Disclaimer: I don't own Mark, Roger, or anything else affiliated with Rent

Author's Note: Since I've written this story it has come to my attention that it would take longer than I wrote for HIV symptoms to actually show up. But I consider this story written and done with, so I'm not changing it. I admit that I'm wrong but it's staying.
It had happened. They had been so careful, so horribly careful. But…condoms break. And things…sometimes things just have a way of getting through.

There were nights when Roger would be so nauseated by the thought that it could possibly happen, that he wouldn't be able to get it up. He always covered his tracks by performing some lewd, incredibly pleasing, and utterly surprising act on Mark. Mark thought Roger was being spontaneous. Really, he was just racked with guilt.

Mark had been scared at first, the thought of Roger's illness always looming over his head when Roger entered him. But after a while, that had gone away. Sometime long ago he had pushed it out of his mind that Roger could infect him. Mark was intelligent. He knew that Roger had no power over whether Mark contracted HIV from him or not. Still, he couldn't help but feel less scared because he loved Roger. Somehow it had subconsciously become a trust thing. He trusted Roger to not give him HIV.

But as he'd known all along, HIV was not a trust issue. And for the first time in their relationship, Mark was not the one leaning over the other with a worried look and a motherly demeanor. Mark rolled over, groaning.

"So, you know how you hate it when I worry over you and treat you like you're fragile? You know how it makes you feel like an inferior five year old and annoys you to no end?" Mark asked, half joking. He was too tired to say it in the cocky way he intended, which was probably better in the long run.

Roger frowned. "I never said that." He replied solemnly. He had never wanted to give the impression that he didn't appreciate Mark's care. Roger appreciated Mark more than he appreciated oxygen. It was just that Mark could be so overbearing when it came to taking care of Roger.

"You don't have to. I can tell." Mark managed to get out before hacking thunderously, his entire body convulsing. As if on cue, Roger pounced up, busying himself with anything he could possibly do to attend to his lover.

"Are you okay? Do you need water? Are you choking? Don't choke! I don't know CPR. I need to learn CPR. Marky, have you eaten anything today? Are you hungry? I should probably take your temperature."

Mark was suffering from the HIV conversion sickness. It was merely a flu-like affliction that would last a couple of weeks, but it would leave him unhealthy for the rest of his life. There was no way to know for sure, of course, that this was more than just a cold, but they knew. The two of them…they just knew. There had been an incident a couple of days back. When Roger pulled out there had been a white glimmer on the outside of the condom. Both of them had seen it, and both of them knew the other had seen it, but neither of them said a word. A bone-chilling silence had filled the room, fear consuming them. They had held each other all night, both only pretending to sleep.

The thing was, it's not as if this was unexpected. Roger and Mark were artists. They were Bohemians. This being said, they were very passionate, as well as sexual, people. On average, they made love nine times a week. And this was well after they were a "new flame". So yes, they had expected it in the beginning. There were times Mark would pray for it to happen so that he could stop living in fear and just get over with his inevitable fate. But for so long, there had been nothing. For so long they had gone on happy and incident-free. They had begun to feel above the long-awaited expectation. It was earth shattering to discover they weren't superhuman.

"See, Rog? This is the point I was trying to make."

Roger put on a small smile, but the worry on his face was still evident. "Yeah, yeah. We understand each other now," Roger said like a teen brushing off a comment made by an overbearing adult. Roger thought for a little and then said, "I'll stop being annoyed when you worry over me," with a broad, cheeky grin.

"Rog," Mark nagged.

"Well what do you expect me to do, Mark? I can't just do nothing. I can't just go on with my day. I – "

He was going to say, "I'm the reason this is happening to you. I should never have let myself near you." but figured there were some things better left unsaid.

"Stop standing. Stop pacing. Stop fussing. Stop worrying. Come. Lay. Hold me." Mark said, his tone somewhere between commanding and pleading. "There's nothing we can do now. We did all we could. At the moment, I just feel like shit, and I'd really like you to hold me."

That got Roger to calm down. He obeyed his boyfriend's wish and slipped under the covers, bringing Mark close to him. Looking deeply into his eyes, he calmly attempted to let Mark in on the inner workings of his mind. "I…I'm sorry I got so worked up. It's just that I feel so…"

"Responsible?"

Roger swallowed hard. "How do you always know these things?"

"I love you. I just…know." Mark shrugged. "And you shouldn't feel responsible. It's not your fault. I mean, yes, you gave me HIV." Roger winced. "But I put myself at risk. And then we can blame the condom company for making shoddy rubber. And then we can blame April for finding the cheap goods when you were in need of a quick fix. And then we can blame Chris for giving you your first hit. It's endless. It's pointless blame."

Mark immediately realized he probably shouldn't have mentioned April. Roger had let go of him and was lying on his back, quiet. It wasn't that Roger wasn't over her death. He'd gotten over that ages ago. It wasn't even that she'd been the love of his life. She hadn't been. It had always been Mark. Even when him and April were together, he'd had this predilection for Mark. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Roger had always felt that April suspected this. So whenever April was brought up when him and Mark were together, it just gave Roger this overwhelming sense of guilt.

Mark didn't know this, of course. He hated bringing up April simply for the fact that it made him feel second best. He had realized long ago that he would never mean to Roger what April had. He would always be the replacement; the one left alive. He felt like he was going to throw up and couldn't tell whether is was his thoughts or the sickness encasing his body.

After a few seconds, Roger turned back to Mark. "You want me to make you some tea?" He asked softly, trying to bring the mood to a less solemn one. But then his brow furrowed in confusion. "What's up?" he questioned bluntly at the tears welling in Mark's eyes.

"I…uh…I just…I think I'm gonna be sick." Mark blurted out before running to the bathroom at the speed of light.

"Mark? Mark!" Roger called after him, as he began to hear puking noises coming from the bathroom. He fled after Mark, knocking things over left and right as he went. He had an overwhelming urge to hold Mark's hair back, but resisted since Mark didn't have enough hair to be held back. When Mark finished emptying the entire contents of his stomach, he lay back on the floor, groaning. Roger had that motherly look on his face again. "You okay?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

"Meh." Was all Mark could respond before he was thrust a glass of water and taken into his lover's arms.

About three weeks later a fully recovered Mark is pounced on, awoken from his first good night's sleep since the sickness overcame him. After a brief spasmodic fumbling, and due to the fact that there was a very heavy lump called Roger on top of him, he settled down calmly, letting out a happy sigh of relief.

"You look healthy." Roger said, grinning.

"I feel healthy." Mark replied, sharing the joy.

"You know what that means…"

"Oh, crap."

"You promised!" Roger stuck out his tongue, playfully. He often grabbed at the opportunity to act childish when the moment was appropriate. He got off of Mark and stood at the side of the bed, fidgeting like a little boy waiting for his parents to get out of bed to start their big day.

Mark sat up as he let out a sigh. This time it was his "fine, I'm giving in" sigh. "Fine. I give in."

"Well, you didn't put up much of a fight there, Mr. Cohen." Roger said, mockingly.

"Yea, well, I'm a big boy. Time to get over my fear of clowns." Mark declared, matter-of-factly. "Anyways, if I get scared you'll protect me, right?"

"Sure, Mark. I promise if an insane killer clown is running into the audience with a death sentence for Mark Cohen, I'll take the knife for you."

"Oh, don't mock me."

Roger giggled, uncharacteristically. "We're going to the circus!" He yelled as he did a sort of hop-skip-jumpy thing.

"You'll have to do that for me again if you want to go."

"Never!" he said, defiantly and stuck out his tongue again. Before Mark could respond, he'd run out the door and into the bathroom. It seemed within seconds the shower had started to run.

So Mark had an idea. Silently he crept into the bathroom, carefully removing his clothing. Roger was completely oblivious, belting Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now" at the top of his lungs. It was his guilty pleasure song that he only dare to let Mark hear.

In a flash of a second the curtain had been ripped open, Roger's body had been pushed against the wall roughly, and Roger's singing had been stifled by hot, needy lips pressing against his, as a tongue raged war, begging for entrance.

Mark began to move down, placing kisses and tongue flicks in a trail as he went. When he reached the goal of his little journey he stopped, teasingly. He began nibbling on Roger's inner left thigh. "You have no idea how long…" He bit down, hard. "I've wanted this for; how long I've waited to devour you." Mark licked a trail up the bite marks he'd left on Roger's thigh, coming tantalizingly close but stopping once again just short of Roger's cock.

All Roger could do was pant hard in anticipation. He felt like he was going to burst. It was rare that Mark was the one who did the teasing, but Roger always enjoyed it. Mark was finally about to get to the point when suddenly it dawned on Roger. "Stop." He said, worried and commanding at the same time.

Mark doubled back, slipping on the soaking wet floor, face landing under the constant flow of the showerhead. "Wha– what? Why?" Mark asked, sitting up and hugging his knees while looking up at Roger with a look that conveyed both confusion and desire.

"Mark…" Roger said, uneasily.

"But, it's okay now. We both have HIV."

"We don't know that for sure. That could very well have just been the flu. Can't you see that this is killing me? I never wanted to put you at risk. I never wanted this. You should be with some beautiful girl, happy and healthy, having kids and making a living, instead of being with me, starving and poor, and possibly dying. You deserve so much more than me. If I have any chance to keep you from getting HIV I'm going to make sure I jump at the opportunity. No matter what, until I know for sure that you have HIV, we're done. No more sex."

"…No more what!" Mark said, standing abruptly. He slipped a bit, but then managed to regain his footing.

"You heard me."

"Rog, you're being stupid. Do you know how long it takes to be able to get an accurate HIV test?"

"No, Mark. I'm completely ignorant about the disease that consumes my life."

"Well, do you really think you can hold out that long?"

Roger thought for a second. "Well…it doesn't really have to be no sex. Just…less. And more careful. And maybe…maybe I shouldn't be on top anymore."

Mark sighed. He knew Roger was right. Roger was only being smart; he was only looking out for Mark. "Yea…I guess I agree."

"You do?"

"No, I lied."

"Oh, shush, you." Roger said before kissing Mark softly on the lips. "Now, then. Let's actually get clean. I wanna go to the fucking circus!"

About and hour later, Mark and Roger were clean, dressed, and ready to go. As Roger opened the door to the loft, Mark stopped him.

"Come on, Mark. You promised. And if the clowns are too scary, I promise we'll leave. I'm not exactly keen on you having nightmares again."

"That's not it. And hey – you're not supposed to bring that up!"

"Come on Marky, it's just me. Afraid your camera will overhear?" Roger said, teasingly.

"Come on now, let's be serious. I think we need to talk about what you said earlier."

Roger sighed, closing the door to the loft and retreating back inside. "I thought we did talk about that. I thought we were okay."

"Oh, yea, we are okay with that. But I don't mean the 'no sex' part. I mean the part about you not being good enough for me."

"Oh…that." Roger sat down at the table, and Mark followed. It seemed to be the type of conversation one needed to sit for. "What about that?"

"Well…it's not true. And I need you to believe me on this. And I need to believe that you believe me, and that you understand completely." Mark was fidgeting, unsure of how to word this. "And I know that that rhymed, but please just ignore that and listen. I love you. I don't care about anyone else in this world the way I care about you. There is nothing out there that's 'better for me' because you are the best thing in my life. Can't you see that you mean everything to me? I don't care if you gave me HIV or if we can't have children or if we're dirt poor. All I care about is that you're in my arms each night and we get through life together. Honestly Rog, I don't mean to be blunt, but do you really think I'd stick around here if all of this were just bullshit?"

"You say that now. But you'll resent me. One day you'll wake up, and you'll be dying and in pain, and you'll realize everything you missed out on by being with me."

Tears began flowing softly from Mark's eyes now, leaving light, wet trails on his cheeks. Occasionally he would bring up one of his hands and wipe them away, not that it did much. "Shut up. You're insane if you think that. And what about you, huh?" Mark was having trouble keeping his composure. He was trying to hold back from sobbing as best as he could, but they were both screaming now and he didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

"What about me?"

"You think I deserve so much better than you, but you don't even love me. Maybe that's why. Maybe this is all about me deserving someone who really loves me."

"Mark, what the hell are you talking about? I do love you."

"Don't shit with me, Roger. I can't even bring up April's fucking name without you getting that way. I try to ignore it. I try so fucking hard. But I'll always be your savior. Your helper. And not the love of your life."

"Fuck, Mark." Roger said, getting up and coming to hold Mark. He pressed Mark against him, and Mark clung to him, sobbing freely now. He speaks softly, trying to soothe Mark, but with a hint of anger, mostly directed towards himself. "I can't believe you think that. It's…ugh…it's not like that at all. I can't think about April when we're together because I love you so much more than I loved her, and that makes me feel guilty because, well, she's dead."

Mark's sobbing stifled and he looked up, into Roger's eyes. "You mean that?"

"More than you could ever possibly imagine."

Mark smiled, knowing that Roger couldn't lie to him about something like that. "And you believe me?"

"No."

Mark's face fell. "What the fuck, Rog?"

"I'm always going to think you deserve better than me. I think you deserve the world and I can't give that to you. I mean, I pretty much get most of the other stuff, though." Roger paused. "I'd die if you ever left me. I'm not always great with words, you know? Lyrics I can do, but speaking I just suck at. So it sort of took a lot for me to say that, and I need you to understand."

This time Mark was grinning. He wiped his eyes dry, the signs of his previous sobbing almost completely gone. "You think I deserve the world. Seriously, Davis, how cheesy can you get?" He laughed, poking Roger playfully.

"You should be one to talk Mr. 'I'm your everything'. Plus, you…smell."

"Whoa, that was one intelligent insult. Oh, and you might want to change your shirt. You seem to have a wet puddle on your shoulder." Mark stuck out his tongue, mocking Roger's playfulness from earlier. "Hurry! We don't want to be late for the circus!"

Roger glared at Mark. "I'm gonna kill you." He declared while laughing and shaking his head.

"Not if you can't catch me!" Mark said and ran away into the bedroom. Roger chased after him and tackled him to the bed.

Needless to say, Mark and Roger never made it to the circus that day.