Chapter Twelve: Just Born to Be Bad
All fire burns, little baby. You'll learn. – Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman

Roger sighed as he put his guitar in its case and closed it, in a quieter mood than he usually was after he performed. But then, April hadn't been able to get there like she had every time before when he had a gig—usually she'd watch him, but tonight she'd had to work out, couldn't get out of it… Wasn't a whole lot either of them could do, and Roger at least had the sense not to be too upset about it. But still, it wasn't the same without her watching him. Not that same… spark.

His guitar put away, he picked it up, stood, started to leave. April would be waiting for him—of course, the gig had been just early enough that she hadn't been able to make it, just late enough that he couldn't make it to the diner to walk her home like he did every night she was working past sunset. But as he started for the door, he heard one of his band members—Josh—call from behind him, "Hey, Roger, where're you going?"

Roger half-turned around to face him, a bit of a wry smirk on his face. Josh and the two other members of the band sat in a loose semi-circle of chairs, in one of their quieter moods. Gigs with the Well Hungarians invariably ended with one of two results—either they picked up a girl at the bar where they'd been playing and brought her home, or they just sat around afterwards, maybe got drunk or high. Tonight was, obviously, one of the latter nights.

"Home," Roger said, as if it should be obvious. He really didn't feel like talking to Josh just now, when any real sort of conversation with him tended to turn nasty pretty quickly, or if not that, then into some sort of competition. "April will—"

"April?" Josh snorted and rolled his eyes. "Should've guessed. She's got you whipped, man." Behind Josh, Roger could see Michael wince and rub at his temples, probably anticipating another not-quite-argument between Josh and Roger. It had happened before, and it never surprised anyone when the two of them got into their little competitions, but…

Roger simply shrugged, set his guitar case down gently by the door, turned back to the other three and glanced between Josh, Michael and Rob calmly. Josh, though he was shorter than Roger by a couple inches and more slender, just arched an eyebrow at him as if trying to pick a fight. The other two almost avoid meeting his eyes, clearly wanting nothing more than to just stay out of this conversation, whatever it was. Satisfied, Roger turned his attention back to Josh. "She's got me whipped, huh?"

"Come on, she's got you wrapped around her finger. We hardly ever see you anymore except when you have to be around, now that you're spending all your free time with her."

Roger sneered despite himself, unable to contain his disdain. "I didn't know you missed my company all that much. I'd hate to deprive you of having me around." He sat down in one of the chairs, backwards with his arms folded over the seat back, chin resting on his arms.

Josh rolled his eyes a little and started to dig through the backpack that lay on the ground by his chair. "I liked that other girl better. What's her name."

"Maureen? Yeah, you would," Roger muttered under his breath, feeling somehow obliquely slighted. Only someone as idiotic as Josh would ever compare April to Maureen and think that. He wondered absently why they still kept him around instead of replacing him with someone that Roger could tolerate being around, at least, but that train of thought faded away as he noticed Josh pulling a needle from his bag, a bag of something…

He raised an eyebrow, and Josh caught his eye and smiled a little, almost daring him to comment. Roger couldn't resist the challenge, though he knew Josh expected it, and half-snapped, "What the hell is that?"

Josh shrugged. "It's just smack." A long pause then, as he fiddled with the needle, slowly rolling it between his fingers, and he didn't look up at Roger again for almost a minute. "I've got a little extra, if you want some."

Roger stared at him. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

A noncommittal shrug again, a cocky, challenging look. "Oh, that's right. You're scared your girlfriend's gonna find out, right?" His lips curled in an ugly smirk, and he shook his head a little. "Figures."

Something in the back of Roger's mind, some part of him still sensible, whispered that this was not the way to prove himself, that he shouldn't let a bastard like Josh push him this far, but… He clenched his jaw and held out his hand. "Fine. Give me that."

Roger let himself into the loft quietly, careful not to make too much noise as he stepped inside, closed the door behind him quietly. Coming in this late unnoticed was more difficult recently—a month ago, Mark had moved out of their bedroom, into Collins and Benny's, to let April and Roger have the other bedroom to themselves (which Mark claimed was more for his sanity than anything else). That arrangement had only lasted for three days, after which Collins had gotten fed up and moved his bed out into the living room after creating a third bedroom of sorts out of blankets hung from the ceiling, which left Benny and Mark in the second bedroom and not nearly as cramped. Walking across the living room, Roger glanced to the futon with Maureen, and Collins' "room"—both of them were asleep, as far as he could tell, and no one else was in the living room, so maybe no one else would notice he'd come home so late. Maybe April would be asleep and not realize… Maybe no one would be know to ask why.

No such luck. Roger stepped into his and April's room, and though the lights were out and April should have been asleep, she sat up immediately when she heard him come in. "Roger. Where were you?" There was no mistaking that she'd been lying in bed awake, waiting for him to get home. Her eyes never left him, searching his face in the darkness. He shook his head and closed the door behind him quietly, avoiding her eyes.

"Out. I was… with my band. I probably should have called, but…" He shrugged and took off his shirt slowly, and as he did his fingers brushed over the needle mark on the inside of his forearm. For an instant, he froze. No, she wouldn't notice it. No way in hell. He tossed his shirt on the floor and slid into bed beside her. She snuggled up against him, her back to him, and after a moment or two he put an arm around her.

"How'd it go tonight?" she asked, softly.

"Huh?" it took him a second to realize what she was talking about, and then he answered distantly, "Oh. Fine."

She was silent, as if waiting for more, but Roger didn't say anything else. There was nothing to say. At last, she sighed and half-turned around to kiss him gently. "I love you," she said quietly.

"Yeah."

Roger hadn't expected to see April here, tonight, and as a matter of fact, didn't see her. She was supposed to have been working that night, but she didn't want to miss another performance so soon after the last, and Leia had agreed to cover for her. When April thanked her for it, she'd just smiled and said, "I'm really not being nice. I just need the money. Go on and see your boyfriend." April had laughed, and gone on ahead, hanging back from where the band was when she got to the bar. Roger never even looked up at her, completely oblivious to her presence. He was quieter when he wasn't showing off for someone he actually knew, she realized after watching him for a while. Just as confident and self-assured as always, but still… quieter.

She watched him until he and the rest of the band left the stage, and then she stood up to follow him, weaving carefully through the people between her and Roger. It took her a minute or two to figure out where Roger had gone, into a door that led to some back room. The door was cracked half-open, and April walked up to it slowly, looking in but not quite stepping inside. She spotted Roger and the other three she'd only spoken to briefly before, now and then. About to follow him inside, April stopped when she saw what Roger held in his hands, toying with it thoughtfully the way he tended to with any random object he'd picked up. The difference now was that he wasn't just holding some random object—it was a needle.

April backpedaled away from the door, turned and retreated until she found herself standing on the street outside the bar, reminding herself to breathe. Shock, confusion, anger… What the hell was he thinking? That idiot, he… She had to talk to him. She just… couldn't go back in there. He should come out the back door, when he did leave, she figured, so she sighed and found the alleyway, the back door, and stood there, waiting. For the middle of April, it was still cold outside, blustery. She wrapped her arms around herself and resigned herself to waiting there for a long time.

When the door finally opened—maybe fifteen minutes later, maybe an hour—Roger stepped outside and didn't even seem to notice her at first, simply turning down the alley and starting towards the street, she assumed towards home. "Roger!" she called, and he turned around to face her, startled.

"April. What… what are you doing here? I though you were—"

"Leia covered for me," she explained automatically as she tried to gather her courage to confront him. "I came over to watch you play, and…" Damn it. This wasn't working. "I followed you back with your band. What the… What the hell are you doing, Roger?"

He didn't seem to comprehend the question for a moment, and then his expression darkened. "Nothing. You shouldn't have… you shouldn't have followed me like that."

She clenched her jaw. "Well it's a damn good thing I did! That was a needle, Roger. That's not something minor you can brush off. That's dangerous, it's going to—"

"April!" he snapped. "Are you my girlfriend or my mother? I can take care of myself."

April had to remind herself that he was bigger than her and she could not just punch him—besides which, she doubted that she'd be able to cause much damage. So for a few seconds she just stood there, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "How long?"

"What?"

"How. LONG?" she repeated through clenched teeth. "How long have you been using that crap?"

He didn't answer for a while, and when he at last did, it came out defiantly, almost as a challenge. "A month. Almost."

She drew a breath to steady herself. "I can't believe you. You didn't even think to tell me, to—"

"Okay, stop. Just stop. Alright? It's not like I'm using it every day, just… every now and then. To relax. To feel good. Okay? Stop acting like this is such a big deal."

"It is a big deal, you fucking idiot!" she screamed at him. He looked taken aback—it was the first time he had ever heard her swear. "If you don't realize that…" She trailed off, shook her head. "You know what, Roger, don't talk to me right now. I can't… just… I give up." She stepped around him, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, and started walking home to the loft. For a moment he stood there in the alleyway, wavering as if he might follow her back, but instead he simply shook his head to himself, his jaw tight and expression closed, turned and went back inside.

When she reached home, April didn't speak to any of the others, just went to her room before they could say a word to her, closed the bedroom door behind her and got into bed, clinging to her pillow. She wouldn't let herself cry, though. She was still awake when Roger came home, an hour or two later, but she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

"April?" he said softly as he stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry." She didn't move, didn't open her eyes, and after a moment he sighed and moved a little closer. "April-baby? You awake?" April ignored him, silently praying he'd go away. She couldn't talk to him now. At last, he sighed and leaned down to kiss her on the temple, then straightened and left the room with his guitar in hand. She lay there, silent, for a minute or two, and finally buried her face in her pillow. God, what was she going to do?