Author's Note: Thank you guys so, so, so much for the wonderful reviews. I'm glad you guys like how I'm presenting the characters. I really didn't want to get stoned to death... not that I'm accusing any of you of violence... But yes! Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!

Chapter Five:

"Mark?" Joanne asked as she stepped into the guest room where the filmmaker was unpacking, "How you feeling?"

"Like shit," Mark answered with a smile as he kicked his duffle bag underneath the bed, "Thanks for letting me stay here, by the way. I don't know how to--"

The lawyer held up her hand to silence him, "We're friends. I'm always willing to help out."

"Thanks."

Joanne walked over to the bed and sat down, surveying the things that Mark had brought along. His camera, a few rolls of unopened film, clothes, and toiletries. Something confused her as she reached out and touched one of the shirts on the bed.

"Don't you own any short sleeved shirts?" she asked, picking up the plain blue shirt, "Not to pry, but sleeping in a long sleeve shirt can't be comfortable."

"I-I didn't think about bringing any. Guess I didn't plan ahead."

She sighed and carefully folded the shirt up, "Listen, Mark, I know it's none of my business, but there has to be more of a reason you're here than the fact that you're getting sick." The look of surprise and confusion on the filmmaker's face was all she needed to continue, "Look, I've seen you sick before. It was only once, but that gave me a pretty good idea of what you did when you did get sick. You were in your room for an entire week and then you completely cleaned everything afterward. But for some reason, you're here."

"I can leave if you want me to…"

"That's not what I meant, Mark. Not at all."

"Joanne, I--"

"You don't have to explain anything to me, but it would be nice if you told us about what's going on with you once in a while. You're always holding that camera and I know that you just disappear into the background sometimes."

"That's not true."

"Listen, Mark. I know you can give us so much more. No one who can tango that well and dance on tabletops should keep themselves hidden away." Mark opened his mouth to speak, but the lawyer stopped him, "I know it sounds weird, but I've known you for almost two years and I still don't know a lot about you."

"So, what should I do?"

"Open up," Joanne smiled, "Especially when you're here with me and Maureen. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Alright. I got some take out on the way home, so help yourself if you want some."

"Thanks."

With that Joanne got up and walked out of the room. Maureen was waiting for her down the hall. The diva pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"So, you talked to him?" Maureen asked.

"Yeah. Care to explain to me why Mimi was so intent on us getting him to talk?"

"She said something about Roger being upset."

"When is he not upset?" Joanne asked, rolling her eyes.

Maureen laughed, "Come on, Pookie, let's eat. I'm starving!"

The following day, Mark couldn't sit still. He wasn't used to being in a strange place without his equipment to keep himself busy. He had already taken the medicine that Joanne was nice enough to provide. He felt fine and he was itching to get his documentary done.

He paced the room. Maureen was out organizing her next big protest and Joanne would be at work until the evening. Biting his lip, he pulled out the crumpled piece of paper he had in his jacket and looked it over. It was Jason's number. It was one in the afternoon on a Saturday, but he wasn't sure if the kid would be awake yet.

Nervously, (why the hell am I so nervous? He asked himself) he picked up the phone in his room and dialed the number. He held his breath as it began to ring. After four rings, a groggy voice greeted him through the phone.

"Jason?" Mark asked, wondering if he was speaking to the right person.

"Mark?" came the surprised reply from the other end, "Ugh, what are you doing calling? I thought you were going to stay in for a few days."

"I can't, I'm too focused on this and I feel better already," the filmmaker quickly said, "Look, do you think you can get the gang together in about an hour and I'll do some more filming?"

"I don't know," Jason answered, his voice clearer now, "Jess is going to be out of town until tomorrow afternoon and she took Kim with her. Ryan and Adrian are probably at band practice."

Mark sighed, "Damn, I was really hoping to--"

"I can give you a one on one if you want."

"You won't mind sitting alone with me, answering stupid questions for god knows how long without your friends around to entertain you?"

"I like the camera time, what can I say?"

Mark laughed, "Alright, I'll meet you in an hour."

"An hour? I take longer to get ready."

"Then you better hurry up cause I'm not going to wait for you."

"Fuck!"

"See you soon."

"Yeah."

Mark hung up the phone and shook his head, kids…

Roger's fingers glided effortlessly over the strings of his guitar, his new song coming along so fast that he could hardly believe it. It sounded beautiful, soft, but rock and roll to the core. He loved the words and he loved the way it sounded. It was perfect and he couldn't understand how it just all came out of him.

Maybe I just needed a break, he told himself, to get my head back together. That's got to be it.

A soft knock on the window gave him a start. Mimi looked back at him from behind the clear glass, smiling as she held up a bag with the familiar logo of a Chinese food place they liked to eat at. Roger motioned for her to get inside and she did, setting down the bag as she closed the window.

"When did you get enough money to get Chinese food?" Roger asked with a smile as he set down his guitar.

"I always have enough money for you," Mimi answered, walking over and kissing him on the lips, "Always."

"I'm going to have to take you out and show you how much I appreciate you," Roger pulled the dancer closer, their lips meeting again.

Soon, the food was all but forgotten as the two lay on the couch, kissing.

"I'm not just a teenager, you know what I mean? I want to grow up to make a fucking difference in this world. I'm not rebelling. I'm being myself and finding my place in the world. When people figure that out and stop being so scared of stereotypes, that's when we can move forward."

Mark was impressed with the extent of Jason's maturity and very intrigued as to how someone so young could have so many ideas and thoughts in their head. He was sure that if he wanted to, he could film Jason all day and make a wonderful story out of it. Unfortunately, that wasn't the point of this project.

"You're pretty smart for a kid," Mark commented as he wound up his camera.

"I'm not that much younger thank you," Jason said, "What are you? Like twenty one?"

"Twenty four, almost twenty five. Almost an eight year difference, so don't tell me you're not much younger."

Jason laughed and pulled out a carton of cigarettes from his pocket. They were both sitting in the boy's room, having decided to find a quieter and warmer environment as to not aggravate the bug that Mark had caught. On the faded blue walls, there were posters of a lot of known and a few unknown bands that Mark admired. It was a very teenaged room, no doubt about it.

"Tell me about yourself, Mark," Jason said as he lit a cigarette and took a drag, "I want to know about you now that I've practically told you my life story."

"What do you want to know?" the filmmaker asked.

Jason patted the space next to him on his bed, motioning for Mark to sit, "What do you do in your spare time? I mean, you can't always be talking to kids, right?"

"I try and get some freelance work once in a while. I used to work for Buzzline, but that wasn't my scene." Mark answered, "Other than that I try and look out for my friends, pay the rent, just try to survive, really."

"Your friends? Like that musician you live with?"

"Yeah. His name's Roger."

"Why do you have to take care of him? He's a grown up."

"He's HIV positive."

"Oh. Sorry." Jason apologized, knowing that the subject was touchy, "Um… how'd he get it? I mean, is he like…"

"Oh no, Roger's straight," Mark said quickly, "Roger got HIV from sharing dirty needles."

"So, he's a druggie?"

Mark coughed for a moment before answering, "Former."

"Life of a rock star. Better warn Adrian about that."

"He really wants to perform, doesn't he?"

Jason smiled as he took a drag, "Yeah. He loves music. It's like it's all he knows and all he understands. He's obsessed with it and can't sit still if he doesn't write for a day. It's like he'll go crazy if he doesn't create music."

"He sounds like Roger. Only with less baggage."

The teen laughed, "Adrian's just good at handling his baggage."

"Wish Roger knew how to do that."

"You really care about him, don't you?"

"Why shouldn't I? He's my best friend."

Jason didn't answer. Instead, he took the camera out of Mark's hands and raised it with his unsteady hands. Mark gave the boy a look of confusion before realizing that the camera was running.

"So, Mark, how about telling me a little about you and your friend Roger?"

Roger knew that he should be leaving the situation alone, but something just kept bothering him. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. It was constantly just taunting him, daring him to do something. He hated that Mark had seen all sides of him, yet his best friend was always hiding and going about life as if everything were just peachy keen. Did I actually think that? He wondered.

In his hand was Collins' number. He had been staring at it for the better half of an hour. He had been contemplating calling and all time has done was made him more and more desperate for answers. Biting his lip, he picked up the phone and dialed. The phone rang twice before Collins' familiar voice answered.

"Hello?"

"It's Roger."

"Hey, man, what's up?"

"Um, I have to ask you something," Roger started, "It's about Mark and I know you know something about this cause you were probably here. He-he's not talking and it's bothering the fuck out of me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Mark's been out of it lately, ever since that storm that rolled through that day. He was shaking so badly and I tried to see if everything was okay, but he kept pushing me away. Now every time I bring it up, he avoids my questions. I don't know what to do!"

"Whoa, calm down."

"I need to know what happened, Collins. Something keeps telling me that it had to do with me because I had never seen him scared of thunder and lightning before I had gone through withdrawal. I don't like this at all."

"Okay, slow down a bit, will you?" Collins said with a sigh, "Has he said he'll talk to you eventually, at least?"

"Well…yeah."

"Then you're going to have to wait, Roger. You know as well as I do that Mark doesn't go back on his word."

"But how soon is soon?"

"When he's ready. Look, I know you want answers and you hate being kept in the dark, but this is some heavy shit. You were a little out of your head when you were going through withdrawal."

"I've heard."

"Just… make sure to listen to him when you guys talk, okay? Don't stop him if he starts explaining, just listen."

"Okay." Roger sighed, "Thanks Collins."

"No problem. Give me a call later and we'll do lunch."

"If by 'do' you mean 'eat' the sure."

"Roger, you're sick."

"I know."

And for the first time that day, Roger laughed and laughed. And it felt good.

"You shouldn't go out when you're sick, pookie," Maureen said with a concerned expression.

Her and Mark were doing the dishes in the kitchen. Her comment came about when Mark turned away from his drying duties and started coughing. Perhaps it was also the fact that he sounded like he was losing his voice or the fact that he just plain didn't sound or look good, but Maureen was worried.

Elbow deep in dishwater, the diva gave the filmmaker the look she knew a mother would give a child.

"Stop looking at me like that," Mark rolled his eyes as he picked up another dish and dried it.

"Okay, one, you're sick and two, you hardly ate anything at dinner cause you said your stomach was not agreeing with it. I think I have a right to give you that look."

"Since when did you start worrying so much? It's my job."

It was Maureen's turn to roll her eyes, "I grew up, unlike you."

"Hey!" Mark sounded slightly offended.

Maureen ignored it, "Come on. Let's switch. I'm sick of washing. It's making my fingers all prune-like."

"And you're saying you matured?"

"Come on, Marky! Switch jobs with me."

"No, thanks. I like my drying duties."

Maureen washed her hands of suds and pulled the protesting filmmaker in front of the sink. She gave him a grin, before trying to take the towel from his hands. Mark kept it out of reach, seemingly too determined to not do the dishes. Shaking her head, she grabbed the blonde's arm and yanked the towel away.

"Maureen!" Mark exclaimed, trying to pull his arm out of the woman's vice-like grip.

"There, now just pull up your sleeves and you can do the--" the words stopped coming once she pulled up Mark's sleeve. On Mark's left wrist was a vertical scar, Maureen could see smaller, finer scars spanning across. The marks seemed to be screaming at her, "How--"

Mark pulled his arm away as Maureen's grip loosened. Instantly, he pulled down his sleeve and hurried away from the kitchen. The diva was hot on his tail. She was so focused on what she had just saw that she ignored the questioning look she got from Joanne as they passed the livingroom.

"Mark!" Maureen wanted an explanation. She had known Mark for so long that she thought she knew everything about him. She had seen him naked before, for god's sake, and wondered how she could have possibly missed something so shocking.

By the time she made it to the guestroom, Mark already had his bag open on the bed, shoving his clothes in. The diva stepped inside and pulled the bag off the bed, all of its contents spilling onto the floor. The filmmaker simply glared at her, long and hard, before kneeling down and gathering his things once more. Maureen made a frustrated sound as she kicked the bag away from Mark's reach.

"Explain! Now!" Maureen had never quite felt so angry before.

"What's going on?" Joanne's calm voice asked from the doorway.

"Nothing," Mark answered as he finally retrieved his bag, "It's nothing."

"Like hell!" Maureen exclaimed before grabbing Mark's arm. The filmmaker gave a cry of surprise and protest before the diva pulled up his sleeve, showing her girlfriend the scars.

Mark shoved Maureen away, not hard, but enough to make her let go, "Thanks, Maureen. Even when you keep your mouth shut you can't keep a fucking secret."

"Why do you have that?" Maureen asked, her voice well above the normal volume she usually used.

"I'm not going into it."

"You had better start explaining!"

"Maureen!" Joanne's voice was stern.

"But--"

"Let me talk to him."

Silently, Maureen agreed. She was still fuming when she left the room, but Joanne knew it would give her time to cool off.

Joanne stood in the doorway, watching as Mark packed, "Care you explain yourself?"

"Look, I already said--"

"Did you do that or did Roger?"

"What?" Mark looked up from what he was doing.

"The smaller scars," Joanne explained, "They're too fine to be made by a blade or even a razor, too consistent. They look like wires, maybe even guitar strings, maybe the E string? Am I close?" The look on Mark's face, his simple hesitation to answer was the answer she needed, "I thought so."

"I-I should leave," Mark whispered.

"No, you're staying." the lawyer said, "I'm not going to make you explain yourself and I'll talk to Maureen. I'm not letting you go to god knows where when you're sick and probably getting worse."

"I am not getting worse."

"Have you seen yourself?" Mark opened his mouth to argue, but Joanne stopped him, "Clean up and get some sleep. You talk when you're ready. As long as you're here, you're our guest. We'll take care of you and you take care of yourself."

Mark nodded as he set his things down on the bed, "Thanks."

"No need to thank me," Joanne smiled, "Being rational comes with the territory of being a lawyer."

The filmmaker gave a soft laugh and nodded.

Then she was out the door. In the hallway she gave a soft sigh before looking over at Maureen, who she knew would be waiting outside the door. The performer looked distressed and Joanne pulled her into a tight and comforting hug.

"Is that why he's here?" Maureen asked, her voice soft and uncertain. A very rare occurrence.

"Maybe, but we won't know for sure until he tells us."

"And what are the chances of that happening?" Maureen gave a humorless laugh, "He hardly tells us anything as is."

"We'll just have to wait and see. If he tells us to leave it alone, we'll have to. We can't make him talk."

A sigh, "I guess not."

Author's Note: That was much longer thank I thought it was going to be, but not nearly as long as I wanted it to be. However, I did start revealing more, so you can all start speculating some more! Hahaha! coughs Sorry, that came out weird. If anyone is confused and wants to ask non-plot revealing questions, feel free. I'll answer to the best of my ability. Thanks for reading and please leave a review!