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

Author's notes: Thank you reviewers. As always your reviews brighten my day.

Looking back on the past few weeks, Mark knew things were going well. He and Roger were together. They were happy, and getting closer than ever. Nothing that he could see was going to drive them apart.

Sure, there were a few things that Roger didn't know. He didn't know where Mark often disappeared to, and he never asked. Mark never volunteered the information, but that was for Roger's own good. If he knew about all of Mark's secrets, he would just be spending time worrying over things that he didn't need to be. So as long as Roger didn't find out about Mark's secrets, everything was going to stay fine.

And that was how Mark was planning on keeping things.

"That seems like an awful lot of bags for some AZT." Collins commented as Mark came out of the pharmacy, holding a few of the telltale white paper bags that told everyone he had just filled prescriptions. The two were out running errands on a warm fall day that they both had free, while Roger was out scouting clubs looking for guitarists, or bartenders. "Did Roger's meds change? He hasn't gotten anything has he?" The professor took immediate concern for the musician.

Mark shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand. "No, Roger's fine."

"Then what's in all those bags?" Collins gestured a bit curiously. He counted them quickly in his head. There were three. He could justify one as Roger's AZT, but the others were a mystery to him.

"Just some stuff." Mark shrugged, and then readjusted his jacket, fumbling with the middle button. All of these things were habits of his. Adjusting his clothing always meant that he was nervous, and Collins could play right into that.

"Stuff for you?"

"What is this, an interview or something?" Mark started to slip the bags into his messenger bag. But Collins was too quick for him, and grabbed the bags out Mark's hands. "Hey!"

Collins just held them out of Mark's reach and started to open them, disregarding the first, that held Roger's AZT. "Prozac? Halcion?" He paused briefly, reading some more. "These are in your name. What's going on?"

Mark sighed a little as he finally was able to grab the bags out of Collins' hands. "They're in my name because they're mine. Now can we just drop this?" He started to walk back towards the loft, as though that might stop any questioning that Collins might continue.

"We've barely started." No such luck. "Why do you have prescriptions for that stuff?" Collins didn't get answer, from the filmmaker, who was still walking, quite intent on getting back to the loft. "Mark, you're not gonna get out of this by not answering."

Mark mumbled something that Collins couldn't understand, with his head hanging low and his eyes on his shoes.

"What was that?"

"My psychiatrist prescribed them." Mark repeated a bit louder. "I'm seeing this guy that the clinic recommended." He left it off in a silence for a moment and they turned the corner. He hadn't wanted to explain that much, so explaining things any further was pretty much out of the question. "It's really nothing, just some--."

"Whatever man." Collins held up his hands, as they started down the street. "I'm cool with it if you are." They continued to the loft in silence, neither one speaking again until they were inside. "So does Roger know about that stuff?"

They both knew that Collins was talking about the medication. Mark shook his head. "No. He doesn't need to. I'm fine."

Collins gave him a look of uncertainty as the three white bags were put on the kitchen table. "So you don't plan on telling him?"

"Is that a problem for you?"

"I just don't want to see you two get messed up over something like this. You're both really happy right now."

"It's not gonna get messed up."

"If you say so."

Mark barely looked away from editing his film, something he hadn't had much time to do lately, when the door to the loft opened and Roger entered. "Hey."

"Hey." Roger entered and walked over placing his guitar on the floor, briefly wrapping his arms around Mark's shoulders and planting a quick kiss on his temple. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I've just been editing since Collins left. How was the club hopping?"

Roger laughed a little at Mark's terminology. "Lots of clubs, none of them were 'hopping'." He mocked it just a little. " But I found somewhere crazy enough to let me bartend. And the hours are great, I'll still have plenty of time to work on my song."

"That's great." Mark returned the kiss to Roger's lips, tilting his head up. "My little working man."

"Yeah, you just keep thinking that it's work."

"Well I'm proud of you anyways."

"Can we cut this sentimental stuff? There isn't much to be proud of. Mixing Screwdrivers is not rocket science."

"Yeah." Mark turned his attention back to his equipment. "I have to work on this stuff anyways. Your AZT is on the kitchen table."

Roger went over to the table where three white bags sat. A few thoughts started to go through his head as he got closer, and then grabbed one. A glance at the label told him that it was not his AZT. It was Prozac. And it was Mark's. Then he grabbed another bottle. It was labeled as Mark's Halcion. "Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is this stuff?"

Mark glanced over, and saw the two bottles that Roger was holding. "Oh shit." He muttered. "I…um…I…" He stammered and trailed off. "They're my…antidepressants, and…sleep medication." He stood and turned completely around, giving more attention to Roger and the situation.

"Anti-depress--." Roger cut himself off. "Sleep medic--." He did it again. "Mark what's going on?"

"I'm seeing someone." Mark started over, hoping that maybe he'd be able to keep Roger calm if he was closer. "A psychiatrist."

"You're seeing a shrink?" Roger asked a little incredulously.

Mark pushed his glasses up, even though they were in a perfectly respectable position. "Yeah."

"For how long?" Roger was trying really hard not to sound accusatory. He had sort of learned through Mimi that jumping to conclusions never helped a situation. It didn't change the fact that he was confused and unsure about the situation, and angry that he didn't have all the facts in the first place.

"Well…I guess that it's been two months." Mark sighed. "Around the Mimi break-up letter."

"Two months!" For a moment, he sounded as though he was going to start going off the handle, but Roger took a deep breath and then he spoke. "I thought you always said you didn't need to talk."

Mark could hear the tension in Roger's voice, and was trying to think of something that might calm him down, but couldn't find anything. "I was wrong I guess. He prescribed me this stuff the other day. He thinks that it'll help me."

"I didn't know you needed help."

"Well…neither did I. But…"

"How are you even paying for all of this!" Roger shook one of the pill bottles, starting to find it even harder to keep calm.

Here was the part that Mark himself really hated. It accounted for his disappearances during the days. "I went back to Buzzline. A little after I started going to this guy."

"So you got a job at a place that you've said makes you depressed, so you can pay for medication that's supposed to prevent you from being depressed? That makes perfect sense Mark." Roger stood, and started to leave.

"Roger…"Mark grabbed Roger's arm gently.

Roger shook his arm out of Mark's grip. "Mark...just don't." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm gonna go stay at Collins' for a while. I'll be back…eventually." He turned to go to his room.

"Roger, don't leave."

"Why Mark? You don't need me around here."

"Yeah I do, Rog…"

"Well, you've got a great way of showing it." Roger spoke a bit more angrily, but was still not shouting, something he was pretty proud of himself for, he would reflect later. "I just need some time Mark. Just…stay away for a while."

Thoughts?