomped up them at a run, taking two at a time. He reached the loft, pulling out the extra key he'd insisted on making when he'd moved out over a year ago. He slipped it into the lock, breathing in harshly as tumblers moved. He flung the door open and rushed over the thresh-hold.

A small pang of hope went through him as he realized all the furniture was still there, and none of it seemed to have been moved. But he could tell something was very wrong. The first place he ran was to Mark's room. The bed was still there, made, the blankets folded over it in smooth lines that made Roger wonder how the hell Mark could make a bed so neatly. Everything looked like Mark was still here, like he was out in the other room, ready to come in with Joanne and Maureen, laughing at him and saying, "Jesus, Roger! You're so gullible!"

But it was too silent. Even though Mark was a quiet guy at home, Roger had always been able to sense his presence at the very least. But there was nothing. It was too still, too stagnant, too dead.

His hands shaking, Roger reached for the drawers of Mark's dresser. Slowly, he pulled the top drawer open. The lump that had been forming in his throat choked at him, causing him to nearly heave with a dry sob when he saw that it was empty. He pulled the others open, praying that he was wrong, but they were all just as empty as the first one.

Feeling like he was living some sort of nightmare, Roger dragged his feet and moved back into the living room. It was then he realized what had struck him as being wrong when he'd first come in. Usually, Mark left rolls of film laying around, hastily scribbled notes, maybe even his zoom lense sitting on the table. But none of it was there. The loft was completely clean.

Roger collapsed onto the couch, his elbows propped on his knees, hands coming up to cover his mouth as he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating. Mark was gone. Mark was really gone. His mind still railed against the idea, screaming in denial even as he saw the proof.

Mark couldn't be gone. He had been the only one to always be there, the only one who had stuck unflinchingly around no matter what. Even after the drugs, the disease, the withdrawal and the rage he'd had for the whole world, Mark had stayed. Mark had been there. Mark was a constant, like the sun rising in the morning, the seasons turning. Mark was the only person he could always depend on.

Except that now he couldn't. Now he had to face the fact that Mark might just be as human as he was, as easily frightened, as fallible as the rest of them. And that realization scared him more than he knew it should have.

"Roger?" Joanne's quiet voice broke him out of his thoughts. They'd caught up with him.

"Is he here, baby?" Maureen gasped out, from the top of the stairs, her face tinted pink after chasing him all the way here, her hair wind-blown, her hastily thrown on coat flapping out around her as she walked. Her apparent exhaustion twisted into a look of concern when she walked in and saw him. She rushed over to the couch, reaching a hand out to his shoulder. He flinched away.

"Roger, please," Joanne said softly, coming to stand next to Maureen in front of the couch.

"He's really gone," Roger whispered, a pang of panic hitting him after he'd voiced the thought aloud. Joanne sat next to him on the couch, offering contact if he wanted it, but not forcing it on him.

"I know, honey," she said softly, her big brown eyes swimming with tears.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye…" Roger whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He asked us not to," Joanne explained. "He knew you'd try to stop him. He didn't want to make you go through that only to have him leave anyway. He would have left eventually, no matter what you tried. It killed him to not tell you, but it was killing him to stay here."

"I know it must be hard right now, Roger," Maureen said. "But, sweetie, we couldn't stop him. I don't even think we should have if we could." Roger opened his mouth to protest, but Joanne cut him off.

"He needed this, Roger," she said pleadingly. "I'm not sure why, but I do know that he needed this."

"I understand how you must be feeling, sweetie, but…" Maureen started. That was the last straw. Roger stood up violently, Joanne jumping in surprise from his sudden movement.

"How the fuck do you understand how I feel!" he screamed into her face. "I just lost my best friend because you two fucks thought it was better this way! He fucking abandoned me, just like everybody else did! The guy I thought I knew who he was, but he turns out to be just another asshole like the rest of them!" He turned on Maureen, eyes burning with rage.

"You of all people have no idea what Mark is, Mark was, to me!" he screamed at her. "All he ever was to you was a fuck-toy you could easily dispose of when you got tired of him, and then someone to use whenever it was convenient for you!" Maureen's face twisted, angry tears springing into her eyes.

"How dare you!" she whispered menacingly. Joanne got up to try and calm her down, but she pulled out of her lover's grip, fists clenching at her sides. "We may have had our problems, but he was my friend too, you asshole! If I recall correctly, you had no problems in leaving him too, heading off to your precious Santa Fe! He's just repaid the favor." She paused for a moment, her eyes searching his, more tears falling down her face.

"And where the fuck were you, anyway!" she continued. "Off fucking groupies and partying while Mark was here, alone in this freezing fucking loft!

"We watched him get worse and worse, watched him pull farther and farther into himself, trying to coax him out long enough to get him to smile, knowing that no matter what we tried wouldn't work, because he needed someone who could understand him better! He needed you, Roger, but you were too fucking busy to notice!"

Joanne shifted to grab Maureen, trying to pull her away from Roger, to calm her down, anything, but the diva ignored her, stepping closer until her face was inches from Roger's.

"You abandoned him before he ever abandoned you, and now you've got the balls to go all sensitive," her whispered words cut into him sharply. "Face it Roger, we all took him for granted, you too, and now we're paying the price. Deal with it." With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out.

Roger stared after her, stunned. Joanne stayed silent for a moment longer, then walked up to him and pulled him into a hug. He didn't return it, but he didn't resist.

"We're all hurting because of this, Roger," she whispered into his ear. "Don't let what she said get to you. She's frustrated and angry. She's probably blaming herself more than anything else. And don't worry," she leaned back, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek, "he hasn't forgotten you, and he never will. I know that, eventually, he'll be back."

Joanne let him go, stepping back and glancing out the door.

"I better go talk to her," she said apologetically. "I know you probably want to be alone right now anyway. Promise me that if you need anything, you'll call my cell? Maureen and I will come back to check on you later. Well, I'll come back to check on you. She's gonna be coming back to apologize." Roger snorted.

"The day that harpy swallows her pride long enough to apologize is the day I take up ballet," Roger rasped out, but his heart wasn't in it. Joanne stared at him pointedly, and he was about to question her when he realized what she was waiting for. "Okay, I promise I'll call if I need anything." Joanne smiled.

"Good. See you soon, Roger," and with one last kiss to his cheek, she walked out.

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo endlessly into the empty apartment. Roger stared at it for a minute, then sat back down on the couch. Maybe Maureen was right. It wasn't right for him to get mad at Mark when he was only doing something Roger himself had done many times before. He was being a hypocrite. And even though it was a shitty double-standard, he couldn't help but still feel angry.

After staring at his hands for a half-hour brought him nothing but more troubled thoughts, he got up to walk around, taking stock of the apartment. For all that it was filled with most of Mark's shit, it seemed startlingly empty.

He coughed slightly. Screaming like that always made his throat scratchy, and his eyes were irritated too from his efforts in trying to hold back angry, panicked tears. He walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. And immediately he froze in his tracks.

A slip of paper was lying on the counter held down by what looked to be the handle from one of Mark's favorite mugs. In a rush, he grabbed it, the handle clattering to the floor as he read the short note.

Roger,

It's not your fault. This is something I needed to do. It's not something you could have changed, so don't agonize over it or blame yourself for it like I would. If you do, I'll worry about it, and that wouldn't get us anywhere, would it? Okay, so I'll probably worry anyway, but let me do that for both of us Just keep doing what you've been doing.

Gone to Santa Fe.

I'll call.

Love,

Mark

The tears he'd been holding back spilled over as he read the last two sentences. He sat down heavily on the floor. That last sentence was the same two words he'd uttered to Mark before he'd left after Angel's funeral. And he knew that Mark had meant the same thing he'd meant by them. He wasn't going to call.


End of CHAPTER 2! OOO! It's heatin' up...hehehe. God, I am such a loser. Anyways... I just want you all to know that this will not be a "Roger sits around and almost dies and then Mark comes back" type thing. I won't give anything else away though. You'll just have to wait and see.

Also, does anyone like Blake? I get all worried that my OCs suck...