((Okay, so I forgot a disclaimer last time. I'll do it now. I don't own RENT or any affiliation of RENT. All I own is my ideas for the stories.))

Mark gave a small, short laugh and motioned for Roger to move to the chairs in the waiting room. Getting comfortable, Mark turned to face his friend.

"Mark, now would be nice."

"Okay, okay. So you want to know how I got AIDS. Let's see."

"Come on. I'm not getting any younger."

"Sorry, I'm trying to figure out where to start. So I'm 23 now and you're 24, right?" Mark paused and looked at Roger. His friend nodded his head so Mark assumed it was safe to continue," Okay, zoom out. My life. Act 22, scene 11. It was Thanksgiving. We'd just arrived to my mom's. I don't remember why we went there but I think it had something to do with extra food. All I know is that something took us there . . ."

"I can't believe we're at my mom's house for Thanksgiving. It's been how long since I've had Thanksgiving with these people?" Mark whined to his best friend.

"But, Mark, think of the left-overs she'll be sending home with us. Just please, think of the food." Roger said as the two of them walked up the sidewalk to the normal looking, white, suburban house.

Mark grumbled, mixing something that sounded like "fucker" and "starving." Mark hastened his step with Roger practically running to keep up with his insane speed. But, before the filmmaker could even knock on the door, a woman of older age, flew from inside and latched herself onto Mark's neck, sobbing.

"Mom, we have an audience," Mark groaned as he looked back at Roger.

With amazing speed, Mark's mother regained her composure. She smoothed out her shirt, wiped the tears off of her face, and took a deep breath. "Come on in boys. It's almost time for dinner. You came just in time."

Mrs. Cohen escorted both men into her house. Mark noted the things that had changed since he had been gone. It wasn't much but he noted them. It could very well be the last time he came to his mother's house. He wanted to know what it looked like.

The older woman looked back at the boys and stated, "Mark you can help Cindy make the mashed potatoes. You used to love doing that. Please, hurry up."

Mark's mother walked off to some odd portion of the house.

"Hmm…I wonder what Mark liked when he was younger," Roger said, letting his voice make the sentence sound highly obscene. A smirk played on Roger's lips, thinking for once the filmmaker would have nothing to say.

"Shut the hell up. What's it to you anyway? Should I say anything about your love of Ranch dressing?" Mark shot back.

"Well, remember, you used to drown everything in mayo. What the fuck is wrong with you? Mayo and French fries!" Roger said, backing Mark against a wall.

"Hmmm…this looks kinda familiar," Mark spat sarcastically, pushing Roger away from him and walking into the kitchen. Maybe killing the mash potatoes would relieve some tension.

The family sat down together at the table. Mark was seated next to Roger who sat next to Mark's father. Roger looked across from him and he found Cindy, Mark's sister. Roger could only imagine who the other people were.

Roger nudged Mark, and whispered, "Is this the wrong time to say that this is highly uncomfortable?"

Mark looked at Roger wide-eyed and mouthed only one word. "No."

Roger hid a small laugh at Mark's reaction. It was a classic Mark expression.

"Would everyone be quiet while I say the prayer," Mark's father said before he cleared his throat.

Roger mouthed "Prayer?"

Mark shrugged his shoulders in return. Both boys stayed silent as Mark's father did the prayer before Mrs. Cohen announced that everyone should start eating. Roger piled the food on his plate. Everything he could was on there. Mark took his food in moderation. Eating about what a five year old would. Roger pondered why his friend, who normally ate as much as he did, wasn't eating his heart out. Mark looked up, uncomfortable under his friend's gaze, and smiled.

"So Mark, how's the filming going?" Cindy asked, breaking the silence at the table.

"Cindy, just shut up," Mark said, venom seeping through the words. He hadn't meant it to be that mean in the beginning but something about being there, in that house, had him on edge.

"God, I was just asking. Be that way then," Cindy spat at him.

"Honey, I don't think you should be on your third glass of wine at this point," Mr. Cohen said trying to remove the glass from his wife's hand.

"No worries dear," Mrs. Cohen chirped as she drank the rest of the glass before her husband could take it. "Did I ever tell you of the night Markie here was conceived?"

"Mom, not here," Mark lowered his head, noting that his mother was drunk. And when his mother was drunk, nothing could stop her from talking about inappropriate things.

"No seriously. My husband is a great lover. Oh god, he gets me so hot," Mrs. Cohen started just as her husband covered her mouth with his hand.

"Honey, they don't need to know that," Mark's dad said, his cheeks flushing from embarrassment.

Mrs. Cohen removed her husband's hand, "And that night was no different. I think we were in the bathroom," she turned to her husband, "You always did like shower sex."

"Can I please be excused? I do not want to hear of your love life," Mark pleaded to his father.

"Actually I think maybe we should move into the living room and have a family oriented togetherness moment," his father compromised with him. Mark nodded in agreement.

As they walked out, Mark's mother, ever the observant one, stated, "Mark, dear, you've gotten thin. Are you eating enough? You didn't eat much today and honey, whenever you're over you always eat your weight's worth of food."

Mark shifted from foot to foot. The AZT never did help with that.

((A/N: There are several references in this chapter to other stories. I would just like to point out that I don't mean to reuse ideas from other stories by either myself or Mookie Riffic, it just happens that the same joke fits. ))