Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson owns the wonderful characters. Someone else owns the script I'm sure. I promise I'm not making any money off of this, just encouraging my growth as a writer.

I'll Live

(Part Two)

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When Mark had come in the previous night Roger had locked himself in his room. He had ignored the light knocking on his door. Mark knew he wasn't asleep but Roger knew the filmmaker would go away eventually. When he could hear the blonde's light snoring he made his way back out into their living room. He sat on the table with his guitar and strummed notes that were imprinted in the back of his mind.

He made coffee once the sun came up and settled onto the bench along the picture window with a steaming mug. He sipped it slowly as he stared out at the already-bustling East Village below. His focus was on the moving city below so much that he did not hear the filmmaker moving around the loft until he voiced his greeting.

"Hey."

Roger looked up mumbling, "Hey." His voice was bordering on sounding tired.

Mark mumbled something back and took a seat in front of him. Roger kept a close eye on his roommate. He knew what was coming, he'd known Mark far too long to think he would take the rather obvious hint Roger had given last night.

When Mark did finally speak he sounded cautious, "Look… about last night-"

Maybe, just maybe, he could stop this right here, "I don't want to talk about it." He tilted his head slightly and gave Mark a look.

Mark stared right back. "You know Mimi's gonna be at Maureen's show tonight," Mark suggested, "You should come too. I'd hate to see you pass up something that could be good for you."

Roger swallowed hard. Mark just did not get it. He couldn't. He had to hand it to his friend though; he knew just how to get under Roger's skin.

"You'll only regret it," Mark said.

Roger shook his head. That was low. He replied with a slightly cynical tone, "I'll live."

There was a short, awkward silence that passed between the two of them then.

Mark stood up. He had his coat on and his bag over his shoulder. Roger realized he must be heading out, back to Life Support with Collins and Angel. He vaguely remembered Mark muttering something about it through his door the night before.

"Right." Mark turned and walked away.

It took a moment but Roger finally realized why there had been tightness in Mark's voice. It hit him as the loft door slid shut. Oh fuck. That had been a stupid thing to say. He bit his lip as he stared out the window to watch Mark leave the building. The blonde seemed to be talking to himself and for a moment Roger considered leaning out the window and yelling down to him.

I'll live.

That was the truth, wasn't it? Roger wasn't going to live. Sure, he had a few good years left in him. His HIV wasn't all that advanced yet and he lived as healthy as he could under the circumstances. But eventually it was going to creep up on him. He shuddered as he remembered Collins being sick a year ago. The very thought of it terrified him.

A year ago this would have been easier. He would have had April.

April. Ha. As he looked around the loft the memories came back to him. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked at the open bathroom door. He'd been out with Mark, down at CBGB's talking to the manager about a gig Mark was going to film. It was one of the first days in a long time Roger hadn't been high. He'd been itching for a hit though, and almost ran back the loft. April always had something.

He'd known something was wrong the moment he stepped into the loft, it was too quiet. April was never quiet. She was always singing, or yelling, or playing the radio too loud. The loft was absolutely silent. He'd yelled her name, checked their room, then Mark's room. Mark caught up to him as he started for the bathroom. It was a good thing too, because when Roger opened the door his knees buckled and he would have landed in her blood if Mark hadn't caught him from behind.

Roger had AIDS. HIV technically. He hadn't even found out until Mark had gotten him calmed down, after he'd sneaked out to get a hit, after he'd come back high and fallen asleep on his bed. Collins was there when he woke up, and Mark, as always, was there as well. Mark held a piece or paper in his hands. He'd been shaking as he handed that over. After Roger read it he wanted another hit but Collins was bigger than he was, and stronger. Roger hadn't touched heroine since.

I'll live.

How could Roger have been so insensitive as to say that to Mark? Mark had been the one who had sat there with Roger through the worst of his withdrawal as Roger begged Mark to let him die. Let him go out and get a hit, let him go out and overdose. Just let him go. With this damn death sentence running through his veins it wouldn't matter. Dying happy and, well no, numb and high was better than dying in a hospital bed alone in a few years.

Roger wasn't really living much these days. For the past month Mark had been insistent. Roger had to get out of the loft. Roger did not see a reason why. He was perfectly happy in the large room they called home. It was safe. It was life enough for him. He had his guitar and his memories. Mark was always there reminding him to take his AZT, and Collins and all the others stopped by when they could.

He looked out the window, down at the street. It had grown busier since Mark left. Those people were living; they didn't have to worry that death was right around the corner. Watching them he got up off of the bench and grabbed his jacket and began to hunt around for a pair of shoes.

In the very least he owed Mark and apology. And well, Roger Davis did not apologize; this was as close as Mark was going to get. Somehow Roger felt it would be enough.

I'll live.

He took his AZT before he left. Partly of habit, though mostly because he could hear Mark's nagging voice in the back of his mind.

He locked the door to the loft behind him. Last time they had both left and left it unlocked they'd come back to squatters and an empty six-pack of beer. The cold of New York in December greeted him and woke him up as he stepped outside.

He watched people on the subway. They all seemed so carefree. They didn't have to worry. HIV wasn't a part of their lives. He still couldn't believe it, and as he began to walk the sidewalk toward the Community Center he thought about her.

April. She was gone. She'd left him with HIV, a heroine addiction, and an absolutely empty feeling. That empty feeling had been filled by nothing; not Mark and Collins, not his song writing, and not his guitar. Nothing seemed to be able to fix it.

Until last night. The girl downstairs had just…

Roger sighed as he reached the front door and pulled it open. He would admit it; he had wanted her the night before. But to even talk to her again, and certainly do anything more than talk to her he had to tell her.

That was where it got difficult. Roger had not even told his mother about the disease. As far as she knew April had died of an overdose, and she was just happy Roger was finally getting off drugs. He never planned on telling his mother he had AIDS. He'd worked the conversation through his mind hundreds of times, and Mark, Collins, hell, even Benny and Maureen had tried to convince him to tell her but he just couldn't. His life in New York was completely separate from when he had lived with his mother. He couldn't hurt her like that.

When things got really bad, then he would let Mark call his mother, and then he would tell her. Until then he would say nothing.

But if Roger could not tell his mother how could he possibly tell this girl. People were scared of AIDS. She would hear the words and run. After all he had been through Roger doubted he could handle that. And even if she didn't balk right away, what could they do? She was a fucking S&M dancer for Christ's sake, Roger wouldn't disillusion himself and think she wasn't interested in sex. Even if she was willing to take the risk he most certainly was not. When she had just kissed him the night before he had panicked. If he was responsible for passing this death sentence on to even one other person he didn't know if he would be able to live with himself.

He sighed. He had reached the doors to the room where the meetings were held. Inside he could hear singing, Collins' smooth, strong voice standing out to his ears. He regretted coming and was tempted to turn around and walk back to the loft. They'd been trying to get him to these meetings for six months, but going in there meant admitting he was sick.

I'll live.

Just as Roger was about to turn and walk away he stopped and really listened to the lyrics being sung.

"Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow, from this nightmare?"

Roger closed his hand around the door handle. Those words gave him some strength. He opened the door and walked into the room. No one paid him too much mind as he walked down the aisle, between rows upon rows of chairs. Mark noticed him. The blonde lowered his camera and Roger swore he saw a tear working its way down the filmmaker's face. He stopped between Collins and Angel. They both noticed him and threw their arms around his shoulders in a show of support.

Roger opened his mouth and began to sing along with them. He looked around the room. Some of these people he knew, and others he did not. From the words they were singing they all felt exactly the same way he did. Despite Roger's pain and uneasiness he could not claim to be any worse off than anyone else in there.

His eye landed on Mark, the one person in the room without the death sentence bearing heavily on his shoulders. The filmmaker was watching him. He met the gaze evenly. If he had anything to live for it was so that when he died the people he left behind, people like Mark, would think back and know he did not give up until the end.

The song ended and Collins nudged his shoulder while Angel hugged him tight with one arm. He managed a weak smile.

One step at a time.

I'll live.

He would go to Maureen's protest tonight, find Mimi, and ask her to dinner.

He could figure things out from there.

…

A/N: So, this was totally supposed to be a one shot. But then you people had to go and leave me some amazing reviews. And well, I always sort of pictured it from Mark's point of view, but once it was written, posted, and reviewed, and then read a few more times I decided I had to write a chapter for Roger. I think the whole Mark thing came from me telling Anthony Rapp I wanted to be a writer and him encouraging it rather than dismissing it. I adore him even more now. I think it's a bit fuller now. Mark and Roger's thoughts kind of branch off in different directions at the end but I think I'm happy with how this came out.

I think I may have to stick around the RENT fandom for a while longer. There are a few more scenes I want to play around with. I definitely have a fun little parody about Evita's death that I am just dying to get down on Word. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and I loved that it got so many hits, so please show the same respect you did last time and leave me another review. I'm not quite sure Roger's voice came across as good as Mark's so I want to hear from you.

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