Chapter Six A/N: Dedicated to MistressFlame, The Phantom, Kelby, and the-fraulein. You guys all rock my socks. I am not worthy . . .

To clarify time-wise (and so I can keep track), #6 begins the morning of November 17th, the day after Collins found Mark and took him to the hospital. Mark woke up and Roger was removed by security late the night of the 16th/early the next morning. Mimi's been sleeping as peacefully as possible the entire time. And the very end of 5, Mark gets discharged around 6 in the evening of the 17th. So this starts off a bit before the end of chapter five, and time goes wonky a bit, but hopefully it's not too confusing (although it probably is, because I just confused the crap out of myself reading that bit).

P.O.V.: Third person omniscient.

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Chapter Six: Truths That He Learned

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Mimi quietly opened her eyes, blinking. She'd been in this hospital room for a week and had yet to get used to the florescent lights that hurt her eyes so. She peered at the figure in the chair beside her, trying to place what was odd.

"Rog?" She asked quietly. The figure raised its head and sighed.

"He's not here, Meems."

"Collins. Sorry. Can't really see you that well." She smiled faintly at him.

"Is it -- ?" He hesitated and she jumped in.

"No! It's just these bright lights. Hard to adjust when I've just woken up. Where's Roger?"

Collins frowned. "At the loft, I suppose. I hope. Can't think of anyplace else he'd be."

"Why isn't he here?" She was a little scared. Was he getting sick and not wanting to infect her? Was something wrong?

"He got kicked out of the hospital last night . . . "

"What?!" She struggled upright. "What the hell happened?"

"Lay back down, Meems." Collins leaned forward to push her gently backwards. As his face came into focus, Mimi saw the inarguable signs of one who'd had little sleep and much stress and caffeine in the past twenty four hours. "There's been an incident."

"Thomas Collins. That sentence has all the markings of an avoidance answer that you have overused. If you don't tell me exactly what happened to make you look so awful and to get Roger kicked out of the hospital, I will hop right out of bed and kick your sorry ass, doctor's orders not-withstanding." She glared at him in a perfect imitation of his mother. He blinked at her, then grinned, and finally laughed. As the laughs melded into sobs, she softened her look. "C'mere."

He scootched his chair closer and laid his head down on her mattress. She rubbed his back and ran her fingers through his hair, making "shh" noises and talking softly about anything calming she could think of. When he finally pulled himself together, he sat back up.

"Now then." She clasped her hands. "Feel up to telling me what's been going on?"

"Like I said, there's been an -- "

"Incident?" She interrupted. "Tell me, Collins, how many people have you said that to in the past, oh, day or so?"

"Honestly?" He paused. "Roger, Tony, Joanne, Maureen, Mrs. Cohen, Cindy, and the lady on the first floor who let EMS in the building. And now you."

"Okay. So why don't you tell me what really happened?" Mimi didn't bother asking who had gotten in the way of this "incident." If Cohens had been informed, it had something to do with Mark.

"Mark was." Collins stopped, mentally steeled himself to say it for the first time, and went on. "He was attacked -- raped and beaten -- two nights ago. We think he tried to kill himself as well -- I found him in the shower beside a razor. I don't know what really happened -- he was unconscious until pretty late last night, and he doesn't want to see anyone. Roger was dragged out by security when he tried to go in anyway."

Mimi just sat there, looking at him, and for a moment he wondered if she had heard him at all. Her face gave no clue as to what she was thinking. For a full minute, they just sat, listening to the whir of machines and the chatter of people in the hallway.

"Wh . . . " She started to say, then shook her head and paused. She closed her eyes and tried again. "Why doesn't he want to see us?"

"Shame, maybe?" Collins sighed. "I have no idea. I always thought I could guess what he was thinking, but I'm completely lost here."

"Has anything like this ever happened to you?" She demanded sharply. He looked surprised, and more than a bit horrified.

"God, no!"

"Then no wonder you're feeling lost." She took a deep breath. "Get a doctor in here, will you? They said yesterday I can go home soon. If 'soon' doesn't mean today, I think I might go crazy."

"Can do." Collins stood and kissed her forehead, heading for the door.

"Coll?"

"Meems?" He glanced back, standing framed in the doorway.

"Do you think Angel . . . ?" Mimi let it trail off, unsure how to articulate what she meant. He understood anyway.

"Yeah. She would have. So we're just going to have to do the best we can without her."

Mimi nodded, and Collins went to the nearest nurse's station.

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One glance at the way the door wasn't quite closed correctly, and Mark knew that Roger was home. He froze.

"Fuck," he swore quietly and without much emotion. He should have realized that 'kicked out of the hospital' meant 'no visiting Mimi either.'

"What's wrong?" Cindy was crowding him again. He knew it was honest worry and concern for her baby brother, but it was suffocating nonetheless. Suffocating and strange. She was becoming so much like their mother . . . so different from her teenage years . . .

"Just . . . wait out here, okay? Roger's home. I want to deal with him on my own." He glanced at her. She paused, then nodded reluctantly.

"You have fifteen minutes, then if I don't hear talking I'm busting in with a SWAT team." She smiled weakly and sat on the floor beside the door. He tried to smile back. He didn't think it worked.

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The loft was trashed. Wholesale destruction like this hadn't been tolerated since Mimi moved in, and Mark half-expected to hear April and Leigh giggling at the mess they'd made while high. He half-expected Maureen to come whirling out of the bathroom, only partly dressed and singing loudly. He half-expected to open his bedroom door to find Collins and Angel making out whole-heartedly on his bed, sheepishly admitting they'd locked themselves out again once they realized they weren't alone. He more than half-expected to find Roger in a heroin-induced stupor, empty needles and empty plastic bags spread around him.

The sound of Roger starting a shower disproved his last expectation.

Mark banished the unwanted ghosts and crept into his room, closing the door silently. He threw some clothes in a bag. He pulled his 'stash' -- almost $1000 in cash -- from the coffee can that also housed pens, pencils, and scraps of paper that were semi-important. He restlessly moved about his room, making sure he had all he wanted while he waited for Roger to get out of the bathroom.

After a twenty-minute shower, the water cut off. Mark froze, not wanting to make any noise that would alert Roger to his presence. He didn't know why he was so paranoid about seeing Roger face-to-face. But the mere thought of it made his stomach clench in fear.

Muffled swearing and a few thumps, then the sound of Roger walking back into his bedroom. Mark leaned against the wall the two bedrooms shared, and heard the Fender being put in tune. He waited a minute, then slipped into the bathroom to take what he needed. Toothbrush, deodorant, glasses case. He started for a razor, then shuddered violently and almost threw up. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, taking one last glance around.

It was sitting on the cardboard boxes that served as a coffee table.

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten it.

He slowly moved to stand behind the sofa, wondering why his camera suddenly seemed so menacing. Why the black lens seemed to be glaring at him, like a blind eye blaming him for its problems. Why it was set apart from the rest of the clutter, as if it radiated evil.

Why the Fender was no longer being played.

Mark shot a look at Roger's room, and realized that he'd only assumed the other man had shut his door. The bathroom was out of sight, but where he stood by the sofa he had a clear view of Roger's bed.

And Roger, sitting on the bed, had a clear view of him.

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Roger had slammed home in a rage. The nerve of Mark! All that I've done for him, and in repayment I get shut out. When Roger realized that Mimi was in the same hospital and he wouldn't be seeing her for awhile either, he was halfway home. He screamed and kicked the nearest building until someone four stories up threw a shoe at him.

He—very briefly—considered hocking the shoe for drug-money before hurling it back up at the fourth story. It rose ten feet in the air then curved majestically back and hit him on the head.

He stared at the shoe, now lying on the sidewalk. "This is life." He finally proclaimed to it. "This is life, and it is shit. It's getting sick, getting raped, getting beat up, getting used, and dying."

It wasn't precisely a new revelation, but he somehow felt better for saying it aloud. He carried the shoe back to the loft and set it on the fire escape before trying to clean up.

He cleaned sporadically and ineffectually. He finally gave up and fell asleep on the sofa, having managed to do nothing more than straighten up Mark's room and clear a space around the camera.

When he woke, it was nearing night. He stumbled into the shower to wake up a bit before going back to fiddling with his guitar. When he saw someone moving in the loft, at first he thought it was a burglar. Once that ridiculous idea was discarded, he leaned forward and saw Mark.

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There was an awkward silence that lasted a full minute, as Roger took in how much worse Mark looked out of the hospital. He'd never thought pale sheets and florescent lights would flatter someone's complexion, but the light at the loft made Mark's bruises seem darker and larger, and the bandages that were visible stood out starkly.

It was Mark who finally broke the silence. "Is that a shoe on the fire escape?"

Cindy chose that moment to bang the door open, eyes blazing with righteous impatience. "Mark Cohen, it has been almost half an hour and if you don't get your scrawny Jewish ass --"

Mark flinched. Roger froze. Cindy cut herself off, realizing that something had corrupted the childishly teasing phrase she'd used for years. A moment of silence passed before she gently touched his shoulder.

"Mom's waiting, Markie." She said softly. He nodded and walked out the door empty-handed. Cindy hefted his bag of clothes and stared indefinably at Roger for a moment.

"I'm taking him home." She whispered quickly, as though afraid to talk to him too long. "I'm not going to pretend that we can take care of him better, but Scarsdale isn't here, and here is where it happened. You know?"

"Cin --" He started, but she took a step backwards and he stopped.

"Call in a couple days. If you don't, I'll make him call you. Promise." With a wave she was out the door and gone.

It wasn't until she left that Roger realized the camera was still on the coffee table.

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