A/N: Last chapter, finally. Hope you all enjoyed this. Read and review please.
The rain still hadn't faded from Roger's funeral, and Mark sat casually in the waiting room of the airport watching as the little droplets ran races down the window beside him. Mimi sat beside him, noticing something new about him. Around his neck was a small chain, attached to which was a small, black guitar pic that she recognized as Roger's. He was clad in a black turtleneck sweater, even though it wasn't all that cold for spring. Mimi sighed heavily. He hadn't spoken since they arrived, just stared meekly out the window at the falling rain.
"So what's there for you in California?" She asked quietly. "I mean, something must be pulling you back, right? Working on another film?" She playfully touched his arm.
"A girl." He said flatly, leaning his head on his hand, never taking his eyes off of the window. "And all my stuff is there too..." He joked lightly, smiling to himself.
"What kind of girl?" Mimi asked, intrigued. Mark shrugged.
"The right kind." He answered blankly, obviously reluctant to share any details with her. Mimi nodded, understanding. Mark's new life in California was just that. His. Something he wasn't about to share with anyone else. He was putting this all behind him, but not forgetting. He was letting go, and Mimi wasn't about to stop him.
"I'm sure Roger's thrilled." She replied. Mark turned finally, looking at her and smiling weakly.
"Yeah, she's the kind of person he would have gotten along with." His voice shook. Reaching over quietly, Mimi took his hand and played comfortingly with his fingers.
"It's okay to be upset, Mark. You don't have to put up these stony appearances for us anymore. No one is here that needs you to be strong for them." Mark pulled his hand away.
"No, Roger wouldn't have wanted me to be upset. If I had done anything...shown anything to anyone...he would have said I was making myself look like an ass. He would have told me to cut the dramatics out." He began chewing nervously on his fingernail, a habit that both he and Roger had shared.
"But he isn't here to tell you that, Mark." Mimi leaned in closer to him. "He's gone, and you know that. I know that. You just have to let that hit you whatever way it's going to hit you. Whether it's now, here in this airport, or 20 years from now when you have a wife and kids to worry about, it's going to catch up with you. You can only outrun it for so long. Guitar pics and pictures aren't going to let you relive your times with Roger. For Christ's sake, Mark, I can see it in you, just screaming to be recognized. You've been hiding from any sort of pain, or sadness, or hurt since I met you, why? Why do you do it to yourself?"
"Because it's easier." He answered, his voice still wavering. "It's easier to try and forget about it than it is to deal with things. It's why I film, it's why Roger used, it's why he played music. To escape. It feels so much better at the moment, it feels like the right thing to do."
"But you know it isn't." Mimi lended.
"I know it isn't." Mark perked up as the announcer called his flight number. "That's me." He stood, hoisting his backpack on and leaving the other bags at his feet. Mimi stood, embracing him tightly and lovingly, planting a small kiss on his cheek.
"Promise me you'll get through this. Promise me that you won't forget him." She said, her face buried in Mark's shoulder. Mark nodded.
"I won't forget him." His eyes locked with hers, and there was that lurching inside him. That shift that he hadn't recognized before, but now made perfect sense. A lump formed in his throat. His hands began to shake. A solitary silent tear slid down his cheek. "I can't forget him."
Mimi wiped away the tear with a steady hand. "Now go get on your plane."
Mark nodded, composing himself quickly, picking up his bags and trudging willfully back to a life he had created for himself and no one else. Except maybe to prove to his best friend that he was surviving.