Author's Note: Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews guys! It really spurred me on to get this update out faster and I did! At least two days less lag than before. I kid you not. I really appreciate the imput. Thank you guys! Hope you all enjoy this next bit.

Chapter Four:

"You've reached Maureen Johnson and Joanne Jefferson. We're not in right now, so please leave your name, number, and a short message and we'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Mark sighed, in the back of his mind thanking god that Joanne was the one that recorded that message, "Hey guys, it's Mark."

He shifted from foot to foot in the phone booth as he tried to find the right way of putting his message, especially since he didn't want to seem desperate for their help. But in this situation, he needed them. It was becoming more and more apparent that he was getting sick. He couldn't walk straight, he'd been dry heaving for the past half hour, and Adrian even became concern enough to feel his forehead. Sure enough, he felt warm.

"Listen, I need a favor from you guys," he said as he cleared is throat, "I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with something and I need a place to stay for the next few days so I don't spread it to anyone, especially Roger and Mimi. Collins has his own place, but I can't put him at risk. Just call me at the loft and tell me if it's okay or not. Thanks. Bye."

He put down the receiver and walked out of the phone booth, where Jason was waiting for him, smoking a cigarette.

"You're still here?" Mark asked.

"I thought I'd wait for you and see if you need some help walking home," Jason answered with a shrug, "Adrian was right, you really don't look like you can make it on your own."

"I don't think Adrian has any say in how I look."

"He's just worried, man." Jason said as he flicked the ash from his cigarette, "He lost his baby brother to pneumonia two years ago. He was a mess and now at even the smallest sign of a cold he freaks out and gets all motherly."

"He didn't say anything about that," Mark commented, "Said he was an only child."

"He is now."

"How old was his brother?"

"The kid was only eight."

"Wow, h-how did he deal with that?"

"The best he could. Made a collage of his brother and hung it in his room, visits his grave on the holidays, and just keeps his memory alive."

Mark ran a hand through his hair and gave a tired sigh, "So, are you my escort? Or do you just want more camera time?"

Jason laughed and gave a big smile, "A little of both."

The filmmaker shook his head and took a step, the second he did he felt the ground beneath him shift. Then he was leaned up against the phone booth, out of breath and shaky on his feet.

"Told you he was right," Jason said as he took hold of Mark's arm.

"This is great, real great," Mark said sarcastically, "I've got a seventeen year old leading me home cause I can hardly do it myself. Real becoming."

As they walked, Jason took the liberty to talk about his life and school, about how him and Adrian were best friends and how he wished that the world would just understand that things were changing. Mark couldn't help but smile, hoping that the kid would talk about all that for the camera as well. He had to admit, the camera loved Jason. The teen with black eyeliner, dyed black hair, and green eyes. He reminded the filmmaker so much of Roger in appearance and sometimes in personality that it was almost scary.

"Jason, I can take care of myself from here," Mark said as they neared the loft. It was only a block or two away and he already felt bad for allowing the kid to follow him this far.

"If you say so," Jason replied. He shifted nervously where he stood and began to speak again, "Look, I know you're the director here, but you should open up to us too. It's only fair."

"If you guys want to know about me, all you have to do is ask," Mark smiled, "Okay?"

The boy nodded, "Okay. So, when are you going to shoot us again?"

"Probably in a few days. I want to get rid of this bug and I don't want any of you getting sick."

"Hey, it's a good excuse for us to call in sick to school," Jason smirked. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. He quickly scribbled on it and handed it to the filmmaker, "Give me a call when you want to film again and I'll get everyone together. Have to keep in touch with your subjects, right?"

"Right. You're a smart kid."

"Obviously."

"Alright, I have to go and you have to go home. I'll talk to you in a few days."

"Later, Mark."

The filmmaker watched as the teenager ran down the street and then disappeared around the corner before heading toward the loft himself.

Mimi was sitting in the stairwell when Mark appeared. She set her jaw and pulled herself up, making sure that Mark would know she meant business when they encountered each other.

"Mimi?" Mark asked, stopping a few steps below her, "What are you doing out here?"

"I need to talk to you," the dancer answered.

"I don't think that's a good idea. I'm getting sick and--"

"Now." The way that one simple word was said left no room for argument.

A little taken aback, Mark nodded. Mimi shook her head and led the filmmaker down the stairs into her loft. Once they were both inside, she shut the door and reeled on the older man, anger and frustration evident in her eyes.

"What's going on, Mark?" There was an edge in Mimi's voice that made Mark feel slightly uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?"

"Roger's been acting weird for the past two days and I know it wasn't cause of me! What the hell did you do to him?"

"What do you mean what I did? I didn't do anything," Mark argued, holding his hands up defensively.

"He doesn't just end up lying in bed all day for no reason!"

"He's been in bed all day?" concern was evident in the filmmaker's voice.

"Yes and I know it wasn't my fault! You're the only other person that can make him get like this, so you had better start explaining cause I will not hesitate to smack some sense into you!"

"Mimi, calm down…"

Mimi couldn't understand how Mark could be staying so calm. Sure, he showed genuine concern, but this was Roger they were talking about. Mark was always fussing over Roger, and today Roger didn't even complain about Mark bugging him to take his AZT, which was everyday.

"Look, this isn't something I want to talk about," Mark started, "And it's just not a good time. I should go, I don't want to get you sick."

Mimi glared at the filmmaker for a long moment before crossing the room and slapping the blonde so hard the smack that emitted from flesh meeting flesh practically resounded through the loft. She wanted to smirk when Mark cursed under his breath, hand against his already reddening cheek.

"Is all that you can think about?" Mimi asked, her anger just coming forward. Never had she been so angry with Mark before, "You? Is that all you can focus on?"

The silence that she was greeted with was tense and uncomfortable.

"Well, say something!"

The words that came out of Mark's mouth shocked her, "Maybe for once, I just want to think about myself for a little while. Maybe for once, I don't want to be the one holding us together. Maybe I just want to hold myself together. Have you ever thought of that, Mimi?"

It wasn't the way that he looked that made her feel guilty about her actions; it was the way he spoke. He didn't raise his voice, yell, scream, or rant. Instead, he calmly spoke in a voice so tired and defeated that she couldn't imagine how she was possibly angry with him in the first place. Then she remembered Roger and the way he was acting. She remembered her boyfriend who decided to stay in all day, like he did before his life started getting better and the anger flared up again.

"What's so damn hard about your life?" Mimi asked, unable to keep her cool, "You were never a drug addict, you didn't have to go through withdrawal, and you never got HIV or AIDS. Tell me what the hell was so damn bad and important that you had to upset Roger like that! You're going through the same thing we are! You're fucking broke and trying to make a life doing something you love with little to no success! I get it! But you didn't have to take it out on him!"

"I never took anything out on him!" And it was Mark's turn to raise his voice, "You don't know anything, Mimi, so don't judge my life!"

Those last words were said so loudly that the dancer had to take a step back. Then there was that guilt again, rising up as Mark started to have a coughing fit, barely able to catch his breath. And she didn't know if she should step forward and help him or not in their current predicament.

"Mark?" she became more concerned when the coughing just didn't seem to stop. She took a step closer.

"Stop…" Mark gasped, holding up one hand to keep her at a distance, "I don't want--you getting sick."

"Mark, I--"

"I should--leave," the filmmaker breathed, walking toward the loft door and pulling it open.

"Mark!" Mimi called.

But he was already headed out the door and up the stairs.

"I'm sorry…"

"Hey Pookie! I just got your message and I'm sure Joanne won't mind you staying here. We have a guest room after all. As long as you don't interrupt us during sex, I'm sure you can stay as long as you need!"

Mark cringed. Leave it up to Maureen to say a little too much for comfort.

Clearing his throat and rubbing his sore cheek, he made his way to his room where he pulled out a duffle bag and started to pack some clothes for the next few days. A soft knock at his door made him look up.

"Where are you going?" Roger asked, looking confused and uncertain.

"Joanne and Maureen's," the filmmaker answered, "I'm sick and I don't want to spread it to you or Mimi."

"Oh," the musician said, not moving from his place at the doorway, "Listen. I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have pushed."

"No, Rog, it's okay."

"Just promise you'll tell me when you're ready. I can't stand just standing by while you deal with this alone, Mark. You've been there for me through every thing and I can't even calm you down."

Mark sighed, "I'll tell you, soon. I promise, but you have to let me get through this on my own as well. It's hard because I know it'll affect you."

"Think about yourself for once, Mark."

The filmmaker nodded as he zipped up his bag and crossed the room to leave. Roger's gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. He dared not breathe too deep because he was scared he would give Roger something.

"What happened to your face?" Roger asked, looking concerned.

"It's nothing," Mark answered, "I should go. If I stay any longer…"

Roger nodded as he walked out of the doorway and towards the front door. He pulled it open and Mark smiled gratefully.

"Take care of yourself, okay? I know Maureen can be a hassle," Roger said with a small smile.

"I'll get better in no time. Don't stay cooped up in here all day and take your AZT," Mark answered in kind as he stepped out the door, "I'll see you in a few days."

Then Roger did the most unexpected thing Mark could have imagined, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on the smaller man's forehead. The door slid close and Mark was left standing in the stairwell for a few seconds, replaying the moment in his head. Wondering if it had really happened. He touched his forehead where Roger's lips just were and shook his head. It's normal, he told himself, my mom always did that to me when I was younger and got sick.

Inside the loft, Roger was standing, his back against the door, wondering what had caused him to kiss Mark. He shook it off. It must have just been reflex, he thought as he walked over to the couch and picked up his guitar, my mom always kissed my forehead when I was sick.

He settled down in his seat and for the first time in days found words coming to him.

Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoyed that! Hopefully the next chapter will be longer and reveal more. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm dragging it out, but it helps the story, Believe me. Please leave a review and thank you guys for reading!