I apologize that this is a bit shorter than normal. I just felt that it stood on it's own fine. Keep those reviews coming, folks. You should know by now that they make my day.

Peace

-elodie

Wisp

Chapter 11

It was the middle of June and Roger had a cold. He didn't want to tell Mark or Winnie because they'd just worry and he didn't want to tell Maureen or Joanne because they'd force him to see a doctor.

The air was just starting to get hot, just enough to make the sweat trickle slightly down his back, but he still shivered and coughed. It had started out as a small sniffle, a few sneezes. At first he thought it was allergies, since Mark always got like this in the spring because of all the pollen. But then it escalated. He felt like he had the flu, but he'd already had it in April.

He sneezed and coughed and used entire boxes of tissues in one day, and oh did he ache. Every muscle in his body screamed with every twitch he made. His head felt like a boulder and his hands felt foreign to him. But it was just a cold, he kept telling himself.

Roger hated dragging himself out of bed, but he was getting really hungry. He hated eating when he was sick. When he ate certain foods while he was sick, every time he went to eat them again while well he was reminded of how horrible he felt and he threw up whatever he'd eaten.

Mark was sitting at the table sipping a cup of coffee. His skinny, pale arms stuck out like sticks from his gray dingy t-shirt sleeves. He shot Roger a sympathetic smile and got up to pour him a cup of coffee.

"Thanks," Roger mumbled, his voice so hoarse he could barely recognize it as his own.

"Rog, are you OK?"

Roger nodded, taking a sip of the hot, black coffee. "Yeah. Just kind of mucus-y."

Mark grimaced. "Thank you for that lovely picture."

"So, where's Winnie?"

"She got up early and took my camera. She went to photograph people in the park."

"Ah." Roger nodded absently, wrapping the blanket around his thin shoulders. He still felt cold.

Mark noticed him shiver a bit and hug that blanket to him tightly. "Roger, are you sure you're alright? It's nearly eighty degrees out today and you're cold."

Roger shrugged. "I'm just a bit chilled. Winnie always shivers and you don't worry about it."

"I do worry but by now I know that it's just a nervous reaction of hers. You, on the other hand, shiver when you're cold and or sick. And seeing as that it's very near summer and quite hot out, I'd say you're sick."

"It's just a cold," Roger insisted. "Really. Don't worry about me."

"You know I will anyway. I don't want to make you go back to the hospital. I know you hate it there and I hate going there to visit you. I just want you to take care of yourself."

"I have been."

Mark downed his coffee and shrugged. "If you're sure."

"I am."

Mark lifted an eyebrow as Roger began to hack and cough. "Roger?"

Roger cleared his throat and gently touched it, wincing. "Yeah?" He croaked.

"Want me to go get you some medicine?"

Roger nodded gratefully. "Yeah, that'd be great. And cough drops. Ricola. The lemon kind."

Mark snorted. "OK, your highness. Anything else?"

"A cinnamon scented candle."

"Really?"

Roger shrugged. "Well, it makes Winnie feel better…"

"I can see your reason behind that. OK, I'll get you a candle. I'll be back in a bit. Bye Rog."

The door slammed and Roger winced. Everything was really starting to make his head ache. He hoped Mark would pick up some more aspirin for him. Last time he'd checked, they were all out.

Everything was quiet except for the distant blaring of horns and a few birds chirping. Keeping the blanket firmly wrapped around his shoulders, he crept out onto the balcony. As the sun hit his face and warmed the stubble-covered cheeks, his whole body felt warm and energized.

He wished it was always like this, warm and inviting. He used to love early summer when he was a kid. His dad took him camping and he'd play baseball and go swimming. It was warm, but not too hot. The nights were pretty, the expansive sky stretching out above him like a protective blanket, the little twinkling stars like sequins.

He hadn't seen the stars in so long. The bright city lights blocked them all. He'd like to see them, once more, before he died.

Roger shivered again, but this time not from cold. He was just afraid. Yes, he was afraid of death. He didn't want to die. He liked living. His friends were here, he had a home, a second family. His Mimi awaited him, his April, his Angel, but he'd leave behind his Mark, his Collins, his Maureen, his Joanne, his Winnie. They'd gotten him through this far and then he'd just abandon them.

He didn't know how Winnie would take it. Most everyone in her life had abandoned her, save for her mother and Mark, and her mother practically did. She's not allowed to call or speak of Winnie ever. Roger felt bad for Winnie. He genuinely liked her and was glad that she and Mark had each other. Mark was such a sad sack before, but now he had direction and purpose in his life.

Roger couldn't help but smile. Mark had been such a nerd when he first got to the city. He wore a retainer, had coke bottle glasses and stuttered. When Roger had first tried to talk to him, Mark had gotten so scared and thought that Roger was trying to beat him up. He was this young eighteen-year-old kid from a relatively small town, and had no street smarts whatsoever. Roger had felt sorry for him and took him under his wing.

They had such a weird relationship. Roger taught Mark how to be "cool", Mark taught Roger not to hide behind his problems. Mark had let Roger beat the shit out of him when he was going through withdrawal, Roger put up with Mark constantly shoving a camera in his face.

God, he was going to miss him. That goofy grin, those glasses, even those god awful sweaters he always wears. Those blue eyes that always worried over him, the blond hair that he let Roger tousle.

He'd miss the scar along Mark's cheek that he'd given him when he chucked something, he wasn't even sure what, at him so long ago. He'd miss his white chucks, his camera, his constant narration of everything.

He'd miss his best friend.

A few tears dripped down Roger's face. He rubbed them away in disgust. He was getting so sentimental. He didn't want to be sentimental. He should be angry. He was dying, after all. Isn't that what people are like when they're dying?

Mimi wasn't. She was kind, loving, even jovial till the end. She'd crack jokes at the most inappropriate times. And Roger would accidentally laugh at them.

Death was something to be faced with dignity. She'd lived her life and God had decided to take her back. Even after all the pain she'd suffered, she still believed. Roger respected that. He'd never believed. Even before he got sick. But he liked her God. It was an understanding God. The kind that would still love her even after her sins. Mimi wasn't perfect, but her God still respected her and allowed her into his kingdom.

Mimi would sometimes muse aloud to Roger about heaven. What she thought it was like, how much she hoped she'd be able to spend eternity there. Roger could picture her as an angel, dressed in a long white gown with expansive white wings. She'd sing whenever she liked and smile and never be in pain. She'd be in constant happiness.

Maybe death wouldn't be horrible. There'd be no pain; he'd be with his Mimi. Roger glanced down at the ground far down below the fire escape. No, he'd face death with dignity, at home, like Mimi did, surrounded by friends.

Who knows? Maybe it will come sooner than expected. He refused to listen to the doctors. They said he had a year. He didn't care what they said. He could die sooner, he could die later.

But whenever he died, Roger Davis wouldn't give in easy, but when he did give in, his head will be held high and he'd be smiling because he'd finally be able to see his Mimi.