Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Author's notes: And here is more. Thank you so much for all of the reviews. A warning that this is the chapter where the material gets darker.

Italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Five

It was two weeks later that Mark was going about his life as though the attack had never happened. He had gotten new glasses, and his hair was growing back in a sort of fuzz, but it was the same Mark. He filmed, consulted on other people's problems, and avoided talking himself like the plague. His camera was good for that…even if it did mean that Roger was right.

Now he was on his way to meet his mother and stepfather at the train station. And on the way he was hoping he'd find something tall to jump off of.

"You gonna tell me why you're running away man?"

Mark glanced around the car. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Not running away. He had planned on running away, but he had planned on running to the bus station the second he had really gotten away. He hadn't planned on getting into a car with a total stranger. He hadn't really heard the man… Roger's question.

"Hey man, you listening?" Roger asked.

Mark started and then looked over. "Sorry." His voice practically squeaked, and he hung his head as his cheeks flushed.

"It's cool man." Roger shrugged. "So…what are you running away from?"

"My stepfather." It came out before Mark could stop it. He never talked about himself. Normally he had a better defense mechanism, that screened his thoughts before they came out of his mouth, but in his nervousness it had stopped working."

Roger didn't say anything for a brief moment. "Does he hit you?"

"I uh…don't want to talk about it." Mark turned away.

"That's cool man." For a minute Roger seemed to focus on the road. It seemed that he had accepted Mark's end to the conversation. But then he turned back. "'Cause if he hit you then I'm sorry. You look like a good kid."

"Thanks." Mark sighed, wishing that it had just been hitting. He could have handled hitting. At least he thought he could.

"Oh Marky I haven't seen you in forever!"

Mark grunted as his mother pulled him into a hug without warning. It didn't really hurt him, because his ribs were healed and the bruises were gone, but despite her appearance his mother could be quite forceful. "Mom, don't call me Marky." He muttered.

"Now Mark, really. I'm going to call you what I want. I'm your mother." Patricia was a tiny woman with graying red hair. "And what have you done with your hair?"

"Nothing Mom."

"Bull." The man behind Patricia mumbled. "Makes you look like a girl." He said the last bit as he stepped forward next to her. Mark felt himself get a little nervous as it happened. He was the opposite of Patricia. Tall, muscular, and bald with a gravelly voice.

"Oh Richard really." Patricia put her hand on his arm.

"It's fine mom." Mark glanced around the train station. He knew that he had walked there mechanically, without thinking about it. He knew that he would continue just going through the motions for the day. He sighed. "Come on, I'll give you a tour of the city."

Eight hours later and they were eating dinner at some diner that Mark's mother had seen. They had done every touristy thing that Mark had avoided ever since he had gotten to the city ten years ago. The entire time he had done his best to make it seem as though his life was good. Saying things like Roger was sick, so they couldn't see the loft. The entire time he had done his best to ignore everything that Richard had said or done. This dinner was the first break of the day…Richard was in the bathroom.

"Mark, thank you for giving this a chance." Patricia smiled over her tea. "I know that Richard isn't your favorite person, but I do think that he's changed, you know."

Mark shook his head. "If you say so mom."

"Oh Mark." Patricia put her hand on his. "I promise that he has. He's been going to synagogue and everything. He's been a changed man ever since…never mind. He's not how he was."

Mark wanted to roll his eyes. "It's easy for you to say that mom. He would never do anything to you."

"Marky Boy!" It was Richard from the men's room door. "Come here for a sec. I wanna talk to you."

Mark hesitated. This was the part that he had been dreading. But Patricia gave him a look, so very slowly, stood and entered the men's room. "What do you want Dick?" He knew Richard hated when people called him that. That it pissed his stepfather off. So he didn't know why he was provoking him. His only relief was that he had waited until they were behind closed doors.

"I just missed my Marky Boy." Richard almost snarled, doing an action that he hadn't done in a long time. "It's been ten years since I've seen you."

"Please…don't." The tears that Mark wouldn't let fall stung at his eyes and gathered in the back of his throat, making his voice even weaker than when he was begging for his life. And when he heard Richard laugh, he knew that the pleas were pointless, so he closed his eyes to wait for the encounter to be over.

By the time that Mark truly opened his eyes again he was entering the loft. He vaguely remembered saying goodbye to his mom and walking home, but not really. "Hey man how did it---." But Mark blew right past Roger and into the bathroom. This was where he threw up. When he came back out Roger tried again. "Mark man, you OK?"

Mark opened the door. "Peachy. Just fucking peachy."

This was Roger's first real sign that something was wrong. Really wrong. He watched Mark as he took out the bottle of cheap generic whisky that they had, about a sixth of the bottle left, opened it, and gulped the whole thing down. This was Roger's second sign. But after he had the drink it seemed like his face had transformed back to calm, normal, Mark. "You know if you're sick it's probably not the best idea for you to be drinking."

"I'm fine." Mark glanced around before turning around and going back to the fridge as though he was trying to hide himself.

"Whatever." Now he watched as he pulled out the day old container of Chinese takeout, and searched for a plate. "That had better be for you man."

Mark shook his head. "It's for you. And take your AZT with it."

This set Roger off. "Damn it Mark, can't you ever just think about yourself for once!" He hadn't said anything in the two weeks since Mark had returned from the hospital about him eating. He had thought that with the alleviation from Benny things might be better, but they weren't.

"What?" Mark stopped dishing out the fried rice.

"Think about yourself for fuck's sake! You just came back from a day with two people that you hate, and you throw up, and all you do is remind me to take meds! In the ten years I've known you, I have never seen you put yourself first. And I know that you don't eat to make sure that I do. I also know that you nearly fucking died because of it. "Roger ran a hand through his hair. "I mean shit Mark. You never talk to anyone about your problems. I still don't know why the hell you ran away from Scarsdale when you were fifteen! I'm your best fucking friend, and I know nothing about you!" The punch to Roger's face was sign number three.

"Fuck off will you?" Mark started backing away. "Just fuck off Roger!"

Roger cut him off as he tried to get into his room. "Not until you tell what the hell is wrong with you!"

"Why! Why the hell do you care now? You haven't cared for ten fucking years, why decide that now's the time?"

"You never wanted to talk about it!"

"Well I don't want to talk about it now!"

Roger took a deep breath trying to calm down. Losing his temper wasn't going to get him anywhere, but the thought of this surprised him, because he had never cared before. "Mark I'm just trying to be a friend. I want to help you like you've always helped me."

"I've always helped you because I know that you can't take care of yourself!" Mark shot right back. "Just watch my movie."

"There you go again hiding behind that fucking camera!"

"Well if you didn't notice, I've always been a hell of a lot happier than you."

"You use that camera as a shield. Because you can't deal with the real world."

"Maybe. What the fuck does it matter?"

"Mark, I just want t help. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me the truth." It was the first time Roger had heard such a pleading tone in his own voice. Not even when he had tried to get Mimi off the drugs.

Then Mark gave Roger sign four and it scared him. He glared at him with stone hard eyes. "Nothing's wrong. That's the truth. And if you're wondering about me, maybe all these years after I said I didn't want to talk about it you should have just tried again. I've never been the most steadfast person. Now get out of my way."

They didn't speak the rest of the night. The next morning Roger was at the kitchen table when Mark came out of his room. "Listen Mark. About last night…"

"I'm going to a doctor's appointment." Mark cut off his room mate. His tone all business. "Eat something and take your AZT." He showed no signs of wanting to work things out like after every other fight they'd had. This was sign number five.

There's this one. Next one will be up very soon. Quick poll: I'm not even close to this point, but at the ending, do you want to see a sad ending, or a happy ending? Please vote in a review.