-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

Ready for the Fight

(Collins' Perspective)

I was walking up the stairs with a load of clean laundry when Roger came tearing down them two at a time. He was so intent on getting out that he didn't even see me, so it was easy for me to grab him when he got close.

Realizing it was me, he struggled against me, making me drop the laundry and lose my balance. I hoped to Got that we wouldn't fall down the stairs.

"Let me go, Collins." He said, shoving me away, but I lunged for him again. "Seriously, let me GO!" He yelled as I wrestled him to the ground.

"Are you done?" I asked, out of breath. "Are you finished?" There was a pause and he stopped struggling and lay there passively without answering me. I thought this would get easier with time, not worse. That he'd want it less, but it doesn't seem to have waned, just… taken on a new form. "Lets go." I said, yanking him up by the arms and making him go up the stairs ahead of me. We went up a few steps without incident, but then Roger twisted around slightly to look at me.

"Collins, come on, I'm fine! We don't need to do this anymore! I'm fine." He told me. "Let's go up to the roof. How about we go up to the roof?" He asked, speaking really quickly. When I didn't answer, his tone changed. "Collins, Jesus, don't you trust me? What the hell, man-" He tried to stop walking and turn completely around but I cut him off.

"Shut up, Roger. Keep moving." I told him.

The closer we got to the loft, the more he squirmed, begging me to go up to the roof. I was getting more and more suspicious and didn't know what to expect next.

"No. No, Collins, please, I don't want to go back in there. Please don't make me go back in there." Roger begged, grabbing on to both sides of the door and bracing himself so that I couldn't move either of us forward.

"Let go of the door." I told him, trying to pull his right hand free. Then, "Let go of the damn door, Roger!" I yelled, seeing past him and into the apartment; Seeing Mark lying on the floor.

"Collins, I didn't-" Roger began frantically, but I forcibly pulled both his hands free and dragged him inside, flinging him into his room and pulling the door closed. "Collins, NO! Collins, please, I didn't- I didn't- PLEASE!" He screamed, pounding on the door, beginning to cry. I held the door closed, looking for something to prop against it. I finally pulled a chair over with my foot and stuck the chair at an angle under the door knob, then turned and knelt next to Mark, hearing Roger's angry voice and pitiful sobs in the background.

There wasn't any blood, which I took as a good sign, just a very swollen bruise on his forehead above his left eye. I hope he doesn't have a concussion.

"What did you do, Roger?" I called to him.

"Nothing. Nothing, I swear!" He called through the door.

"Bull. What'd Mark do, hit himself in the head?" I spat back at him. I guessed that Mark had been out for at least three or four minutes. I pulled his eyelid up, not entirely sure of what I was looking for, but seeing that his eye was sort of rolled back slightly. At any event, at least he was breathing.

Roger had stopped yelling and pounding on the door but I could still hear his muffled sobs from the next room. Good. He should feel guilty. He should feel bad. I looked down at Mark and felt guilty myself.

Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe it's not completely Roger's fault. I don't know. Mark's a lot more forgiving about this whole thing than I am. No. I'm forgiving, I just don't make allowances for Roger like Mark does.

I got a glass of water and a rag and tried to cautiously apply a cold compress to Mark's forehead but slipped a little and touched the bump. Mark groaned quietly and his face grimaced.

"Mark? It's Tom. Are you okay?" I asked, hoping he was waking up. "Mark?" Suddenly his eyes sprang open in alarm.

"Roger. Where's-"

"He's in his room. Are you okay?" I asked. Mark blinked several times, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised after each blink. "Mark?" I repeated.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm… okay." He reached a hand up and gingerly touched his forehead. He took a quick breath through pursed lips. "How long was I out?" He asked, sitting up.

"Not sure. Five minutes?" I guessed. "What happened?"

"Ah," He paused, trying to remember. "The usual, I guess. He wanted out. Really badly, apparently." He stood up slowly and walked to Roger's door.

"Leave him in there, Mark." I said. He glanced at me, then leaned towards the door.

"Roger?" He called.

"Mark? Mark, let me out. Open the door. Please." Roger said, sniffling. No apology. No concern. I hate that drug. The things it makes people do aren't ever worth it.

"I'll let you out in a while." Mark paused for a second but before he could speak, Roger snapped,

"You can't keep me in here! It's not right!" He started slamming things around. "I hate you both. You can both go to hell." He hissed through the door.

"Roger? You can't do this kind of stuff." Mark said, trying to stay calm. "I'm really pissed off that you did that." Mark told him, surprising even himself. There was a long pause, but Roger didn't say anything back.

"I'm gonna go see if the clothes still in the stairwell." I said. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd already been nicked.

"Ok." Mark said, going and sitting on the couch. I turned to go out the door but was breezed past by Maureen.

"Hey. Careful on the stairs. There're clothes everywhere." She said.

"Yeah. I know. They're ours." I told her. I don't know what's with her lately.

"Oh." Maureen said. She said hi to Mark, then went into their room without so much as noticing the bruise on his forehead. He didn't say a word about it. I ran down the stairs to grab our clothes and be back in the apartment to see if she'd pay any attention to Mark at all.

He had told her that he didn't want her to be here while we were taking care of Roger because he was afraid she'd get hurt, so she packed a few bags and left without a fight. Mark pretended everything was fine between them, but I knew something was off. I just didn't know what. Now Maureen only shows back up if she needs something and Mark focuses all his energy on Roger in order to ignore it.

Inside the loft, I started refolding the clothes on the table. Mark hadn't moved from his place on the couch and Maureen was still in the bedroom.

"If you want you can go out tonight. Take Maureen to dinner." I suggested, trying to be helpful. Mark laughed.

"Right." Pause. "Hey, Maureen, want to go get some dinner together?" He called.

"Sorry, Marky, I made plans. Rain check?" She asked, coming out of their room with a few things as Roger started ranting and raving about Mark leaving.

"Sure." Mark responded. Maureen left again without even looking at him. Roger calmed down, realizing that Mark wasn't going anywhere. And I just watched it all from the sidelines.