A/N: This will be my last chapter for awhile. To make up for that, I've tried to make it as good as possible. The characters are not mine, but miracle of miracles, I do own the song. Reviews are appreciated, as always. --Larissa



Mark POV



Mimi gave me a small, nervous smile, not at all like how I remembered her. "Hi, Mark," she began. "Can I come in?"

"What do you mean? Of course you can!" I exclaimed, gesturing to the chair beside the bed. "Don't tell me you came all the way out here and you're not going to stay to talk to me!"

"Of course not." She crept timidly into the room, clutching her purse to her chest. "Roger said to tell you he's really sorry he couldn't make it. He said something about not feeling too well today. I think he's coming down with a cold."

I was torn between irritation that he couldn't come up with a better excuse, and concern that it was true. What if he really was sick? Not like there was anything I could do about it in the condition I was in. Maybe that was what was wrong with me. I'd spent so much time and energy worrying about Roger that I'd completely neglected myself.

Mimi was staring at me, waiting for me to say something. "Uh, I'm sorry to hear that," I blurted out. "I'm sure you're taking good care of him." Marvelously done, Mark, I thought sarcastically. Way to make an idiot out of yourself.

"Oh, well, you know Roger," she grinned. "He acts like a big, tough guy, but a tiny little cold turns him into a big baby."

I laughed in spite of myself. "Did I ever tell you about when he sprained his ankle ice-skating? I had to carry him piggyback all the way home because he was so sure he was crippled for life. Ten blocks from the rink to the subway, and another fifteen from the subway back home."

She giggled. "I'm surprised he didn't crush you."

"Hey, now," I protested. "I'm a lot stronger than I look."

"You are," she agreed, now completely serious. "Mark, I don't know how anyone could make it through what you have. You've had so many obstacles thrown at you, and you keep on going."

For a moment, I thought she was talking about my feelings for Roger. How on earth could she know? Had Roger told her about what happened between us that night? Oh, God, what was I supposed to say?

"Uh, well, I know you guys are happy together. And I'm happy for you too, honest."

Mimi looked at me, completely baffled. "Mark, what are you talking about?"

Oh, shit. SHIT. She had been talking about the accident, hadn't she? Of course she had, and now I'd gone and blurted out my feelings to Roger's girlfriend.

Well, fuck.

"I mean," I began, desperately trying to salvage this hopeless situation. "It must be rough on everyone, not having me around." God, that didn't sound self-centered, did it?

Mimi patted my hand. "We miss you a lot, Mark. Alphabet City isn't the same without you."

"I miss you guys too," I replied, breathing a silent sigh of relief. "So how's everyone doing?"

She launched into an account of the last few weeks, leaving me free to curl up against my pillows and catch my breath, feeling my heart rate slowly return to normal. Joanne was busy working on a big case at the moment. Maureen had gone by the office to surprise her--wearing nothing but black lace panties and a smile, Mimi assured me--but got the wrong office, and ended up giving the senior partner the surprise of his life. The doctors said he was going to be fine. It was only a minor heart attack, nothing to be too worried about. Collins was still at NYU, although Mimi had a feeling he might be plotting something similar to his stunt at MIT. He and Angel wanted to come visit me as soon as school let out for spring break.

"And Roger," she continued, "Well, you know Roger. Always disappearing off to somewhere. But he misses you a lot, Mark, even if he can't always say it."

"I miss him too," I replied. "And everyone else too," I added quickly. "Give them my best, will you?"

"Of course I will." She handed me a small wrapped package. "Here, everyone asked me to give this to you."

"Wow, thanks, Mimi!" I exclaimed, tearing open the wrapping paper. "I can't believe you guys went to all the trouble to get a…" I plucked the tiny scrap of cloth out of its wrappings, and held it up at eye level. "What the hell is this?"

Mimi gave a snort of laughter. "Oh, God, Mark, I'm sorry! That's the last time Maureen gets to pick out the present!"

"What the fuck?" I turned it over in my hands. "Mimi, honestly, what did she get me?"

Still choking back laughter, she took the cloth from me and spread it out flat on the bed. "I think it's a thong."

"With 'Fragile: Handle With Care' printed on the front," I commented. "What the fuck was she thinking?"

Mimi shook her head, convulsing with silent giggles. "Does anyone know what Maureen's thinking?"

"Good point." I picked it up, and on an impulse, shot it slingshot- style at Mimi. Then the hilarity of the scenario hit me, and I found myself doubled over, gasping for breath whenever the laughter let up for a moment. "Handle with care?" I wheezed. "Honestly, I can't believe I put up with her as long as I did!"

"Well, it did make you laugh," Mimi pointed out, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her coat. "Maybe Maureen didn't screw up at all."

"Be sure to thank her for me," I instructed her. "And thank you, Mimi, for bringing it, and for visiting me."

She leaned over and pecked me on the cheek. "I'm glad I came."

"Can you stay for dinner?" I pressed. "My parents wouldn't mind at all."

Mimi shook her head. "I should be getting back. I promised Roger I'd be back by six tonight."

A tiny pang of jealousy shot through me. What I wouldn't give to be the one who came home to Roger, and who made him dinner, and curled up on the sofa afterwards watching TV.

"All right," I agreed quickly. "Tell him he'd better get his ass up here the moment he's feeling better."

"I will," she promised. "Take care of yourself, Mark."

"You too." I watched as she picked up her purse from the nightstand, and kissed my cheek a second time. Then she was out the door and gone.



Despite Mimi's assurances of how much Roger missed me, I heard nothing from him over the next few weeks. No visits, no phone calls, not even a postcard, for Christ's sake. Strangely enough, I didn't mind as much as I thought I would. The new surroundings were doing me a world of good. I had my physical therapy, and visits from my sister Cindy and her family--they came over every Friday night for dinner.

Whenever I had a free moment, I studied. I had finally worked up the nerve to talk to my father about the possibility of medical school. He promised to ask around, and came back that evening with the news that I had already taken the required science classes back at Brown. "You know, Mark," he told me. "Score well on the MCAT and you've got a good shot at this."

I told him I couldn't promise anything, but I'd look into it. He agreed, and brought home some study guides for me the next night. At first I just flipped through them, but the more I studied, the more I got into it. Maybe I could do this after all. Maybe this was what I was searching for all along.

Maureen went crazy when I told her what I was thinking of doing. "Mark, are you insane?" she demanded. Her voice sounded shriller over the phone. "You have to come back here! You can't just leave like that!"

"Maybe I could go to school at NYU or Fordham," I suggested meekly, hoping it would be enough to calm her down. In reality, if I did this, there would be no way in hell I'd go back to New York for it. How could I get a fresh start if the past was always breathing down my neck?

"What about your films?" she persisted. "You've spent years working on your movie!"

"We'll see," I finally told her. She let out a sigh of annoyance, but mercifully changed the subject.



I was poring over the general biology questions when my mother knocked on my door. "Mark, you've got mail," she announced, entering the room and handing me a squishy foam package. "That's odd. There's no return address here."

"Oh, Maureen probably forgot to put it on," I told her. "She's always doing stuff like that." I waited until she left the room, and tore it open. A single cassette tape fell out onto my lap. I turned it over in my hands, searching for clues, but there was nothing. No labels, no note, nothing.

My crutches were propped against the bed. I secured the tape between my teeth, swung myself out of bed, and limped over to my stereo, where I popped the tape in and pressed Play. There was a few seconds of silence, followed by Roger's voice, singing a song I'd never heard before.



Do you remember that time so long ago?

Do you remember our love?

I know I saw something special about you

The one I was dreaming of



It's been so long now since I've seen you last

I know things won't be the same

But in the darkness when I close my eyes

I still hear you calling my name



Why is it I'm the one to screw up

And yet you're the one to pay?

How can we work this out

When I run the other way?



How do I say I'm scared

Of all the things I've seen?

How do I say I'm sorry

For what might have been?



I made so many mistakes long ago

I didn't care like I should

Then when you left me I hated myself

I thought I'd lost you for good



Finding you now would be a miracle

Like a storybook romance

And I just hope you can forgive my wrongs

And give me another chance



Why is it I'm the one to screw up

And yet you're the one to pay?

How can we work this out

When I run the other way?



How do I say I'm scared

Of all the things I've seen?

How do I say I'm sorry

For what might have been?



How do I say I'm sorry

For all that might have been?



The song ended. I put a hand up to my face, and realized I'd been crying. On the tape, Roger's voice was still speaking.

"Mark, I love you and I'm sorry," I heard him say. "Please come home."