Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Here's the second chapter. I can't say that the following chapters will be up as fast as this one was, but I seem to have a steady stream of inspiration this week. So enjoy it, as I've enjoyed writing it, and look forward the Chapter 3! REVIEWS MAKE ME HAPPYYYY, by the way.

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Floating, soaring, in a dreamy abyss of serenity and peace, as if submerged in a warm bath. Soft pastel

colors and vague yet comforting sounds from all directions. Enveloped in a pocket of protection, snug and pleasant, content with just being. That is, until the snow started to pour in, coming in overwhelming quantities all at once.

He was then paralyzed, trapped, as the snow hardened into ice all around him, chains and restraints of cold hard rock, stinging his skin with a bitter chill. The mind said to move and the body yearned to writhe from the discomfort, the feeling of helplessness, but the action would not happen. Helplessly frozen, literally and in more ways than one, he decided to test his vocal chords, the last thing he could possibly think of and probably his only hope. Deep breath, hold it in, then a scream, ear-shatteringly loud, but also ice-shatteringly, as his icy confinement burst into thousands of indistinguishably tiny shards.

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Mark rolled out of bed, the dull thud letting his only partially conscious mind know he had just made contact with the hard wooden floor. Lying there numb, staring cross-eyed at the blank wall inches from his nose, with its pale wallpaper peeling at the corner, Mark almost forgot to breathe. He gasped slightly, coughing a bit before grabbing onto the side of the small crate that served as his bedside table. Arms and legs shaking like those of a newborn calf, Mark lifted himself up, using the crate as his support.

He stood there a while, giving his lungs some time to breathe more calmly and his heart a chance to return to a healthier rate. Once his body relaxed a bit, he turned, only to have his heart launch into another series of sporadic palpitations when he bumped into Roger. "Oh my GOD, you-" Mark paused, gradually remembering what had happened that morning when he caught sight of the smirk on Roger's face. "… you."

"Hey buddy," Roger said through his teeth, playfully punching him in the arm, though a little harder than Mark considered necessary. "How're you feeling?"

Mark leered at Roger. "A bit better now, thank you very much," he said coldly, wondering what kind of heart someone could have to traumatize someone else and then ask them how they're doing.

"I brought you a glass of warm milk," Roger chirped, the eerie grin never leaving his face as he set the cup down on the side table, Mark eyeing him all the while.

"I'm lactose intolerant."

"Oh. Yes, of course. How silly of me to forget. Let me get you something else. Water, or maybe coffee?

Mimi must have forced him into this. Roger wasn't one for random acts of kindness, let alone partial

servitude, especially after a day like today, where his need to make others miserable, particularly Mark, was stronger. Perhaps Roger did come to Mark's room of his own accord, but maybe his intentions weren't friendly at all. He knew when Roger had something up his sleeve; he would grin that phony grin and talk without actually opening his mouth, lest the truth of his plans leak out without the barrier of his teeth to hold them back. Mark wasn't fooled by this act, but his knew very well that it wouldn't kill him to play along with it for a while.

"We've got coffee?" Mark asked. "Well, coffee would be wonderful."

"I'll get right on it," Roger said, removing the glass of milk from the crate's surface and exiting Mark's room, walking backwards and watching Mark until he left his sight.

Yup. Something was definitely up.

Mark stood in silence for a while, surprised to find that he was staring at the doorway almost fearfully. Why should he be frightened of Roger? Sure, he had practically assaulted him this morning, and that left Mark with a legitimate reason for suspicion, but fear? It was ridiculous. Maybe this was just Roger's way of showing his guilt, though Mark wasn't entirely sure Roger had a conscience. His thoughts were interrupted by a cheery voice drifting in from the kitchen.

"Markyyy," Roger called, the sing-songy tone of his voice sending shivers down Mark's spine. "Could you give me a hand real quick?"

Stepping gingerly towards the egress of his room, he peered into the kitchen area at that safe distance. Roger wasn't visible from where Mark stood, so he shifted over a bit, but Roger was still out of sight. Telling himself incessantly that there was no need to be afraid of Roger but failing to believe himself, Mark took a couple more tentative, cautious steps, reluctantly leaving the comfort and safety of his room behind. "Y-yeah Rog?"

He nearly jumped when Roger suddenly appeared before him like an apparition, his gaze immediately locking with Mark's. "The coffee should be ready soon," he assured Mark, his grin never wavering. "But could you do me a favor and check the freezer?"

"The… freezer, Roger?"

"Yeah, the freezer," he repeated, and for the first time since he had entered Mark's room, Roger broke eye contact. "Check and see if we… have ice cream."

"Ice cream? Why ice cream?"

Roger was starting to get frustrated with Mark's questions, but he kept up the façade of pure glee; he'd only need it for a few more minutes, that is, if Mark would cooperate. "I think Mimi's hormonal, so I thought I'd surprise her when she comes home from work with a sundae," he said. "You know how girls crave sugary shit when they're, well… you know all about that, doncha Marky?"

Mark rolled his eyes, but he felt the tension between him and Roger ease a little bit. Roger was making fun of Mark, which was a sign that this actually was Roger, the human Roger, not some robot look-alike planted in the loft to spy or steal what little food they had.

Walking over to the refrigerator, Mark realized he was letting his guard down. "Hey," he said slowly, glancing over at Roger as he stood there, clearly unoccupied and completely capable of getting the ice cream himself. "Why do I have to get it?"

"Because, uh… be-… uh…" Roger stammered, his fast-tracked mind fluctuating for a few seconds, but suddenly he was struck with an idea. "Coffee! Gotta get the coffee!"

"No, I'll get the coffee, Roger," Mark insisted, darting towards the counter. "You shouldn't have to do so much for me, it's not like I'm an invalid or anything. Go on, you get the ice cream. I can manage coffee."

"No, Mark, really," Roger said flatly, his voice finally losing that forced tone of gaiety. "You. Get the ice cream. NOW."

"No, Roger, I-"

"MARK, JUST GET THE FUCKING ICE CREAM."

"Roger, I insist."

Amidst Roger's screaming and Mark's determined refusal to open the freezer, Mimi had returned home unnoticed. Seeing as things were normal (Roger bursting the eardrums of their neighbors while Mark remained totally calm and steadfast, which succeeded in making Roger angrier), she walked into the kitchen area. Watching them for a few moments with a slightly amused smirk on her face, she turned to the refrigerator, then glanced up at the freezer. "Hmm, I wonder if there's any ice cream left…"

At the sound of Mimi's voice, Roger ceased his argument with Mark, turning just in time to see Mimi reach up and grab the freezer handle. "No!" he shouted, but too late.

Mark spun around too as Mimi pried the freezer open, unleashing an avalanche of snow that someone had managed to pack into the freezer. Mimi fell to the floor as the snow poured out in a seemingly never-ending tide, and once the influx had come to a halt, Mimi stood up, powdery snow clinging to her hair and clothing. The look on her face was anything but happy. "Rogerrr…" she purred, though it was more of an irritated growl than a purr.

Roger, with his arm still outstretched with the lost hope of pushing her out of the way of the trap he had set for Mark, swallowed. Mark, overwhelmed with combined feelings of relief, and, in spite of himself, amusement at Mimi's bad luck, slinked behind Roger and headed back to his bedroom. The last thing he heard was Mimi screaming, entirely in Spanish, to spare Mark's ears from the profanity, at a befuddled Roger.

Mark still wasn't quite sure what was up with Roger, but he knew that he must be in some quasi-war with him. But over what, he hadn't the slightest clue. Well, if war was what Roger wanted, war was what Roger would get. However, as he settled into his bed, tMimi's screaming voice wandering all around the apartment as she chased Roger, accompanied with the assorted sounds of various objects smashing, Mark figured he didn't need to strategize for this war just yet. He'd take tonight off, for he knew Roger wouldn't have the time to make any further preparations either; he would be too busy dealing with Mimi, and she was enough.