I've really struggled with the next few chapters (and potentially the rest of the story. I don't know, I haven't got that much further yet!). I've worked out why - writing happy, contented Roger is so damned difficult. Cat isn't much easier. There is just nothing to base him on really. Even the slightly more upbeat elements of the musical are tinged with melancholy because of what happens later or before. Still. I've tried. I'm trying to rationalise it as him being that bit older and in a very different place to in the musical - so if he seems OC, he probably is a little, although some of it is conjecture.

'Rog?'

'Mmm?'

'You can't keep waking me up like this.'

He lifted his head from where he'd been kissing my neck as I opened my eyes. His face was one of sleepy amusement and he gave me a lop-sided grin. 'Can't I? I thought you liked it.'

I was unable to stop a grin spreading across my own face. 'I do, but,' I added, putting a finger on his lips as he moved in to kiss me again, 'we can't spend every morning like this. We can't keep wasting time.'

'I think it's a great use of time actually.' He stroked tendrils of hair back off of my face, his mouth tantalisingly close to mine, almost enough to break my resolve. 'I'm surprised you disagree.'

'I don't. Not really. But Roger!' Laughing, I wriggled away from him and scrambled for some form of clothing, finding a red hooded sweatshirt and a pair of knickers. 'I'm serious! We can't spend all day in bed again! It's been two days!'

He leaned up on his elbows, an eyebrow cocked in a way which made my resolve weaken a little. Frowning, he said, 'We did make it out of bed yesterday. We had a shower.'

'Roger!' I rolled my eyes, even as the giggles escaped from my mouth as he made a grab for me again. 'No! Come on, we need to go out somewhere. It's not healthy to be inside all the time.' Taking decisive action, I stepped away from the bed, the sweatshirt vaguely skimming my thighs. 'I'm going to make some coffee and then you're going to get up, have a shower – alone – and we're going out.'

'Out where?'

'Anywhere!' I threw my arms up in a general gesture, and then regretted it as the sweatshirt rode up and took Roger's eyebrows with it. I yanked it down and shot him a disapproving look. 'Why don't we head uptown? I didn't see much of the city in the summer.'

'Oh not the tourist stuff!' With a groan, he flopped back onto the bed. 'I knew you were too good to be true. Really?'

'Really.' I threw a pair of tracksuit trousers towards him. 'Five minutes and I'm dragging you into that shower – don't!' I gave him a warning look at my unfortunate choice of words, before turning round and pulling open the door to the rest of the apartment.

We'd been back from his parents' house for three days, having returned to the city the day after the long talk in the bottom field. The atmosphere in the house had felt easier when we returned inside that day, as though our hands being twisted together made everything that had happened over the last few days better. Dinner that evening was more light-hearted as Roger asked questions about the farm, shifting the conversational responsibilities onto Michael with ease. For the first time, his father engaged with him properly, comfortable with the familiar topics and pleased to be sharing them with his son after all this time. As I'd listened, giving the occasional interested nod or smile, I realised how different things could have been, and might still be. Michael's distrust of his own flesh and blood ran deep, I could see that much, and now I wondered how he had felt to see his only son walk away from the family business without a second thought for what he was leaving behind. The farm was his life, and Roger had cast it aside in the carefree way he dealt with every relationship. It would take time to repair the damage done there, but it was beginning to heal. For Lyn, I could see, it was enough for her two favourite men to be in the room together. She was right; it was going to be alright.

When we left the next evening, we were plied with every type of food imaginable in various Tupperware containers.

'Now you'll have to come back,' Lyn joked, despite the very real fear written in her eyes that she wouldn't see Roger again for another half dozen years.

Roger didn't reply, the habit of never making promises too engrained by now for him to say anything which might tie him to a commitment he just couldn't keep. Instead, he reacted with actions, and pulled his mum into a tight hug, which I was certain meant nearly as much to her as a date in the diary would have done.

'And Cat, it's been so lovely to meet you and get to know you.' Lyn turned her smile on me, reaching out to hold my hand before hugging me too. 'You have to come up again in the summer, see the place when this snow's gone. It's beautiful.'

'I'd love to,' I told her honestly, thinking of the way in which this house and family had already intertwined itself into my own history. It had been only a few days but I was leaving a different person from who I'd been when I arrived here. So was Roger, who had lost some of that haunted look in the last twenty-four hours, the man Collins had told me about beginning to come to the surface tentatively, as if sensing the air after a long time hidden away.

Michael's farewell was much more restrained, as I would have expected. He shook Roger's hand, grasping his elbow with the other hand. He said something which I didn't catch, which Roger nodded in response to. I received a formal kiss on the cheek and the comment that it had been nice to meet me and he hoped to see me again soon.

'Which,' Roger remarked on the way back to New York, 'was more than he ever said to Rachel Zuckerman.'

The city was less snowy than it had been before, the thaw having been much more thorough here than in Red Hook. As we drove back in, I tried to ignore the feelings of tension which swept back through my body as the buildings grew higher and the traffic louder. I put it down to anxiety over heading back into Alphabet City with Roger's hand in mine, an echo of how it had been before. Things were so different now, we had changed so much, that treading those same paths and stairways scared me more than it should have done. The thought of Roger shutting down again, locking me out from everything that made him real, terrified me. And yet the thought of turning away from him and asking to be dropped off back at my hotel was worse.

In the event, I needn't have worried. As we came to a stop outside of the loft, Roger glanced across at me for the first time since we'd come into the city. I recognised that look from all those months ago, a fuzzy memory of the way he'd gently cradled my head and held me upright as I swayed on Maureen and Joanne's spare bed.

'You okay?'

I nodded, swallowing hard as I gazed up at the building, already anticipating all of the memories which would bombard me if I set foot in there. 'Yes, of course.'

He regarded me carefully for a few seconds before nodding once. 'Okay. Let's go up then. We'll leave the bags for now,' he'd added as he opened the car door and half stepped out. 'We can get them in tomorrow.'

Now, as I padded around the kitchen in just his well-worn sweater, I realised our bags were still outside in the car, something I hadn't even noticed until this moment. All the more reason to actually get out and about today, I thought, wondering exactly how hideous I must look after the best part of two days spent in bed. I definitely needed to get hold of my own clothes today.

Clothes, however, had been the last thing on my mind three evenings ago as I'd followed Roger upstairs towards the apartment he shared with Mark. Each step took us that little bit closer to everything which had come between us that summer and I felt my resolve weaken with each one. By the time we reached the landing outside my old apartment, my pace had slowed enough for Roger to notice.

Again, he shot me that look full of concern and the desire to change however I was feeling. For that alone, I tried to carry on but it was clear my heart wasn't in it.

'Cat?'

'I'm fine.' I shook my head, trying to recall how I'd felt only an hour before as we left Poughkeepsie behind. But all that was suddenly filling my mind were the memories of the evenings with Roger which had ended so unsatisfactorily outside this door. Those feelings of rejection and confusion flooded through me, reminding me of how much hurt he could inflict without even trying. He'd certainly fucked up on those occasions, and despite my best attempts at believing him, right now I could see only too clearly how he could do it again without blinking. I hated it but it was true.

Gently, he took both my hands in his, his eyes studying mine intently as he pulled me nearer to him. He cupped my face in one hand, forcing me to look up into his face, unable to hide my unease any longer as my hands trembled. Underneath his touch, some of my body relaxed, yet still my heart hammered furiously in my chest, punctuating the flashes of memory which danced behind my eyes. Running away would be so easy right now.

Then, finally, Roger spoke, resting his forehead against mine, his voice little more than a whisper. When they came, his words were exactly what I needed to hear.

'I love you. I really love you. I'm not gonna hurt you again.'

Still shaking, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him as my tongue struggled with the words I knew should come next. If Roger noticed their absence, he didn't show it, as he carefully gathered me up in his arms and carried me up the last flight of stairs to the apartment, unwittingly recreating the last time I'd set foot in the place. Suddenly, that didn't seem to matter though; if anything, it only made the moment more right because it was different now, so different. The memories which lurked in every corner of the loft were still there, still reminding me of everything which had happened here that fateful summer. But it was alright. Everything was alright.

Later that night, as I finally lay my head still on his chest, his arm draped over me protectively, I finally breathed out the words which had been held inside me for what felt like forever. He said nothing to show he'd heard them, but his hold on me tightened and his lips grazed my forehead again before settling into a smile. It made me wonder why we'd waited so long to say them.

Now though, making him coffee in one of the only cups which wasn't chipped or cracked, I knew that it was only now that we were ready for those words. Before now they would have been patches to cover up the gaps in the relationship, said in the hope that, in the absence of any truth, these would do. They'd have been cheap and tacky. Now, with all those barriers removed, they were honest and real. They mattered.

I picked both cups up and turned to carry them back to the bedroom, expecting to find Roger either fast asleep again or still keen to tempt me back into bed beside him. Despite my earlier sternness, I knew deep down that either outcome would be fine with me. It wouldn't be the first cup of coffee we'd let go cold since we'd come back to the city three days ago.

I was halfway across the living area when the front door slid open and Mark walked into the apartment.

For a moment, we stared at each other, each as shocked as the other. Somehow, I'd all but forgotten that Mark lived here too, so used had I grown to sharing this space with Roger alone. I'd dressed this morning assuming it would only be Roger who would see me. Now, as I felt Mark's eyes widen further as he took in the picture in front of him, I became ever more aware of the length – or lack thereof – of the sweatshirt. To make matters worse, my hands were completely full. There was no way of hiding what this was, although at that very moment I might have wanted to.

Finally, Mark said something, and if it was unoriginal, I forgave him for it. 'Cat. Hey.'

'Hello.' I crossed my legs at the knees, hoping that would somehow make my outfit less revealing. Not that that would hide my bed-mussed hair and kiss-stung lips. Nothing would make this easier to explain. Hoping that I could brazen it out, unsure how Mark would take the truth of the situation, I shook my hair back from my face. 'How are you?'

'I'm good… I'm…' Mark's eyes flew from me to the kitchen and then to Roger's ajar door. 'Sorry… I just…' He blinked several times. 'Are you and… Roger…?' His mouth moved in a thousand different ways as he struggled for the right words to express what he wanted to know.

After a long period of silence, I took pity on him. I nodded. 'Yes.'

For a moment his face froze. Then, slowly, a smile spread across it, lighting up his eyes and filling him with an energy I'd rarely seen in him before, certainly not recently. It made me realise how little he'd had to smile about in the past few months and how rare such a genuine grin had been when we parted before Christmas. Before I could reflect upon how much we'd all changed in those few strange days, Mark had covered the space between us and clumsily pulled me into a hug.

'Oh!' I yelped, unable to respond properly as my hands were still full of coffee, and covered in it now, for once thankful that the kettle in the loft never quite boiled the water. Nervous laughter filled the space left by my exclamation. 'Careful, Mark!'

'Sorry!' He let me go briefly, taking one of the cups from me, his face still stretched into an impossibly bright smile. 'This is just… great news.'

'Is it?' I raised my eyebrows, only now realising how much I'd expected Mark to hate this news, remembering how badly he'd taken all of it in the summer. Even so, the smile stayed on my face as I thought that they were exactly the words I'd been searching for ever since Roger had first placed his lips upon mine in his parents' kitchen. 'You really mean that?'

'Yeah! Cat, this is amazing!' And I let myself believe him finally, my face stretching into a matching grin despite my unsuitable clothing and messy hair. Mark's approval sealed it for me, erasing any lingering doubts which remained.

'So where's Roger?'

Before I could reply, the man himself answered. 'I'm here. Was starting to wonder where my coffee was getting to.'

I rolled my eyes at his ungracious greeting of his roommate, but one look in his direction sent my mouth curving upwards again in the smile which had never been far from my face in the last few days. Mark and Roger didn't have the kind of relationship where they poured their hearts out to each other at the earliest opportunity. Now, as they nodded a welcome, I knew that if they ever discussed everything that had happened in the last year, it would be at the most unexpected moment and that I would never be privy to it. For now, small talk sufficed.

'How's the family?' Roger asked, as he accepted the coffee I gave to him, slipping his other arm around my waist as though there wasn't any other place for it to be. The fact that his hand came to a halt around the hem of the sweatshirt was something I hoped Mark wouldn't notice.

Mark groaned good-naturedly, rolling his eyes. 'Cindy's having a baby.'

'Another one?' Roger's voice was incredulous. 'That's what, twelve?'

'Four,' Mark corrected him, but his smile widened at his friend's horror. 'Well, you know, Christmas isn't Christmas without her being pregnant. It's like not having a turkey. How are your folks?'

'Yeah, good.' A sip of coffee ended that line of enquiry and I could see why. Too much had happened in Red Hook this holiday to summarise in a few words. Besides, it must have been obvious to Mark that whatever had happened, Roger was different, from the way he was meeting his roommate's eye to how he was standing as if he had every right in the world to be there, comfortable in his skin for the first time in so long. I pressed myself slightly closer towards him as a rush of affection for him washed over me, something helped along by the way his thumb slid up my thigh underneath the hem of the sweater. A quick glance at his face showed me that Mark's presence in the apartment wouldn't change his mind about the best way to spend the morning, and I hastily untangled myself from his grasp.

'I should have a shower,' I said. 'You can have that,' I added, nodding at the cup of coffee Mark was still holding. 'It's good to see you. We should have dinner or something tonight.' It was impossible to miss Roger's widened eyes at the thought of the plans I was making which didn't involve returning immediately to bed, and I smiled somewhat mischievously. 'Could you pop out to the car and get the bags, Rog?'

'Pop?' He raised his eyebrows at my choice of phrase, something I ignored as I headed to the bathroom.

Just before I closed the door, I heard Mark speak. 'Rog?' I showered with a smile on my face.

I dressed in a denim shirt over a pair of black leggings, groaning when I realised that Roger had left the bag with my hairdryer in it in the car. It looked like it would be yet another bad hair day. I did what I could with my make-up, before heading back out into the living area where Mark was already fiddling with his camera.

'Couldn't that wait any longer?' I teased, pouring a cup of coffee from the cafetiere, realising how much I'd missed Mark's superior coffee making skills over the last few days.

'Cindy wants a copy.' Mark rolled his eyes again at the mention of his sister. 'So she can put it on the shelf alongside all the other Christmases and birthdays and Hannukahs and Thanksgivings. It's the only time my family see my camera as having a point.' He gave me a sidelong glance as I sat down on the sofa beside him. 'So you bought Roger the guitar, huh?'

I glanced over at where the guitar was propped up against the wall as though it had never been away. 'Yes. What?' I added, as Mark nodded slowly, a smile creeping across his face again. 'What?'

'Nothing. Just…' He shook his head, turning his attention away from his camera to look at me. 'You look good.'

'I look awful,' I replied immediately, deliberately misunderstanding what he was saying as I picked at my hair disappointedly. 'My hair's a mess.'

'Your hair looks good. I like it curly.'

'Has Roger put you up to this? He keeps on and on about my hair.' It had been one of his most frequent comments over the last few days, how much he adored the wild nature of my hair when it was left to its own devices. I remained unconvinced.

'No! Honestly, it looks great. I wasn't talking about that anyway.' Mark tried another tack. 'Roger looks good too.'

That was something I couldn't deny. In the space of a few days, the very way Roger looked had changed. He'd always had the power to make me catch my breath from one look out of those eyes, but now there was no edge attached to it, no uncertainty over what it all meant. It was as though all those talks and shared moments had opened him up, rubbing away the layers of protection he'd built around himself for so long, and just leaving him. I couldn't explain the physical changes – he was no taller than before, his features remained the same as they always had. He wore the same old clothes. And yet, he was…

'Happy.' Mark supplied the word I'd been scrambling for. 'He looks happy.'

I knew it was true, and smiled again, a blush spreading over my face. In an unsuccessful attempt to change the subject, I asked, 'Where is he, anyway?'

'He went out to get some cigarettes. That can be your next achievement.'

'No. He wouldn't stop for Mimi.'

I caught Mark's look of surprise that I'd spoken the name without any hesitation. 'He told you about her?'

'And April. And… everything. It's fine,' I assured him, a little shocked to find that it really was. 'Honestly.'

Mark looked as though he was about to say more. Perhaps he wanted to talk about the two women, to say the things he'd bottled up all the years he'd been putting Roger back together. April had been popular, Roger had said as much. It hadn't just been him who had been destroyed when these women had left.

The door slid open.

'Are you sure you want to go out there today? It's freezing.' Roger came to a halt as he saw the two of us on the sofa together, and his eyes shifted between us, that old wariness washing across his face. I could only imagine the number of times he'd have come back to the loft to find Mark discussing him with someone else, the concern constantly being mistaken for meddling and interfering. For Roger, I was momentarily just another one in a long line of traitors, and I hated myself for it.

In a split second decision, I found the words I hoped would restore the smile to his face. 'We were just talking about you.'

It was the right decision. He smiled slowly, giving a small snort of laughter, before heading towards the bathroom.

'And we're definitely going out,' I added to his departing back. Glancing back at Mark, I saw him give me an approving smile, before turning back to his camera.