Author's Note: I totally forgot to put this at the beginning of my last chapter, but the Alexia Foundation is a real organization and Marky is competing for a real grant. ^_~ Just thought I'd mention that.

Oh, and thanks to everyone who reviewed. I feel wonderfully loved.

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Chapter 29: It Can't Be Easy

June 5th

9:52 AM

The Loft

"There's nothing to eat," Roger complained loudly, slamming a cabinet door shut.

Mark jumped. He'd been dozing on the couch after staying up the entire previous night to get his proposal finished. Now, as Roger continued slamming things in the kitchen, Mark realized that he hadn't gone grocery shopping in over a week.

"Yeah," Mark said groggily, "Guess I'll have to go buy some stuff later."

Roger stared at Mark in disbelief. Mark was the responsible one. If he didn't remember to buy groceries, nobody would.

"In fact," Mark said yawning, "If you're hungry why don't you go shopping for once?"

"Umm. . .okay. Mark, what's up with you lately?"

Mark yawned again and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head.

"I've been busy," he muttered, "Let me sleep."

"Seriously, Mark. This isn't like you. What's going on?"

Mark sighed and sat up slowly, stretching.

"I was working on a project."

Roger stopped moving for a moment and glared at Mark.

"You're always working on a 'project.' What's so important about this one?"

Mark steeled himself and looked up at Roger, knowing this wasn't going to be easy.

"I um. . .I entered a competition. For a grant."

"What?"

Roger just gaped at him, not comprehending.

"Um. . .something. . .Collins found. If I get it. . .I get. . .well—money to produce my project and. . .nevermind. It's not important. Hell, I won't even win."

"And what?" Roger asked sharply.

"I said nevermind."

"Why won't you tell me?" Roger shouted.

"Because I know you'll overreact. Like you are now. Like you always do."

"I'm not overreacting! I just don't like it when I know someone's lying to me."

"I'm not lying to you, Rog, I won't even win so it doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!"

"Why?"

"Because you're supposed to be my best friend! Which means you don't keep things from me. And I know you, Mark. You don't keep things from me unless you know it's something that I won't like. Tell me."

Mark stood up, suddenly angry.

"You know what, Roger? No. Because it doesn't concern you. I don't even know that I'll win and even if I do, it's none of your business. It's my life! And if I tell you now you'll somehow convince me that it's the wrong thing to do and I know it's not. I'm sick of listening to you! It's time you learned to take care of yourself." Mark got up to go, then turned back. "Oh, and if you can manage that, then maybe you can teach yourself to care a little about other people too."

~~~**~~~

10:01 AM

Buffalo

It was a beautiful sunny morning. Already hot for so early in the day. Mimi stared out her bedroom window at the small backyard, trying to remember playing back there as a child. Strange, she thought, how she couldn't seem to remember any of the good times anymore. She knew they'd happened. It was hardly like she'd had a tortured childhood. But now it seemed like the only things her memory had preserved were the bad times.

She sighed and walked over to the mirror, studying herself again. She'd always avoided mirrors as a matter of principle. There was something about them that shattered one's hopes of beauty and showed a picture that was oddly false. She'd never liked her appearance as a child. She'd always been too short and her coarse dark hair had made her the laughingstock of the population of tall, thin, blue eyed and blonde haired monsters that had ruled the halls of the school.

It was odd, she thought, that she didn't look much different than before. Thinner perhaps, but compared to the difference she felt internally, she'd almost expected to find a stranger staring back at her from the mirror's glassy surface.

Mimi grabbed an elastic off the dresser top and pulled her hair up into a messy bun, glad to have the weight of it off her neck. It was too hot to worry about beauty. She pulled on a pair of loose jeans and an old t-shirt and went out to look for food, realizing suddenly that she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything.

In the time since her father's diagnosis they'd all but managed to avoid one another, only nodding to each other on the rare occasion that they'd bump into one another while doing some task around the house.

As Mimi reached the kitchen, she suddenly became aware of his tall figure watching her from the doorway. She closed up the cereal box she'd been pouring from, then turned slowly to face him.

"Hi."

He nodded in response.

"How're you doing?" Mimi tried again.

He just stared at her for a moment, as though not sure how to respond. Mimi picked up her cereal bowl and carried it over to the couch, sitting down cross legged.

"I know it can't be easy for you."

She took a bite of the cereal, sucking on it for a while. Somehow it seemed wrong to make loud crunching noises.

"How can you know?" he asked roughly.

Mimi resisted the urge to laugh. How could he not know?

"Because. . .I've been there?" she said softly, "I know what it's like to be told your days are numbered."

He looked at her suspiciously.

"It was different for you."

"How?" she asked, surprised at her own lack of emotion. Ordinarily she'd have been yelling long before now.

"You did it to yourself."

Mimi sighed. She was so tired of fighting.

"Look, I realize you want to attack me. Go ahead. I'm not going to fight back. I'm too tired."

He just stared at her, shocked. Mimi almost burst out laughing. This was so completely unlike her and yet it felt right. She was sorry for him. For all the guilt and pain he'd put her through, she was sorry for him. And for the first time in her life, she knew more than him. Was better able to cope.

Mimi stood up, taking the cereal bowl with her.

"Look, if you want to talk, you know where to find me."

With that, she retreated into her bedroom, suddenly filled with energy. She set the cereal bowl down hard on the desk, not even caring when it sloshed milk everywhere. She sat down on the bed and rolled over until she could reach the phone sitting on the table on the other side of the bed. She picked it up and started to dial the loft, then hesitated, dialing a different number instead.

It rang four times before there was an answer.

"Hello?"

"Collins?"

"Mimi, honey, is it really you?"

"Yeah." She laughed silently at the enthusiasm in his voice.

"Are you okay?"

She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide for herself.

"I uh. . .I think so. I mean, no, but I will be."

"Well that's good to hear."

"Yeah. . .I've been. . .doing a lot of thinking and I guess. . ." she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, "It's for the best. I mean. . .I don't know where the money would've come from and. . .It just wouldn't have been a very good way to raise a child."

Collins sighed.

"Well. . .I don't really know what to say, Mimi. Except that I'm glad you're doing better. And I do agree with you."

"I think maybe. . .Collins this is awful but it was almost like a game. I've always liked being rebellious and when Roger said it was a bad idea I guess I just. . .The minute anyone tells me I can't do something I have to go and prove them wrong."

"I guess I have noticed that about you," Collins laughed awkwardly.

"How are things. . .where you are?"

Collins sighed again.

"Good and bad. Mark entered one of his documentaries in a competition for a grant."

"That's great. Is. . .Roger okay?"

"Depends on your definition of okay. He was drinking. A lot. But then Mark pretty much forced him to stop and now he's just. . .depressed. And angry. Especially at Mark."

Mimi sat down hard on the bed, her chest giving a sharp ache at the mention of his name.

"God, I thought I'd never want to speak to him again. . ."

"And now?"

"Collins, I need your help. . .I want to go home."

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