-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

(Mark's Perspective)

"Hey, Roger-" I said, knocking on the door to his room. He'd been in there for about half an hour without complaint. I hadn't locked him in or anything, but still. For Roger to do anything without a fight these days is rare and unexpected. "Roger?" I asked. No answer. I tried the handle. Locked. "Hey, let me in." I called through the door. He had to remember that I knew that the door would unlock if I pulled the handle towards me while I turned it.

He didn't answer, so I popped the lock and walked inside his room cautiously. The smell was the first thing that hit me. Mostly because of him. Because he wouldn't shower.

"Roger-" I began, seeing him lying on the bed, then froze. "What the fuck." I said, pissed off to all hell. A belt was wrapped around his upper arm and a needle was hanging out of his arm. He was breathing deeply, seemingly unaware that I was even there, his eyes lazily traveling around the room. "Where did you get that?" I asked through clenched teeth. He was out of his mind enough to tell me. He lifted his hand and pointed in the general direction of his dresser. I ransacked what was left in the drawers trying to see if he had any more but I didn't find anything. Roger laughed as I threw things around.

I looked under the dresser. Nothing. I glanced behind it. Fuck. There was a hole in the wall. Nothing in it except a box containing two syringes and a lighter.

"How long have you been using again?" I asked, about ready to cry. All these weeks have been for nothing? How did he get it? Why did I let him stay in here for so long? What do I do? What do I do? "Answer me. How long?" I asked, standing over him. He finally looked at me, his eyes growing larger and smaller of their own free will.

"Forgot it was there." He mumbled, smiling. He then pulled the needle out of his arm and dropped it on the floor, where it landed beside a blackened spoon and an old lighter. I was so angry I couldn't speak. "Just one. I just wanted one. It'll be better now." He said, burrowing under the ragged blankets on his bed.

I walked out and slammed the door. What the hell do I do now?

I paced around the apartment for a few minutes, trying to think, to collect my worn-out mind. Eventually I sank wearily onto the couch, rubbing my forehead, trying to figure out what has to happen now. I honestly have no idea where to go from here.

(Collins' Perspective)

When I got back to the apartment that night it was to find Mark sitting in a chair facing Roger's bedroom door and scowling like I've never seen him scowl before.

"Uh-oh." I said. "What happened?" He turned slowly to look at me. His eyes were red enough for me to tell that he'd been crying. He took a long time to answer, his jaw clenching and releasing a few times before he spoke.

"I found him high this afternoon." Mark told me.

"What? How? Are you sure?" I asked in a rush. There's no way. No way. "How did he get out?"

"He didn't. He didn't have to." Mark said, facing the door again.

"What do you mean? How did he get it?"

"There's a hole in the wall. From what I got out of him, he forgot he'd left it there."

"No. No. How did we miss that?" I asked, confused, pissed off that we'd overlooked it.

"Because it was behind his dresser." Mark said. "I don't know what to do. I just- I need to take a nap. Can I go take a nap?" He asked me pitifully.

"Yes. Of course. Go." I said loudly. Then quietly, as the rest of our conversation had been, "Stay in there." I pointed to his bedroom door. He looked at me, confused. I motioned for him to be quiet and he nodded, shrugged and went to his room. I opened the door to Roger's room and found him standing in the corner, his arms folded.

"Go ahead. I'm ready." He said.

"What? Go ahead with what?" I asked, not understanding.

"Yell. Lock me in. I don't care." Pause. "Where's Mark?"

"He left, man." I lied.

"Fuck off." Roger said.

"I'm serious. I assumed he said goodbye to you, but hey- he was pretty pissed. I wouldn't have said goodbye, either."

"Shut the hell up, Collins- Mark wouldn't just leave." Roger said, but I could tell he was starting to get worried.

"After what you did? Shoot, I wouldn't have even stayed to make sure someone was here to try and stop you from taking the next hit. I'd have split and left you to rot." I thought maybe I'd gone too far, that he wouldn't believe it, but he bought it hook, line, and sinker.

"No. Because- because if you felt that way you wouldn't be here."

"Boy, I just haven't kicked you out yet. Mark didn't want to be here when I did." I told him.

"What? No. Collins-"

"You've got ten minutes." I said calmly.

"Mark? MARK?" Roger cried, freaked out. He started for the door, but I blocked his exit. "Mark, don't let him do this-" He called out.

"Stop. He's not here. He can't save you. You're wasting time. Pack what's yours and go."

"You can't let him do this! Please. Please-" Roger said, stepping away from me, thinking that Mark really wasn't here, that this was really happening, "you can't kick me out, Collins. Please, don't. I don't have anywhere to go…" Roger's eyes grew wide, realizing the truth in that statement. We're all he has. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mark standing in the doorway to his room.

"Get your stuff." I told Roger. He turned and started hammering at the wall, angry and scared and upset and about a hundred other different things. I took the moment to look at Mark to try and somehow get across to him that I wasn't really kicking Roger out. Mark looked uncertain, but he didn't say a word.

Roger looked wildly around the room for things that he wanted, then stopped. "I don't- I don't have a bag." He said, his voice lost and forlorn. Then he switched gears. "You know what? No. No! I'm not going. You can't make me go." He stated, rooting himself to the floor.

"I could call the cops about a roommate with drug paraphernalia." I told him evenly.

"No, you-" He paused, his face crumpling as he tried to hold off tears. "-you, you can't. Collins, I'm so sorry. Please, I'm sorry, please, please-" I held my ground, arms crossed, and he leaned against his bed, totally breaking down, "I'm scared. Collins." He looked up at me. "I can't end up like her. If I go, I'll end up like- like- her." He dropped to his knees, sobbing. Mark had come and was standing right outside the door next to me.

I hated to see Roger that way but knew he had to be at that point in order to really understand that we are his only option. Up 'til now he hasn't valued that. He hasn't valued what we're trying to do for him.

"Roger."

"Yeah, I know, ten minutes. Jesus, Collins, just give me a second." Roger said, trying to compose himself.

"Roger." I waited until he looked up at me. "You can stay."

"What?" He didn't believe me.

"You can stay." I repeated.

"Thank you." He whispered, starting to cry all over again. This is the longest he's been in his right mind in weeks. I walked away from the door and nodded to Mark that he could go in. As I walked to the kitchen, I heard Mark say,

"You'll never end up like her. We won't let you. Shh. Shh. It's ok."