A/N: Pretty long, slightly sappy fic lol. But I like it. Hope you do too!
Disclaimer: I don't own Roger or Mark or Central Park or the Bethesda Fountain. I do however own the man. You'll see who I'm talking about.
When I found him there that one cold, frigid morning, I had no idea what to think. I mean, who in their right mind comes to Central Park at six in the morning? But when I found him there, I was more so just incredibly happy that I found him at all.
I played that game that most people play when they can't find something. Or in my case, someone.
"If I were Mark...where would I be..."
Hint no. 1:
He always told me about the beautiful fall colors that had been springing up in Central Park lately. How he would go to film to capture those colors forever and to never let them go.
Problem no. 1:
Not sure if you've noticed, but Central Park is fucking huge.
Hint no. 2:
He says how a man with flowers comes every day and puts them near a homemade grave, always leaving Mark to wonder who the man is trying to remember. Or maybe forget.
Problem no. 2: This hint helps me in no way.
Hint no. 3:
"And there's an angel. Bethesda is her name. Her fountain heals the sick, they say. Or used to. And once the Millennium comes, not the year 2000, the actual Millennium, the fountain will heal again."
Problem no. 3: I wasn't sure if this was an actual fountain in Central Park or if Mark was just going slightly insane. Again.
But I figured, with no other leads, I'd check it out anyway. With Collins' help, we had paid the phone bill a few weeks earlier, so I called the Information Center, figuring they'd know where it was. I'm surprised anyone answers that early in the morning. I found out my location and seeing as it wasn't too far from the loft, I walked.
It took longer than I imagined to get to my destination, but it's pretty hard to miss a huge metal angel. And as I walked closer, I saw that sitting on the outer edge of the fountain sat my roommate, holding his camera in his hands.
And not filming anything.
I walked up to him slowly, almost afraid he'd pounce on me if I made any sudden movements. But even standing next to him, he didn't look up at me.
I sat down next to the filmmaker, waiting for him to speak. But nothing. No 'hello', no 'how are you', no 'leave me alone.'
Just the absolute torture of silence.
"You scared me shitless, Mark." I began. I didn't want to speak first. And truthfully, I had no idea where these words were coming from. No idea. But they had to come out. "I woke up this morning, calling your name, eventually screaming for you. But I didn't get an answer. I searched the house time and time again to find a note, but nothing. You never leave like that. Never. Why are you starting now?"
It was then that I realized my eyes were beginning to water. It was true what I said. He scared me half to death.
He wouldn't answer me.
God, why won't you talk to me?
So I shook him slightly, causing him to turn and look at me.
"Why?"
Mark looked away from me again, down to his beloved camera.
Do you love that thing more than me? Is that why you're here?
"Because I'm scared."
Staring at my roommate, the man I loved more than life itself, I couldn't see this. Mark? Scared? It simply didn't happen. Mark didn't believe in fear. He didn't believe in being scared of anything. He simply dealt with whatever life handed him. Fear just wasn't one of his options.
"Scared of what?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
"Scared that you'll leave me."
"Mark," I answered, laughing slightly. "I'm not going anywhe-"
"Yes, you are." Mark stood, almost dropping his camera to the stone ground before swiftly grabbing it. "You're dying, Rog. You know it and I know it." He turned to stare at Bethesda behind him.
How did I not notice an angel in New York?
"You'll be gone soon. And where the hell does that leave me?"
I got up and walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his thin waist and resting my head on his shoulder.
"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here. I'll always be here."
"But is it honestly such a crime to want the physical you here with me? To want to wake up, hearing you sing songs you'll never finish? Watching you mess around with the hot plate and trying to figure out how to work the thing? Watching you tune your guitar, play a chord and cringe because it's still, after three hours, out of tune?"
I sighed, nuzzling my head further into my roommate's-
-my lover's-
body.
"Maybe it's just my turn to watch you? Protect you. Save you. You've done enough protecting to last a lifetime. Once I'm gone, I'll be protecting you."
Mark nodded as I kissed his neck. As I laced my fingers with his, I heard his voice again.
"Who are you trying to forget?"
I had no idea what he was talking about, and when I looked up at him for clarification, I realized he wasn't talking to me, but to the man who brought flowers every day.
The old man, gripping his flowers to his chest, smiled and shook his head. "Not trying to forget. Trying to keep her with me. My wife died of cancer three years ago. If I take time out of my day every day to remember her, it's almost like she's right here with me again." The old man looked up to the sky with his eyes watering. He lifted one hand, kissed it, and blew a kiss to the sky.
"She's watching over me. I can feel it."
I smiled at Mark, kissing his neck again.
"See? I'm not going anywhere." I tightened my grip on his hand.
"I'll be watching you."