Author's Notes: Mark is five. Roger is twenty-three. Maureen is twenty-three also. Collins is twenty-eight. Benny is twenty-six. As for the other characters… well… I mentioned Mimi last chapter, so I'll just say that she's eighteen.

Mark's towel falls when he flies into Roger's arms, and before Benny can say a word, Mark's hideous "pun'shmit is revealed for all to see." Maureen gasps, eyes wide, and Roger begins to shake with rage. "His father?" he mouths, not wanting to scare Mark by speaking the words aloud. Benny nods, and Collins looks at him curiously.

Roger looks at Mark. "Marky, sweetie, would you mind if Maureen took you into the other room so I can talk to Benny and Collins?" To an outraged-looking Maureen, he mouths, "I'll fill you in later."

Mark nods. "Whate'er you want, Roger," he says, looking up at Roger with awe-filled cerulean eyes. With that, Roger places the little boy in Maureen's outstretched arms, and watches skeptically as Maureen carries him into her bedroom.

Maureen is the only person in the loft who has her own room. Roger and Benny share a room, each with their own twin-size bed, and Collins tends to stay on the couch, or in a vacant bed when either Benny or Maureen stays at a lover's house overnight. So when Maureen opens the door to her bedroom, which is hers alone, Mark's tiny hands fly up to his eyes to protect them from the assault of pink.

As Maureen places Mark on a bed, he stares. "I – I get – thank you," he says quietly. "I never – Daddy didn't lemme sit on the bed, it was his…"

Maureen clenches her fists. "Oh, Mark, it's okay," she says. "You can sit on my bed. I don't care. Hey – you wanna stay in my bed with me tonight? I can cuddle you so you feel all safe and cozy and warm…"

Mark's face betrays no emotion, shocking in a five-year-old. "If – if that's what you want," he says carefully.

"What do you want, Mark?" Maureen asks, running her fingers through the boy's light blond hair, which is much cleaner than it was that morning.

"What – what?" Mark wonders. "What – whatever you want, 'Reen. – Can I call you Reen?" Suddenly he's trembling, as if he's scared Maureen's going to hit him.

"Sure, Marky." She plunges her hand into the shopping bag she has with her and reveals tiny, Mark-sized clothing: a plain white T-shirt, jeans, and a fuzzy blue-and-white striped scarf. "Wanna try these on?" she asks, holding out the jeans. "If they don't fit, let me know, and we can go back to the store together."

Mark takes the jeans from her and allows his newly-donned towel to drop to his ankles. "Oh," gasps Maureen. "You don't have – you don't have – don't you have underwear?" she asks, cheeks turning scarlet. Never before has talk of underwear embarrassed her in the slightest, but now – with a five-year-old – it's different.

"Daddy says – "

"Oh," Maureen murmurs. "Well. Are you – are you comfortable enough with just the jeans? Do you need – should I ask Roger or Collins or Benny – "

"Whatever you want," Mark replies. "I don't wanna – don't wanna be a both'r, 'n if I – if I'm always askin' for stuff, Roger's not gonna – not gonna want me anymore."

Maureen feels a tug at her heartstrings – the last time she'd felt it, it was when Collins had rejected her, three years ago, on the grounds of his homosexuality. But now it's sharper and more prominent than it had been back then, probably because now it's about someone else – someone helpless and scared. "Roger's always going to want you, Mark," she promises. "And I promise, if he ever doesn't, I'll take you in and you can be my little Marky, okay?"

Mark's face screws up in wonder. "You'd – you'd want me? Even though I'm dumb 'n don't listen 'n ugly 'n…"

"Mark."

Mark looks up to stare into Maureen's chocolate-colored eyes. "Yes?" he asks softly. "Is it – do I – 'm I gonna get a pun'shmit?"

"No, of course not," Maureen says, and caresses Mark's blond head. "I just wanted to say – you're not dumb or ugly, and you're a very good listener. Don't put yourself down, Marky."

"Down?"

"It means, it means, it means don't insult yourself."

Mark cocks his head. "Why? Daddy says I should – my cat-ism – "

"Cat-ism?"

"Yeah," says Mark. "My cat-ism. Daddy says every night I should say it to 'mind me – to 'mind me that I'm not – not like him. Wor'less."

Maureen is absolutely flabbergasted. "Your… your father wrote you a catechism to say to show you that you're worthless?"

Just as Mark nods, the door slams open and Roger walks in. Mark looks at him, half-delighted to see him and half-terrified. "Roger," he breathes. He stands up on the bed, jeans zipped and buttoned, shirt still on the bed next to Maureen.

"Well, well, well, don't you look nice," Roger says, smiling. He looks at Maureen. "Go talk to Collins and Benny," he mouths, and as Maureen hurriedly leaves the room, Roger scoops Mark into his arms. "Hey, buddy."

"Hi," Mark says, unable to tear his eyes away from the man who is holding him as he would an infant, wrapped in a blanket, freshly introduced to the world. Mark doesn't mind, though. Nobody's ever held him before, at least, not that he can remember. "Can I – ?" he begins, hand paused in mid-air, just next to Roger's hair.

"Sure," Roger replies, and Mark touches the long, curly dark blond locks. "Like 'em?" he asks.

Mark nods fervently. "Pretty," he assures Roger. He lets his hand lay back down in the cradle of Roger's arms. Suddenly realizing something, he bursts out, "Thank you for the clothes."

"Aw, it was nothing, Marky. Hey, I just came in here to see if you wanna come see my room." At Mark's tremendous smile, Roger laughs. "I'll take that as a yes," he chuckles, and carries the little boy into his bedroom. "It's a little less pink," he warns the child.

When they step inside, Mark giggles. "It's like – just like Cindy's room," he whispers.

"Cindy?" echoes Roger.

"My sister," Mark explains. "She's – she's firteen. Thirteen. Her room looks, looks like this." He indicates the posters and pipes protruding from the walls. "'Cept she has pictures of – of boys ev'rywhere, 'nstead'a these." He points to one of the many posters above Roger's bed. "What's this?"

Roger smiles lightly. "That was my band," he tells Mark, "before we broke up."

"Band?"

"It's when a bunch of people get together and make music," Roger explains, internally horrified that Mark honestly does not know what a band is. "I was in a band, and I used to play guitar – that's this thing," he adds, pointing to his guitar, "and I'd sing."

"I like singing," Mark whispers. "Sometimes Cindy sings to me. She's good at it, I think. She used to sing a song called Without You."

Roger nods, closing his eyes for just a minute. "Do you want to learn how to play the guitar?" he offers the five-year-old.

"L-learn? I can't – Daddy says I shouldn't – I mean…" he trails off and stares at his bare feet. Quietly, he murmurs, "You'd just be wastin' your time, 'm so dumb."

"What was that?" Roger asks, alert. "Did you call yourself dumb, Mark?"

Mark nods, looking a little scared.

"You're not dumb. You're a very clever little boy. I don't want to ever hear you do that again, do you understand?"

Mark nods mutely. He does not want Roger to be angry with him. Then Roger might not want him anymore. "Roger?" Mark asks.

"Yeah?"

"Can I… can I go to sleep?"

Roger looks at the little boy and wonders if sleep would do him any good. "It's eight-thirty," he tells Mark. "Do you want to sleep?"

"Yeah," replies Mark sleepily. "Should I – where should I sleep? In the – at home I would sleep under Daddy's bed but here there's no under," he explains. "I could just stay next to it, or on the floor'n the kitchen, or the bathroom," he suggests.

"No, Marky, you can stay on a bed," Roger says, trying to hide his true loathing for Mr. Cohen. "Tomorrow we're gonna go all over the city and you can have fun, 'kay?"

"'Kay," Mark replies softly. "You – are you sure you want me t'stay here?" he asks hesitantly.

Roger smiles. "Yes, Mark, I'm sure."

Mark lets his eyelids flutter over his blue eyes. "Kay." With that, he slips under the blankets. "Roger?" Mark whispers. "Will you stay with me? Will you be here when I – when I wake up?"

Roger nods. "Of course, Mark." With that, he kisses the boy's forehead and goes to stand up – however, he is shocked when Mark reaches up to capture Roger's face in his hands and, before releasing it, kisses Roger on the nose.

"'Night, Roger," Mark whispers, and falls asleep.

Only an hour later does Roger leave the room to speak with Benny, Maureen, and Collins.