A/N: Ahh…psychology paper is over with and now I can write freely…for these few days. Then I'll probably get another huge project. Okay, enough about my life that no one cares about. This chapter may seem a little more Mimi/Roger than Mark/Roger, but I think a little time with Mimi won't harm anyone. Hope you enjoy! PS…the play was the most amazing and uplifting thing I have ever seen in my life! If you get the chance to go, don't pass it up!

Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson! It's all him man!

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Mark's POV

I lie in bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Yet, my mind isn't as blank as I wish it were. It races with thoughts at a pace I can't keep track of. Thoughts of Roger, Mimi, AIDS, death, love, and our group of friends. The past few days I've barely seen Roger. He's been taking care of Mimi. Or at least he's been at Mimi's apartment. They could be fucking for all I know it. But I trust him still. I can find composure, and allow him to see her all her wants without flipping out. I don't know how I stay sane. The only conversations we've had were about Mimi. She's sick, and they need time together. Time to talk, to accept everything, I don't know. Is it cruel to wish he were here with me? To wish that one day I'll have him, he'll have me, and that will be it? I certainly hope not. Because at this moment, I feel like that hope is all I have.

Maybe all along I have been too oblivious. Maybe I should have just let Roger do what he thought was best. I'm the reason Mimi is dying alone. Roger may be at her side, but I bet somewhere inside her she feels alone. She feels that no one loves her. It hurts to believe I am the reason someone doesn't have love in their life.

"Mark?" I hear whispered from the other room and shoot to a sit up in bed. The dark shields me from seeing an expression on his face, while he lightly sets his jacket at the end of the bed and joins me.

"Rog? How is she?" I ask, noticing the sorrow hidden deep within his voice.

"She's…all right. I guess." He sighs, and leans his tired head next to me.

"Oh." I mumble, at a complete loss for words. I can't tell if he wants to talk about it, or just wants to be left alone. I can't tell if I should comfort him, or ignore him. I can never tell. "Are you all right?" I ask, trying not to pry too much.

"I'm okay. I just…I can't do anything." He reaches gently over to me, pressing his head against my chest. My hand caresses his hair, stroking slowly back and forth to provide some sort of security. "I feel so helpless. She's dying and there's nothing I can do. What's the point?" He lifts his head up to face me, displaying his questioning eyes. He's looking to me for the answer. An answer I need for myself before I can give it to him. One day I'm going to have to face the same problem. Roger is going to leave me, and there is no way I can stop it.

"You're helping her. You're there to show her that someone loves her. To show her that everything will be okay. She isn't asking you to stop her from dying." It's hard to believe that I am telling Roger that it's smart to spend time with Mimi. But she is dying. Am I really that jealous that I would not want my boyfriend to help his dying friend? Even if it is his ex-girlfriend.

"How much help can I give when it's going to be me some day? I'm going through the same things, but she's just sicker. I can't…I can't fucking handle all…" He buries his face in his hands, grunting quietly from anguish and fear. Now I feel helpless. I want to say that I understand, but how can I? I don't know what it's like to face death. Sure, people I loved dearly have passed away from this disease, but I've never had to accept that I will be one to leave because of it.

"You are strong Roger. Even if you're not sure you are, she just needs words of comfort right now. She needs to leave in peace." I whisper in his ear, lightly kissing the edge of it before rubbing his back tenderly with my fingers.

"How would you know? How the fuck do you think I feel? Mark, you don't understand what it's like to wake up everyday with death over your head! Fuck, and then to top it off the only woman you love is dying too!" He screams harshly in my face, causing me to spring back against the headboard.

"I…I don't know what it's like…but I do know what it's like to love someone who is dying." I say quietly, trying to ignore the fact that Roger just professed love for Mimi. I'm sure he didn't mean it. If anything he meant platonic love. Is there a way he still loves her? I can't ask him…not now…there is too much shit in his head for me to screw it up even more. Asking about it won't help matters. "Roger, I'm sorry. I want to help but…"

"I love you too Mark." He interrupts me swiftly, turning his head to gaze out the window. Raindrops fall on the glass, pattering in rhythms that could soothe any angry fit. When he meets my eyes again, I see the remnants of tears occupying his cheeks. The moonlight shines over the outline of his hair, glowing with beauty like I've never seen before. I smile at his words, and for the first time in a few days, feel relief.

"You should get some sleep." I suggest, before pulling Roger into my body. We lie silently on the bed, sounds of breathing and gulps drowning out to leave just us and the rain.

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Mimi POV (earlier that day)

The soft mattress curves with my body, hugging every bone and hitch to make me comfortable. There are some rips and cuts, all from various mistakes and accidents, but the feathery bed is still what I depend on. It held me while I shot up, caught me when I collapsed after a long day, and withheld the many men I brought home over the years. My mattress may be the only thing that's been constant in my life. Now, my constant is going to cradle me while I wither away, as I grasp dearly to it, trying to savor the last few moments I have left in this lonely apartment.

"Shouldn't you be with Mark? At home?" I ask quietly, my voice breaking coarsely around my words. Roger looks up from the coffee pot and smiles gently.

"Mark understands. I'll only stay a little longer." He answers, and grasps two mugs between his fingers. I nod in approval, although I still think that he should be with Mark instead of me. I doubt Mark is very happy with the fact that I've had Roger to myself these past few days. Guilt has overtaken me, and now I'm almost unable to accept Roger's help without a burning pain deep in my heart.

"I don't know if I want to go to Life Support today." I cough lightly into my hand, as I grab the cup of coffee from Roger's grip.

"Why?" His voice is full of worry, fearing that I might be too sick to even leave the house.

"Don't worry. I can go, I just don't feel like going." He rolls his eyes at my response, as I slowly take a cautious sip out of my light brown mug. I have no idea where these came from. I sure as hell didn't buy cups. I usually only drink alcohol, and out of the bottle. That's my variety of beverages.

"Why don't you feel like going? It's good f…" He stops as I spit the contents of my cup out all over my trusty mattress. There's one more stain for the scrapbook.

"What the hell is in here? I thought you made coffee!" I screech, almost surprised at the weakness of my sound. A stale taste still rests against my tongue, bitter and rough, yet I hate to say it helps the soreness of my throat.

"I gave you herbal tea. Sorry. I didn't know you'd spit it out if I didn't tell you. Jesus." He chuckles before heading to his bag to get a t-shirt. It's old and ragged, most likely from his glory days when he was with April. That name rings forever in my mind. She's the reason it took Roger so long to come out of his shell. She's the reason it took him so long to accept his feelings, to open up.

"It tastes like shit!" I whine, before handing him what's left and forcing the taste down my throat. He wipes up the mess with his shirt, soaking in the puddle that stains my mattress.

"It's good for you."

"Since when have you ever liked herbal tea?" I pry, even though I know he's right. It is good for me. But I'm not yet ready to accept that I can't drink and eat whatever I want. It can't be the time yet. It's way too soon.

"Did I say I liked it? I just said it was good for you. Coffee just makes you hyped up, then you're gonna wanna do stuff you can't do. Like…" His arm stops scrubbing the tea out of the fabric, as he hesitates on his next word.

"Heroin?" I say bluntly, feeling a shooting pain when he nods. "Roger, I'm off it! Why don't you believe me?"

"Because! You said you were off it before! It took me a fucking long time to get clean, and you come in and think you can do it in a month! Can't you just accept you need help?" His words sting, partially because they are so true. I need help. I thought Roger was helping me, but maybe he thinks I need more. What's the point now? Who the fuck cares if I shoot up? I'm just pleasuring myself before I die.

I lean my head against the wall behind me, and look out the window at the building across from ours. I've never paid attention to anyone who lived there. I see a woman and a man, sitting casually at the counter, eating lunch. Every once and a while smiles grace their faces, as they sip coffee and have a quiet conversation. I wonder how long these people have lived there. I can't remember seeing anyone there before…I can't remember much of anything other than my mattress…my drugs…the feeling. I've completely ignored the world and the life around me. Maybe Roger always felt like the people in that building. He felt like he didn't exist to me.

"What does it matter now? I'm dying anyway Roger! It's my last…it's the only thing I have now…I can't just…oh God…" I sigh heavily as tears fill my eyes, spilling down my cheeks quickly. Roger leans in to comfort me, rubbing my back lightly with the tips of his fingers. I can't even make sense of why I'm crying. Because I need drugs so badly, because I really am a junkie, because I feel worthless, because…I don't have Roger anymore. All the things I've done wrong have fucked up the one thing I did right.

"Mimi, you have me."

"No I don't!" I tear away from his grip, rising myself off the bed, a little shaky but still managing to stay on two feet. "I lost you! It's my fault! And now…you're so happy…and I can't do anything to…" My hands shake from withdrawal, a feeling that I completely and utterly loathe. I wish I could just get off the damn drugs quickly. As quickly as it took Roger to fall out of love with me. But, it's hard to say that I'm not a little happy for him. Roger and Mark are in love. Something I never thought would happen, but it did nevertheless. It makes sense I suppose. They were friends for so long, Mark helped Roger when he needed it, he was always there…it would only fit that they fell in love. I just don't know why I didn't see it coming.

"Meems, just because I'm with Mark doesn't mean you don't have me. I still love you. Just…as a friend." He whispers, and before long I'm able to keep my composure. I lie back down on the mattress, snuggling myself next to him to keep warm. He covers my thin body with a soft blanket, and without a word, I fall asleep.

When I wake up, he's gone.

Memories of the night before come rushing back, profusely sweating while the rain fell outside my window, begging for all the pain to stop. I haven't had a bout like that in a while. But he was there the entire time. Never leaving my side until I told him he could. I didn't really want him to leave, but he knew it was time. I guess I did too. Now I feel shitty, but not because I want drugs. My chest aches, pounding along in time with my horrid headache. I feel like my body is falling apart. Every bit is slowly giving up. I feel so weak, so helpless…as this disease takes complete control over my life…all I can do is sit and watch.

The clock says ten, but it doesn't look like it's morning. The rain makes the sky cloudy, dreary and dark, in synch with how I feel. I slowly stand up, my head spinning hazily around and around, unable to stop. I fall back down quickly, and take a deep breath. My body is so tired, so sick of it all. I know I don't have much longer. Every part of me twinges with disease. Now is the only time in my life I wished I had a phone. Somewhere along the way I knocked it off my little wooden table, shattering the green appliance into big chunks of broken mechanics. I didn't seem to care too much at the time, seeing as I had just shot up, unable to focus on anything. If I remember correctly, I laughed when it happened.

I feel the side of my cheek, brushing away mascara lines resulting from my tears last night. Roger left just when I actually need him. He's with Mark now, happy and probably still sleeping. A small smirk flushes across my lips at the thought of them cuddling. No amount of jealousy can make me deny the fact that they are adorable together.

A sharp, biting pain rips harshly through my stomach, and my body forces itself up. I think sometimes my frail figure knows what's better for me more than I do myself. I'm able to slip my jacket over my shoulders, and rush out the door as fast as I can go. I hold back a gag while I climb up the stairs, stairs that I used to skip up. Now they seem like a mountain.

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Mark's POV

"Morning." I whisper in Roger's ear, and hear him moan loudly in reply.

"It's fucken early. Why are you waking me up?" He laughs, joining our mouths together before I can answer. I can tell he's cheered up since last night. Maybe he let some of it drift off in his sleep. Maybe he's just ignoring the pain.

"It's already ten." My voice is judgmental, like I wake up early every morning. I can't remember the last time I was up before eleven. Especially when I barely got any sleep before Roger came home last night.

"No, it's not ten yet. We got a couple of minutes." He rolls over on top of me, running his fingers over my ribcage and slipping his tongue in my mouth immediately. What the hell? His mood has changed drastically. There's something wrong here.

"Roger…" I try to stop him, breaking our kiss, but I'm unable to move out from under him.

"Hmmm?" He mumbles, diving right back to capture my mouth.

"Stop…what's up with you?" I ask, and he furrows his brow.

"What? What do you mean? I can't kiss you?" He pouts, and I peck his tiny pink lips softly before pushing him lightly off of me. I pull him into my body, sliding my fingers over the design on his shirt.

"Of course you can kiss me, you were just so…upset last night. And now you're…"

"Happy?" He smiles, showing more joy and contentment than he has in the past few days.

"Well…yea." I laugh, and feel the familiar friction of our hips grinding together.

"I just thought a lot about what happened last night…I just…" He stops before finishing, cupping my cheek in his hand and grazing my blond hair with his fingertips. "I don't want to waste my time with you. I don't want to be some distant shit. This whole thing got me to think about…us." This all seems like a dream. Roger finally realizing everything? Realizing that he can't shut himself out? I guess Mimi has really done him good. A little part of me is envious for her always being able to make Roger change. It's something I've never been able to do.

"I'm glad." I raise my eyebrows, not really knowing how to respond to his epiphany of sorts. "I want this time too…"

"Mark, I don't want you to feel like I'm a burden…" He interrupts me suddenly, making the conversation turn from light to deep.

"A burden? You'd never be…"

"But, when I get sick, there's gonna be all this shit you have to handle…and I don't want you…" He's stopped by a sharp knock at the door. We both gaze in the direction of the outside rooms, unable to move from our comfortable positions. Roger quickly gets up, probably in fear that something bad has happened. "Don't move." He commands before heading to the entrance of the loft. I hear the door slide open, then a short, silent conversation. Seconds later, Roger rushes in and grabs his jeans to slip on.

"What happened?" I hastily ask, sitting up swiftly against the headboard.

"It's Mimi…she says she needs to go to the hospital. Shit Mark…this…" He stares out towards where she is, and stops himself. He doesn't want to scare her. Even though she probably knows it is the end. Or the beginning of the end.

"Well…should I come with you?" I offer, figuring I will be turned down. To my surprise and slight delight, he bobs his head in a nod, and in mere seconds I'm ready to leave. I don't want to be the one slowing anything down.

Mimi looks so tiny, and after a few minutes Roger is forced to carry her. I have no clue how we're going to get there. Maybe a cab…if I put my pants on that have money in the pockets…I might still have a couple bucks left from my job at Buzzline. I dig in my pockets, desperately searching for anything to reach my fingers. I feel a crumpled piece of paper, and pull it out to see a twenty staring back at me. Holy shit. Where did I get this? I think, going over all the times I could have used it over the past few months. Good thing I didn't know about it until now. Now my money can be put to good use for once.

"Here!" I yell, catching up to a cab and rushing Mimi and Roger inside, ignoring Roger's protest. "I have money, just get in the fucking cab!" I yell, and he complies. I place myself in the front seat, next to the strange cab driver, but focus my attention on the rocker and dancer in the back seat. Roger tries frantically to keep Mimi conscious, to keep her talking, responding and moving. Since we left she's completely collapsed.

The hospital seems an eternity away, traffic holding us up for at least twenty minutes. Despite Roger's best attempts, Mimi has passed out in his lap, and I see him holding back tears that threaten to spill over. I feel my own violating my eyes, but I'm able to repress them. Crying at a time like this wouldn't do any good. It all seems so surreal, almost like a movie. We rush inside the hospital, and after a long confrontation, we find ourselves waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Worrying.

Thinking.

Waiting.

Breathing.

I glance over to see Roger biting his nails. Something he only does when he's afraid. We don't talk. I don't dare try to make any sort of conversation. All we can do now is wait.

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Notes: Sorry for the kind-of-cliffhanger. Like it? It was nice to throw in the Mimi POV. I enjoy writing her. That whole thing about the mattress is an idea that came to me while watching the movie. During "Without You" when she was sitting on it, it always struck me as odd. That she only has a mattress in her apartment. Okay, enough of my incessant rambling. Review! Thanks guys, you're the best!