It's been a while.  A long while.  Writer's block has been and is still plaguing this story.  But I'm posting.  For those who may still be following this story, hope you like as I try to not completely enter angst/melodrama world :).

Chapter 5

Connecting two ends

He stood outside the door, not wanting to go in.  He had no idea what to say. 

Why, his mind whispered and he sighed. Why was he here instead of Roger?  Mark had spent twelve straight hours trying to get Roger to respond.  Instead, he sat on the floor, next to the bathroom, looking down at his hands. 

Mark told him over and over again that April was alive. 

No response.

He didn't know what to do.

Collins showed up, Maureen at his heels.  Maureen freaked out when she actually saw the bathroom.  He believed that "holy shit" were her exact words.

Like that would help Roger any.  Maureen could sure ruin a moment sometimes.   Collins tried what he could to get through to Roger – hell, if anyone understood anything going through Roger's mind at all, it would be him – but nothing.  Instead, the phone rang.  The three off them stared at it, before Maureen finally inched forward and answered it.

It was the hospital.  April was awake.  Maureen tentatively handed the phone over to Mark, and he listened. 

She had looked for Roger when she woke up.  He knew it.  But the response he got instead surprised him. 

"She's asking to speak to Mark Cohen."

What?  Why on earth would April want to talk to him?

"Won't talk to anyone else."

What about Roger?  What about anyone else?  He didn't even know April that well.  Sure, she lived in the loft, but she rarely talked to anyone but Roger.  He couldn't dislike her; he didn't know her.  He only knew a few scattered pieces of her life and her personality – she never offered more, he never asked.  April was just another person he observed, filmed her along with everyone else, but never knew her like everyone else.

He wished he had. 

He hung up the phone, relayed this new information to Collins and Maureen.  At the mention of April's name, Roger looked up.

"Want to come, Roger?"

Looked down again.

Sigh.

Which brought him to his current position.  Standing poised in front of April's hospital room, no knowing what to say or why he was there.  He could have stayed with Roger.  Truth was, he was worrying about him even at that moment, even with Collins and Maureen in the loft. 

He knocked on the doorframe before even looking in the room.

The rustle of blankets and he was staring at her.  She was pale, wrist bandaged, IV wires and such around.  Her eyes, ones he usually observed full of life, were empty.  Lost.

"Hi," was the only thing he could get out. 

"You came," was April's response.  He watched her gaze go to the door, as if she was expecting someone else to be there.  Silence.

"I tried to get him to come," Mark offered, standing in the middle of the room, uncomfortable, fidgeting with his fingers, wishing at least that he had his camera because then at least his hands would be occupied. 

"I don't want him here."  Her voice was soft, filled with exhaustion.  

Mark looked up.  "Why?"

He watched as she glanced down at his hands.  He immediately let his hands down at his sides, trying hard to be still. 

"Tell him not to come."  Another pause.  "I asked for you because I need you to tell him.  Tell him not to come, forget about me.  We're on the edge already.  He doesn't need to be here.  I've done enough."  Her voice died out and she closed her eyes, and for a minute he thought she'd fallen asleep.

"He'll listen to you.  He won't listen if I say it."

Mark was confused.  "April, why?"  No answer.  He tried something different. "He won't listen.  To me, to anyone."

April shook her head.  "That's where you're wrong, Mark.  He does listen to you."  A sigh.  "Besides, I fucked up.  I have to put this right."

Once again, he didn't know what to say.  April looked very much like she needed a hug, a hand on her shoulder, support of any kind.  And here he was standing less than five feet from her, and yet it felt like miles.  Roger needed to be there; he was good at this.  Mark knew nothing – had no place to start.

"I can't." 

Another look.  "Please, Mark."

"I can try and get him to come here.  April this is between you and him – I can't, I mean, I don't –" He broke off and stared down at the floor.  Awkward didn't even begin to describe his current feelings.

"I'm sorry."  Mark looked at April, only to see her turned toward the window.  A few seconds passed until she turned back to him. 

"Give him this at least." She pushed a folded sheet of paper in his direction and shook her head.  "We don't really know each other, do we?" It was an abrupt change of subject and it caught him off-guard.

"No, not really," he admitted.  She fingered the edge of the white hospital sheets.

"I wish I could go back and change some things.  Talk to some people; say different words."

"I think we all do."  He took the letter, hoping at least its presence would get some kind of significant response from Roger.  He found it strange that she had simply folded it, almost inviting him to read its contents, yet, at the same time, trusting him not to.  He simply pocketed it, leaving it for Roger.  April had turned to the window again.  He took the hint and started to back out the door.

"Mark, where are you from?"

It startled him, for he was already halfway out the door when she spook.  He looked back at her and stared for a second before simply saying, "Scarsdale."

A small smile crept on her face.  "I thought so.  I'm from New Jersey.  Montclair."

He was confused and it must have shown.  "Now we know a little more about each other.  At least I can say that."  Pause.  "Please make sure he gets tested."  She sounded unsure, sad, forlorn.  She sounded older than Mark had ever heard her sound before.  Would they all sound that way when this whole 'thing' was over?

"I will."  He felt if he walked out the door, he was helping cut the ribbon around April and Roger's relationship.  Since when were they on the rocks?  Since when did he become so entangled?  He was so confused; too much was happening.  He could barely concentrate on his own relationship – here he was, seeming to hold the ends together of another one.  Was he really that important of a person?  Or was he simply just there, as he always had been?  The reliable one.  The listener. 

Roger needed to get his ass to see her.   And he would make sure that would happen.  He'd shove Roger this way, get him tested, than try and push him and April in the direction of rehab, or something. 

Then, he guessed, he'd sort out his own pieces. 

If he recognized them by then.