Disclaimer: I don't own Rent
Chapter Eight
Roger wandered down Avenue B to the Life Café. He pushed through the door and walked over to the hostess, the girl who always flirted with Mark.
"Hey, is that position still open?" Roger leaned on the podium she stood behind.
She smiled. "It is, let me go talk to someone."
"Thanks," he sat down on a little bench at the front of the café. He hummed a song while he waited for the girl to come back.
A few minutes later, she returned with the owner in tow. Roger stood up and walked towards them.
"Do you have any experience?" he asked. He seemed desperate to get the position filled.
"I bartended at CBGB's for about four or five years," he replied, "and I had a band. That's about it."
He nodded. "What was your band called?"
"The Well Hungarians," Roger replied. Maybe he ran into an old fan or something. "I'm Roger Davis, by the way, the lead singer and guitarist."
"No way!" the man replied. "Timmy, your drummer, was my little brother!"
"No shit, man," Roger smiled. "How is he? I haven't heard from him – or any of them – since I got sick six years ago."
"He, uh, he got AIDS from the drugs you guys did," the owner replied somberly. "He died a year or so ago."
Roger looked down. "I'm sorry." He knew what it was like to lose someone close to you from AIDS. He knew what it was like to live with the impending fear of death.
He nodded. "I'm Frank," he extended his hand. "When can you start?"
Roger didn't go straight home after he found out he had the job. He wanted to talk to Maureen. She knew Mark pretty well and what it was like to be in a relationship with him, so he figured he'd give it a shot. Maureen was always home, having dubbed herself a stay-at-home-mom to hers and Joanne's kitten. She welcomed Roger in and sat on the couch.
"What's up?"
"I'm worried about him," Roger said. "Really worried."
"Don't stress it, Rog," Maureen put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "If he had any secrets, he'd tell you. Or he'd tell me and I'd tell the entire world."
"Which is why he wouldn't tell you," Roger grinned. "He's hiding something, I know it."
"Ya think?"
Roger nodded. "He can be so secretive sometimes. He can hide it so well. I know when he's hiding things, but I can never tell what. I want to know, I want to be there for him like he was there for me, but he keeps pushing me away. I miss him. I want him back."
Maureen hugged Roger. "Just sit him down and beat it out of him. He'll tell you. Or snoop around. That works too. I know! Get him in a really vulnerable position, like right after sex. That's how I got him wrapped around my finger." She grinned.
Roger nodded. "That just might help, thanks Maureen."
When Roger reentered the loft, Mark was on the couch. He seemed out of it, not turning his head or offering a greeting when Roger opened the door. He silently crept over to Mark and kneeled behind him on the couch, snaking his arms around Mark's tiny waist and burying his head in his pale neck.
Mark jumped in surprise at Roger's neck, but welcomed the light kisses. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I got the job," he pulled out, leaning back against the couch, taking Mark with him.
Mark rolled over and cuddled against Roger's chest. He wanted the caretaker part of him to come out, but he let the supportive side show. Balancing himself. "Congrats."
"I miss you," Roger ran his hands through Mark's spiky hair.
"I'm always right here…"
"No…" Roger sat up, attaching his lips to Mark. His hand found Mark's arm as he stood up, dragging Mark along with him.
A few hours later, Mark laid in Roger's strong arms, his pale body slightly flushed. He cuddled himself closer to Roger's naked body, fitting his head under Roger's chin. It was a comfortable spot for both of them as they laid there in silence.
Roger broke the silence. "You know, you're really beautiful when you're like this."
Mark blushed. He smiled a little as his finger nervously traced the outline of Roger's tattoo. He looked up at Roger and his blue eyes met Roger's green.
Roger thought about what Maureen had said. Mark looked pretty vulnerable right now. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Mark looked away. "I'm fine," his fingers intertwined with Roger's.
"Your eyes show your emotions, Marky," Roger said. "Except I'm not too good at picking them out." Mark laughed a little. It was a nervous laugh. "Fear, maybe?"
"Maybe."
"There's nothing to be afraid of," he kissed Mark gently, reassuring him.
"There's everything to be afraid of."
Roger trudged home from the Life Café later that week, his mind deep in thought and worry. He hadn't been able to get through to Mark even though he had done everything Maureen said. Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he remembered that he needed to get his and Mark's AZT. He turned around and headed a few blocks over towards the drug store.
The little bell above the door rang as Roger pushed through and entered the tiny drug store. He approached the counter.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I need two prescriptions for Roger Davis and Mark Cohen."
The man nodded and went over to the bin. He returned with one bag. "This is the only one we have."
Roger looked at it. It was his own medicine, none for Mark. "Are you sure? Mark should have called them both in last week."
"I'm sorry," the man behind the counter said, "but we haven't had a prescription for a Mark Cohen in two months."
Mark was laying in his and Roger's bed when he heard Roger enter the loft. He didn't know what was taking him so long; Roger was usually back from the Life by now. He looked at the clock, remembering that he had to go get Roger's AZT. That had always been his job when it was just Roger sick, and Mark had fought to keep it his job. Roger didn't need any more worries or responsibilities. He looked up when he saw Roger's silhouette in the doorway.
"Hey," he sat up on the bed, "what took you so long?"
"I went to get our AZT."
"Oh…" Mark flopped back down, his hand rising to rub his temples. He knew this would end in a headache.
"I think we need to talk."
