A/N Well thank you to all my reviewers. Hopefully I've proofed this chapter a little better. I was rushing to get the first chapter out and things obviously slipped by me. Usually I do better than that.

I have to say I was a little surprised at the reactions I did get. I guess I never thought of it as that much of a cliffhanger! Glad you guys liked it!

And to Becca – I LOVE Mimi! I just don't really know how to write Mimi. And truthfully, I can have more fun toying with the boys emotions with Mimi not around!

Chapter 2

In the time between Cindy's phone call and Mark's arrival home, Roger realized he'd managed to get a lot accomplished. He'd called Collins, Maureen and Joanne. He'd met Joanne's assistant in front of the Life Café where she was waiting on him to loan him Joanne's car. He'd located all the parts to an old suit that Benny had given him a few years back. He got directions from Mark's brother in law Jeff. He packed up his stuff. He even pulled together some stuff for Mark to make packing easier on him. And then he waited.

The waiting had been miserable. Just sitting there waiting for Mark to come home. Waiting to tell him. The waiting was as bad as the telling.

Mark hadn't said much. He asked some questions, but not many. Mainly he just listened to everything Roger had told him. He asked a few more questions at Cindy's house. He even ate a little bit of dinner that Cindy's mother in law came over and made. Since then he had been really quiet. Roger pulled into the driveway Mark pointed at and turned off the car. He'd been to Mark's parent's house a couple of times before, for quick dinners or something. But it had been a few years at this point.

He grabbed his bag and guitar and followed Mark up to the back door. With the porch light off Mark fumbled with the keys a moment before getting the door open. They walked in and Mark flipped on the kitchen light. Then he just stood there for a moment looking around.

"I should clean this up." He said, glancing around at the plates, dried sticky with pancake syrup sitting on the kitchen table and the juice cups, coffee mugs and mixing bowl with crusted pancake batter all stacked in the sink. "My mom hates dishes piled in the sink and on the counter. That's like her biggest pet peeve in the world. I, I should really clean this up for her."

Roger pushed the back door closed, shutting out the cold evening air. "We'll take care of it later. Okay? Let's take this stuff upstairs first. Get settled and everything."

Mark gave a small nod and started towards the entry hall. Roger could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock from the living room as they reached the steps. That was it. The only sound in the house. That and the soft sound of their footsteps on the padded rug as they climbed the stairs.

On the second floor Mark paused ever so slightly as he looked at the door to his left. Roger vaguely remembered it was his parent's room. They continued down the hall some.

"My dad converted the guest room into an office after I completely moved out. You can sleep in my old room. My mom made that into a sewing and guest room I guess." Mark opened the door. The bed was covered in pieces of fabric. There were two distinct piles, spread out into two basic patterns. "She said something about making quilts." He told Roger as he picked up two large chunks of fabric, one from each pile. One had guitars on it one had reels of film on it. "I'm thinking she's making one for each of us." He held out the guitars for Roger to see. "Since we're always complaining about how cold it gets at night in the loft."

"Maybe." Roger agreed. "Maybe we shouldn't mess with all this stuff."

"Yeah maybe. We can sleep in Cindy's room. My mom has been re-doing it for the girls. She said they were all excited about it." He told Roger as he headed back out into the hall. "I'll warn you though, I mean you met my nieces. They're pretty girlie. And my mom pretty much just eats that up." Mark opened the door and flipped on the light.

"Oh my God." Roger said, somewhat disgustedly.

"Wow. That's like, wow. I mean it's like… really…"

"Nauseating."

"Yeah." The two of them looked around the room. The walls were a bright pink. The curtains were a frilly pink. The two twin beds had Barbie sheets, pillowcases and comforters with lacey pink dust ruffles.

There was a Barbie playhouse, camper, pool and pink corvette. All complete with various Barbies in them. There were Barbie stickers on the windows, the white and pink dressers and the heart shaped mirror. There was a Barbie wallpaper border that circled the room about waist high. A small scalloped edge shelf circled the room up near the ceiling. On it sat too many Beanie Babies to count. Along one wall the shelf contained Barbies on stands. All in either wedding dresses or other fancy type dresses. In the one corner of the room sat a child size table and four chairs. A pink and white tea set sat on the table. In two of the chairs sat two Barbies. Each was about three feet tall. Roger guessed they were life size to a six-year-old. They were even wearing pink tutus.

"This is almost, disturbing." Roger managed to say.

"She's lost her mind. Or my dad has. He must of lost his mind to let her do this. I get grief for 'borrowing' toilet paper, soap, sheets and towels after I move out. But she can do this to a room?"

"Mark, I gotta tell you. I don't think I can sleep in here. Besides the pink, the frilly stuff and the Barbie sheets, it's all the dumb dolls. It's like they're staring at me. It's a little freaky."

"Yeah it is kind of like a Pepto Bismo truck blew up in a Barbie factory." He flipped off the light and they stepped back into the hall. Mark looked around for a second, his eyes hesitantly settling on the door at the end of the hall near the stairs. "Um, I guess, I guess we could sleep in there." He nodded in the direction of the door.

Roger took all this in. "We don't have to. I mean we can just sleep on the couches downstairs. I mean if you don't want to sleep in there."

"Um yeah. Let's do that. That, uh, that'd be easier. You know, in case they need to get stuff out of there or anything." He nodded. "Actually we can sleep on the pull out. In the basement den. It's a queen size sleeper sofa."

Roger watched the relief wash over Mark's face. "Okay. Let's do that."

When they got to the basement the first thing Roger did was turn on the TV. The silence in the house was starting to really get on his nerves. It's never this quiet in the loft he thought. You can always hear people in other apartments and in the halls. Not to mention all the noise that comes in off the street. Plus he still wasn't sure what he should or shouldn't say to Mark. What was safe to talk about?

He changed into sweats and a tee shirt as Mark opened the couch then started to change. After he was done Mark flopped down next to him as Roger flipped channels on the television.

"So, um," he started hesitantly, "how are you doing?"

"I'm okay. I think. I guess. I don't know. I'm almost too tired to think. What time is it?"

"11:30. Which actually is pretty early for us, but yeah, I'm beat too. It's been a long day. A late night followed by an early morning and a long day."

"Yeah. Um about this morning, sorry if I woke you up. With the doors and all."

Roger gave a little grin. "It's okay. I've probably woke you up once or twice in the past."

Mark cocked an eyebrow at him. "Once or twice?"

"Yeah well…" Roger gave him a slight grin.

"Um, about last night…."

Roger picked up his pillow and threw it towards the foot of the bed as he flipped around. "Forget about it. You're right."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know. I don't want to think about it right now." He watched the TV for a moment. "Are you really okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine. I just wanna go to sleep." He took off his glasses and set them on the end table, rolled over and pulled the blanket up.

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Night."

Roger watched him for a few seconds. Mark just lay there, trying to go to sleep. After a moment Roger turned back to the television.

Something jolted Roger awake. At first he was confused. The TV was on, but it wasn't his TV. It wasn't even his room. Mark. Mark's house. Well Mark's parent's house. That's right he and Mark were in Scaresdale at Mark's parent's house. He sat up and turned to where Mark had gone to sleep, but then realized Mark was gone.

Roger shook his head to clear it as he looked at his watch. 1:30 AM. Where was Mark? He must be upstairs. As he climbed the basement steps he heard water running in the kitchen. The main light in the kitchen was off, but the light over the sink was on. Mark was standing in front of the sink, just watching the water pour into the pancake batter bowl and flow over its side.

"Mark?" Roger called to him softly as he entered the kitchen. "Mark?" He said again.

Mark wiped at his eyes under his glasses. "I gotta do the dishes. My mom hates dirty dishes laying on the counter."

"I know. You want me to help you?" Roger asked him, picking up the sponge.

Mark just continued staring at the water in the sink. "Pancakes." He finally mumbled.

"What?"

"Blueberry pancakes"

"You want blueberry pancakes?" Roger asked, quickly realizing he really didn't know how to make blueberry pancakes.

"My mom makes blueberry pancakes on Saturdays. She made them this morning. I talked to her."

"You did?" Roger turned off the water as Mark turned around and leaned against the sink.

"Uh huh. She called me. This morning. Before I went out to film." He slid down and sat on the floor.

"What did she say?" Roger asked, sitting down next to him.

"The girls spent the night. She made them pancakes. She always did that. When me and Cindy were growing up she always made pancakes. It was a really big deal to her."

"That's kind of cool. All my mom ever made for breakfast was Pop Tarts."

"I think that's one of the reasons she was all excited about re-doing Cindy's room for the girls. So she could do pancakes and stuff again." He let out a small sob.

"She was going on about pancakes, and I was still pissed at you and I wasn't really listening. She kept talking and I wasn't listening."

Roger rested his head against the cupboard. "I'm sorry."

"The girls were eating breakfast and my dad was hurrying them up. They had to drop the girls off at their dance class. Then they were going shopping. He was buying my mom new golf clubs. They had a 3:00 PM tee time. He kept going on about stupid golf clubs. And he kept telling her he wanted to talk to me. That he was going to call me later that night."

"I'm sorry Mark."

"She kept going on about pancakes and he kept making golf jokes. I wasn't listening. I didn't care. I was pissed at you and I didn't care." He started to cry. "I didn't want to talk to my dad, I didn't care about golf clubs and I wasn't listening to my mother go on about pancakes."

Roger put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him over. "I'm sorry Mark."

"I wasn't listening. I never listen." He ran his hands up his face and under his glasses. "I never listen to her. I never want to talk to my dad. He hates me any ways. They're constantly disappointed in every decision I've ever made in my life. And as usual I wasn't listening to them.

"All I've ever done is fuck up everything they've ever wanted me to do. Everything. I couldn't even sit there and take two fucking minutes and just listen to her get all excited about making my nieces pancakes and him go on about golf clubs." He cried.

"Mark you didn't do anything."

"You're right. I never did anything. Nothing. And now look. Just like that." He snapped his fingers. "They're dead! Just like that! They're both dead!"