Roger's POV:

He ate and slept . . . for seven days. His camera was in the corner with a thin layer of dust coating it. It was a day that I never thought I would see.

"Mark, come on. Let's go see Collins. He said we should come around," I said as I knocked on his bedroom door.

"No, I'm tired," Mark grumbled. I could hear him tossing around on his squeaky mattress.

"You've slept for nearly fourteen hours today. Get up before I come in there and wake you up," I growled suddenly losing my temper with him.

"I just want to be here. I don't want to go out," Mark yelled back losing his temper with me. I could barely remember the last time the timid Jewish boy got mad, let alone yelled.

"No, you get your ass up and stop moping. You never let me have that luxury, so I'm not going to let you either," I yelled back as I opened the door and proceeded to grab his arm and pull him into a sitting position. "Are you going to get your ass up, or should I continue?"

"You don't understand," Mark said softly. I could see the tears in his eyes.

"What don't I understand?" I asked as I relented my attack for a moment.

"Who will take care of you if I'm sick? That's my job. How can I ever look at Maureen again? I still love her . . . I think. I mean, I'm too tired to kill myself," Mark said as he lowered his head, so I couldn't see the tears that he was obviously ashamed of.

"It's not your job to take care of me. We take care of each other . . . remember, brothers," I said as I released his arm and sat at the edge of his bed, "As for Maureen, you'll look at her again. You'll probably even be her bridesmaid at some point. Life goes on, Mark. Are you going to let it go on without you?"

"When the hell did you get so wise?"

"The minute you made me clean my life up, so I could live whatever is left of it. Let's go get something to eat. You need to get out of this shit hole."

"Roger, before you go. Thanks. I'm sorry to dump this on you . . . after all that's happened to Angel and Mimi."

"It's really not your fault, Mark. We'll get through this . . . just like we got through my withdrawals," I said as I stood up and began to walk to the door.

"Christ, I don't think I could ever go through that again, moody bastard," Mark said laughing.

"At least, I'm not the one that smells like shit. Go shower," I said.

Five minutes later, I could hear the water in the shower running . . . a minute later, I heard Mark cursing at the cold water. It was almost comical, but I knew it had to be killing him. He didn't have the luxury of having a little extra blubber to keep him warm. Mark would always say that he wished that he could marry rich and get fat like Benny did.

Mark emerged in well-worn corduroy pants and a cable knit sweater, but he still looked like he was freezing. His head was wet. He looked pasty and sick. I began to wonder if Mark was really sick.

"Lesson number one: Dry your hair before you catch pneumonia or something," I replied.

"I've never dried my hair. It's a girlie thing," Mark replied as he sat on the couch opposite me.

"Then you should be damn good at it. Mimi . . . she left her hair dryer here before . . .," I began, "Just go use it."

"Fine. You better decide where we are going to eat," Mark grumbled as he got up and went back into the bathroom.

I gingerly picked up the camera from the corner. I was going to make him film something today. He needed to start living just in case he would be forced to start dying.

Mark's POV:

"This is really good, Roger," I said despite the fact that I was visibly trying to keep my stomach contents down.

"You should have gotten something with more fat in it. It isn't like you couldn't handle a few more calories," Roger replied as he ate his sandwich.

"I just don't feel too well," I replied.

"I hope you feel well enough to go visit Joanne and Maureen. They called while you were drying your hair," Roger replied with a smirk.

"I'm not ready."

"She's dying, Mark. Maureen is going to die at some point. If you love her as much as you claim, you should start spending time with her."

"But to look her in the face and wonder who did this to her . . . and if she did this to me. It's too soon."

"Too soon or not. You're going," Roger replied with a satisfied look on his face.

I knew it didn't pay to start arguing with him. It would have been futile to say the least. Part of me might have even known that he was right. I, however, would never admit that to Roger's face.

Roger's POV:

He became silent the moment we got on the bus to go across town. I hated the bus; I hated what it did to Mark. He swallowed nervously; he looked like at any moment he could get sick. I knew he needed to do this; I didn't want him to make the same mistakes that I had. God, I had made so many.

Upon ringing the doorbell to the brick townhouse, Joanne threw herself into Mark's arms. She nearly knocked him over. She was negative; Joanne said the telephone call came just a few minutes earlier. She was negative; Mark was in limbo. It didn't seem all that fair.

Mark smiled a hollow smile; he cried tears that looked more like they were painful rather than joyful. Joanne kissed his cheek and pulled us into the brownstone.

Maureen wore a loose fitting t-shirt and worn jeans. Her hair was pulled back conservatively; her face was paler than I had ever seen it. It surely wasn't the sparkling, diva that I had known for years. She looked sick; in a lot of ways, she looked a lot like Mark did.

"Hey," Maureen said nervously to no one in particular.

"Hey," Mark and I replied lamely.

"I'm so sorry," Maureen said as she disintegrated into tears, "Mark, I'm so sorry. Did you get your results?"

Mark said nothing. He pulled the crying woman into an embrace. He looked startled when she violently pushed him away.

"Don't touch me. I'm poison. Can't you see I'm poison?" Maureen hissed before running out of the room with Joanne hot on her heels.

Mark sat on the couch. He looked confused, lost, hurt . . . maybe even a little angry. I could see the tears building in his eyes. I sat down next to him.

"I'm mad at Joanne. I'm mad at Maureen. I feel like I'm poison, too," Mark replied in a voice completely devoid of emotion, "I feel like I'm a horrible person."

"You aren't a horrible person. I hated April for a long time. I still hate the Man. Maybe this was too soon for you and Maureen," I replied following a long sigh.

"I'm sorry about Maureen. Mark, are you okay?" Joanne asked as she sat next to him. She drew him into an embrace; she held him close to her. She told him it was okay to cry. Joanne said that she did a lot of crying because so many things were making her hurt.

"Mark, it's okay. She still loves you; I think there's even this crazy part of me that loves you. We're family," Joanne said softly, "Maureen is madder at herself than she is you or me."

"I know. I just never thought that . . . I never thought that after Angel and Mimi died . . . I never thought that I could hurt this much," Mark rambled, "I'm sick of all this shit. Why can't the world just slow down for a minute?"

"I don't know," I replied.

"You should go home and wait by the phone. I'm sorry, Mark. I'm sorry this afternoon was a disaster," Joanne said.

"Maureen has never been anything short of a hurricane," Mark replied with a smile.

"You'll call, right?" Joanne said as she helped a tired looking Mark off the couch.

"I'll call," Mark said as we left the brownstone.