Untitled Wow. It's the end of my story. This is... weird. It's done. I was tempted to write up another chapter or two before this, just to keep it going and fill in between September and December, but then it wouldn't be a short, fun M/R romp anymore. :) Maybe I'll go back someday and add another chapter. Anyway, here it is. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I liked writing it... I've finally decided that I'm damn proud of this story. I really want to thank everyone that reviewed. You guys are just completely awesome. So Kait, Astrid, linnell, Jane, lau, lestater, Athena, Alissa, Tiara Louise Rea, Owl, Penumbri, Jolie, and Liss... Y'all get many hugs and Matt-Caplans-on-keychains. :) Thank you so much. And linnell? I hope you called Chris. Sometimes getting in touch with old friends can be the best thing in the world to do. The lyrics were SO a sign. ;) And Kait... Just wait till you see some of the Not Happy ideas I'm toying with writing. ;) Mwahaha.

Anyway, once again, these characters don't belong to me. They're Jonathan Larson's, and I do this only because of my love for then. This one goes out to all the readers, and to the Angel and Benny casts for bringing RENT alive for me. Enjoy. ~KJS

More Than Summer

********************
December 2nd
********************

Well, I'm on a champagne high
Where will I be when I stop wondering why
On a champagne high
I'd toast to the future but that'd be a lie
On a champagne high, high

Spring turned to summer
But then winter turned to mean
The distance seemed right
At the time it was best - to leave
And to leave behind
What I once thought was fine
And so real - to me
~Sister Hazel, "Champagne High"

I'm up here on my own again
I'm always on my own
They don't know anything at all
They just see what they want
Can't they see I'm not really here
I'm back there with you

Flying away
Wish I could say
You will be there tomorrow
And always
Just have to go
Wish I could know
You will always remember me
Now and always

Turning my face away again
I'm always turned away
Wanting someone to talk it out
Without you always
~Anthony Rapp, "Always"




"Two hundred thirty-one, two hundred thirty-two...," I counted under my breath, my fingers massaging my temples as I stared up at the ceiling. Even in the dim light, I could still make out what I was looking for. "Two hundred thirty-three..." I was counting cracks in the ceiling. That was how low I had sunk.

I suppose I couldn't really be blamed. The need to stay awake overrode any thoughts about what kind of sane person would be counting cracks on the ceiling, or drawing circles over and over, or lining up stolen sugar packets and rearranging them, just to have something to focus on. When I slept, that's when the dreams would come. Daybreak would take memories of them away from me, but there faint impressions would remain. Fear. Accusations. Darkness. A coldness that reached so deep in me that I was drowning under it... No, sleep was something worth avoiding. Which meant lots of fun, quality time to spend with the ceiling.

"Two hundred thirty-four..."

I could feel my eyelids growing heavier, sleepiness creeping upon me and getting me drunk with its taste. Damn. Not now. I tried to sit up, to get my muscles moving. I could go watch a movie or go running or do *anything* else. Even with my efforts, my body didn't seem to want to respond. Struggling just to sit up, the idea of walking seemed like too much. But what could I do? I couldn't sleep. I wouldn't.

I wavered. "Two hundred thirty...." Five? Six? Goddamn it, my brain was fried. With a sigh, I let myself flop back onto my mattress, the comforting flannel pillowcase practically dragging me into sleep.

My eyelids fell, and there was darkness. I could feel my breath, the expansion of my lungs, and I could hear my heartbeat in the lonely loft. There was nothing alive but me in this one moment. There was nothing else in the entire world. Nothing to fill that echoing silence, the complete feeling of separation that comes with realizing that you aren't even close to being a member of the human race anymore.

Just when despair seemed ready to flood the rest of me with its poison, the exhaustion took over and the dreams took me away.

They started with the usual. The vague darkness, with haunting winds blowing around me, screeching in a language I didn't know. I could hear the accusations in them, yet couldn't understand them and was helpless to defend myself. I stood naked, alone, and in the swarming darkness. This was what I feared about the night.

"Let... let me go," I whispered, trembling as the cold rammed through my bones. "There's no place like home, there's no place like home..." I was babbling, words only my dream-self understood. I was going to die here, among this nothingness. "Just... let me out. Out, out..." My mumurings twisted together, a strange sense of familiarity over the dream. Too many nights, too many nights, and even while in it I could recognize that I had done this before.

That was when it all shifted, a slight dizziness coming over me. Something was different, something I hadn't experienced, and I could feel the planes around me, dying and warping to something else.

"Mark." With that word, it all changed. The dream I had been having for a month vanished with the breathy, musical voice that I'd never expected to hear again. A part of me cried, a part of me longed for it, a part of me felt a surge of resentment. But the largest part of me sang with a happiness and shock that ran me over like a Toyota barreling down the highway.

The darkness disappeared, and in my dreamworld I now stood upon the grass, sunlight streaming down and warming my skin, glinting off my glasses and nearly blinding me. The sharp winds died down to a comfortable breeze, tickling me and welcoming me. If my subconscious mind were like my conscious one, I would have been shocked, but in my dream, there was an almost sense of rightness about it. This was the moment I wanted, I waited for. Tears sprung to my eyes, and like there hadn't been a day between us, I ran across the shallow grass and the silent stones to embrace my friend.

"Angel." The word came easily to my lips, bringing about an overflow of happiness that seemed alien coming from me. Happiness? I didn't think I would have that again. Yet here it was.

I felt the familiar, gentle arms around me, holding me tight, and as I pulled back, those dark eyes were filled with the same passion that we saw in them every day. "Mark, honey, what brought you this far?" Angel's voice held a hushed concern, one that made my soul ache to cry out its sins.

My gaze dropped to the ground, upon the tombstone with its worn inscription, proclaiming Angel's resting spot. "Everything," I murmured, my voice unwilling to compromise with my soul. "Nothing. I don't know."

"You know what's wrong," he chided me, his finger gently touching the underside of my chin, lifting it and forcing me to face those expressive eyes. "You just don't want to say it. But you can, you always can here."

I didn't want to say it. After all the struggle, after all the nights, to admit to it would be a defeat. Yet... I was here. Angel told me I could say it, so what would be so wrong about it? If there was nowhere, not even inside myself, that I could admit to it during the day, couldn't I take this one moment to scream it from the hills?

A moment's pause. Then another. I gave in. "I miss him," I croaked. God, those words hurt. The admission was more painful than I thought. Every thread was attached to that statement, everything I wanted to deny.

He traced his hand along my jaw, wrapping me once more in a comforting hug. "The world didn't end, Mark. It's okay to miss him. Frankly, you've been an utter fool about him." Cupping my face in his hands, my eyes couldn't leave his. There was a worry in them, a message hidden in their depths that I couldn't understand. "A complete fool. It's okay to love. It really is."

"But..." A thousand arguments wanted to burst forth.

"There is no 'but'. There's only now, only this." A new voice whispered into my ear, barely above a sweet purr. I whirled around, shock overwhelming me.

She was just as beautiful as ever. Her dark eyes, her sweet and seductive smile, the playful hints among her expression... Every moment of loss, of happiness, of hope, of jealousy I had felt about this woman swarmed over me again. I was gasping, nearly drowning, yet she stood there like an otherwordly queen. "It's okay, Mark," she murmured to me, her words practically cradling me with their gentleness.

It's okay. Not just the moment, or the fact that I miss Roger. It was okay, we were okay... My voice outran my brain again, and I was searching for comfirmation. I could hear the quaver in my voice. "You don't hate me because I... well... y'know."

Her laugh rang loud and clear, through the empty hills and seeming strange in a place like this. God, Mimi. Her laugh was something I truly missed. "I don't mind. Forget regret. I had my time, Mark." Her fingers reached out, lightly brushing against my arm, as if testing for my reaction. Her lips quirked, and those eyes met mine, showing nothing but serenity. "It's yours, now. And his. You need to stop second-guessing, and he needs to stop feeling guilty. Maybe then you two could actually try happiness for a change."

I couldn't help a sardonic grin. "It'd be nice."

That laugh again. Her hand closed fully around my wrist, gently tugging me forward. "Mark," she said, her voice lowered to more serious tones. "There's so much inside you that's hurting itself. You don't need it."

I paused, letting myself be led and not quite sure what was happening. "I don't understand."

In that moment, I didn't need to. As we took a few steps forward across the dew-touched grass, she drew away from me, her gaze falling to a fresh engraving upon a fresh stone. My breath left me, and sinking to my knees, I could barely feel her hands upon my shoulders.

"Roger..." Tears sprang to my eyes, unbidden, and I felt a slight shame in my gut. Here was I was, crying for a lover with his former lover behind me. But the words were too much for me.

'Roger Davis - May a song guide him forever'.

Roger. For a moment, my heart stopped, my breath caught in my throat, and I wanted to lay down and die, right there on his grave. The tears tugged at me, seeking release, and in that instant I realized that I was a fool. A fucking utter fool. I wasn't going to put off time by rotting in my apartment. It was pointless, I was pointless. Yet, this stone, this moment... This was what I was afraid of for so long?

A shuddering breath escaped, and I felt a gentle arm around my shoulders as Angel stood at my left, and then Mimi reach over and take my hand from where she remained, on the other side of me.

"He's not down there, baby," she murmured to me, her own voice hushed. We stared down for a moment, in our own silent reflections, before my gaze finally pried itself loose and slid over to watch her. She was looking at me, expectant of something.

"It's not too late," I said, a half-statement, a half-question.

"Not at all," Angel answered, his voice giving me the hope I'd longed for and nearly given up on.

I nodded absently, feeling strangely light-headed. It could be okay. It wasn't too late, and this... My throat seemed raw from the choked back tears, but as I gazed down at the silent grave, I knew that even if it were destined, my answer hurt too much to live through. I would have my tears when the time came, but until then, I wanted to laugh again. Even once.

Mimi's smile grew larger, I could feel it as she watched me. "Now," she said, her voice filled with mirth. "You two don't forget to have a little fun." With a suggestive wink, she turned away, and before I could blink, she and Angel were gone. I was alone. Again.

Closing my eyes, I drew in all the strength I could, letting the winds wrap around me like a blanket. No matter what the future's holding, I had to try. I had to.

With a jolt, I shot up in my bed. I could feel the sweat trickling down my forehead, blurring my vision as it dripped into my eyes. Adjusting my glasses and praying they hadn't been bent in my sleep, I struggled off my bed and grabbed a shirt that was piled on the floor next to the bed. I barely spared a glance at the clock, noting that it was eight in the morning as I practically yanked on my pants and shoes and dashed out of the apartment. I didn't have a clear idea what I was doing, I just knew that I couldn't sit there, couldn't rest until I had found him.

I don't think I was consciously aware of anything for the first ten minutes. All I knew was that I was walking, I was running, and next thing I knew I was sitting on a bus, my leg bouncing up and down and my fingers tapping against my knee as I prayed for it to hurry up, to go faster and get me there. I didn't care that the rain had soaked me, that my clothes were plastered to my body and the water was dripping down my face. Vision wasn't important. Something deeper than that was working, some primal instinct inside me that had been bred and strengthened through the generations of bisexual filmmakers that wanted to find their lovers...

Okay, maybe that was going a little too far. But something inside of me was pressing me on, and that was good enough for me. As soon as the bus stopped, I knew it was where I needed to get off. Pushing to the front, I leapt onto the street, the rain beating down on me and muffling the sound of the bus as it drove off. I started walking as fast as I could, pratically jogging down the block.

The cemetery. How fitting. As I gazed out into the small, patchy spot at the edge of the city, I felt a new tightness in my chest: worry. What if he's going to reject me? What if they're wrong? What if... Aw, dammit. The 'what if's got me in trouble in the first place. I was tired of hiding behind hte future, behind the 'maybe'. Exhaling heavily, I summoned my nerve and set off down the path, determined to get him back. Determined to find him.

It didn't take long. Few people wanted to venture out into the darkness of the storm. That right was reserved for us stupid people, I suppose.

He stood over the grave, staring down at it as the rain drenched him. He didn't even seem to notice it. A tiny little smile came to my lips, unbidden, as I noticed that an umbrella dangled from his arm, unopened. That's Roger for you.

I didn't say a word as I approached, and it seemed that I didn't need to. I stood a few feet off, silently watching, and before I could speak up, his sharp eyes glanced up and met mine, lacking any sort of surprise. Lacking any emotion at all. Wordlessly, he opened the umbrella, and offered his arm out to me. It was absurd, so completely absurd. With an equally silent nod, I slipped my arm in his, and under the shelter of the umbrella, we walked back up the hill towards his car. Both of us looked like drowned rats.

Every now and then, I'd look over at him. It was a sight I drank in, and it revived me more than I can describe. His solid jaw, the drops of water making trails down it, his strong profile, his drenched hair... My heart fluttered, and I suddenly felt more alive than I had since that wrenching day in July.

He never looked at me, staring straight ahead the entire time. As we approached his car, he opened the door on the passenger side, looking at me expectantly. As our eyes met, my heart once more flip-flopped. I got in, and he went around to the other side, getting in and tossing the umbrella in the back.

We sat in an awkward quietness, the sound of the rain hitting the roof not enough to ease the tension that stretched between us.

What do I say to the lover I pushed away? To the best friend I ever had, who suddenly felt simultaneously like a stranger and a way home? My fingers twisted together nervously, and I just fidgeted. I knew I would have to initiated it, I just didn't know what to say.

'You just don't want to say it. But you can, you always can here,' he had said. Maybe... maybe that was where I should start.

I turned to look at him, feeling another stab of pain in my heart. It was time. "I missed you," I whispered, suddenly unsure. How stupid could I possibly sound?

He still didn't look at me, instead staring out into the clouds and the rain. "Yeah," he said. Not helpful at all.

"I mean," I stumbled over the words, not quite sure if what was coming out of my mouth was going to make any sense to him or to me, "I can't sleep, Rog. I can't do anything anymore. It hurts, and I didn't want to admit that it does, but it does. You were everything to me. The guy I loved, my friend... And I was stupid, Rog. I know I was. But I can't keep going alone. I... I can't do that again." For what seemed like the hundreth time, tears pricked my eyes. God, I'm a wimp. But I was tired of being alone, so many years of it had worn me down, worn me away completely.

He didn't answer me for a moment, and for that long pause I was terrified that he'd never forgive me. I didn't want to lose the most important person in my life. Especially not because of one of those patented Mark errors.

"I don't get it, Mark." His voice was soft, not quite cold, yet I couldn't identify the emotions running through it. Anger? Sorrow? Confusion? "Why'd you go? What was it that I couldn't do for you?"

"It wasn't you. It wasn't!" I tried to keep down the hysterical note that was seeking to escape. "I just couldn't.... I couldn't take it. This. Us. Everything. I was... afraid." The admission slipped out before I could help it, but a part of me felt a little relief at finally saying it. I was scared. Plain and simple. Can't be any more than human, in the end.

His eyes met mine, and deep inside them I could see what I was longing for. A spark burned, it blazed into me. My Roger. Mine. "With all the shithead stunts and bull-headed stuff you had to put up with getting me to accept there was an 'us' in the first place, you should have known I wasn't lying. I want to be there, I still care about you. I can't stop." And in Roger-talk, 'I still care about you', meant 'I love you, dork, and I will till the end of time.'. A simple 'I care' from Roger was more than all the poetry in the world.

"*Always* be there?" The words rushed out from me before I could stop them, and at this point, I didn't care. Let it all come out, let it all die in the air. I didn't want the words inside me anymore. A faint touch of bitterness wound itself into my words as I felt his hand grasp mine, his thumb rubbing soothingly against my palm. "You can't promise me always."

"I can." His eyes seized mine, and I felt his grip tighten on my hand. "We're forever. I may die," I winced at the words, and he didn't try to hide the harshness in his voice, "but we're forever. Don't you dare forget that, Mark, or I'll have to tie you up and kick your ass."

"Oh really?" A little smile fluttered at my lips. Barely. "Is that supposed to be a threat?" Something about his words had lifted my soul. The tears still clung to my cheeks, mingling with the rain dripping from my hair, but something inside of me felt comforted. Forever. I liked that.

His own hard expression relaxed, and even though there was still sadness in his eyes, he gave me a faint smile. "Didn't think you were into that." But the smiles slipped away into seriousness. "I mean it, Mark. You're important to me. Even if we aren't going to grow old together, I want to be with *you* for all the time I have left. Every second. Can you deal with that?"

"Yeah," I nodded, looking down at our clasped hands. "I think I can."

His hand leaving mine, he turned the key in the ignition, the car coming to life. As he pulled out of the small cemetery parking lot, I leaned my head against the window, letting a hand rest on Roger's thigh to reassure myself that he was there.

I was tired of running. I was tired of being alone. And after today, somewhere inside my mind *knew* that even thirty, forty years from now, long after he'd left my side, I still wouldn't be alone. There was no alone now. There was me, there was him. Even if it would someday only be in memories, it was forever. He couldn't leave me. I'd rarely seen Roger express that kind of emotion, and to see it now... Our love went without a lot of words, but now I knew that everything I felt for him, every time my heart felt like it had been shredded during our time apart, he had felt the same way.

Once upon a time, Roger would run off when things got tough. Now, I had taken my turn, and could only wonder why he had done it so often. There was nothing out there to run to.

I could hear him humming under his breath. Probably composing something. That was my Rog. I knew there were still things to be said, to be discussed, even with our lack of words, yet now wasn't the time. Anything and everything could be worked out later, after we'd gone back home. To our home.

After all, we had forever ahead of us.

~Fin~