A/N: This story is turning out ALOT longer than I expected. This was supposed to be the last chapter...actually, last chapter was supposed to be the last chapter. Hope your not getting bored blushes. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Next chapter may be the last, it all depends on how angsty I'm feeling, really. Enjoy!

When Roger awoke, he was thoroughly surprised to find that he was warm. Not just warm, but comfortably warm, which was odd to him seeing as that he hadn't been both comfortable and warm for a very long time. He shifted slightly, pushing himself closer to the source of warmth next to him and making a content noise in the back of his throat. The source of warmth laughed, making Roger smile as well.

"Mornin'," Mark said, and Roger mumbled a jumbled, sleepy reply. "Did you just purr?"

"Fuck off," Roger murmured, burying his nose in Mark's chest. "On second thought, don't move. You're serving a good purpose here."

Mark laughed again, and Roger noticed how he couldn't help but smile when Mark laughed. The noise was addicting, and he realized that he'd do almost anything in the world to hear that sound.

"You do know its two o'clock in the afternoon?" Mark said, running a hand across Roger's arm gently. Roger opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight that was streaming through the open door from the living room window.

"You do know that I don't give shit?" Roger said in all seriousness, rolling over onto his back. When Mark started to roll towards the edge of the bed, Roger reached an arm out lazily, attempting to grab Mark's but in the end just swatting at him playfully. "Where ya goin'?"

"Breakfast," Mark said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looked back at Roger, and Roger almost melted as Mark flashed a vibrant smile. A smile he hadn't seen in years, that he'd missed more than he'd like to admit. "Pancakes or waffles?"

"We have pancake mix?"

"Guess that answers my question," Mark said, standing and stretching, almost catlike in his movements. "I picked some up the other day. Cereal isn't cutting it anymore."

"I don't really need breakfast," Roger said, propping himself shakily up on his elbows. "You can stay in bed if you want."

"No, its okay," Mark said, the silly grin never leaving his face. "I want to make breakfast for you. It'll be great. When's the last time you had breakfast in bed, huh?"

"I don't think I've ever had breakfast in bed."

"Well, no day like today, right?" Mark said, and without waiting for a replay, bounced out of the room. Roger smiled sadly and rested his head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling and willing his stomach to settle down. He didn't have the heart to tell Mark that he wouldn't be able to keep anything solid down if he tried. Ever since he had attempted to sit up, Roger's stomach had been doing flip flops and threatening to send something rather foul tasting up into his throat. He swallowed hard, feeling his arms shaking, and tried to relax.

His mind settled on Mark, and he smiled once again, a genuine smile this time. He had been planning for weeks to tell Mark about his developing feelings for him, but he never imagined that Mark would return his feelings. They had been friends so long, Roger could barely remember a time when Mark wasn't in his life. It was then that Roger had realized he didn't want to remember a time when Mark wasn't in his life. He wanted Mark in his life until the end.

Which, he thought bitterly, wasn't very far away. He rolled over, curling up on his side and picking at a loose string on Mark's pillow, suddenly feeling a wave of despair wash over him. How was it fair that he got Mark now, the most wonderful, perfect thing in the entire world that he'd been so desperately clutching to all these years, only to have him snatched away in……how long? Months? Weeks? Days?

"Ugh," Roger groaned as the smell of pancakes wafted in through the open door, filling his nostrils and making his stomach churn. He rolled away from the door, trying to escape the smell, but a wave of nausea washed over him.

"Roger!" Mark yelled from the kitchen. "Breakfast is almost ready! You better be awake when I get in there!"

Roger rolled off the side of the bed, stumbling to his feet and palming the wall for support. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. He stumbled towards the door, surprised at his own weakness. As he made his way into the hallway, Mark looked at him quizzically, standing there with a tray in hand and a giant stack of pancakes in the middle.

"Hey," Mark said, cocking his head to the side a little. "What are you doing out of bed? I was going to bring –"

But Mark was suddenly cut off as Roger pushed him out of the way, nearly knocking the tray out of his hands in his flight to the bathroom. The door slammed shut, and Mark heard the violent sounds of Roger throwing up. He set the tray down and moved to the bathroom door, knocking gently.

"Roger?" he asked, his heart pained as Roger threw up again. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"No," Roger's voice was strained and weak, and Mark wondered briefly which of his questions Roger had actually answered. Mark waited for Roger to say more, and when he didn't, he silently pushed the door open and walked into the small space.

Roger looked absolutely miserable. He was leaning weakly against the small bathtub, the side of his sweaty face resting against the cool porcelain. His eyes were closed, but Mark knew that Roger was aware of his presence. Mark didn't say anything, just squatted down next to Roger and brushed a strand of damp hair behind his ear. Roger opened his eyes, looking up at Mark for a moment before focusing on the floor.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" Mark asked, trying to meet Roger's gaze. Roger kept his eyes pointing anywhere but Mark's.

"I'm okay, really," Roger said, lifting his head off the bathtub, wincing, and setting it back down. "I'm just a little tired."

"Roger?" Mark asked gently, and when Roger didn't lift his eyes, he rested a hand on the side of his face, directing his Roger's eyes to meet his. "Look at me. What's wrong?"

Roger shook his head, wanting desperately to get out the range of Mark's gaze. "It's just that……I can't…..I don't……your pancakes are making me sick."

Mark smiled, trying hard to contain his laughter. He knew this was a serious matter to Roger, but to think that he'd get upset over pancakes?

"Well then let's get rid of them," Mark said, standing and making to leave the bathroom. Roger grabbed his wrist weakly, stopping his exit.

"Mark, wait," Roger mumbled, and Mark knelt back down next to him. "Listen, I'm sorry. I know you wanted to make me breakfast and everything. And I……I really appreciate it Mark, I do. You don't know how much I do. I just……I don't feel right anymore."

"Roger, listen to me," he said, taking Roger's hand gently. "And listen to me carefully, because what I'm about to say is extremely important."

Roger leaned in slightly, his eyes fully of curiosity.

"I don't give a flying fuck about those pancakes."

Roger laughed then, a laugh that was full of surprise and amusement, sneaking out of the back of his throat and catching him completely off guard. To Mark, it was the most wonderful thing he'd ever heard.

"I'm serious," Mark smiled, squeezing Roger's hand. "I just want to make you happy. That's all. Guess that backfired on me."

Roger smiled again, meeting Mark's eyes with the most intense gaze the filmmaker had ever witnessed. He leaned in gently to kiss him, but stopped, turning away suddenly.

"What?" Mark asked, and to his surprise, Roger smiled.

"I have puke breath."

"Sick!" Mark said, pushing himself dramatically away from Roger. Roger laughed again, sitting up straight and pushing himself to rest on his knees.

"You okay now?" Mark asked, and Roger nodded. "Good, I have a plan. You feel up to going out?"

Roger shrugged, about to decline the offer, when suddenly a thought struck him. Months? Weeks?

Days?

"Sure, I'd love to."

"All right, get dressed," Mark beamed, standing and giving Roger a kiss on the head before making his way back into the living room. "I have an excellent idea on what to do with those pancakes."

"So, you do this often?" Roger asked with a smile, ripping a chunk out of his pancake and throwing to the grass. He watched as a pigeon waddled over to his feet, pecking at the pancake and gathering some in his beak. Sinking into the heavy coat that Mark had lent him, he turned to watch the filmmaker, who currently had his camera focused on an older couple sitting on a bench a ways down from theirs.

"Not too often, only when I run out of things to film," Mark said, putting the camera down and ripping off a hunk of his own pancake. He tossed it to the ground, and a couple of new pigeons came and gathered around Mark's feet. "I thought the birds might be getting tired of stale bread."

Roger laughed, leaning back and breathing in the cold winter air. He looked around, noticing the dead grass and the sparse amount of people that currently occupied the park. "So what do you film here? I'd say you'd have better filming material in the loft."

"I don't know, this place is a lot better in the springtime," Mark shrugged, looking around for a moment. He pointed to the couple on the bench, making sure Roger's eyes followed. "You see them over there?"

"Yeah, why?"

"How old do you think they are?"

Roger leaned forward, squinting. "I don't know. 80, 85 maybe?"

Mark shook his head, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "The man is 90 years old, the woman 88. They've been together for 68 years."

Roger cocked his head slightly, keeping his eyes focused on the couple. "You've talked to them?"

Mark nodded. "They come here every day, have been for six months. They caught me filming them once and struck up a conversation. Nicest people I've ever met, especially in this area."

"Wow," Roger said, leaning back again and blowing air into his hands to keep them warm. "68 years, I can't even imagine."

"Yeah," Mark said, leaning back as well. He watched as the man looked at his wife, smiled, and took her hand. Suddenly, Mark felt an unexpected warmth around his hand, and looked to find it wrapped within Roger's. He smiled, squeezing it and bringing it to rest in his lap. He tucked Roger's hand beneath both of his, rubbing it gently. His gaze retreated back to the couple's bench. "He's dying."

Roger looked at Mark with an unreadable expression. Mark looked at Roger, smiled, and continued. "He has cancer. The doctor said he had three months to live……six months ago. They started coming to this park the day they found out, and haven't missed a day since."

Roger was silent, staring at Mark with watery eyes. There were a million things he wanted to say, but the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking at all. So he sat and started into Mark's blue eyes, listening as the filmmaker pressed on.

"It's amazing, the amount of hope they have, the amount of love," Mark's voice was almost a whisper, ghosting into the wind and across Roger's ear in the faintest but most powerful of ways. "That's why I liked to come here. When I was starting to feel like shit and to doubt and to worry and all that other stuff, I'd come here and watch them and suddenly, everything wasn't so bad anymore. I mean, if they can do it……I just wanted to show you. It gave me some hope, and I thought……I thought it might do the same for you."

They sat in silence for a moment, Roger fighting to force the lump in his throat down enough so that he could speak. His tears were painfully close to spilling over, and he was shaking from a mixture of the cold and the emotions that were whirling through him.

"Mark, I……" he trailed off, his voice rough and choked. He swallowed heavily, staring intently at Mark, losing himself in his eyes. "I……thank you. So much. I can't……"

"The brilliant songwriter is at a loss for words," Mark said, his own eyes tearing up as he laughed. Roger laughed as well, two tears escaping and trailing down his cheeks. "That's a first."

Roger scooted closer to Mark, leaning in and capturing his lips in a soft kiss. He backed away slightly, resting his forehead against Mark's and leaving his eyes closed. Their breaths mingled together, swirling and warming the air between them.

"I can't even imagine what I did to deserve you," Roger whispered, and before Mark could reply, he kissed him again. The kiss was deeper, more passionate, filled with mixed emotions and an urgency that he'd never kissed anyone else with before. He leaned into the kiss as Mark made a soft noise in his throat, their hands clenching even tighter. When Mark finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily, the after effects of the kiss lingering on their lips.

"Leaving me speechless and breathless in one day," Roger said as Mark blushed. "No girl has ever done that. You are truly amazing Mark Cohen."

Mark blushed an even deeper shade of red and laughed nervously. "Yeah, well, it's all baffling to me too. The great Roger Davis, rock-god extraordinaire, is suddenly kissing me on a park bench."

"I think we can agree that this is not quite like our other relationships," Roger said, nudging Mark with his shoulder. "I'm not a controlling, overbearing, cheating bitch, am I?"

"Oh, low blow," Mark said with a laugh, pushing Roger back. "Perhaps I'm not a backstage groupie looking for a one night stand?"

Instead of laughing, however, Roger suddenly looked away, pulling his hand out of Mark's and staring at the ground.

Shit, Mark though, trying to read Roger's expression. Shouldn't have said that.

"Fuck, Roger, I'm sorry," Mark said, resting a hand on Roger's shoulder and wincing as he flinched. "Seriously, I didn't mean that, that was uncalled for."

"No, no, it's not you," Roger shook his head, still focused on the sidewalk. "It's just……something on my mind."

"Care to share?" Mark said, trying to get Roger to meet his gaze. Roger shook his head.

"You don't want to be with me, Mark," Roger said, and Mark took his hand again.

"Roger, we've been over this –"

"No, I mean……" Roger paused for a minute, finally looking up into Mark's eyes. "We can't……do things. Things that normal couples do."

"What do you mean?"

"I won't have sex with you," Roger suddenly blurted out, his face turning red and his eyes welling up with tears. "I can't Mark, even if you wanted to, which I'm not even entirely sure that you do……I just, I can't even imagine what would happen if……and I know there are ways to……but if something happened and it didn't work and you……and I……and I know that you might want to speed things up because of me, because our time together is so short and I……I just can't. I'm sorry Mark, I -"

But Roger couldn't continue, because his lips were suddenly caught in another passionate kiss, this one more comforting than urgent, more heartfelt and full of unconditional love. Mark felt Roger's tears fall against his own skin, and his heart felt like it was breaking into a million pieces.

Roger suddenly pulled away, a cough escaping his lips as he brought his hand up to his mouth. A cloud of condensation formed around his face, increasing as he coughed more. Mark rested a hand on his back, rubbing softly through his layers of clothing.

"We need to get you home, it's too cold out here," Mark said, standing and helping Roger to his feet. Roger suddenly seemed drained, both physically and emotionally, and leaned heavily against Mark. Mark wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to fill the physical and emotional voids with soft touches.

The walk back to the loft was slow, a result of Roger's weakness and both of their hesitancies to go back to their dreary apartment. Besides the occasional car driving by and Roger's coughing, the atmosphere seemed almost peaceful. Mark suddenly had the urge to film this moment. He'd never witnessed the city this quiet and tranquil before.

This didn't need to be filmed, he suddenly realized. He'd remember this forever.

They stopped at the door to the loft, Mark taking Roger's hands and turning him around so that they stood face to face.

"I love you, Roger," Mark said, leaning in and kissing the guitarist briefly. "I love you more than anything, don't ever question that."

Roger nodded, smiling, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion. "I love you, too."

"Okay," Mark said, opening the door and leading Roger into the loft. He gently peeled off Roger's coat, rubbing his arms gently as he did so. He took off his own scarf and wrapped it around Roger's neck, then took Roger by the hands again and led him into his bedroom. Sitting him down on the bed, Mark took of his boots, rubbing his feet between his hands to warm them up. Roger just looked at him with bleary, thankful eyes.

"I'm just so tired," he whispered, shivering. Mark climbed onto the bed, lying down and pulling Roger down to rest his head on his chest. He wrapped them both in a thick layer of blankets, then wrapped his arms around Roger, kissing the top of his head.

"You're going to have to go to the hospital soon."

"I know," Roger said, closing his eyes as Mark began stroking his hair. "Not now though."

"When?"

Roger took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and wrapping his arms around Mark's stomach.

"I'll let you know."