Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson owns everything.

A/N: Wow, this is my fastest update ever and this fandom rocks. All three reviews I got were constructive, a major first.

the-fraulein: Thanks! I will definitely remember that characterization thing. I have issues with it (

Butterflygurl: Yeah I considered doing it as a one-shot, but I like longer fics, and want to write more slash, but first I have to develop that.

The.max.black: um, yeah. Research is a very good thing which does not happen at midnight, unfortunately.

Defining Moments

Chapter Two: Healing

After we lost April, nothing really was right again. Benny was the first to leave; he married Alison and bolted on the first opportunity with the intention of using his new wealth to help the starving artists like us. Well, that's not really what happened with him. Collins was next; he got another teaching job at MIT in the hopes that he would pick up some cash and maybe, just for once, influence a few young minds. Last was Maureen; she cheated on me all the time, if not in body than in mind, and one day she just decided to leave me - for Joanne, lawyer extraordinaire, the Harvard graduate. There was a period of two months when Roger and I were the only ones living in the loft. Those were the worst months I can remember. Roger was so close to me the entire time, with no one else to distract me, but he was so unattainable. He was a wreck. I had to help him with the basics at first: taking his AZT, eating, staying warm. The only time Roger would leave the house at all was to use the neighbors' bathroom - ours was still stained red from April's last day.

"I'll be back in a minute." Roger put down his guitar and began to walk towards the door, presumably to go next door and use the bathroom.

"You have to let go sometime. All this refusing to leave the loft and not using our bathroom is just forcing yourself to relive everything over and over again. Nothing that happened was your fault, April just had a different way dealing with things, you didn't hold the razor." Roger stopped in his tracks.

"Don't say her name. What do you know? It was my fault! I'm the one who gave us AIDS! You were too wrapped up in your role as the 'artistic observer and documenter' to notice that I had started shooting heroin again! Couldn't you see the holes in my arm? The crease in my belt from cutting off the circulation? Why didn't you see and why didn't you help me? But it was my mistake. I was the one who chose to use someone else's needle behind the Life Café. I was the reckless one and now she's dead. So, no more drugs for Roger. No more bad decisions for Roger. No more life for Roger." By now he had turned around and faced me before he started shouting. He always seemed to like looking at me while he was shouting; it made it more personal, but also made it hurt more.

"Roger, you can't undo the past. Just let her go and be done with it." I walked over to Roger and put my hands on his shoulders, my eyes boring into his.

"How can I when our lovely pink bathroom reminds me of her every second. And not the her I want to remember - the April who could always make me laugh, inspired songs - but the April who was covered in blood, who should have taken my life instead of her own so I wouldn't have to live without her." Roger pulled away from me and walked out the door. I knew he would be back, but I was still worried about him.

That day I bought bleach. Gallons of bleach. I didn't see Roger again until late because I spent the day in April's bathroom, destroying the pink stains and hopefully destroying some of Roger's pain. That morning I had hardly been able to stop myself from kissing him and trying to make it all better that way, but he wasn't ready for that and I doubted that he ever would be. More importantly, I wasn't ready for that. I was too scared that he would hate me forever. That night, when he was leaving to go pee, I told him to use ours.

"Roger they're gone, she's gone now. You don't have to walk around like a ghost anymore. Play your guitar, go out, do anything just so you won't be sitting here feeling sorry for yourself." Roger was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, the same place where he sat everyday. If he moved, I was sure that his shadow would still be imprinted upon that wall.

"Why? What reason to I have to go on? Mark, I'm HIV positive, do you even understand what that means? It means I have a couple of years and then I'm dead. That's what I am - a dead man walking. I bet no one would even notice if there was one less artist living in this city." I knelt down next to him and put my hand on his shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it was more than Roger had gotten since April's death.

"I would notice. Roger, how can you say that you have no reason to live, when I'm standing here and telling you to get on with your life? I need you. If you left me here or died, I am alone, entirely alone. Right now, it's as if I already am, because you're no more than a ghost. Live, Roger - if not for yourself then for my sake." I got up and started to walk and allow Roger to make his own decision.

"I'm sorry." Those words stopped me in my tracks. "Mark, I forgot about you. It sounds ridiculous because you've been here for me more than I have for myself. I really have been a selfish bastard, haven't I?" A small smile crept across his face, the first I had seen there in months.

"I know, just forget about it." This conversation was starting to get too close for comfort. Another minute or two and I would be blurting out hoe much I really did care about him. Roger wasn't ready for that, yet.

"I can't, but I can try. I think I'm ready to go back there, the bathroom where she..."

"I know, let me help you up." I came back and gave Roger my hand. He grabbed it and pulled himself up. We walked to the sparkling white bathroom together.

"Wow. It's as if she was never here. I don't know if that's good or bad, but for now it should do." I had followed Roger into the bathroom to admire my work. "Thanks, Mark. Now get out."

"Huh?" Those last words startled me. Hadn't we just made a breakthrough? Was he going to start yelling at me again?

"I love you, buddy, but I need to pee."

"Oh!" I quickly hurried out, slamming the door behind me. I returned to the main room and sank down into Roger's corner. He had said he loved me, but did he mean just brotherly love that no one could go through what we had without? Or did he mean more? I looked out the window upon the dealers, queens, and crooks that were part of everyday life in the Alphabet City. Roger still confused me, but it would be enough for now. The rest would become clear with time.

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