And you're always just a little too late
Where Will You Go?
"Hello?"
"Collins…have you seen Mark?"
"Not since I've been back…."
"Fuck!"
"Roger?"
"…"
"Roger what's wrong?"
"We had a fight."
"Okay…that happens."
"No it was bad, it was really bad. I did… I did something bad… I don't think he'll forgive me."
"Roger…there's nothing that you could do that Mark wouldn't forgive you for…"
"No…there is. There is. And I did it."
"…Not… no. Roger…"
"It's not what you think Col." He paused, sighed, "Well it is, but I didn't. I couldn't go through with it…but Mark...doesn't know that. We had a fight and he left… yesterday. Collins, fucking yesterday! I don't know where the hell he could've gone. I tried Maureen and Joanne. I don't know…I don't know where else to go. I don't."
"…Roger first you need to calm down."
"I can't! I…shit! It was snowing all night! Where the hell would he go?
"Did you check with Mimi?"
"He wouldn't…I mean I don't think he'd be comfortable going there…"
"Are you sure?"
Roger really wasn't sure of anything anymore.
"Roger?"
"All right…I'll check it out…"
"Good…try not to worry too much and if you still can't find him by tonight, call me. I'll go out looking with you."
"Yeah, okay. Bye…"
Roger sat the phone down and sighed.
Not good.
The last person he wanted to run into was Mimi, but he was out of options. He threw on his coat, grabbed Mark's, and headed down the flight of stairs to Mimi's.
And paused.
Mimi…
Mimi, Mimi…
Shit.
His fist shook as he held it just inches from the door. The last time he'd seen her she'd broken his heart. The last time he'd seen her he hadn't kissed Mark. The last time he'd seen her she was crying and sad and just as beautiful as ever.
God…
He knocked twice, steeling himself for her presence.
The door swung open
There was not enough preparation in the world to help him survive seeing her again.
Her beautiful, brown eyes were wide with surprise at the sight of him, her hair was up in a messy pony tail, she opened her mouth a little.
"…Roger?"
Speak! Damn it, say something!
"Mark…uh… do you… have you seen Mark?"
She shook her head a little, "No, why?"
"I…just can't find him."
"Oh…" Mimi watched him carefully, "About the other night, Roger…"
No, no, no…
Don't…please.
"Roger…I was wrong." She looked down, "About loving you anyway… I mean it was just… a different kind of in love when I wasn't high, less intense and needy… but it was…it was still there…"
He shook his head, "Mimi…"
"I didn't want you to walk away from us thinking that I never loved you. Heroin… it can't do that. I'm sorry…I'm sorry I thought that…"
"Don't do this now…Mimi, don't do this."
She looked back up at him, "Do what? Roger it's not like that. I didn't meant that we-"
"I've… I've got to go." He said, and still carrying Mark's coat he left before she could react.
Fuck…
Nothing's ever that simple, is it?
Thankfully it had stopped snowing, but the ground was covered and slushy. Roger looked around, desperately…
Shit…this is impossible.
He wandered into a nearby alley, looked along the walls, refrained from calling Mark's name, because honestly who the hell searches the entire of New York City for one person? This was…
Impossible.
"Hey man you got a light?"
Roger turned, slowly. Two men…who really didn't look like they needed a light…perfect.
And pretty damn familiar…
An image of Collins flashed through his mind, and he turned and tried to make an escape out of the alley.
Large, strong hands pushed him back into the alleyway. Roger backed away slowly, facing them, hands pulled into fists.
"Where you think you're goin, man?"
The rocker bit back his sarcastic response; he didn't have time for this.
He needed to find Mark..
"Look I don't want any trouble."
One of the men smiled, "Neither do we. Just want your money."
He threw a punch at the rocker's face, but Roger ducked out of the way the air of the swing brushing against him in its wake.
Perfect.
Roger punched back, hard in the man's gut, but before he could react the second one was on him, cutting his fist across Roger's cheek. He managed to keep from falling, but by that time the first had recovered from the gut punch and was back to return the favor. The rocker doubled over in pain, unable to react as another punch and another were thrown into him.
He could normally hold his own in fights, even against two…
…but these guys are freakin elephants.
And he hadn't eaten today and didn't get enough physical activity anymore to warrant muscles that could make much of a difference.
Just as he gathered his strength up to retaliate again, screw it if I'm giving into these bastards… Just as he started to stand, something… or someone came barreling into one of the men
Of all people…it was freakin scrawny Mark who had managed to push a guy more than twice his size to the ground.
What kind of crazy ass unrealistic luck was this?
Roger breathed a sigh of relief and silently thanked whatever manipulator of fate that had made this happen, as he watched Mark throw weak punch after weak punch into the face of his opponent. A kick in his shins brought him back to reality… oh yeah, two guys.
The rocker brought his fist back, and hit the mugger square in the jaw. As he stumbled backwards, Roger punched two more times and watched the larger man fall to into the frozen snow.
"Uhmph!"
Roger turned at the sound of Mark's painful groan and watched as his best friend was thrown against the alley wall, landing in a small heap in the snow. The mugger started towards him, but Roger was faster.
He swung himself in between Mark and their attacker,
"You're not going to fucking touch him again, you hear me?"
But Roger couldn't stop the hard kick to the groin that brought him to his knees. Couldn't stop the mugger from pushing him to the side.
Ow.
Green eyes closed tight against the pain.
Shit.
He opened them again to see the mugger kicking Mark, whose sudden lack of reaction scared the shit out of Roger. Teeth gritted against the pain, Roger pulled himself slowly to his feet, stared at the mugger.
Leave him alone.
He took in harsh breaths, one shaky step at a time.
Kick after kick.
"Leave…him…alone." It came out in a hoarse whisper.
The pain in his stomach brought him temporarily to his knees.
Mark, pale and unmoving.
"Leave him alone."
He stood on shaky legs, as a wave of strength surged within him.
Kick pale kick unmoving after mark…
"Leave him alone!"
Roger barreled into the man, bringing him to the ground, copying Mark as he threw punch after punch into the writhing man's face until he passed out. But even then the rocker didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
It was all he could think to do. Fist into face. Fist into face. Possessed with the need to kick this man's ass, fist into face, with the need to protect…
Just barely a whisper, "Rodge…stop…"
The rocker's fists fell to his sides, and he crawled off of the unconscious man. He stumbled over to the filmmaker searching the other man's face for clues as to what to do next. His head throbbed so sharply it was difficult to think straight.
"Mark… Mark where the… hell have you… been?"
"I knew you…were going to…say that." He smiled, winced, "Are you…okay?'
"Thanks…to you…I think…I'll…"
Mark was trembling on the ground, "We need to go…back…to the loft…"
The rocker nodded stood, painfully, and stared at Mark, bruised, pale to the point of almost looking blue, "Shit, Mark…you don't look good."
You look damn right scary….
"Yeah well neither'dyou.." The filmmaker winced and didn't even try to hide the tears in his eyes, "Roger… Roger I can't… I can't feel my hands…or my feet…or my arms…"
No you don't understand you look like death… like death…
Oh God…
"…Roger?"
He swallowed, put an arm around Mark's back, "I'll…I'll help… you…"
"Just don't…carry me…okay? I hate…to be…carried…I'm notagirl…"
And Roger smiled, nodded, "Well for not being a girl you're pretty damn…"
But then Mark's head rolled to the side, eyes closed, breath shallow.
"Mark? Mark?" Roger shook him slightly. "Mark!"
Shit, shit, shit
"Mark?"
He took the smaller in his arms, winced, clenched his jaw, and tried not to think about how much it hurt. Stumbling out of the alleyway, he nearly fell into the side of the building or the middle of the street because he really didn't have the strength to do this.
Shit, shit, shit
"Mark!"
Somehow he made it up the stairs and into their loft. It was all a strange blur to him, but he made it and if his heart wasn't racing with so much fucking worry he might even thank that same manipulator of fate once more…for getting him up those stairs. But his chest was ready to collapse and his head was spinning and Mark was on the same table that Mimi nearly died on once before. Roger was holding him, shaking out of pain and worry and bruising and the cold…
Holding Mark was like sleeping in a bed of ice. He remembered now dropping Mark's coat back in the alley way.
Shit. No… No…
Good job…dropping his coat…real smooth.
Roger pulled off his own and wrapped it around Mark who seemed more blue than white, and his rough hands traveled down Mark's arms, rubbing them desperately for warmth. His chin rested on the top of Mark's head.
So cold…
"Mark… Mark, wake up." It came out in a shivering, desperate whisper, "Wake up, I need you, wake up! Please, Mark..Marky…don't, don't do this… I'm sorry. Fuck. I didn't…I can't…please, please Mark…I don't…I don't know what to do…"
Wake up…
I need you…
A little too late.