A/N: Samantha's computer is being fixed this week, and she e-mailed me from a local library to tell me what she wanted me to write for this chapter, which I will be writing for her. Enjoy! DISCLAIMER: Own nothing, never will. All About Birds


"Rog, can I ask you something?" Mark was dusting the extremely messy coffee table in front of the couch that Roger was sitting on. It was a rare occasion should either Mark or Roger actually make an attempt to clean their messy loft, but Mark found himself fidgety and uneasy and wasn't sure what else to do with himself.

Roger was only half-listening at first, as he was making another useless attempt to write a song. He was staring resentfully at the scribbles and cross-outs on the piece of paper in his hands, his legs stretched out on the couch. "Yeah. Sure."

"Uh...remember how I freaked out last night?"

"Yeah. You've always been twitchy, Mark, but that was where I drew the line between 'twitchy' and 'crazy'."

Mark looked up from his dusting. "Very funny, Mr. I-Can't-Write-a-Song. Speaking of which, why don't you get your lazy ass off the couch and help me?"

"I think I'll pass on that, Mark," Roger replied with a sarcastic smile, "Now, you were saying?"

The blonde sighed. "Well...I was freaking out because...I had these...dreams. And they weren't normal nightmares, Rog. They were freakin' scary."

Roger was looking at him questioningly, which prompted Mark to begin quietly explaining to him the details of the dreams he was having. He said each word shakily and tentatively, as if he were reliving the dream all over again.

When he finished, Roger simply stared down at the ground for a second or two, his hands folded and his elbows resting on his knees. "Mark...Shit, man."

"I know," Mark said, "I couldn't...I couldn't control what...happened...and...I wanted to ask you what you think I should...do...about this."

Roger interrupted him: "Relax, man. I have an idea."

"You do?" Mark asked hopefully.

"Yeah. It's real simple. Just read a book before you go to sleep...a book about anything. Like...birds, or something. I know we have a book about birds because we stole it from the library that time, remember?" He chucked lightly.

Mark rolled his eyes. "'We' being you and Collins, high as a freakin' kite. Of all the books to steal..."

"Heh. I know. But anyway, read that book, and you'll be thinking about birds before you go to sleep. And chances are you won't have those...nightmares."

Mark thought about this briefly. It wasn't a bad idea...It couldn't hurt, could it? "Okay. I'll try that. Thanks, Rog."

"No problem. I'm gonna go to Mimi's. See ya." Roger heaved a sigh, stood up, and headed out of the loft.

Realizing that he was very tired from the previous night's events, Mark decided he'd experiment with Roger's idea. He went over to their shelf and pulled out All About Birds. Smirking slightly, he shook his head, went to the couch and flopped down against a pillow. Wow. All About Birds. Shit, what were they thinking?

He opened the book and began to read: "Birds are warm-blooded vertebrae. They are characterized by the color of their feathers. Rather than teeth, they have beaks that are used for not only eating but also climbing and..."

He was asleep in a matter of minutes.


"Mark, are you alive? Because it's not the appropriate time to decide you wanna drop dead."

Mark opened his eyes to the hazy view before him. He was sweating and shaking, and he felt nauseous. Blinking rapidly, he adjusted his vision and saw Joanne peering down at him.

"You okay?" she asked, "I had to have Roger let me in here 'cause you weren't answering the phone. And it wasn't any bowlful of cherries going to bother him, because he was...let's just say...taking care of some business with Mimi at her apartment. So thanks for making me witness that."

"No offense, Joanne," he said, "But it's creepy that you're almost always there when I wake up."

She laughed a little. In all honesty, Mark wasn't okay. He'd had another dream—damn Roger and his stupid idea. He was angry, but he knew in the back of his mind that it hadn't been Roger's fault.

This dream had been different, though. It was almost like an outer-body experience...it was pitch black, and all he had heard were voices, saying things like, "Someone call an ambulance!", "Is he okay?", "Is he gonna make it?" and things like that.

Nonetheless, he was afraid.

"So, I came here to tell you some news," Joanne finally said.

Mark sat up and wiped some sweat from his forehead. "Yeah?"

"We have a court date. Two weeks from today. And believe me, I'm gonna prep you until your brain explodes. We're gonna win this, Mark, okay?"

Mark nodded nervously. "God, Jo...what if they don't believe me?"

"You'll be fine, Mark. We've all got your back." She grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it, smiling reassuringly. "I'll talk to you later, okay? We need to review what kind of questions that sleazy-ass defense attorney is gonna ask you."

"Okay. See you."

When she left, all Mark could do was bury his face in his hands.

"God, why am I the witness?!" he cried out in utter exasperation. Sighing shakily, he picked up the telephone and dialed a number.

"Collins? That you?"

Mark could almost hear Collins' characteristic smile over the telephone line. "Hey, Mark, man. What's up?"

"I..." Mark gulped. "Are you busy?"

"Nope. Just got home from work, and Angel went out to drum. You sound a little scared. You alright, man?"

"I...I don't know, Collins. I just...need someone to talk to...I'm...God, I don't freakin' know! Shit..." He hated to sound like a coward to his friend, but somehow he knew Collins understood.

He could hear the sincerity in Collins' voice. "Go ahead, man, it's cool. I'm all ears."

And that was when Mark began to feel almost like a volcano, about to erupt with emotions that he couldn't control. He questioned whether he should have even called him in the first place—

Collins' voice was heard on the line again. "Mark? You still there? I'm here for you, okay?"

That was all Mark needed to hear.