Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.
Chapter Seven
Two months later
Mark took to his camera more often than usual. He wasn't really filming much, just tinkering with the buttons and adjusting the resolution over and over again. He didn't speak to Roger much, just basic conversation to fill in the awkward silences. They said hello, they said goodbye, and they said I love you. Mark almost didn't want to say it back. He thought he meant it – he had never not meant it when he said it before. Whether it was Maureen, Roger, or Nanette Himmalfarb, he meant it every time. Roger didn't need any more worries, so Mark went along with his daily routine. He regretted not saying it back once. He didn't want to hurt Roger, but he had the right to be angry with him right? For fucking up his immune system and family life? But Roger didn't mean to, Roger would never hurt Mark on purpose. At least that's what Mark told himself every time he said those three little words. He must mean it; after all, he was practically sacrificing his life for Roger, giving up the little thing that would keep him around longer. The only thing different was the AZT. It wasn't that much of a drastic change. Just medicine, fear, and mind-racking paranoia, but that wasn't all that hard to handle.
Their sex life had changed too, but that wasn't necessarily a negative thing. It had gone from gentle and reserved to hot and wild. Roger didn't hold back anymore, letting the inner fire out. It showed most in his eyes, going from a smiling green to a fiery emerald in seconds. Mark liked to think that Roger put all his passion into the things that started with M – music and Mark. They didn't really need to be careful anymore. They were both sick, and last time Mark checked, neither of them had ovaries, so why not enjoy it?
Roger was playing his guitar more often, trying to write another song. Maybe that would cheer Mark up, a song just for him. It hurt him inside to watch Mark like this, knowing he brought it all on. It wasn't fair to Mark that he had to suffer because of Roger's mistakes. But Mark knew it could happen, didn't he? He plucked a few notes in his guitar, the familiar tune of Musetta's Waltz ringing through the air. He hadn't played it in years.
Mark looked up when he heard it. "I remember that."
Roger smiled at him. "I'm surprised I still remember how it goes."
"You played it enough to ingrain it into everyone's memory," he replied. "If I actually knew notes and strings and stuff, I bet I could play it."
"I can teach you," Roger suggested.
Mark shook his head. "Nah, I'd rather listen to you play stuff."
"Suit yourself," he plucked out one of his older songs, softly singing along.
"Take your AZT," he reminded.
"You too," Roger got up, heading to the bathroom.
"Already did," came the dry reply.
Roger nodded. It made sense; Mark had just excused himself to the bathroom ten minutes prior. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out the ugly, orange bottle. He took his prescription dry, shuddering at the bitter taste. Roger put it back and noticed his stuff was all that was in the small cabinet. Mark, being the obsessive neat freak he was, couldn't handle Roger's disorganization. He had gotten himself a small bag to keep his razor and whatever else he had previously stored in the cabinet. Roger assumed that's where his AZT was too; he didn't really feel the need to go through it. He came out a few minutes later and hovered in the doorway. "I'm going to lie down, wanna lay with me?"
Mark looked up and shrugged. "I don't know; I've got film to edit."
"Please?" Roger's green eyes went soft and warm. "I miss you."
Mark smiled. Roger's eyes always got him. "Okay," he stood up, placing his camera neatly on the coffee table. He somberly walked towards the bedroom, looking at his feet the whole time.
"In case you forgot, I went through this too," Roger tried to put his arm around the smaller boy when he got closer, "while dealing with the death of my girlfriend. Just thought I'd remind you since it was such a long time ago; you may have forgotten."
He walked right past Roger, curling up on his side of the bed.
"Mark, I just don't want this to be as hard for you as it was for me," he sat down beside him. "Look, is there anything I can do to make it easier for you?"
Mark shook his head. "No, nothing will make this easy."
"You made it easier for me," he confessed. "I never really got to tell you how much it meant when you tried to help you, even though most of the time I just cursed you off."
Mark nodded. "If I told you I was okay, would you believe me? Just trust me and know I'm all right?"
Roger thought about it. He looked in his eyes. The once soft, light blue had become foggy and dark. The blue steel of his eyes locked every emotion inside. Roger nodded. "I trust you."
Mark's hand touched Roger's cheek softly. A forced smile found his lips as he spoke. "I know you'll give me courage to face what I must face."
Roger nuzzled into his hand. "I'll be there."
Mark lay in Roger's arms that night, sleep evading his eyes. He wanted to cry, to scream, to get his frustrations out in the open. He didn't know if he could trust anyone. He certainly couldn't confide this in Roger. He knew Roger would be angry. Mark would never trust Maureen with anything this serious. True, they had mended their relationship enough to remain close friends, but she had a big mouth. Joanne would become his mother, telling Roger what was going on. Collins. He could trust Collins with this. It's time like these when he hates the sickness most. When it takes away the things you need. Things like Collins.
He softly climbed out of bed, replacing his form on the bed with his pillow. Roger hugged it sleepily, pulling it closer.
Slipping on jeans, he grabbed his jacket and slinked out of the loft. The early morning air hit his face, making him shiver. Mark hurried to his destination, sitting in the soft dirt in front of the cold, gray stone.
"I'm scared, Collins, I'm scared," he whispered to the headstone. "I don't know what to do anymore. I've made it two months without losing it, but now I'm not so sure. Two months. It seems so long. It's really nothing though, or at least, nothing compared to your ten years. I'm keeping secrets from Roger. I know it's bad, but there's things I can't tell him. I can trust you right?"
Silence. Was Mark really expecting Collins to answer him? Deep down, he wanted to hear a reassuring yes from his friend, but in reality, he knew he'd never hear Collins's voice again.
"At work last week, they found out I was sick," he confided. "Someone told them about Roger too. They said," he choked on his tears, "they said they can't have any dying queers at a respected new station such as channel four. I didn't tell anyone. I can't. Roger would go beat the shit out of my old boss. I was our only source of income besides the little bit of money Maureen gave me. We ran out of money for my AZT. Roger doesn't know I stopped taking it. He doesn't know I gave it up for him. I know he'd be angry if he knew… Collins, what do I do?" He rested his head in his hands, sobbing softly. He knew it was useless. "They all think I'm taking it so well, that I'm fine. Everyone: Maureen, Joanne, Roger, Cindy… they don't know that I'm falling apart inside. It's just a façade, Collins. But no one knows. I can't tell anyone either, I'd just get lectured, you know? Oh, who am I kidding?"
Standing up, he slowly meandered home as the sun rose, setting a fading pink in the sky. Roger was awake when he got home, sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of Cap'n Crunch.
"Guess what, Marky?" he said with a full mouth.
"I can't imagine."
"I remembered to take my AZT," he seemed proud of himself.
Mark laughed. "Good job," he walked over to him, pressing a kiss to Roger's forehead. Roger was okay; Roger had his medicine. That was the important thing, right? That Roger was still alive. "Why are you up so early? I usually have to force you out of bed if it's before noon."
"Remember that waitress at the Life that always flirts with you when we go?" he grinned wickedly. Mark nodded, blushing slightly. "I ran into her the other day and she mentioned they were hiring. I figured I'd go check it out."
"No, Roger, don't worry," Mark said, preparing his own cereal. "I've got us covered."
"But if I have a job, maybe we can have some extra stuff," he replied. "I mean, we're already saving money on condoms."
Mark elbowed him, laughing. "You don't need to though. You can stay home and write songs like you love to do." He couldn't let Roger know anything was wrong. "I've got us covered."
He shrugged. "You've taken care of everyone, that's always how it's been," he said. "It's time someone took care of you, but you have to let me in."
Mark was never good at that – the whole letting-people-in thing. He liked keep secrets and being detached. That was all part of being Mark. Then there was the friendly, loving, supportive side. That was all part of being Mark too. He just wished he could balance himself out.
