Touch and Tell Lullaby
Chapter V: Don't Say a Word

When Mark wakes up the next morning Roger's been up for nearly an hour. He's been watching over Mark, making sure that he hasn't missed anything. Making sure he didn't stop seeing Mark like he'd stopped seeing with Mimi.

Mark yawns and murmurs, "Roger?" His voice is soft and thick. He blinks a few times before squinting, trying to make the world go clear without his glasses to help him. "What are you doing here?"

"You were having nightmares," Roger explains. His stomach turns at the thought of Mimi closing the door behind her. Roger doesn't think he can talk about it without being sick. "You always have nightmares without me."

Mark bites at his lower lip when he thinks, and the way he's looking at Roger is a give away for what he's thinking about. Roger tries not to meet his eyes. He watches his hands ring the thin fabric of the covers, instead. He's ready to start the screaming match if Mark so much as mentions her name.

A whole minute passes before Mark is done thinking. Roger dares a glance up at his friend when he hears a loud sigh. Mark shifts closer to Roger, trapping Roger's worried hands between them. Roger's hands clench into his friend's nightshirt. He doesn't have a choice in this.

"Not true," Mark mutters. His eyes are fluttering closed again. Roger relaxes into him, closing his eyes at the same time so that he can mentally chant a hundred words of gratitude over and over again that Mark isn't going to call him on his lie.

When Roger opens his eyes again, Mark's breathing is starting to slow down. He wiggles his hands free so that he can tangle the two bodies together. Mark doesn't try and fight his way out of Roger's arms, and it feels so good to hold onto something as steady as Mark again. "Yes, you do," Roger says. "You cry in your sleep. You're such a girl."

Mark growls, and Roger laughs because it's the least threatening thing he's ever heard. It sounded more like a purr muffled against his chest. "Am not," Mark mutters. He twists and turns under the covers so that he's pressed flushed against Roger.

Roger's hands find the nap of Mark's neck, the perfect place to play with little wisps of hair. "Are so," Roger whispers back. He's lost the conversation, but he wants to keep talking. He wants to keep everything exactly like this.

Half asleep and being lulled further down by Roger's gentle petting, Mark only barely manages something that sounds like "Mnot."

The two boys stay in bed for most of the afternoon.

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

Roger is resolved not to talk about Mimi.

Mark doesn't force it out of him, but Roger spends a lot of his time avoiding Mark anyway. They take on a rather familiar routine. They wake up, Mark tries to get Roger excited about something and Roger refuses, then Mark goes out to film and Roger stays in the loft all day. It is like going through withdraw, only Roger can still play the guitar and he spends the nights in Mark's arms.

Still, he doesn't want to face the outside world and each day it gets harder not to scream out. Mimi has become the smack he isn't allowed to inject. She's the drug that tears away at his heart. He shakes when he thinks about her. He needs her. He feels like he's nothing without her.

It's like he's lost April and drugs and his health all over again.

While Roger is sulking around the loft, Mark is trying to keep him from destroying himself. "Eat this, Roger," Mark will saying, shoving food they don't have the money for into Roger's hands so that Roger can prod at it with a fork and refuse to eat it. "Take your AZT," Mark reminds him, setting everything out so that all Roger has to do is follow instructions. "Why don't you try playing something," Mark will suggest, pleading with Roger to do something other than sit around and brood over Mimi. "Roger, you need to get out. Roger, you need to stop being like this. Roger, please, Roger."

For the most part Mark is ignored. Roger lets his friend lead him around, pretending to eat and take his pills and care, but nothing Mark says or does stays with Roger. Mark is in charge of making sure Roger goes on living, and Roger barely acknowledges him for that.

The only time he pays attention to Mark is when they sleep. Even then, neither boy is sure who Roger is holding. Arms wrap around each other, faces nuzzle against flat chest, and two very male bodies are pressed together. But body heat is body heat is body heat. Mark is warm in the same way Mimi is, and it's clear which one Roger needs with him at night.

It drives Mark insane.

"You can't do this," He tells Roger. Roger is curled up on the couch. He has spent the morning watching the wall and the occasional cockroaches that scampered across the gritty surface. Mark steps in front of him and Roger doesn't even flinch. "Roger? Come on, you can't do this." You can't do this, Roger. You can't shut off completely. It's self-inflicted rehab all over again.

Roger stares right through him. Mark sighs. He grabs his camera, falling onto the couch with a loud thud that shakes the furniture. He starts emptying the film dangerous fast, fingers slipping and beating at the camera's black body. Roger turns to watch. He'd never seen Mark take his anger out on his camera before.

Mark's finger slip a little too far and slices itself against one of the awkward curves of the old machine. "Fuck!" The camera hits the floor. Mark lifts his finger to his lips, sucking up the line of blood. If Roger didn't feel so numb he would have screamed at Mark. Told him he was being a complete idiot for acting so upset just because of the way Roger was acting.

Mark leans over to rescue his camera. He isn't any calmer. Roger can see his body trembling.

"She left me," Roger mutters. Mark looks up, as if he's not sure he's heard right. "She left me, Mark."

"So you two had a fight," Mark says, trying to sound calming for Roger's sake. It's amazing how fast he can drop all of that anger when Roger needs him. "It happens. She'll be back."

Roger remembers the look on Mimi's face when she left. He remembers the silent tear tracks down her cheeks and the sag in her shoulders right before the door closed Roger inside the apartment without her. All their other fights were loud and passionate. This one had ended in dead quiet. "No she won't," Roger says. "She's not coming back this time Mark. She's gone for good."

He says it the same way Mimi had told him she was leaving. A dead sounding tone barely above a whisper. When she told him goodbye, something inside him shattered. He expects the same for everyone else, but when he tells Mark, the cameraman simply stares back at Roger. For once he doesn't offer any calming words or advice. Like he doesn't even think its all that important.

"Don't you get it?" There is a rise in Roger's voice. He moves above a whisper, even if he isn't ready to yell quite yet. "She's gone Mark. She left and she's not coming back!"

Mark takes a moment before he says, "People break up all the time, Rog-"

"All the time!" Roger stands up, lashing out at Mark. "All the time! Mark, I don't have all the time, remember! I had this one shot, this one chance with Mimi and now it's gone."

"You don't know that, Roger." Mark is trying to stay as calm, but something in his eyes is burning. Roger can't tell and doesn't care what it means. "Just because Mimi left you doesn't mean it's your last shot maybe-"

"Maybe what, Mark? Maybe... Maybe I'll find someone else, right?"

"Exactly, Rog-" Mark starts, but Roger is more interested in yelling than listening.

"Maybe the love of my life while just stroll through those doors any minute. Maybe they can over look the fact that I'm walking death and so fucked up that everyone else in my lifer has to turn to drugs to deal with me. Maybe they won't care about all that stuff but really love me for me. And maybe she'll be everything I'll ever need and true love will over come all obstacles and the AIDs will just disappear and we'll live happily ever after. Is that how it works, Mark?"

Roger is raving, inches from Mark's face so that they two can share the same explosive air that is over heating the loft. Mark doesn't flinch with Roger so close. He doesn't fidget under his friend's glower or the rising temperature of the apartment. He remains completely still, fist clenched so tight that blood can't make it to his cut. Roger doesn't wait for Mark to think up a reply. "The real world doesn't work like that. This isn't one of your films, Mark. There isn't going to be any nice resolution before the credits. "

"I never said that!" Mark cries, somewhere between anger and begging Roger to think rationally. "I never said any of that, but Roger you can't keep doing this to yourself. You can't keep destroying yourself over Mimi."

"Why not?" Roger shot back. "What else do I have to live for?"

Mark pushes against Roger's chest, hard enough to send the musician tumbling and clutching his ribs. "How can you even say that?" He's screaming now, just as loudly as Roger. "Are you telling me that the only thing you had to live for was Mimi? What about your music? What about Collins? What about me? Or is that all so easy to forget, Roger." The last sentence is spit with so much malice that Roger stumbles again without any help. "Is it so easy to forgot about us when you're hurt? You're the one on the main stage, and every one is expected to listen and do as you tell them. Everything else is background noise to you, Roger, even Mimi."

Mark and Roger, they're always honest when they're yelling at each other. Still, there are some things that shouldn't be spoken.

Mark's words end and both boy are too shocked to do anything. When Roger does move, he's shaking so badly he nearly trips over his own feet. "Fuck you," he says. He doesn't think he can manage much more at the moment. "Fuck you, Mark."

He storms off to his room, slamming the door so loud that he can't hear Mark's apology.

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

That night, Roger decides he doesn't need sleep.

He stays up in bed with his guitar out, picking at a few random strings that don't amount to shit. Trying to connect them in his mind and force them to form a melody of some sort means he doesn't have to think about Mark or Mimi or anything else in his life.

Mark is set on making this as hard as he can for Roger.

The door opens halfway, and Mark stands there, too nervous to enter. Roger doesn't look up from his Fender's off key strings. "Roger?"

The heat from this morning has cooled down, leaving the apartment feeling cold and empty. Roger shivers, but otherwise refuses to acknowledge Mark's presences. In turn, Mark refuses to acknowledge Roger's silent dismissal. "Roger? Can I come in?"

"Why?" Roger knows Mark well enough that he can tell when his friend is in one of those moods. Mark won't give up until they're talking, even if talking results in more yelling and near fist fights.

Mark wraps his arms around himself, which only makes his trembling more obvious. Roger isn't the only one left feeling cold. "I'm having nightmares again."

Roger snorts. "Big surprise," he says. "Why don't you go see Tina, then? After all, it's not like I care. I'm to busy being selfish."

Mark winces when Roger throw their earlier fight back at him, but he doesn't back down. Instead he takes his first step into Roger's room. "I don't want to be with Tina," he says, and then he's sitting down on the other side of Roger's bed. Roger turns himself further away, leaning over his guitar until he can't see any of Mark. Mark scoots closer to Roger, and Roger starts strumming at his guitar again. It's a slow, sad chord Roger doesn't often play.

The notes jump when Mark lays a hand against Roger's shoulder. Roger closes his eyes so he doesn't have to watch, but he can hear the covers being lifted aside. Roger keeps playing, and Mark props his head up to listen as the notes stretch on. His hand moves to the back of Roger's neck, so gentle that it sends shivers down Roger's spine. The sort that have nothing to do with chilly weather.

There are a lot of things being said, most of which Roger is too afraid to translate in his head.

When the song ends Mark says, "Are you angry at me?"

Roger closes his eyes again, thinking back to their fight. "Yes."

Mark pulls the sheets over Roger's lap. "Good," he says. Roger raises an eyebrow, finally looking Mark in the eyes. The young man turns red. "I mean... I hate it when you act like that. I didn't mean for it to go so far, but I couldn't stand to see you so depressed, Roger."

"You'd rather I was angry at you?" Roger asks. His tone is noncommittal. He isn't sure wither he should laugh or scream.

Mark yawns. He snuggles into one of the two shabby pillows they have in the loft. Both have been moved to Roger's bed in the last few months. "I don't know," Mark admits. "But I couldn't take you moping around the apartment like some teenage girl anymore."

Roger takes a swing at Mark's stomach. It isn't gentle enough to be entirely playful, and Mark winces and curls into himself a bit. Roger ends up running his hand through his friend's hair. It's easier than an apology, and Roger isn't sure he could honestly mean one right then. "You are so fucked up," he says.

"Because of you." The lights are turned off and Roger lays back in bed, tucked in with covers and Mark to help chase away the last of the chills for their fight. "If I'm fucked up it's your fault, Roger."

Roger stretches out under the covers, using Mark's elbow as a pillow. "Shut up, Mark," he growls. "I'm trying to sleep."

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

"Rise and shine, boy!"

Roger growls. He's warm and still half asleep. He doesn't feel like getting up, and he doesn't feel like dealing with anyone half as cheerful as the voice calling out to him. Without opening his eyes, Roger picks his pillow up from under his back and throws it at the doorway.

He doesn't remember that there might be something there to stop him.

"Owe!" Roger's hand comes in contact with something that is not air before he can quite let go of the pillow. The resulting yelp forces Roger to gain consciousness.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, yawning as his mind tries to catch up with the rest of the world. Mark is holding his shoulder, massaging away at a bright red area that is already starting to bruise.

"You okay?" Roger asks, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look.

"Fine," Mark answers with a cross between a cringe and a smile.

"Should I leave you two love birds alone in the nest for a while?" A deep voice asks. Collins is leaning against the doorframe, looking more too chipper for the morning. He's wearing a smile Roger knows all too well. Roger doesn't like the way he keeps it aimed on Mark.

"Collins!" Mark jumps out of bed, and Collins laughs before he hugs the smaller boy into a hug. "I thought you were teaching down in Georgia Tech."

"Couldn't stay away from New York that long," Collins laughed, keeping one arm around Mark's shoulder while he looked back to Roger. "Just like you said, huh Roger?" Collins asks. He's giving Roger the same look from earlier. That slightly mischievous, I-know-more-than-you-do smile that frustrates Roger so much.

"But you haven't even been gone a month," Mark points out. He laughs when he asks, "How can you even get fired that quickly?"

It's nice to hear Mark laughing. It feels like forever since him and Mark weren't at each other's throats, but then Mark had smiled for Roger when he'd first came back to the loft. Less than a month since he'd left Collins's place and come home. It seems longer to Roger. They always seem to be going longer and longer between the good times.

"What time is it, Collins?" Roger asks, kicking the blankets off him and struggling to get up. He isn't quite as happy to see his friend. Not after the way he hid Mark away from him, then had the balls to walk in on them like he knew something Roger didn't.

"Nearly noon," Collins answers. "Time for lunch." Mark's stomach gives a well-timed growl. Collins winks down at the younger man. "You sound like you could use something to eat." He reaches in his coat and pulls out a thick roll of twenties, causing both of the other boy's jaws to drop. "And I have just the flow."

"Where'd you get that!" Roger manages to say after the shocks wears off enough that he can move his mouth.

Collins laughs. "A man does not program and tell."

"Bullshit!"

Collins is still laughing, and his good cheer spread quickly to Mark. "You can tell us later," Mark says, squirming out from under Collin's arm. "I'm starved! Let me grab a shirt and we'll head to the Life Café!"

Collins ruffles Mark's hair. "Grab your best sweaters boys. I think this calls for a celebration!"

"Celebrate what?" Mark asks, flattening out his nest of morning hair.

Collins shots Roger a grin that is almost a wink. "I'll tell you on the way there," he says, like Roger should understand. The musician digs around in his mind, but comes up empty.

"Whatever it is, there better be beer," Mark calls, heading off to his room to grab a shirt.

"Clean pants, too," Collins yells after him. He waits until Mark's door closes to look back at Roger. He's wearing a grin large enough to split his face. Roger still hasn't caught on to any of this.

"So you finally figured it out," Collins asks. He pats Roger on the shoulder like he is congratulating him on a good gig. "It's about time."

"What are you talking about, Collins?" Roger gets out of bed and starts kicking around the pile of clothes on the floor. He owns about three pairs of pants and one hundred T-shirts for various bands, most of which don't fit or have too many holes to wear in the autumn.

Collins's shakes his head and says, "Don't be coy, Roger. I'm surprise Mark still keeps his clothes in his old room."

"It's not his old room!" Roger snaps. "He still lives here, and he's not leaving! If that's what this is about, you can just fuck off."

Collins's smile disappears. He gives Roger a searching look, and Roger returns it with a growl. Collins didn't seriously think that Mark is going to leave him again, did he? Roger wouldn't let him, not even if his other friend tried to stand in his way. But when Collins speaks it doesn't sound like he wants Mark to leave. He says, "You two sleep in the same room?"

Roger shrugs his shoulders. "He has nightmares," he answers. "He can't sleep at night without me."

Collins nods. "That I know," he replies. "But you..."

"I'm a friend!" Roger throws his hands up in the air. "Of course I'm going to help him. Does everything really think I don't care about anyone but myself?"

Collins raises an eyebrow. He crosses his arms, and he's looking at Roger again like he wants to see into his head. "That's what it is? You're helping Mark with nightmares?"

"It's none of your business." Roger isn't sure why he's acting so defensive with Collins, but he doesn't like the way Collins makes it sound. It is just a friend thing. Roger helps fight Mark's nightmares away and Mark keeps Roger company in bed. There is nothing weird about it.

Roger wants to believe that, so why can't Collins let him?

Before Collins can say anything else, Mark is back. He's wearing a pair of clean black jeans that look just like most of the one she owns and a gray sweater without any holes that's just a little to big from him. Roger recognizes it as birthday gift from Mimi. Mark runs a hand through his hair and straightens out his glasses. "Ready!" He announces, smiling up at Collins.

Collins smiles back, but it's nothing like his earlier cheer. "Are you okay?" Mark's face falls slightly.

Roger zips up his jacket to hide his torn up rocker shirt. He pushes Mark out the door and says, "Come on, I'm hungry."

Mark's face lights up. "You got him to come!" He says, looking over Roger's shoulder at Collins. Collins smiles and shrugs, but Mark doesn't notice his sudden lack of enthusiasm. He laughs and grabs Roger by the shoulder, leading the way out the door. Roger can't help but smile, even as he's being pulled from the loft.

While Mark is climbing down the stairs, Collins and him share a look, and Roger silent begs him to drop their earlier conversation. They're getting too close to things Roger doesn't want to discuss. Collins gives a small nod, but his frown makes it clear that he's not doing it for Roger's benefit. Roger doesn't care why, just so long as some things go unsaid.