Summary: Mark had a simple question. Collins gave him a simple answer. But simplicity has never been one of Collins' strong points. And taking things lightly has never been one of Mark's.
Rating: K+
Genre: General.
Warnings: Philosophy that's headache worthy.
Authors Note: Inspired by my random Collins-loving crying moments when I realize how much I love him.
Disclaimer: They're not gonna pay rent. I'm never gonna own it. Oh well...fire in the hole! But, I do credit myself to coming up with this philosophy, because I discovered it while working on my HS!Mark/Roger fic.
"What does it mean to exist?" Mark watches as Collins sorts papers on his desk.
Stroking his chin, the philosopher stands from his desk. He measures his steps carefully, trying and trying and trying to think of the easiest way to explain this to someone that's not…well…himself. "Well, Mark, to exist means a lot of things."
"Then living. What—how—do you live?"
After a moment, Collins gestures towards a desk in the classroom, perching himself on the corner of it as Mark shuffles across the room to sit next to him. The filmmaker places his camera in front of himself, the turning reel face up, and like a subway car it hits him that that is the first time that day he's put down his camera. His hands, Collins can't help but notice, are covered in bruises and calluses and cuts, and they impulsively play with the lens. Where did all of those abrasions come from? Roger? No, not Roger—they came from Roger's withdrawal. Nevertheless, Roger has been clean for four months, and he's going to stay clean, even if that means another broken rib or twisted ankle on Mark's behalf.
If it was the last thing he did, Mark was going to keep Roger clean, HIV be damned.
"No one," Collins speaks, bringing the attention back to him, "Is ever really alive. Of course, everyone lives. But the only way people are alive is if they live after they've died."
Mark sits with a blank expression, trying to let the information seep into his brain. It's not working very well.
Furrowing his eyebrows, Mark looks at the professor and lets out a defeated sigh. He asked Collins this question is because he's been telling Roger to stop moping around the loft, stop playing his guitar all day and get out, live, enjoy life while he can.
...But how much of a hypocrite does that make Mark when Mark can't even get out and enjoy life while he can? What makes life so great anyhow? What is life?
He thought Collins would have the answer—instead, he's giving Mark a headache.
"And the only way to live after you've died is to leave something behind," He continues, "A legacy, a book, a philosophy, an invention…a song. When people leave things like that behind, they are always remembered for it. They live on forever. They never, ever have to truly face death; never have to truly end their lives."
"Isn't that a bad thing, though? Not facing death…not accepting something that is inevitable?"
Collins shakes his head, his typical all-knowing grin adorning his face, "If someone can leave something behind and therefore never end their life, how can we say that death is inevitable? Moreover, if we prove death is inevitable, how can it be bad to not face it when it's something that doesn't need to be faced?"
Roger's been rambling all week about finding his "one song glory." Maybe all of his rambling is his way to never dying.
Collins has always had philosophical genius that the earth should feel graced to house. Anyone he meets is graced with his intelligence. No one he meets forgets him. Collins will never die.
So what does Mark have left to leave? Something hits him harder than whatever the hell it was that hit him before.
He's been living through his friends, avoiding dealing with real life and real feelings, his entire life. They're in every film, every clip—them, not Mark, experiencing real life and real emotions. But is there a possibility that Mark could not only live through them, but through living through them, keep them alive? And if so, does living through them and making everything about them mean that they get to live on even after they go…and that Mark has to die? If it does…if it means that Collins and Roger get to live forever at the expense of his dying…Mark thinks he's okay with that.
He looks down and admires his camera, looking it at in a completely different light. It's not a piece of machinery—it's a savior.
"Then again," The philosopher lets out a somewhat wheezy laugh as he claps Mark on the back, "Maybe that's just one of my crazy theories."