A/N: Ok, so I lied

A/N: Ok, so I lied. This isn't the last chapter. One more after this, I swear! Maybe an epilogue, but I'm not sure yet. Thanks to Jonathan Larson, who created these wonderful characters. Thanks again to Kait for beta-ing this. I had real issues with commas going on. And thanks to all that have reviewed this story. 102 reviews as of this writing! That is just mind-boggling and I feel honored. So keep reviewing and thanks for sticking with this story so far!

"So here I sit, on a plane at LaGuardia airport," I pan the length of the airplane, "waiting to take off to Portland, Oregon. I have only a few minutes until the stewardess… uh, flight attendant, tells me to shut the camera off. I finished my film. Mimi's funeral, two days, ago seemed to be the perfect ending. I almost expected Roger to show up in the middle, in some dramatic fashion, but one thing I have long known about Roger is that he doesn't do what is expected.

Since I haven't turned my camera on since then, let me fill you in. Maureen and Joanne broke up for good. Maureen was devastated to hear that Joanne was moving to Washington. She begged and pleaded with Joanne to stay, but Joanne held her ground. I'm pretty proud of her. She knew that being with Maureen wasn't good for her anymore. I know once upon a time, if Maureen begged me like that, I would have caved.

Strangely, Maureen and I had a long talk the morning of the funeral. She told me that she loved only two people in her life, Joanne and me. She knew that she had trouble letting go, and that the only way she knew how was to wind up in the arms of someone else. Which she did that very night. Benny's arms actually. Completely a one-night thing. They haven't spoken to each other since, and Maureen is threatening to move out of the apartment. Joanne told me she knew she made the right decision.

Collins, on the other hand, has decided to stay in New York. He and Maureen are going to share a room (that is if she doesn't move out, which we all know she won't). I offered to share my room with him, but he was insistent that I may need it for another roommate later. I doubt it, but that's why I'm on this plane. Collins asked me to go pack up his things. He said his body couldn't take the unplanned meal schedule again. Driving back across country would really mess up his system. But I know the real reason. He wants me to deal with Roger.

"Excuse me, sir? You need to put that away for take-off."

"Oh sure, no problem." The flight attendant smiles at me. He's pretty cute. I smile back and rest my head against the seat and close my eyes. I fall asleep before the plane begins to taxi. I haven't slept in days. The night of the funeral, while Benny and Maureen were… uh… getting closer… Collins, Joanne and I packed up her apartment. It was an all night job. After we were done we went back to Brooklyn and found out about Maureen and Benny. I think the pairing generated more shock than the idea of Roger and me. Joanne quickly told her off and stormed out of the apartment. I didn't really get a chance to say good-bye.

That afternoon, while Maureen was pretending to pack, Collins announced he was staying. I couldn't have been happier. Things with Benny and I were just plain uncomfortable. He still thought that Roger was to blame for a lot of what happened to Mimi. When he found out that Roger didn't show up, he just went off about Roger's guilty conscience and inability to deal with reality. For my own sanity, I have stayed away from him as much as possible.

The plane landing jolts me awake, as my head hits the seat in front of me. I'm still gripping my camera. People start to exit the plane, but I hold back. I'm nervous. He doesn't know I'm coming. Collins talked to him yesterday and gave him the flight information. He made Roger promise to meet him at the gate. Collins said he asked how I was doing, but quickly changed the subject when Collins offered to hand me the phone. The last person leaves the plane and I grab my bag from the overhead compartment. Taking a deep breath I walk through the jet way.

I don't see him at first. I stand in front of the door and look around, standing on my toes to make myself taller. I feel the panic overcome me. Maybe he saw me and took off. Maybe he forgot to come. Maybe he decided to leave Portland. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

"Mark?"

I open them and there he is in, standing right in front of me. His bleached hair is dyed black. That is why I didn't notice him at first. Damn, he looks good. "Surprise!" I grin stupidly.

"Uh, what are you doing here? Where's Collins. Oh my God, is something wrong?" He face grows pale and with the dark hair, it seems translucent.

"No no no… nothing is wrong. He just decided to stay in New York."

"Oh, then why are you here?"

"To bring back his stuff," I smile at him, 'And to bring back you,' I think to myself.

I start walking away, impressed with myself for taking charge; "First we need to get my bag from baggage claim."

"Uh…" He steps quickly to catch up with me. "Mark, wait." I stop and turn to him. "It's good to see you." He leans in and embraces me. I lean my head against his shoulder and return his hug. It feels perfect; I don't want to let go. Neither does he. We stay there until some people yell at us for blocking their path.

We get my bags and I blabber to him, filling him in on every detail that he has missed out on. I tell him about the funeral, and how Mimi's mother sang "Your Eyes." He's surprised, but he smiles. He is also surprised when I tell him about Maureen and Benny. We walk to the car and he fills me in about his new life in Portland. The first week he was pretty sick, and it has taken him longer than usual to feel completely better. I hide my worry. He says he wrote three new songs since he's been here, and is pretty proud of himself.

"Were the songs inspired by anyone in particular?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

He drops his gaze to the floor and says, "Maybe."

The night before I left Brooklyn, Collins and I discussed what my approach to Roger should be. Collins suggested that I shouldn't give him any pressure, but I shouldn't hide my feelings either. "Just act normal, don't repress. But don't hang either. Let him know without a doubt that you still love and care for him, but don't expect him to act the same. He'll come around on his own free will." Collins' words make sense; I just hope I can actually pull it off.

We leave the airport in silence. I'm not to certain if it a comfortable silence or not. I follow behind Roger as he weaves his way through the parked cars in the garage. I watch his form and his body; he walks so graceful. He never bumps into a car he just flies pass. Me? I stumble into sideview mirrors, bumpers, almost get hit by moving vehicles. I don't know how he does it.

He finds the car. An old Chevy Station Wagon that Collins told me he bought for $500 when he moved here. This is the car I'm supposed to drive cross-country in; it doesn't look like it will make it out of the airport.

"Well, at least there's plenty of room, huh?"

"Mmm, I guess," He says as he pulls out. It occurs to me that I have never seen Roger drive. It seems almost odd to me.

"Does Collins have a lot of stuff?"

"I don't know, I guess." Hmm, this isn't going so well.
"Well, do you think you could give me a hand with packing things up?" I ask hopefully.

"Did Collins say what he was going to do with the apartment?"

"Uh… well, he said his lease was up at the end of the month. So…" So you will be homeless and you might as well comeback with me.

"Fuck!" He hits the steering wheel, "Now where the hell am I going to live?"

"Uh, you could… come back with me." It is a cross between a statement and a suggestion. So much for not putting pressure on him.

"Mark, we've been over this before."

"Whatever." I look out the window and take in my first glimpses of Portland.

"Don't whatever… you know how it has to be."

"Whatever."

"Stop fucking saying that!"

"What do you want me to say?" I snap back.

"Christ, you're not here for ten minutes and we are already fighting."

"Sorry," I snort.

"No you're not. What do you have to be sorry about? I'm the asshole."

Did he just admit that out loud? "Huh?"

"I know I'm the one who pushed you away. I'm the asshole. You don't think I haven't been beating myself up about it since you got on that bus?" He looks at me while he yells, not paying attention to the eighteen-wheeler we are quickly approaching.

"ROGER! WATCH OUT!"

He swerves the car and we miss it barely. I have to catch my breath.

"Fuck." He hits his hand against the stearing wheel.

"Maybe we should talk about this later?"

"Whatever." I roll my eyes at his response.

We thankfully arrive at their apartment in one piece. Roger lets me in and then hands me his keys.

"I'll, uh, be back later."

"What? You're not going to help?"

"No, I've got some things to do."

"Oh." I stand there feeling helpless as he stands in the open door, "When will you be back?" I don't want to whine, I don't want it to sound like I'm nagging. "Uh, just because, I don't know where I am really, and if I want to go get some food…"

"There's a store on the main road, one block up. Plus, the kitchen is pretty well stocked, you'll be ok."

"Oh."
"Look, I'll be back later, ok? We'll talk then."

"Yeah, sure," I scoff.

"How long are you staying?"

"Well, if I can get this packed up today, I'll leave first thing in the morning." I look around the room, noting that there really isn't a lot to pack.

"Oh. Well, ok, I'll see you later then."

Roger left me at 3:00. By 8:00, I had all of Collins important possessions boxed up and loaded in the car. It seems that all I have been doing lately is moving. His apartment is a small one bedroom, obviously Roger has taken residence on the sofa.

I collapse on Roger's "bed", exhausted. Of course the apartment was on the third floor, and I had multiple trips to the car. I close my eyes and a familiarity takes over. Something warm and comforting, something that I can't place. Then it occurs to me, Roger's scent. The odor that permeated our loft for years. It smells like home.

I hear a knock on the door. Roger. He gave me his keys. I step over his meager belongings that are piled near the couch. The same bags that he brought with him to Scarsdale, including the now empty duffel bag.

I open the door, and turn around without even a greeting "What, no hello?"

"Sorry, I'm exhausted." Sounds reasonable.

"Wow, this place is really cleared out. Looks good." He hits my shoulder a few times as he walks by. Or I should say, glides by. I take a look at his composure for the first time. His eyes are barely open, and he has a grin on his face a mile long.

"Holy shit, you're stoned."

"Huh, what?" He looks at me, trying to keep his smile down, but bursts into laughter. "Ok, you caught me."

"Fuck off." I say calmly, grabbing my coat and heading towards the door. I don't care that I have no idea where I am, or that I just want to crawl up and fall asleep. I don't want to be near him. I don't need to be near him.

"Mark, come on, calm down. It was just a little weed, no big deal."

"Whatever."

"Whatever." He mocks me, in a high-pitched voice. "Yeah, that's it, just leave. Fuck, why don't you just go home now?"

"Is that what you want? For me to leave?"

"Whatever, Mark." He throws his hands up in the air and walks towards the kitchen. I stand there, the door open, my hand still on the knob staring at him. He gets to the kitchen and slams his hand on the counter, "Fuck, Mark, no I don't want you to go!"

"What do you want then? I thought we were going to talk about this, but you had to go off and get wasted."

"I'm sorry I smoked, ok? I just didn't know how to deal with you."

"Deal with me? Am I something to be dealt with?"

"Yes, no, I don't know. This whole thing." He sporadically waves his hands between us. "I don't know how to deal with it."

"Well, going out and getting stoned is a great way to start." I yell, the sarcasm dripping from my lips. "Hmm, running away across the country is another great way."

"I get it, ok? You're pissed. Fine." He lies down on the sofa, "You know what? This sucks."

"Excuse me?

"Whenever I would have problems with Mimi or April, I would talk to you." His speech is slow, as if he's fully concentrating on forming each syllable. "Or even better, I would just go upstairs to the loft and you would be cutting together footage, and I would sit there and play my guitar and we'd work silently, but it would calm me down, just knowing you were there." I remain silent as I walk over to the couch. He doesn't even notice, his eyes are closed and he continues on, "But since I fell in love with you," he turns and looks at me, "And I do love you," he moves his head back, and closes his eyes again, "I have no one to just be still with."

I stand there, leaning against the couch, trying to process what he just said. "You still love me?"

He opens his eyes and looks at me. "I never stopped."

His stoned expression almost brings innocence to his face. I hear his words, "I do love you, I never stopped" and I feel breathless. Courage sweeps through me, "Come back with me then."

"What? No." He shakes his head and sits up. "I can't."

"Why not?"

He looks at me, I can't recognize if it sorrow, or pity, or just emptiness, "I don't know anymore. Too many reasons."

"Like?"

"Like, your father for instance."

"Fuck him. I don't care about him."

"Mark, for Christ sake he is your father! Of course you care about him!" He stands up as his voice rises. "I don't care what you say, I've known you for too long, I know how hard you have worked to prove to him that everything he thought about you was wrong. That you would be a success, that you would marry a nice Jewish girl, or more specifically, that you weren't a fag."

"I'm not a fag." I yell back, "And I don't care what he thinks!"

"Well, he thinks you're a fag! And that is MY fault!"

"Roger, you mean one thousand times more to me that my fucking homophobic, alcoholic bastard of a father."

"Fine, there's another reason. Look at me." He gestures his hands around his body. "I'm a drug addict. There is no way around it. I haven't stopped using, I don't know if I ever will. You don't need to put up with that shit."

I stare at him blankly. I feel the sting in my veins. "Roger, if you were with me, you'd stop."

"No, I wouldn't." I feel my body to begin to twitch and my stomach begin to churn. He walks over to me and grabs my arm, a little too hard, "Mark, all I will ever do for you is hurt you."

I pull my arm back and step away from him. Our eyes meet for a few seconds, as we remain silent.

I look at him and I know that I'm done, that I can't deal anymore. I speak to him calmly and rationally and without raising my voice. My decision is made. "Well, I'm not going to let you anymore." I grab my coat again, and Collins car keys, I don't look at the floor when I speak, knowing that if I looked at him, I would give in. "These past few weeks I have made promises to myself, excuses for you and suffered too many false hopes. I was stupid to think that you could stop being a selfish bastard. I knew it when you weren't on that plane with Collins. You fucking chickened out. You broke my heart. I told myself I wouldn't let you do that again, but Collins made me reconsider. He told me that we didn't have an eternity. He said we had to stop running from each other. But I haven't been running, you have. You have been running your whole life. From your family when you moved to New York, from your life when you started shooting up, from death when you left Mimi and me after Angel's funeral, and now you are running from the one thing that could make you happy."

I take a deep breath and try and fight the tears and emotion that is welling up inside, just a few more seconds. "No more. I walk out that door and I'm gone. I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to let you hurt me anymore"

I open the door and walk out. I hear him yell for me to wait but I don't, I just run down the stairs, the tears blinding me. I don't care, I get in the car, I lock the doors, and I see his silhouette running down the stairs. I start the engine and I drive away, not even looking in my rear view mirror to take in one last look at my best friend, and the love of my life.