Disclaimer: I still wish I owned RENT, but . . . even I know that isn't reality :)
Pairings: I don't know if there will be anything besides friendships even though part of me could always picture Mark and Roger together. If I do something like that, I'll give yah'll fair warning.
Roger's POV:
I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the message on the answering machine. I was thankful, for once, that Mark was out shooting footage of people living in the subway for his documentary. On the other hand, I knew I would have to tell him. I, surely, didn't want to be the one to give him this news.
"This message is for Mark Cohen. This is Dr. Sanchez from the department of health. We have recently been informed that one of your sexual contacts has tested positive for HIV. Please call to schedule an appointment for a blood test."
Mark. Not Mark. Not the innocent, naïve Mark that did nothing but take care of me even when I didn't want to.
I wanted to know who did this to Mark.
Maureen. Of course, it had to have been Maureen. Mark didn't run around with woman; he spent most of his nights alone in bed. Mark didn't do smack; he barely let a drop of alcohol touch his lips. Not Mark.
"Rog, you look like you saw a ghost or something," Mark commented as he bounded into the loft obviously pleased with his footage.
"No. Sorry. Hey, do you want to go grab some supper?" I asked. Now just wasn't the time to tell him; he was happy, and we had so little to be happy about.
"I really want to start piecing together some of my footage," Mark said as he pulled that ugly striped scarf off from around his neck, "I promised Collins a documentary by the time he finishes the semester at NYU."
"What did you shoot today?" I asked as I picked up my guitar. I knew that hours, minutes, and maybe even seconds mattered in the treatment of AIDS. I just couldn't tell him . . . my best friend.
"You never care any other time. Why today?"
"Just curious why you're in a good mood."
"I ran into Gabby on the subway. Remember her . . . that hot waitress. Long brown hair, green eyes, and . . ."
"The tight ass, right?"
Gabby.
Mark and Gabby casually dated off and on since Maureen became a lesbian. Gabby was beautiful. She dropped out of NYU after being told that her creativity was a little too creative for the conservatives in the art department. Apparently, pictures of homeless women and dirty alley ways weren't in vogue right now.
She could have done this. Damn Gabby . . . damn Maureen.
"You know, I'm not going to talk to you if you are just going to ignore me," Mark grumbled.
"You should check your messages," I replied grimly.
Mark's POV:
My blood ran cold. I stood still contemplating my next step; I didn't know what to do.
Who?
Nanette Himmelfarb, Maureen Johnson, Gabby O'Neil. There weren't that many to choose from. I wasn't known to sleep around; Roger always said that I lived for my work.
"Hey, I made an appointment for you tomorrow at two," Roger said.
"Umm . . . I've got to go," I stammered as I ran out the door and down the stairs. The brisk air felt good.
"Jesus, Mark. At least put your jacket on," Roger said as he threw it at me.
God, I felt sick. I could feel my stomach churning despite the fact that I hadn't eaten anything today. The bile was acidic against my esophagus. All I could do was bend over and let my stomach empty on to the cold concrete.
Maybe I wouldn't be the one to survive.
"It's going to be okay," Roger said.
"I need to . . . I need to go somewhere," I replied as I began to walk down the street without my jacket or my scarf. I could hear Roger's footsteps not far behind. I wanted him to go away. I wanted a chance to begin to sort this out in my head.
"You aren't going to do something stupid, are you?" Roger asked.
I hadn't really thought that far ahead.
"I'm not going to pull an April," I growled. Low blow, Mark. What a shitty way to treat your friend, I thought.
"Mark, just be careful," Roger said as his footfalls faded.
Roger's POV:
I sat on the front steps for two hours. I couldn't imagine where he would go without his jacket in forty degree weather. It was too cold. He'd catch pneumonia; that could kill him if . . .
I stood up and began to pace. I didn't know where Mark hung out besides the loft. What I good friend I was.
"I thought you would like this back," Collins said as he nearly dragged a heavily intoxicated Mark down the sidewalk.
"What the hell did he do?"
"He did ten vodka shots at the Cat Scratch Club. His skinny ass body isn't prepared to take on that much alcohol."
"Let's get him upstairs," I said as I tried to help Collins move the highly intoxicated, slightly combative Mark.
"Rog, why'd he do this to himself?" Collins asked as we struggled with the first flight of stairs.
"He might be positive."
"Mark? You're joking, right?"
"The department of health called him this afternoon."
"Christ," Collins muttered. This was far too much after losing Angel, Mimi, and three people from life support within the last year.
"I know. Who do you think did this?"
"Mark doesn't date, so unless that camera of his . . ."
"Not even mildly funny. Dammit, Mark. Pick up those big ass feet and start walking," I cursed.
"Roger, I don't feel sick," Mark slurred.
"I know."
"I think Maureen did this to me . . . Nanette Himmelfarb made me use two condoms and she used some kind of slime or something. It lasted like two minutes before she started crying and asking her father for forgiveness."
"Remind me not to date a rabbi's son," Collins replied.
"Still not funny," I replied. Only something like that could happen to Mark.
"Maureen could be a dirty slut. She cheated on me four times . . . within two weeks. I was stupid never breaking it off. I was nothing more than a big dildo to her," Mark replied as he tried to help us help him up the stairs.
"Maybe you shouldn't talk anymore," I said to Mark though I wasn't going to refute what he had said.
"I don't want to die," Mark said softly.
"I know you don't," I replied.
I didn't want him to die either.