Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thank you reviewers! I'm very glad that you like the story so far. OK, so no real slash in this chapter just a few more hint type things, and a lot of explanation about what has been going on with Mark. It's a little on the short side, but I really wanted to end it where I did.

Collins had muttered something about going to the campus early for his next class before leaving the two alone. Roger was lead into the apartment by a quiet Mark, and they sat on two chairs.

The first thing that Roger noticed was the stark, white, gauze wrapped around Mark's hands. This left him curious about how far Mark's hand problem had gotten, and furthermore, what Mark's hand problem was. Then he noticed the way that Mark's eyes were lighter. More specifically the dark circles were fading. As well as this, the gauntness was disappearing. Overall, Mark looked half-normal. Finally he broke the silence. "I'm--."

"Sorry." Mark cut him off. "I know. I heard all your messages." He paused. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been mad at you for caring. I was just…" He trailed off looking away. After a moment he looked back. "I have post traumatic stress. Collins made me go to this doctor at his clinic. According to him the trauma from the hold up combined with my everyday stress levels caused me to have a sort of mini-breakdown." Mark took another deep breath. "I knew you were right, but all this…my brain needed some selfish time…if that makes sense." It was a speech that seemed to come out mechanically. It was almost rehearsed, as though Mark had been practicing for a while about what he would say.

"Yeah, it makes sense." Roger nodded, looking over. He had been looking at his hands while Mark talked. It had always been easier for him to listen to someone if he wasn't watching them. "We both know I've had those selfish moments…" They both shared a short, uncomfortable laugh. "So, uh, what happened to your hands?"

Mark looked down at the bandages on his hands. "That…would be why Collins made me go to the clinic."

"That's very informative." Roger commented dryly.

"He found me trying to peel the skin off my hands." The words came out quickly and bluntly, shocking Roger a little.

"What?"

Mark's cheeks tinged pink. "I kept seeing blood on them…and I really wanted it off."

This almost confused Roger more, but he vaguely remembered the way Mark came home from the store with something on his hands. That must have been it. "Mark, what happened at that store?" He asked quietly, thinking that maybe a bit more clarification would help his understanding of all that was going on.

"Well, guns were pointed at me a lot, and they talked about killing me, and then they decided to just hold me, and the cashier hostage, and then they shot the cashier, and made me try and keep him alive…which didn't really work since he's dead now. Then they decided to let a paramedic in to try and help, so that's when they put the gun to my head, to make sure the police didn't try anything, and the paramedic needed help getting the cashier out, so the guy holding the go to my head made me help, but he was dumb enough to go near the door with me, and the police shot him. That's basically it."

"Oh." Roger didn't say much. There wasn't anything that he could think to say that wouldn't be pointless.

"Yeah." Mark's voice was somewhat pained and he looked away again.

"I'm sorry for making you talk about it." Roger apologized. Everything was still rather awkward, despite the conversation. They didn't seem to be covering much ground.

"No." Mark shook his head. "The doctor said that I should be talking about it. You're actually helping me."

"I'm helping you?" Roger smirked a little. "That's a switch."

"I guess." This put the two back into the silence.

Roger kept being the one to break these periods, a task that was new to him; Mark was normally the one who was forcing conversation. "What were you, uh…thinking about? When you were in the store?" Mark didn't respond and Roger hesitated a little. What was it that mark had always told him when they talked about the past? "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want." He paused. "I was just curious."

"No, it's…" Mark's hand went up to his ear as though he were going to scratch behind it, and then froze as he realized he wouldn't really be able scratch. The hand was lowered. "It's fine. I don't really remember everything about it, but I can remember thinking about not bringing your soup stuff home, and I can remember thinking that I should have reminded you about your AZT…and I can sort of remember thinking that I would be seeing Angel when the police shot that guy, because I thought it was him shooting me…" Mark trailed off, his cheeks tingeing pink once more. "And I remember wishing that I had said a real goodbye."

This time it took Roger a longer time to think of something to say. His thoughts went to what Collins had said out in the hall. He wanted to bring it up, but had to find the right way to do so. "What would have been a real goodbye?"

"I don't know." Mark shrugged. "Something more than 'I'll be back in half an hour or something.'"

And now wasn't the time for Roger to learn more about what Collins had spoken of. He was left again to think. But thinking…thinking was turning out to be harder than he thought it would have been. "So, you gonna come back to the loft now?" Maybe it wasn't the most tactful approach at the most opportune time, but for Roger it felt right.

"Yeah, I am." It took Mark a moment to confirm the answer, but he did.

"Great so…"

"I'll get my stuff together."

Mark put the worn duffle bag on ground next to his feet. It hadn't taken him long to get together the items that Collins had originally picked up from the loft when Mark had shown up at his door. As he released the handle he felt a sting on his hands. Glancing down, he saw a crimson stain starting to come through the white of the bandage. "Shit." He muttered.

"What is it?" Roger looked over as he brought Mark's camera from what had been Mark's temporary room.

"I need to change the bandages." He started toward the bathroom, where the first aid kit would be. "I'll be right back."

Roger put the camera on top of Mark's bag, and started after him. "Here let me help."

Mark was gingerly pulling the kit down from a shelf. "You don't have to--."

Roger took the kit out of his hands and cut Mark off. "It'll take you forever to do it yourself." He sat on the edge of the bathtub, as Mark did the same. "What exactly do you need?"

"These need to come off…" Mark started to undo one bandage, unsuccessfully. "And then there's this antibacterial cream stuff that needs to go on my hands, and then I need new bandages, to keep them protected."

Roger didn't say anything as he slowly unwrapped one hand, and then the other. He looked over Mark's hands, assessing the damage. Both were red and raw, with scraped areas; some of the scrapes were scabbing over and some of them were bleeding. "Shit Mark, how did you manage this?"

Mark blushed yet again. "I was just scrubbing with my hands."

"Oh." Roger searched the kit until he came upon the cream, and started unscrewing the cap. "Tell me if I'm hurting you, OK?" Mark nodded, and Roger started applying the cream, squeezing some out onto his finger, and gently placing it on the scrapes, not bothering to rub it in. After he had covered both hands, he wiped his fingers off on his jeans, and grabbed the roll of gauze, first gently wrapping it around Mark's right hand, and then his left. The entire time they both remained silent except for a few sharp inhales on Mark's part. "Is that it?"

"Yeah…Thanks."

"No prob. Nurse Roger is at your service."

Mark laughed a little, and gave Roger the first real smile of the visit. "Hey, Rog, let's go home."

Auxilary Author's Notes: I am fully aware of everything Mark and Roger just did, and or what they might not have done. Every action had a purpose.

I'll try to get two more chapters up this weekend since I will have a very hard time updating next week. It's Hell Week for the Wizard of Oz production I'm in and then I have to do four shows, which leaves me very little time for writing.

In any case I'll get what I can up for you.