Disclaimer: No, seriously, still don't own it. Or, the lyrics either. Those are from Maroon 5's "Harder to Breathe"

Authoress Note: Don't come after us with torches and pitchforks after this chapter, the next one will be up soon, very soon. Who do you think the "vengeful presence" is?

Chapter Seven: Harder to Breathe

"How long has it been?"

"Three hours."

"How long did they say it was going to take?"

"Roger, I don't remember." Alexia paused, thinking, "But, I think they should be done soon. What time is it?"

"Ten minutes since the last time you asked me, Alexia."

Alexia fiddled with a piece of brown hair that hung in her face. She twisted it around her finger. "Do you call anybody?"

"Maureen and Joanne."

Alexia attempted to stir her tea, but found that her cup was empty. The tea had gotten cold, anyway, and Alexia certainly didn't enjoy drinking lukewarm, too-strong tea out of an environment-killing Styrofoam cup waiting to hear wither or not her boyfriend was still alive. She tossed the cup at a nearby waste basket, and promptly missed.

"Smooth." Roger chided nervously. He then yawned, fingering something in the pocket of his tattered blue jeans that clearly denoted him as a musician. Alexia only noticed because the little silver chain that went from the front pocket to the back jiggled slightly. Alexia got up to attempt to throw the cup away, again.

"We used to drink Stole out of those," Roger said, leaning his head back against the hallway wall and pulled a foot up on the dark, navy blue bench he was sitting on. God, he was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come, and if it did, it wasn't easy. The last time someone had fallen asleep, Mark had flat lined. "Then you move in and make us use real glasses.

"Sorry for the civilization. Roger, take you AZT."

Roger shuddered. That was Mab, reminding him to take his AZT. But, Mark wasn't here right now, so, Alexia had taken over that responsibility. Roger was almost sure Alexia didn't even realize what she had done, taking the role that used to, Roger shook his head, still does belong to Mark, as soon as he wakes up.

If he wakes up.

They sat later at the Life Cafe, and Roger was digging in his pocket. "Roger, what are you doing?" Alexia finally asked, not being able to stand it anymore. The musician just averted his eyes.

"I don't know if I can...uh, Mark might not want me too-" he cut himself off, and pulled a tiny black velvet ring box out of his pocket. He thrust it at Alexia, and Roger spoke quickly and nervously. "Mark told me to keep it for him until he was ready to give it to you. He was going to hide it in his camera bag, or somewhere, but was afraid you would find it. I'm afraid he may never BE able to give it to you, so, just, open it."

Alexia didn't want to open the box. She could guess what it was and suddenly began crying again. She flipped the box lid open, and a beautiful diamond solitaire stared back at her. It was a rectangular marquise and the platinum setting held the diamond in just so that it looked like a film cell like the ones that Mark used in his camera. She pulled the ring out, and noticed an inscription on the inside of the band. It read:

525,600 minutes, Mark and Alexia, A Season of Love

Alexia shivered as she slid the ring on her finger, wishing that it was Mark, her Mark, doing it, down on one knee, asking her to be his, to take him as her husband. She looked at the gorgeous ring, and began balling. A few people in the restaurant turned and looked, concerned as strangers and tourists often do, as Roger immediately got up and then sat down next to her. She cried on his shoulder, shaking. "Let's go." Roger said softly. Alexia paid the check, and they left, stalking across the parking lot. Alexia ran ahead of Roger with her car keys out and dove in the passenger side door of her blue Mercedes, after she'd unlocked it. She reached across and unlocked the driver's side door. Roger got in, Alexia handed him the keys, and they drove back to St. Vincent's without a word, wondering what news they would get when they got there.

"ROGER! STOP! YOU'LL KILL HIM!"

"SO? HE DID IT ALEXIA! I KNOW IT! BENNY SHOT MARK!"

"NO I DIDN'T...ow!" Roger punched Benny again, sending the Landlord spiraling to the ground clumsily. Roger dove at him.

"ROGER!" Alexia shouted again, "STOP IT! THE LAST THING WE NEED IT THIS ASS PRESSING CHARGES AND YOU GOING TO PRISION!" Roger had raised his fist to punch Benny again, but Alexia grabbed it mid-swing. "There, calm down."

The musician climbed off of Benny, who sat up and held his head back to stop the bleeding from his probably broken nose. "I didn't shoot Mark! I swear! I don't even know how to fire a gun!"

Alexia wasn't so sure that she believed him.

Does it kill?

Does it burn?

Is it painful to learn that it's me that has all the control?

The cost was clear, not a soul in sight. Not a doctor, not a surgeon, not a nurse. No one would see.

The vengeful presence slipped into the semi-darkness of the hospital room. He was out of surgery. The presence immediately eyed the little white plug attached to the ventilator that was keeping Mark Cohen alive.

Does it thrill?

Does it sting?

When you feel what I bring,

And you wish that you had me to hold!

Five long fingers wrapped around that very same plug and pulled. The little green light on the machine went out.

When it gets cold outside and you've got nobody to love,

You'll understand what I mean when I say there's no way I'm gonna give up.

The vengeful presence stood in the doorway and watched for a moment as Mark struggled to breathe, his chest taking longer and longer to rise and fall each time until it ceased to rise at all.

And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams,

Is there anyone out there, 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe.