Disclaimer: None of them. I made an offer, but I guess 35 cents and a pair of toe socks won't cover it.
Mark opened his eyes slowly, trying to blink things into focus, before remembering that it wouldn't work. He was surrounded by white. Turning his face forward, he stifled a gasp. Standing at the foot of his bed was a figure in black.
"Am... Am I dead?" Voice hoarse and halting, he narrowed his eyes, trying to see. But the figure remained blurred and unfocused. His mind tried to convince him that things were perfectly fine. That it was normal to wake up to a world of white with a figure clad in black watching over you. The only sound was a soft beeping to his right, as he waited fearfully for an answer.
"No, Mark, you're not dead." The voice was familiar, and he frowned at the quiet reply.
"Roger? What's going on? What are you doing?"
"Just waiting for you to wake up. They promised to bring a chair, but... You know nurses." Roger replied softly, gazing down at the man. He walked forward slowly, not wanting to frighten his friend. Remembering at that moment just why Mark would look so scared, so vulnerable. He reached into his pocket, and leaned forward, placing the glasses he'd been carrying onto Mark's face.
"Thanks." Reaching up automatically to adjust the lenses, Mark frowned slightly, gazing down at the blankets covering him. As everything had come into focus, he'd realized that he was in a hospital room. The walls and sheets were indeed white, but put in focus, not as frightening. Turning, he glanced to his right and took in the machine that was monitoring his heart. 'Not dead at all.'
"I wasn't going to wear these anymore." He said, tracing his finger over the bow of the glasses and watching the machine.
"I know." Roger perched easily on the side of the bed and studied Mark. It hit him how transparent he seemed. Pale and thin, almost wraith-like. 'He's been wasting away, alone. Did he ever try to tell me? I obviously never bothered to slow down and look. Did he think it would be a waste of time to even try?'
Shaking his head to banish the thoughts, he cleared his throat. "But you may as well. As long as they do some good." Watching Mark avoid meeting his eyes, he finally blurted, "Why didn't you tell me?"
Flinching slightly at the accusing tone, Mark lifted a shoulder. "I guess... I just thought..." Frustrated at his own inability to explain, he finally lifted his eyes to Roger. "Everyone already treats me like I'll break if they stare at me for too long. 'Poor Mark, hides from the world. Poor Mark, doesn't have a life. Be nice to Mark, don't want to hurt his feelings.' That's all bad enough, I don't need everyone's pity on top of that."
There was a lot he wasn't saying, Roger could see that. But he wasn't ready to push for the full answers. Instead, he sat back slightly, trying not to jostle the IV lines. Nodding to the needles taped to Mark's hand, he shifted subjects slightly. "I never knew you were scared of needles...?" Letting it trail off into a question.
Shifting uneasily, Mark shrugged slightly once more. "I never was. Dunno what brought it on." Closing his mouth tightly, he refused to say more, but his eyes landed on the tiny spots on the inside of Roger's arm, where it lay against the sheet.
To anyone who didn't know the man, they could be anything. Freckles, shadows, remnents of hospital stays due to the disease slowly eating him from the inside out. For that matter, people who didn't know him wouldn't likely notice them at all.
But Mark noticed, Mark knew. He'd seen what Roger had done to himself. All the shit that he'd pumped into his system, and the after-affects. Seen first the drugs, and then the illness. All from the needles he'd slid into his veins so carelessly. Mark had never been scared of needles before. Now, he couldn't even force himself into a doctor's office if he knew that a shot was involved.
Sitting in the silence following his question, Roger looked down, following Mark's gaze. When he realized where his eyes were, he stiffened slightly and unconsciously folded his arms over his chest. 'Because of me? My fault? Oh, Mark...'
When he finally looked back, meeting Mark's eyes, he was stunned by the fear and pain shining in them. They were studying his face, reading his thoughts like they always did. "Mark..."
Mark shook his head, looking away. "Doesn't matter. I just don't like them." Picking at the blanket, he asked quietly, "When do I get out of here?"
"I don't know. You only just woke up. I think they want to keep an eye on you for a while, to make sure that you're really all right." Roger slid off the edge of the bed, looking around the room, studying the bland walls. Suddenly unable to face Mark. He'd come back. Just like Mimi. Come back from death. And now that the shock of it was wearing off, he found himself wanting, just as he had wanted to with Mimi, to grab him and keep him close. To make sure that he was truly all there, that he wasn't going to disappear when his back was turned.
'Get a hold of yourself. He's awake, he's talking. He hasn't freaked out about the IV's, he hasn't freaked out period. He's going to be fine. It's you that's acting wierd.' Running a hand absently through his hair, he cleared his throat, glancing in Mark's direction without truly facing him. "I'll go find out, okay?"
Confused, Mark watched him withdraw into himself, and slowly nodded. "Yeah, sure." He tried to push down disappointment, and the fear of being left alone in this place. He hated hospitals, he hated doctors, he hated all of it. He just wanted to go home. 'To be alone again? Maybe not for a day, or two days. But he'll forget about this, forget about me, and go back to showing up at home once a week. Or whenever he and Mimi have a fight. My world's disappearing, and he's heading for the door.'
"Roger?" He called suddenly, startling himself. Immediately dropping his gaze once more as Roger turned to face him.
"Yeah?" Able to look at the man now that his face was averted, Roger studied him. Taking in the hands, usually so steady, trembling just slightly.
Mark wracked his mind, trying to think of a plausible reason for calling to him. Finally, he glanced up quickly, and said softly, "Thank you." He didn't remember much of what had happened. But from what he *did* remember, Roger had found him. Found him, and taken care of him. Most likely saved his life. 'Thank you' seemed so pathetic, next to that. But it was all he could say.
Holding his eyes for a long moment, Roger stood, stunned into immobility. Not knowing how to respond. Thank him? How could Mark be thanking him? He should be pointing fingers, screaming, blaming him for what had happened to him. But instead, he was looking up at him with those eyes, so easy to read, and thanking him. 'For what?!' He wanted to cry. Wanted to beg for forgiveness, promise to take care of him, never let anything like this happen again.
Instead, he grinned slightly and nodded. "Anytime." Before turning and slipping out the door to hunt down the doctor and demand answers.
A/N: Me and my short chapters. Sorry. I'll try to do better the next time around.
Mark opened his eyes slowly, trying to blink things into focus, before remembering that it wouldn't work. He was surrounded by white. Turning his face forward, he stifled a gasp. Standing at the foot of his bed was a figure in black.
"Am... Am I dead?" Voice hoarse and halting, he narrowed his eyes, trying to see. But the figure remained blurred and unfocused. His mind tried to convince him that things were perfectly fine. That it was normal to wake up to a world of white with a figure clad in black watching over you. The only sound was a soft beeping to his right, as he waited fearfully for an answer.
"No, Mark, you're not dead." The voice was familiar, and he frowned at the quiet reply.
"Roger? What's going on? What are you doing?"
"Just waiting for you to wake up. They promised to bring a chair, but... You know nurses." Roger replied softly, gazing down at the man. He walked forward slowly, not wanting to frighten his friend. Remembering at that moment just why Mark would look so scared, so vulnerable. He reached into his pocket, and leaned forward, placing the glasses he'd been carrying onto Mark's face.
"Thanks." Reaching up automatically to adjust the lenses, Mark frowned slightly, gazing down at the blankets covering him. As everything had come into focus, he'd realized that he was in a hospital room. The walls and sheets were indeed white, but put in focus, not as frightening. Turning, he glanced to his right and took in the machine that was monitoring his heart. 'Not dead at all.'
"I wasn't going to wear these anymore." He said, tracing his finger over the bow of the glasses and watching the machine.
"I know." Roger perched easily on the side of the bed and studied Mark. It hit him how transparent he seemed. Pale and thin, almost wraith-like. 'He's been wasting away, alone. Did he ever try to tell me? I obviously never bothered to slow down and look. Did he think it would be a waste of time to even try?'
Shaking his head to banish the thoughts, he cleared his throat. "But you may as well. As long as they do some good." Watching Mark avoid meeting his eyes, he finally blurted, "Why didn't you tell me?"
Flinching slightly at the accusing tone, Mark lifted a shoulder. "I guess... I just thought..." Frustrated at his own inability to explain, he finally lifted his eyes to Roger. "Everyone already treats me like I'll break if they stare at me for too long. 'Poor Mark, hides from the world. Poor Mark, doesn't have a life. Be nice to Mark, don't want to hurt his feelings.' That's all bad enough, I don't need everyone's pity on top of that."
There was a lot he wasn't saying, Roger could see that. But he wasn't ready to push for the full answers. Instead, he sat back slightly, trying not to jostle the IV lines. Nodding to the needles taped to Mark's hand, he shifted subjects slightly. "I never knew you were scared of needles...?" Letting it trail off into a question.
Shifting uneasily, Mark shrugged slightly once more. "I never was. Dunno what brought it on." Closing his mouth tightly, he refused to say more, but his eyes landed on the tiny spots on the inside of Roger's arm, where it lay against the sheet.
To anyone who didn't know the man, they could be anything. Freckles, shadows, remnents of hospital stays due to the disease slowly eating him from the inside out. For that matter, people who didn't know him wouldn't likely notice them at all.
But Mark noticed, Mark knew. He'd seen what Roger had done to himself. All the shit that he'd pumped into his system, and the after-affects. Seen first the drugs, and then the illness. All from the needles he'd slid into his veins so carelessly. Mark had never been scared of needles before. Now, he couldn't even force himself into a doctor's office if he knew that a shot was involved.
Sitting in the silence following his question, Roger looked down, following Mark's gaze. When he realized where his eyes were, he stiffened slightly and unconsciously folded his arms over his chest. 'Because of me? My fault? Oh, Mark...'
When he finally looked back, meeting Mark's eyes, he was stunned by the fear and pain shining in them. They were studying his face, reading his thoughts like they always did. "Mark..."
Mark shook his head, looking away. "Doesn't matter. I just don't like them." Picking at the blanket, he asked quietly, "When do I get out of here?"
"I don't know. You only just woke up. I think they want to keep an eye on you for a while, to make sure that you're really all right." Roger slid off the edge of the bed, looking around the room, studying the bland walls. Suddenly unable to face Mark. He'd come back. Just like Mimi. Come back from death. And now that the shock of it was wearing off, he found himself wanting, just as he had wanted to with Mimi, to grab him and keep him close. To make sure that he was truly all there, that he wasn't going to disappear when his back was turned.
'Get a hold of yourself. He's awake, he's talking. He hasn't freaked out about the IV's, he hasn't freaked out period. He's going to be fine. It's you that's acting wierd.' Running a hand absently through his hair, he cleared his throat, glancing in Mark's direction without truly facing him. "I'll go find out, okay?"
Confused, Mark watched him withdraw into himself, and slowly nodded. "Yeah, sure." He tried to push down disappointment, and the fear of being left alone in this place. He hated hospitals, he hated doctors, he hated all of it. He just wanted to go home. 'To be alone again? Maybe not for a day, or two days. But he'll forget about this, forget about me, and go back to showing up at home once a week. Or whenever he and Mimi have a fight. My world's disappearing, and he's heading for the door.'
"Roger?" He called suddenly, startling himself. Immediately dropping his gaze once more as Roger turned to face him.
"Yeah?" Able to look at the man now that his face was averted, Roger studied him. Taking in the hands, usually so steady, trembling just slightly.
Mark wracked his mind, trying to think of a plausible reason for calling to him. Finally, he glanced up quickly, and said softly, "Thank you." He didn't remember much of what had happened. But from what he *did* remember, Roger had found him. Found him, and taken care of him. Most likely saved his life. 'Thank you' seemed so pathetic, next to that. But it was all he could say.
Holding his eyes for a long moment, Roger stood, stunned into immobility. Not knowing how to respond. Thank him? How could Mark be thanking him? He should be pointing fingers, screaming, blaming him for what had happened to him. But instead, he was looking up at him with those eyes, so easy to read, and thanking him. 'For what?!' He wanted to cry. Wanted to beg for forgiveness, promise to take care of him, never let anything like this happen again.
Instead, he grinned slightly and nodded. "Anytime." Before turning and slipping out the door to hunt down the doctor and demand answers.
A/N: Me and my short chapters. Sorry. I'll try to do better the next time around.
