Touch and Tell Lullaby
Chapter IV: May Thy Slumber Be Blessed

Roger doesn't sleep anymore.

For the first couple of nights he goes through the motions. He lies in the dark with his eyes and wills his mind to shut off and let him sleep. Then he spends all night tossing, turning, and thinking about Mimi and Mark.

He tries to remind himself that it's not forever. Couples get into fights all the time, especially if that couple is Mimi and Roger. He figures they both just need some time to cool down. Then everything will go back to smiles and songs for a while. That's how it always seems to work between them. It's their pattern. As for Mark, Roger isn't so sure when their pattern became so broken and unpredictable. He tries not to worry about it, but there isn't much else to do laying awake at five in the morning.

By the third night Roger is sick of pretending. He stops trying to get any sleep. All day he mopes around the loft, waiting. He thinks about going to check on Mimi's apartment, calling Collin's place to see how Mark is doing, or at least picking up his guitar and trying to play something. He thinks about trying to get his life together, but everything seems to hard. Roger is walking a thin line between sleep and consciousness. He's exhausted and everything seems impossible.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger doesn't answer the door.

He's lying back on the couch, too tired to move and unable to sleep. His body has been ready to collapse for days but his mind won't let him. Every part of Roger is begging him to just give up. Every part expect for the one that keeps him awake at night.

"Go away," he whispers to whoever is knocking. He can't summon the energy to scream. "I don't care who it is, just go away."

The knocking stops, and there is the squeak of rusty hinges moving as the door swings open.

"Roger?" Roger's mind is sluggish from his weeklong insomnia. He hears someone calling for him but he can't pin down the voice and his body refuses to react. "Roger? Rog... Oh, God. Are you okay?"

"Mark?" Roger forces his eyes open. The voice is too familiar for him to ever forget, even if he's slow to recognize it. Sure enough, Mark is leaning over the couch, the usual look of worry on his face. Roger is all to glad to have someone worried over him. He's too worn out to worry about himself.

"You look like shit," Mark says. Roger isn't sure wither he should growl or laugh. He can't manage either. "Collins says you stopped calling."

"You're never there," Roger says. His voice is so slurred by exhaustion he almost sounds drunk. That wonderful look of anxiety on Mark's face turns into fear. Roger's half conscious mind laps it up. He wants Mark to be worried about him. Let him feel responsible for Roger's falling apart. It was only fair, considering that it was all Mark's fault in the first place. Mark shouldn't have ever left him alone. "You didn't want to talk to me. You were getting a new life, remember?" He manages to sound spiteful even now.

Mark looks away. Roger loves his friend's guilt. "They said you hadn't picked up your AZT." Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar bottle. "I thought you might be..."

Roger groans and rolls over on his side. Mark looks up to meet his eyes. He is close to tears. "I feel it," Roger admits.

"You should eat something," Mark says. "And take your pills. Here, let me-"

Before Mark can stand up Roger reaches out to grab hold of his friend's arm. It takes more strength then he really has, but he'd do anything to keep Mark there. "Don't leave." There is an edge of desperation in Roger's voice that scares even him.

"I won't leave you, Roger," Mark promises. "But we need to get your better."

"I just need sleep." Roger tries pulling Mark over to him. It had been easy before. Even sick he was still stronger than Mark. Now, he's pulling was more of a halfhearted tug. "Please."

"You should eat," Mark says, but he stops trying to stand up. Roger gives another weak tug.

"I just need you to stay with me," Roger says. Mark looks unsure. His eyes go between Roger and the kitchen. Roger doesn't know what he's debating and he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything but getting to sleep.

Finally Mark breaks down. "Let me get a blanket." When he moves away Roger can't hold back a whimper. Mark looks back and says, "I'll be back in a second, Rog."

Roger tries to nod. He's not quite sure if he manages it or not, but Mark smiles back and wonders off towards the kitchen. Roger lets his eyes fall closes. He listens to Mark's footsteps cross the concrete floors, and the sound of hushed voices. Roger screws up his face, trying to concentrate on the words so hard that it hurts. But the whispers are too far off and he can't make himself turn around. There are more footsteps and the sound of the front door closing.

"Mark?" Roger sounds ready to cry. His voice bounces around the empty apartment and he's pretty sure he's going to be sick.

"I'm here, Roger." There's a blanket being placed over him. Roger thinks about trying to get his eyes to open again, but the couch is dipping down under a new weight and a body is wrapping around him.

"Small couch," Mark chuckles nervously. Roger yawns in reply, nuzzling into the nice heat settles beside him. Mark says something else that Roger doesn't quite hear before he passes out.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger wakes up to a pair of hands playing in his hair.

It feels wonderful. A mix between petting and a massage. Roger's world is still hazy from sleep, and he prays the feeling isn't the ghost of his dreams. He moans, leaning back into the touch and whimpers for more when the hand almost pulls away. Slowly his mind starts taking stalk of what is happening. He's curled up with his arms around someone's waist. The two bodies are so close their nearly sharing the same space. Roger doesn't know what time it is, but he feels good. He'd feel even better if the petting kept up.

He remembers being really tired. He remembers wanting to let himself die. He doesn't remember why, and he rather hopes whatever it is Mark has managed to fix it.

Roger's hands find a firm ass. He grabs the body, pushing them together and grinding against the heat. He nuzzles into the crook of the person's neck and bites down, earning himself a loud moan.

The petting stops. Roger sighs, forcing his eyes opened. Bellow him is a stretch of pale skin marred by a bright red mark and curls of pale blonde hair.

He remembers Mimi screaming at him. He remembers falling down on the couch unable to move. He remembers Mark coming to rescue him, which makes sense. That's what Mark does, after all.

"Mark?" Roger yawns right in his friends face. "Morning."

Mark wiggles, trying to free himself from Roger's arms. Roger smirks at the same time that Mark figures out that wiggling isn't the best plan. Roger isn't the only one with sex on his mind.

"Afternoon," Mark corrects. His hands come between the two boy's bodies, giving Roger a little push. Roger moves back a few inches, dropping his hold on Mark's waist so that the other boy has enough room to breathe. "Starting to think you weren't going to wake up. If it weren't for your snoring I would have though you weren't breathing."

Roger rolls his eyes. "Ha ha."

"It's not so funny when it sounds like an airplane engine inches from your ears." Roger laughs, because it feels so good to be well rested and to have Mark smiling like that.

Even as he thinks about it Mark's smile hitches and then disappears. "We should get up, now," he says. He moves away from Roger, hoping awkwardly off the couch. "You need to take your AZT," Mark says over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen.

Roger yawns again and stretches out, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He can hear Mark busying himself in the kitchen. "What you doing?" Roger yells over. He has been in the loft alone for two weeks. He knows there is no sign of food in their apartment.

"Getting you a something to eat." Mark comes out of the kitchen with a sandwich in one hand, a bottle of pills and glass of water in the other, and a bag of chips between his teeth.

"Collins?" Roger asks, pulling the chips out of Mark's mouth. Mark hands him the pills and water. "He was over here last night, wasn't he?" Roger asks around a mouthful of bread and ham. His stomach is rumbling even as he chews.

"That was Tina, actually." Mark opens the pill bottle and hands them over to Roger, who ignores them and fixes Mark with a suspicious look.

"Tina?" He asks. He tries to remember ever hearing about anyone named Tina before and comes up short. "Who's Tina?"

"Take your pills, Roger," Mark says. Roger swallows down the pills, but keeps his eyes on Mark.

"Who is she?" He repeats, wiping a stream of water from his chin. He takes a handful of chips and stuffs them in his mouth, waiting for Mark to explain.

Mark's cheeks turn pink. He stares at his hands, which are playing with the extra cloth of his shirt. "She's just this girl I know. She thought she'd help me out. You know, buy us some grocery. Help with your meds."

Roger remembers Collins mentioning Mark trying to get his life together, seeing some girl. "You're dating her?" It isn't a question. It is an accusation.

Mark sighs and pushes himself off the couch. "It doesn't matter," he says.

The food is forgotten. Roger really doesn't want to eat it anymore. "Sounds like a stripper name," he says, trying to hide his animosity with a conversational tone. "Where did you meet her?"

"She's not like that!" Mark snaps. He's up from the couch, stalking away from Roger. "I know you wouldn't like her."

"Is that why you left?" Roger sneers, knocking the bag of chips to the floor when he gets up. "Because of some girl who thought I wouldn't like?" If there is going to be a fight he wants to be ready for it.

Mark is ranting and raving, pacing across the loft floor and throwing his hands in wild directions as he speaks. "Why is it every time someone does something nice for you, you have to try and fight them?" Mark asks. "You haven't meant her and already you're being an asshole. Why is that, Roger?"

"It's not my fault I haven't meant her!" Roger yells back. "You're the one who's ashamed to bring her here."

"I did bring her here! And you were slowly killing yourself. Quite the impression you made, by the way." Mark is on the defensive. It amazes Roger that no matter what they fight about, Mark always ends up protecting someone from Roger. It's always Roger who plays the part of the bad guy. The villain to Mark's tested hero. It isn't fair. This isn't Roger's fault. It's Mark who just got up one night and left him here alone. It is Mark who abandoned Roger and refused to return his calls. It is Mark who owed him an apology, not the other way around. Not this time.

Roger can't deal with this. He grabs his guitar and says, "I'm going to see Mimi."

"Fine!" Mark says. "Run away. It's what you're good at!"

"You're one to talk!" Roger yells back before slamming the door behind him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Roger sleeps just as well with Mimi as he did with Mark.

It's been two days and Roger can't bring himself to go back to the loft. Mimi didn't exactly welcome him back, but she was to high to say no. In fact, Roger is sure he hadn't seen Mimi sober since he first got there, but it was better that way. She didn't try and talk about why he came back or why he couldn't be up at the loft. What's really important is that he has a warm body to sleep next to and that he has plenty of time to sit and simmer.

It is a good plan until Mimi catches on.

"This is about Mark, isn't it?" She asks when she gets home from work.

Roger is sitting with his guitar out and paper spread around him. He says, "I don't want to talk about it."

Mimi snorts. "Big surprise." She falls back on the bed, peeling off her shoes. "What'd you do this time?"

Roger glowers. "What makes you think it was my fault?" He asks. "It was Mark who left in the first place."

Mimi laughs. It's not the seductive laugh Roger fell in love with. It's bitter and has a bite to it that strings at Roger's heart. "Don't bother, Roger. It was you who left. Mark was just being smart about it."

"What does that mean?" Roger snaps, but he already knows what it means. Him and Mimi had already had this fight.

Mimi doesn't start screaming, though. She doesn't throw something at Roger from across the room. She just stays at her bed, tangling her hands in her hair and shaking her head. "I can't do this anymore."

Roger thinks that maybe he hadn't heard right. She says it so quietly that he's sure he must have missed something. "What?"

"You're too much," she says. "I can't keep yelling at you, Roger. I don't have the energy."

"But you have enough energy for smack?" He shouts, blood boiling over so that he can hear his heart beating in his ears. "You have enough energy to screw every other guy you meet? You have enough energy to string me along but not to actually love me, is that it?"

"No!" Mimi has tears in her eyes, and that's like a hit to Roger's jaw. They fight all the time, but this is different. There is always yelling and screaming, but Roger isn't suppose to make Mimi cry. "That's not it at all. I... You know, I try for you. I get a good job and I... I really try but then all you ever do is think about yourself. I was clean and I wasn't doing anyone but you, and that was never enough, Roger. You didn't want me unless you could control me. You didn't want me unless you could pick me apart." All this spills out before Roger can say another word in his defense. Mimi is sitting on the edge of her bed trembling with tears running down her cheeks. She takes a deep breath. The room is so quite Roger can hear the air get sucked into her lungs. "I love you, Roger."

"Mimi, I-"

Mimi cuts him off. "All you had to do was love me back." She whispers this last part, and Roger finds that he can barely breathe.

"I did love you," Roger says. "I loved you so much."

Mimi stands up. She thin, Roger notices, too thin and shaking so much she can barely get to her feet. Her hair falls flat and isn't as healthy looking as it once was. He skin has lost its glow. She looks terrible, and Roger wonders when all this happened. When had he stopped looking at Mimi?

"I... I can't do this right now." She stumbles over the words and stumbles out the door.

Roger is left alone.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Mark?"

The loft echoes with the sounds of an abused victim. Roger knows it all to well. He pushes open Mark's door, trying to stay as silent as possible and not wake up his friend.

He's surprised to see Mark's bed made up and empty.

"Mark?" He calls again, listening to the whimpering that bounces off the walls. There are only three real rooms in the apartment, and seeing as Mark isn't on the couch or in his bed that doesn't leave many place for him to sleep.

Roger shuffles across the floor to his own room.

Even with the lights turned off Roger can see Mark in his bed, trying to tear apart Roger's covers. He is doing a pretty good job of it, too.

Roger sighs, happy that Mark is already asleep. It will be easier this way, to just slip in bed with him. Better than trying to talk about what happened or, worse, trying to talk about Mimi.

He peels off his two day old shirt and pants, leaning his guitar against the wall. Mark has his feet tangled in the sheets and most of the blankets are either on the floor or being strangled by his wild hands. There's a bit of a struggle when Roger tries to pull them away, but it doesn't take too long after their lying together for Mark to give up on his fight with invisible monsters and cuddle up to Roger.

Roger is all to glad to have someone in his arms that night, and if he could have picked anyone to be next to right then it would have been Mark.

"Don't leave me," Roger mutters into the nest of blond hair tickling his chin. "Never again, okay?"

Mark gives a halfhearted snore in reply, and for now that's all the promise Roger needs.