Disclaimer: I own nothing

Mark's thoughts in italics

Mark's POV

Tuesday, November 6, 1990 12:05am

Mark woke to the sound of the phone ringing. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times, trying to get his world in focus. The first thing he noticed was that his shirt felt damp and that there was a draft coming from somewhere that was somehow cutting through his coat that apparently he never bothered to take off, making his shirt feel like it was going to freeze onto him. The second thing he noticed was pain. It was everywhere. He slowly uncurled himself from the near fetal position he found himself in and hissed sharply at the pain that seemed to be attacking every bone and every muscle.

SPEAK

"Oh Maarrkky!"

"Maureen? What now?" Mark groaned as he slowly inched his way into an upright position, his body screaming at him the whole time. He fell into a mini coughing fit as he sat up, which caused a largely unpleasant burning sensation to grip his stomach.

Damn, I guess that bug is still hanging on. Oh wait… windowsill…robbers…. Ooohh right. I got punched in the stomach. Ok, that accounts for the coughing and soreness. This day has been shit. And why the hell is my shirt wet? I must have been sweating in my sleep. Was I dreaming again?

"Pookie, I know your there, pick uuup." Maureen sing-songed into the machine.

"Maureen, this is why I wouldn't let you leave a message before, he's probably in bed."

Mark couldn't help but chuckle at the sound of Joanne's voice in the background, which caused a few more coughs to erupt from his throat and a fresh wave a pain to course through his stomach. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall.

Ooook, not good. Why the hell did I leave the door open for those idiot kids to play "bad ass punk robbers" with me anyway? Ohhh yeah, I was too freaking exhausted to close it. Man, I'm really not doing very well am I?

"Hey, tell him to get his scrawny white ass down here!" Collins bellowed from somewhere nearby.

"Yeah, tell him to come have a drink with us."

Wow, Benny's there as well. The whole gang. Maybe I should pick up the phone….join them.

Mark opened his eyes and stretched a little, but the way his body seemed to be revolting against him caused him to reconsider.

You know what on second thought… maybe I'll just stay here, and not move….ever.

"Hey – Mark! I'll buy you a beer – come on pick up the phone you lazy ass!"

Well, Benny sounds drunk. I bet they all are. Crazy kids. I hope they're careful.

"Give me that – Mark? It's Joanne. If you're there and feeling up to it, we're all here at The Full Cup, you know, that place across from the Cat Scratch? Come on over. Love ya! Bye."

Mark smiled and leaned against the wall again and tried not to move the wrong way.

Love you too, Jo. Have a drink for me.

Mark felt like he could doze off again, but the phone had other plans for him.

It's probably them again. Leave a poor, tired man alone people!

SPEAK

"M-M-Mark? It's M-Mimi. Um… c-could you pick up if you're t-there please?"

Oh crap, Mimi! Hold on!

"I'll be right there!" He croaked out into the air as though she could hear him. He fell into another coughing fit that left him panting and clutching his stomach.

Ow. Shit. This might take a little longer than I thought.

"Mark? I guess you aren't there." Mark could hear her labored breathing on the machine.

Oh, Meems, wait. I'm coming.

Mark pushed off the windowsill and braced himself against the wall briefly before staggering to the phone.

"Well, I guess I'll just talk-"

"Mimi – I'm here!" Mark's voice sounded strange and horse. He still hadn't caught his breath after his coughing fit and the walk didn't help matter. Mark quickly sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. He sort of tipped over a little upon impact with the ground, causing the phone to be yanked off the small table and topple on top of him. "Ooffph – ah, what the?"

"Mark? You ok? You sound funny. What was that noise?"

Mark slid back up the wall so he was sitting a little more upright and set the phone's cradle down next to him. Ok, now I can add being attacked by my own phone onto the list.

"Hey, Meems. Dropped the phone. You sound shaky. Is it really bad tonight?"

"Y-yeah." Mimi's breath kept hitching and she was having a hard time getting her words out. The sound made Mark's heart feel like it would break with every stutter.

"I'm so sorry, Mimi. I wish there was something I could do. What about the nausea, how are you doing with that?"

"N-not so good, Mark. How do people do it? I don't think I can take much more of this."

No no no Mimi. Don't say that.

"Mimi, you're doing fine. Have you been doing those breathing techniques I told you about last time? Have they been helping at all?" Mark cleared his throat and shifted his weight slightly, trying to get comfortable for what he knew would be a long conversation.

"Yeah, some. I don't always remember to do them. I'll keep t-trying though." Mimi let out a shaky breath followed by a pained moan.

"Meems? You ok? What are you feeling now?" Mark sat up and tried to fight off the panic that was rising in the pit of his stomach at the sound of his friend in pain.

"Y-yeah, m'ok, J-just a big shudder that's all. It's ok. Mark?

"Yeah?"

"This really sucks." He could hear what sounded like a smile in her voice.

"Yeah, I know. I know." Mark sighed and relaxed against the wall again.

"M-Mark? D-did you ever have to go t-through this? I don't mean with Roger… I mean, you y-yourself?"

"No." Mark whispered, suddenly feeling almost ashamed for not being able to share this with her.

"I'm glad. I never want you to feel like this. Promise me you'll never put yourself through this, ok?"

Wow. This is so different than Roger's withdrawal. He would get in moods where he would be pissed at me just for not knowing, for not having been through it. I know he was just angry at the world and he didn't mean it when he said those things, but… I couldn't help but feel like I had done something wrong or was less than he was because I didn't have the same pain. But Mimi… she's actually glad I can't relate to this. Wow.

"Mark, you promise?"

Oh, oops.

Mark smiled, "Yeah. Yeah, Meems, I promise." He paused for a moment. "Mimi?"

"Y-yeah?"

I love you, I want you to be home. It's breaking my heart to hear you suffer. Thank you for caring about me, for not wanting me in pain. Please hang on.

"T-thanks."

"For what?" He could hear the confusion in her small, shaky voice.

"Just for… for… being you." If Mimi was in the room with him, she would see that familiar pink spreading across Mark's cheeks.

Mimi laughed softly. "Like I could be anyone else. Right now I kind of wish I were."

They sat quietly for a moment. Just enjoying each other's quite company, even miles apart.

"So, Mark. I haven't asked how your day was today. It's actually past midnight, so I guess I should be asking how your day was yesterday."

Hmm.. how much time you got?

"Oh, my day? Well, it was… I-it was. Uh…"

"That bad?" Her voice was a cross between amused and concerned.

"You don't really want to hear about it, Meems." Like she needs to bogged down with my crappy life.

"Shut-up. Of course I do. Why do you think I asked? Mark, I've got all night. And I would love to get my mind off my body right about now."

It was the barely hidden desperate plea that got to him. Mark took a deep breath and tried to figure out what details to leave out.

"From the beginning?" Mark asked.

"From the beginning."

Here goes.

"Ok. Morning went alright. Collins made pancakes, actually. So… breakfast of champions. Hey – how's the food at that place? Any good? Or have you totally lost your appetite yet?"

"Quit changing the subject. Food's fine. Appetite comes and goes. Go on."

Geeze pushy.

"Ok, commando." Mark chuckled. "Ok…so, where was I?"

"Pancakes. Did you actually eat any?"

"Yeah, Collins actually cooked – I couldn't pass that up!"

Don't ask me how many, don't ask me how many.

"How many did you eat?"

Damn it.

"Um…one. But it had syrup, and it was pretty big! My mom called, and I had to get to work!" Mark added quickly, hoping it would appease her.

"Mm-hm. Whatever Mark. Do you expect me to believe you actually talked with your mom this morning? And long enough so you didn't have time to eat a decent sized breakfast?" Mimi laughed.

Oohh, she's good.

"Ok, no I didn't actually talk to my mom. Hey, are you going to stop me after every detail of my day or what? I had a whole pancake – that's more than I get most mornings. You should be beaming with pride."

"Ok ok. Go on."

At least she sounds a little more at ease. It feels good to be talking with someone, have someone to listen.

Mark cleared his throat for dramatic effect. "Oook. So. Breakfast. Next up, work."

"What time?" Mimi interrupted.

"You really are fishing for details aren't you? 9:00 to 5:00. Ahh, living the corporate life. Nothin' like it Meems. 3 piece suits, ass kissing, all the coffee you can drink…all it costs you is your soul. I hope you don't mind I signed yours away instead. I'm kind of attached to mine." Mark paused to hear Mimi's reaction, smiling softly to himself.

"You're an ass. When I get out of here you better sleep with one eye open."

"We live in Alphabet City, I already do." He was smiling when he said it, but for some reason, just that small statement stirred something up inside. Mark went from joking lightly with his friend to suddenly feeling heavy and hopeless.

I live in Alphabet City. This is my life. What am I even doing here anyway? I'm not getting anywhere with my filming. I haven't been able to keep my friends from harm. I don't talk to my family. Am I even happy here? I would have never pictured myself in this situation. Is this what I really wanted my life to be like? Struggling to survive everyday with no real end in sight?

"Mark? You still there? Hello?"

Mark blinked and shook his head. "Oh, yeah, sorry."

"Are you tired? Don't let me keep you on the phone if you're too tired."

"What? Oh, no. I'm not too tired. I just, uh, got distracted."

Maybe I should move around a little. Keep myself focused… keep my brain from straying.

Mark slid up the wall and couldn't stop the audible gasp as searing pain shot through his stomach with the movement. The pain knocked the wind out of him for a moment, and he had to brace himself on the small table until he caught his breath.

Ok, bad idea. Damn. I forgot how much this sucks. I haven't been punched in the stomach in years. Does it always hurt this badly or I am just a colossal wimp?

"Mark? Are you still there? Mark?"

Oh shit, Mimi.

"Yeah I'm here." Mark winced at the sound of his voice.

I sound like I swallowed a bucket of sand.

"Are you ok? You sound like you're…. Constipated."

Or that.

Mark tried to laugh, but coughed instead. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just took a couple ex-lax, so I might have to hang up abruptly in approximately 40 minutes."

Mimi snorted, "You're such a dork. But, seriously. You made a funny noise. It sounded like you hurt yourself."

Damn you in your superhuman hearing.

"Uh, no. I'm fine. I was just stretching. Oh, hey – you said you had some scary group therapy thing today. How did that go?" Mark Cohen, master of changing the subject.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that. Mark – these people are so weird. You've been to Life Support. You know how we can sometimes get really… touchy feely? Well, times that by 50 and you might have an idea of what most of the staff here are like. Most of the other, uh…patients? I guess, patients. Anyway, most everyone else here seems to really respond to that. I mean, it seems to help. But there is a small handful of us unconventional types that don't really know how to handle that, ya know? I keep fighting the urge to crack jokes and dance on the tables just to release….I don't know…something."

Mark laughed softly. "Yeah, I can see that. So it's one of those places then. So have you just been playing along or what?"

"Yes and no. Today was the first group, so it was mostly introductions and stuff. I mostly just took it all in. I haven't quite figured out who I can be myself with yet, you know? They have this thing there. It's like some unwritten rule that you must squeeze someone's hand at least twice a day. They must train the staff to do that or something because everyone will give you this nauseatingly sympathetic look and squeeze your hand after they're done giving you a check up or escorting you to a meeting or something. And the patients are getting into it too. I think I should start a new rehab fad."

While Mimi was talked Mark decided it was safe to move again, and got situated on the couch. This time the pain wasn't quite as harsh as before, but it was still there. And now his headache was returning.

Mark sighed and took his glances off and set them on the phone table. "What kind of fad did you have in mind?"

"Ass grabbing." Mimi stated, matter-of-factly.

Mark couldn't help but laugh. "Ah, perfect. No one suspects the rehab ass grab. I think some of the guys there would find that incredibly therapeutic coming from you." He chuckled some more.

"I thought you'd like that idea." Mark could hear the smile in her voice.

"I'm glad the group thing went ok. When's your next one?"

"We'll have this one everyday at 11:30. I have an individual therapy session three times a week starting tomorrow, errr today, at 1:30. So that should be interesting. Oh, Mark. I meant to tell you. In two days I can start having visitors as long as I don't backslide or something. They want all visitors to pre-register I think. Benny should have that info anyway. But if you have time and want to, then maybe you could come tomorrow to pre-register? If you let me know what time I could make sure I'm hanging around the front desk and maybe I could steal a Mark hug." She sounded almost shy. Mark could picture her twisting the phone chord nervously, looking at her feet.

"Of course I'll come! Let's see… tomorrow I think I'm supposed to be working at 10:30, so I could come before then… how about if I'm there at 9:00?"

"Yeah, I think that should be doable. Hold on…" Mark could hear Mimi breathing deeply.

"Keep breathing, Meems. It'll pass." Mark closed his eyes and thought that it was fairly ironic that the same advice could be given to him these days.

"C-Can you just…t-talk to me? Finish telling me about your day?"

Mark nodded even though she couldn't see it. He swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of the lump that kept forming in his throat. He found himself blinking back tears at the sound of his friend's discomfort.

"Yeah, ok, Meems."

Mark rambled on about his day, the annoying people at work, his impossible boss, Maureen's new performance idea…anything that he could think of to fill the space and keep Mimi's mind off her withdrawal.

Once Mimi felt a little better she returned the favor. The two friends talked and laughed over the phone, both giving each other a much needed distraction and some semblance of a normal life. Mimi didn't realize it, but Mark needed it just as much as she did. Here Mark could be a little more frank than he normally would feel comfortable being, he could be a little more honest. He didn't have to see her expression or look into her eyes when he told her about the near robbery that took place just a few hours earlier, or when he recounted how Maureen had dumped him for Joanne.

They told storied from their childhood, stories about Roger, and stories about Angel. Mimi openly cried and laughed, while Mark held his own tears at bay. He thought for sure she must have heard the thickness in his voice though at those moments where he thought he would lose the battle with his tear ducts. If she did, she didn't let on, something he was very thankful for.

When Mimi started nodding off, they finally hung up around 2:00am. Mark sat on the couch for a little while after the conversation ended, feeling simultaneously content, drained, and sore. He sat there with his eyes closed for a moment, letting the quiet settle on his shoulders like a heavy blanket. With the welcome distraction of company was suddenly gone, Mark's awareness of the world around him seemed to be magnified.

Everything felt still and cold. A few sounds of life in Alphabet City at 2:00 in the morning filtered up through the windows. Mark could hear someone coughing, someone laughing, someone muttering to himself drunkenly, a car driving by, a far away siren, a couple fighting, a baby crying. It all felt so distant, unreal, and untouchable.

I used to be able to touch it all with my camera. Life here used to seem so much more real than anywhere else I've ever been. Why does it seem so foreign now? Why do I feel like I have never really been a part of this life? This place?

Mark sighed and slid down so he was lying on his side on the couch. He felt the tears that had been threatening to fall all night sting his eyes once again. His shoulders began to shake with silent sobs and one by one the salty tears worked their way down his cheeks. His coat felt scratchy and constricting, shoes felt heavy and tight, and he could feel the frame of the couch pressing against his sore bones. Now in the empty, quiet loft, his mind was flooded with dark thoughts he tried so hard to push out. Now in the stillness he had no choice but focus on every ache and pain.

Is this what it's going to be like when everyone's gone and I'm really alone? Is this how it's always going to feel? Is this how April felt before she…is this how Roger felt after?

Mark felt tension rise in his stomach and course through his veins down to his fingertips. A burning anger filled him and he punched the couch with a strangled yell.

"DAMN IT!"

He punched the couch again. When his small outburst did nothing to squelch the sudden rage, it melted away and left a feeling of hollow despair in it's place. He let his arm come to rest on the couch and his shoulders rose and fell a few more times as the tears subsided. He was left feeling cold and numb.

It doesn't matter. This is so pathetic. I'm so pathetic. Crying alone on the couch because I suddenly thought I could relate to someone. How could I be so stupid? I'll never know what April felt, or Roger. I've never had to go through what they've gone through. Maybe I'm just trying to justify feeling like shit by thinking that maybe my pain's the same as theirs. What right do I have? I'll never feel the pain and fever of withdrawal. I'll never feel my body slowly die from AIDS. I'll never watch my lover fade away in my arms. So why can't I just feel ok? Why can't I hold it together and be strong for everyone else? Why can't I stop making people worry about me, as if they don't have anything better to do?

Mark found himself being lulled into a troubled sleep by the questions in his mind. His unconscious body curled in on itself, and he lay there shivering in his sleep as his thoughts began to form themselves into dark dreams.

Same day, 3:35am

Mark lay on the tattered couch in a half-asleep state, feeling numb and heavy. He could hear sounds filtering into his consciousness, but was having a hard time discerning what they were and where they were coming from. He couldn't seem to summon up the energy to open his eyes or move his limbs, or to really focus on the noises of the world around him.

He heard some shuffling noises, and what sounded like something heavy scraping across the floor following by a loud bang and click.

"Shhhh, Mark's asleep, you'll wake him up." Someone whispered.

Very slowly the fog in Mark's head began to lift and he began to start to make sense of the sounds. He could hear what sounded like several people scuffling and stumbling about. He picked out Maureen's giggle, and Collins deep chuckle.

Sounds like the whole crew came back here to crash. Maybe I should wake up, say hi. Maybe I should just ignore them and go back to sleep.

He lay there, not wanting to move or give away the fact that he was awake yet. The fog was still in the process of fading away, but it it's place the various plagues that had been following him around for weeks began to make themselves known. A dull throb was starting in his temples, his eyes felt hot and sticky even while closed. His whole body felt sore and he could feel a vague sensation of nausea spreading through his stomach. Everything felt cold and damp again, like he had fallen asleep outside and dew had settled down on him. None of these things were particularly effective motivating factors for him to get up and greet his friends, who by the sounds of it had enjoyed their night quite a bit.

"Oh, man, that was hilarious. Did you see the look on that guy's face when Collins grabbed his ass and called him 'one fine specimen of mankind'. Priceless. I would have paid to have gotten that on film." Benny's low, smooth voice broke through Mark's musing on his physical state.

Hmm… what was that all about? Collins was feeling frisky I take it.

Collins chuckled, and Mark could hear the familiar flick of a lighter followed by the smell of a freshly lit cigarette.

"He had a nice ass too." Collins said with the cigarette still between his lips.

"Yeah he did." Maureen said breathless. Mark could just picture the look Joanne would be giving her right about now. "But not as fine as my woman's!" She covered herself quickly, and judging by the sound of the squeal coming from Joanne, Maureen probably gave her ass a good squeeze.

"If our Marky was there he would have gotten it on film." Maureen said. Mark could hear more shuffles, and a door close.

Sounded like the bathroom door. Hope no one is getting sick in there.

"Yeah he would have. Look at our boy. He's so cute when he's sleeping." Collins murmured, still sounding like that cigarette was dangling from his lips. "Poor boy fell asleep with his coat and shoes on. Yet he still manages to look cold."

"What do you think, Pookie? Do you think he's cute when he sleeps?" Maureen tried to whisper, but it came out more like a stage whisper.

There was a pause and Mark could hear someone flopping into the chair.

"Umm…I don't know. I've never seen him sleep before." Joanne's voice came from somewhere near the chair, Mark guessed. He heard a creaking noise and the sound of fabric rusting lightly, and then felt the air shift around him. Through his closed eyelids he could see the light change, like a cloud moving across the sun.

"He looks…..sick." Joanne whispered, this time she was directly in front of him. Mark guessed she was leaning over to get a better look.

Ok, maybe I should officially wake up now that people are starting to examine me while I "sleep". Never a good thing, especially if I look sick. Thanks a lot Joanne for your flattering remarks.

More rustling sounds, air shifting. Another cloud moved across the sun.

"Awwww…. Marky's sick." Maureen cooed.

Ok, that's my cue.

"Marky's not sick." Mark croaked, opening his eyes and squinting up at his audience. He cleared his throat and tried to blink away the sticky feeling in his eyes. It didn't work.

Joanne reached down and touched his forehead.

"She's right Mark. I think you have a fever." Joanne frowned. "You should be in bed. Come on, let me help you."

Before Mark could protest Joanne had gotten a hold of one of his arms, and Maureen gently grabbed onto the other. Together they slowly lifted Mark so he was sitting up.

Mark blinked and looked back and forth at the two women in front of him who were peering down at him with concerned eyes.

Oooh, my girls. Who knew Maureen could be so reserved and gentle while drunk. I'm actually impressed! Damn, though, I think Joanne's right. I really haven't kicked that flu bug quite yet. I hope I don't pass this onto anyone. I should try to make a hasty exit and lock myself in my room.

Mark was too absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Collins walking up to stand between Maureen and Joanne. He also didn't realize he had closed his eyes again and was apparently starting to slide back down onto the couch, until he felt strong arms help him back up. His eyes fluttered back open.

"Thanks Collins." He breathed, feeling too tired to expend enough energy to talk any louder.

Don't touch me Collins, I'll get you sick. Mark said in his head. He actually meant to say it out loud, but his body didn't let him.

Ok, bed. Now. Everything hurts.

Mark could feel Collins touching his forehead with his wrist, and squinted through his half closed eyelids at the man crouched down in front of him.

"Yeah, Mark. I'd say that bug you caught has definitely not gone away. I told you were going to relapse. You're not going to work tomorrow, right?"

"Hey, Mark's what's up?" Benny asked casually as he sauntered into the living room. He flopped down on the couch next to Mark and took in the scene before him. Maureen, Joanne, and Collins were all flanking Mark and looking at him with great concern.

Mark slowly turned to give Benny a helpless look, and mustered up enough strength to say, "They think I'm sick. So now they're just staring at me to see if I'll melt or boil…or…something." That sounded brilliant. Note to self: do not try to sound intelligent when exhausted and feverish.

Benny quirked an eyebrow at Mark and tried to look amused, but Mark caught a worried glint in his dark eyes, one that is rarely seen from Benny. If you look close enough, though, it's there. And Mark had learned how to look beyond "close enough".

"Mm-hm. I knew you were coming down with something, the way you've been lookin' lately. You need to slow down, Marky boy. Why don't you go to bed and let me handle Buzzline in the morning, ok?"

There he goes, taking care of business like always.

Mark smiled at his old friend and tapped Benny's knee before using it to push off with to stand. Mark's eyes involuntarily closed fast as he once again fell under the clutches of the aches and pains that had taken up residence in his body. He held his breath for a moment and hoped that no one could tell he was in pain. He was pretty sure however that he must look like someone 3 times his age the way he was taking forever to straighten out.

Ok, Mark. Time to put on a good show for your adoring audience. All you have to do is open your eyes. Ok, that wasn't so bad. Now, just say goodnight and go to your room. It's not that far. Mark. You have to move your feet if you're going to make it there tonight.

Mark found it nearly impossible to actually pick up his feet, so he just slid them across the floor one at a time in some sort of walking fashion. "Ok, ladies and gents. I'm heading to bed." He said turning his head slightly in the direction of his friends. He was afraid to look anyone in the eye for fear they would see right through him and see how badly he was really feeling.

"Mark, you never answered my question. You will let Benny take care of Buzzline for you in the morning, won't you?" Collins asked moving slowly along side Mark, like he was making sure he could catch him in case he fell or something.

Oh, crap. What the hell do I tell them? I really need the money, but I know I'm sick and I know they know, but I'd really rather not admit it. Damn it. Oh, no – and I told Mimi I would see her at 9:00! That's only leaves me with about 4 hours of sleep. Shit.

"It's fine, just a cold. I'm going to pre-register at Mimi's rehab at 9:00 in the morning so I can start visiting her, and I have to leave from there to get to work. Don't worry about it guys. If I feel worse after I leave the rehab, I'll stay home." He was rather proud of his little speech, thinking it was very convincing. He chanced a glance up at Collins with a small smile. However, even looking up hurt his head more and his eyes didn't seem to want to look that far up. So his eyes barely made a connection with Collins' before Mark had to blink rapidly and look back down. With the flare up of his headache, Mark's small smile faltered, and fell. He tried to turn his head away before Collins caught it and once again started his slow journey to his room. Mark cleared his throat, "Goodnight guys." He said softly, waved in the general direction of those behind him.

I don't know how much longer I can keep from collapsing into a pathetic sniveling heap. I better hurry up and disappear. Funny how normally being somewhat invisible is a source of enormous angst for me, but when I actually want to be invisible, I can't figure out how I do it! Ok, just a few more steps. Why isn't anyone talking? Even Maureen's being quiet. This is eerie.

Mark glanced back over his shoulder to see everyone watching him shuffle to his room. He rolled his eyes and turned back around, "Geeze guys, find a hobby," he said with his back to his friends. Finally, Mark reached his destination and in a few more seconds he was safely inside his room with the door shut.

The short trip had taken all the strength he had, and he slid down the door, unable to make it the rest of the way to the bed. Mark sighed and let his chin fall against his chest. Now that he was behind closed doors he could let go and look as weak as he felt.

As he sat there on the floor, he slowly realized that he was trembling. He couldn't tell if it was from the fever, or the cold that was cutting through his still damp clothing, or because he was crying.

Wait – I'm crying? When did I start crying? Damn, I'm such a fucking mess.

He would have screamed if he had the strength, but instead he just allowed himself to crumple there against the door, still fully clothed and freezing. He let his body shiver and quake with the tremors, and he let his tears drip down his face. He let his breath hitch and catch, until the moment passed, and his breathing evened, and his tears dried. He let himself cry himself to sleep again. And for the second time that night, Mark drifted into an uneasy sleep.