Play it again,
Our games of love and lust
There's no such thing
No, there's never too much
And we were so, so sure, oh we never had a doubt.
Now we're counting days to getting out.
We were elemental, took down to bear essentials.
Who knew we'd get so far?
Cartel, "Burn This City"
"December twenty-fourth, 2002," Mark narrates. "Nine PM, eastern standard time. Close on Thomas Roger Cohen, one year and one month old."
He zooms in slightly on the baby, dressed in green footed pajamas, who is sitting in Stephanie's lap, on the floor. A small Christmas tree was set up, alongside a menorah. Tommy's eyes are hazel and large, wide as saucers. He's not completely bald, but the wisps of light brown hair on his head are just filling in. He smiles at his father behind a yellow ducky pacifier.
"Steph, can't you take that pacifier out of his mouth?" Mark asks, slightly lowering the new digital camcorder Stephanie had gotten him for the holidays.
Stephanie raises an eyebrow. "You want him to start crying again?"
"Point taken. Tommy…Tommy, wave hi to the camera."
Tommy, obviously oblivious, turns his attention to the stuffed dog sitting just to the left of Stephanie's knees. He squeals out of frustration as he reaches for it.
"Someone is not interested in taking direction," Stephanie observes as she hands Tommy the dog, which he holds for a few seconds before throwing it to the floor, getting a laugh from his parents. "Tommy, go get the doggy. Wanna go get the doggy?" Stephanie lifts Tommy off her lap and puts his feet on the floor, holding his hands up over his head as he takes a few steps across the floor. Mark follows his son with the camera.
"Mark, are you getting this?" Stephanie asks, glancing up at the camera, a smile illuminating her face as she slowly let go of Tommy's hands as he took a few steps towards the stuffed dog.
"I'm getting it, I'm getting it," he assures her, chuckling. Tommy scoops up the dog and hugs it to his chest as Stephanie claps and praises her son.
Tommy had been born on Thanksgiving the previous year, making Mark all the more thankful. He was a welcome addition to the family, christened with the name of the man that had brought him and his wife together in the first place, and, of course, Mark's lifelong friend.
He and Stephanie had fully reconciled. Ever since Tommy came into their lives, Mark and Stephanie's relationship became stronger, much stronger. As Tommy grew over the passed year, they were like two young kids discovering the inner workings of a new toy, trying to figure out how it all worked.
In the year following Collins' death, things shifted amongst the circle of friends. Once Stephanie moved back into the apartment a week after the funeral, Roger took it as a sign that he should move on. As much as Mark begged him to stay, Roger would not be convinced. He packed up the VW bus and moved on. He was planning on coming back to New York for New Year's to meet his godson.
When Roger left New York, his friends feared that he'd had another breakdown like when Mimi had died, until Mark received a phone call from him, saying he was back in Las Vegas for the time being.
Calvin had tried to set Roger up with a job in his garage, but Roger only knew the basics that he'd retained from high school auto shop. H was not as gifted with cars as his younger brother. After four months of doing oil changes, tire rotations, replacing light bulbs and pumping air into flats, Calvin had to fire his big brother. He had to replace him with someone who could do more than "the basics"—he couldn't afford to keep him on the payroll any longer. When Cal offered Roger a front-desk position, Roger refused, claiming he'd rather be unemployed than stand behind a desk all day.
While he wasn't gifted in fixing cars, Roger did have a knack for fixing instruments, particularly guitars. After another month and a half of sleeping on Calvin's couch, Roger found a job at a music shop on the Strip. Though he had no formal education or training as a luthier and relied solely on his keen autodacticsm, the proprietor of the shop was impressed with Roger's sharp ear and patience when working with the instruments, not just guitars, where his expertise was, but also with basses, banjos, cellos, fiddles, violins and pianos. He wasn't even all that knowledgeable about pianos until he began to work at the shop, but he learned quickly, and was soon tuning pianos like a pro, getting sent out on house calls.
Eventually his boss asked him if he'd be willing to teach guitar lessons at the shop, something Roger never really considered. He was making decent money as a luthier, and taking on students would certainly up the ante. Roger agreed. It wasn't long before Roger was able to find a place of his own. He called Mark as soon as he moved in and settled down.
"I'm getting old," Roger said with a sigh as he sat on his couch with a bottle of beer. Mark certainly didn't consider thirty-seven to be old—he was only thirty-five himself.
"I'm glad to hear you're happy," Mark said.
"I never said I was happy."
Mark sighed audibly, "Oh, Roger…"
"What?"
"Nothing."
Roger wasn't exactly happy. He wasn't lying just to piss off Mark, something that he did find entertaining. He was as healthy as he could possibly be. He had a steady job with a reliable income. He was finally the owner of his own two-bedroom apartment. But he wasn't exactly happy. He never managed to wholly shake his depression.
Alone in the music shop in the early afternoon, a few weeks before Christmas, Roger was in his workshop replacing the strings on an acoustic guitar so that its left-handed owner could play it properly. He kept the door to the workshop open so that he could hear the doorbell if someone should come in.
The phone rang and Roger answered it, "Bach to Rock, how can I help you?"
"Roger, it's Cal."
"Hey!" Roger smiled as he put down his tools and took a seat on the nearby stool that he kept in the workshop. "What's up?"
"I was wondering if you could baby-sit after you close up tonight? Layla and I have plans tonight. We have to...celebrate."
"Oh? What's the occasion?"
"I…well…you're going to be an uncle again."
"No shit? Really? She's pregnant?"
Cal chuckled sheepishly, "Yeah…"
"Congratulations!" Roger exclaimed with a smile. "Really, bud, I'm happy for you."
"Thanks."
The doorbell sounded and Roger covered the mouthpiece of the phone and called, "I'll be right with you!" Then, to Cal, he said, "Bud, I'll call you later, okay? I have a customer. Kiss Layla for me."
"You got it. Bye."
"Bye." He hung up the phone and went into the front of the store. "Hey. How can I help you?" he greeted the customer, who had her back to him, a gig back slung over her shoulder. She was examining the wall of guitars. She turned—Roger's heart stopped. "Lucien?"
Lucien smiled widely. "Wow. You remembered me. I was hoping you would."
"What…what are you doing all the way out here?" he asked slowly. He looked her up and down. She looked almost exactly the same, except for her hair. Instead of bleached blonde, she'd dyed it black-blue. She wore jeans with black lace up the sides and a red corset-style tank top. On her feet were black combat boots.
"I…I need my bass fixed," she said slowly. "I heard you're the man to see."
The taxi dropped Roger off in front of Mark and Stephanie's building. He paid the driver and looked up at the sky as he drove away. It seemed as if it was only a few seconds away from snowing. The air was icy and every inhale seemed to make Roger's lungs frost over.
The Volkswagen bus stayed in Las Vegas. Roger didn't think the poor thing could make another cross-country trip. He had enough money by this time to afford airfare. Roger hoisted his duffel bag up onto his shoulder and pressed the buzzer for Mark to let him up.
When Roger knocked on the door to Mark and Stephanie's apartment, he only had to wait a few seconds before the door swung open. Mark answered, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Roger!" he exclaimed. He opened his arms wide and Roger fell into them. They embraced for a long time. There was so much comfort in a hug from an old friend. "Come inside."
"Fucking cold out there," Roger said with a small smile as he stepped inside. Mark closed the door behind him. "I'm not used to it."
"Well, being in the middle of the desert for two years can do that to you," Mark returned Roger's grin. He took Roger's bag from him.
"Where're Steph and my godson?" Roger asked. He shrugged off his leather jacket and unwound his scarf from his neck.
"In the baby's room," Mark replied. "I'm afraid you're going to have to sleep on the couch this time around."
"That's fine by me." Roger gazed around the apartment. For the most part, it looked the same. There were a few changes here and there: more framed pictures on the wall unit, a baby swing in one corner, a stroller by the door, a playpen filled with toys towards the center of the room.
"What's the matter?" Mark asked, noticing the soft look on Roger's face.
"Nothing," Roger said, turning towards Mark, "I was just thinking that this place looks…happier."
Stephanie entered the room again, with Tommy on her hip. "Mark, why didn't you tell me Roger was here?" she asked with a smile.
"I never got a chance to," Mark said. He came over to kiss Stephanie on the cheek and took Tommy from her. The baby had a pacifier in his mouth once again, but he made happy noises as Mark took him into his arms. Mark immediately placed him into Roger's. "Tommy, this is your Uncle Roger."
Roger laughed, "I'll never get tired of hearing that. Hey, Tommy…" Tommy looked up at Roger adoringly. His smile was clear behind the pacifier. "This is scary, Mark. He looks just like you."
Mark rolled his eyes. "Well, hopefully he'll grow out of that."
Within no time, it was as if Roger had never left New York City. It was still hard for him, but the more time he spent with Mark and Stephanie and Tommy, the more comfortable he became. Tommy took a liking to Roger rather quickly, as most babies tended to do. Roger really couldn't understand it, but even when Will and Sarah were babies they seemed to gravitate towards him. Roger found it amusing how whenever he threw a ball, Tommy moved quickly to retrieve it and bring it back to Roger. Mark was not amused that Roger seemed to mistake his son for a puppy.
Stephanie made dinner for everyone when dusk descended on SoHo. Mark opened a bottle of wine for the three of them, and they caught up on the past year. Mark told Roger about how he'd managed to complete college and earned a teacher's certificate and a BA in English, concentrating in both literature and writing. He taught high school now. He still did video editing, but no longer worked with CBS, NBC or ABC. He mainly took in smaller projects—weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs, Sweet Sixteens, etc.
La Vie Boheme had debuted on the non-fiction best seller list at number 8, and rose steadily in the past year and a half. Luc and Sofiya had been very successful in selling the book to a publisher, and thanks to its sales at NYU and UCLA and everywhere in between, it had become a sensation, especially since Luc and Sofiya had set it up so that all the proceeds from the book went towards the Thomas B. Collins Memorial Fund, the mission of which was to better the lives of those in the LGBTQ community who were struggling with homelessness, abuse and HIV/AIDS.
Roger told them about the shop, about the guitar lessons he taught, about Cal and Layla having another baby.
"There's also something else," Roger said. "And I think before I tell you, we need to refill our wine glasses."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes," Roger replied, splashing a bit more Zinfandel into each of their glasses. He raised his and, before he took a sip, he announced, "Lucien and I are engaged."
Mark and Stephanie just stared, not touching their wine glasses. Roger raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"When did this happen?" Stephanie exclaimed.
"Two weeks ago," Roger replied, blushing slightly. "I proposed to her on Christmas Eve. She and Caleb came to see me in Las Vegas. She…she needed her bass fixed. I don't know how she figured out where I was…"
Mark paused. "Okay…I have something to confess."
Stephanie's eyes went wide. "Oh, Mark…"
"I told Lucien where you were," Mark admitted. "She said she wanted to send you a Christmas card. So, I gave her your address in Vegas and told her about the shop. I never thought in a million years she'd actually go there!"
"I can't believe you did that."
"What can I say, I'm a hopeless romantic," Mark shrugged.
Roger just laughed. "You son of a bitch. I should have known." He got up out of his chain and caught Mark in a headlock. He mussed up his hair and planted a brotherly smooch on the top of his head. "Which is why I'm going to make you my best man."
"Really?" Mark asked, grasping Roger's wrist, trying to get him off.
"Of course. Who else?"
"Right, right. So," Mark said once Roger had released him and sat back down, "does this mean you're moving back to New York?"
Roger sighed. "Mark…it's hard, okay? I have the shop back in Vegas. Lucien has her band and her job at the Life here, Caleb has friends…we're going to take care of that when the time is right."
"The wedding will be here, right?"
"Naturally."
"When?" Stephanie asked.
"The spring," Roger replied. "Lucien wants a spring wedding, somewhere outdoors, she said."
"Sounds lovely," Stephanie replied, beginning to clear the dinner plates. "You guys go play. I'll clean up."
Roger took Tommy from his high chair and the three boys retired to the living room. They sat on the floor with the baby, feeling like kids themselves, watching Tommy play with a rather obnoxious Tickle Me Elmo that Maureen had given Tommy for Christmas. They spoke in hushed tones.
"You remember when I told you about that Joni Mitchell song?" Roger posed, "the one I hate?"
"'Big Yellow Taxi.'"
"Yeah. About not knowing what I got 'til it's gone?"
"Yeah."
"I don't think it ever was gone," Roger mused. "I just didn't look hard enough."
Mark smiled. "It's good to have you back Roger."
"I was never gone, either."
THE END
AUTHOR'S NOTE: There are a few people I would like to thank at this point.
Steph – for being an amazing editor and little sister, and who cured my writer's block countless times and risked her neck to do so. This girl deserves a medal.
Gaz – for her Markish personality that kept me laughing. She is the original Mark, regardless of what she says/thinks. I am NOT better at playing Mark than she is.
My other RentGirls – Monica, Trai, Sami and Lily, who bore witness to the very early stages of this fic and urged me to not only continue, but to post here.
You lovely readers – I wasn't sure if there would be any other Rent fanfics from me, but you were all so kind to me that I no longer feared approaching the task! Keep your eyes peeled for my next fic, due out sometime in early September!