A/N: Still writing, may end up being longer than eight chapters at this rate, the next chappy is longer. Every thing you read in this chapter pertaining to how they treat, and test for leukemia is straight off of I think I have decided how to end this, not 100 sure yet, but I know where it's heading for sure. So...hang tight folks, bumpy rides ahead.

Chapter 3

Mark was fast asleep by the time they'd brought him back. Roger sat on the couch silently, the lights off so the patient could get some needed rest. However, his adjusted eyes watched Mark carefully, waiting for a single twitch or movement that might cause any type of pain or reaction from the man.

Lowering his head back against the couch, he closed his eyes and allowed the exhaustion to over come him; falling into a dreamless sleep.

His last thoughts were of Angel, who was hopefully watching from heaven and holding them all in his arms. They would need a guardian for this.

o0o

Morning came all too quickly for the two Bohemians. By eight that morning the Doctor popped in; Mark was staring at a try of food in front of him, while Roger perched himself at the end of the bed, eyeing what the hospital described as food. He would have sworn it had moved twice already on its own free will.

"Gentlemen, how are we feeling today?" the Doctor asked.

Roger's eyes flew to Mark, who was biting his lip to keep from saying something; no doubt something along the lines of the "we" being him and how shitty he was really feeling.

"We're fine Doc, what's up?"

"Well, you'll be happy to know that our friend here has no concussion, just a nasty set of bruises to brag about," the doctor offered smiling.

"Lovely," muttered Mark.

Roger shot his friend a quick glare at screamed "behave" before he looked back at the doctor. Beckett must have taken this as a signal to continue, because he took a breath and nodded, "We've run all the blood tests, Roger is anemic—you don't have enough red cells, and you also have a very low platelet count, which is what causes your blood to clot. As we suspected originally, you also have a very high white blood cell count. You have a type of leukemia, we're not sure which type yet, we're going to take some Bone marrow tests in a few minutes to find out exactly why type."

"I—" Mark shook his head, Roger had been kind enough to warn his best friends before the Doctor came in about the possibility of leukemia, but Mark had hoped it would be some type of fluke. "I have cancer?"

"You have a type of leukemia, like cancer it's an abnormal growth but it's in your blood rather than tissue or cells."

"Is it treatable?" Roger asked.

"It'll depend on the type of leukemia it is. Some types are very easy to treat, others aren't so easy. I'd like to take the bone marrow test now, it'll take about half an hour. Mark, I'm not going to lie to you it's tends to be a considerably painful process, what we do, is place a needle in between your fourth and fifth lumbar. If you'd like to help Mark get on his side, have him curl his legs up towards his chest and bend his head in towards his knees, he needs to stay like that for as long as possible. I'll go get what we'll need for the procedure."

Mark looked up at Roger, fear filling his eyes as he desperately tried to blink away the tears beginning to form in his eyes. "I'm scared," he whimpered again.

Roger pulled a seat over towards the bed, curling his legs under him, he looked at Mark, "Yeah, I know, but I promise I'll be right here with you the entire time," Roger whispered.

Dr. Beckett returned a few moments later, everything on a tray, he pulled a stool along with him and looked from Mark to Roger, "Ready?" he asked.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Roger replied for his best friend.

"That's all I can ask. Roger would you please place on hand behind Mark's knees, to help him keep them in that position. Your other hand by his head, to make sure he doesn't jerk. The more you move the longer this will take and the more times we'll have to do this, okay?"

"Kay," the softly reply came as Dr. Beckett untied the back of Mark's gown. Mark felt him looking over his back, until he felt something cold hit his back.

"Easy," Beckett replied feeling the tension in the young man's body, "That was the anapestic, I promise to try and make this as painless as possible son." There was a quick prick in his back, before the doctor spoke again, "That was the local, here we go, steady lad."

Roger watched as Mark bit his lip, as a long thin needle slowly dug into his lower back. "Okay guys, I'm removing the central core, if it drips, we're in your spinal canal—if not, well—let's just hope it is okay."

The musician diligently watched as this man talked them through the procedure. He gently ran his hand through Mark's hair over and over, speaking softly him as the filmmaker tried to keep his whimpers to a minimum. "You're doing good Mark," Roger whispered.

Doctor Beckett slowly removed the needle thirty minutes later, he looked at both men and offered an apologetic smile, "You may get a headache; it's advised you remain lying on your back, head slightly raised. You may also have a backache for a few days. Let us know if you need something."

"Doctor," Mark's exhausted whimper caught the man's attention. "When can I go home?" A waver was somewhat obvious in Mark's voice as he fought back tears of fear and pain.

"We're going to try and get you out of here by the end of the week. We want to make sure you're properly diagnosed, and that we get you started on a treatment that's best for you."

"Treatment?"

"You're going to need chemotherapy son, we'll get you started and regulated before you go home. Try to get some rest, both of you. We'll have the results some time this evening."

Doctor Beckett left the two men alone in the hospital room. Moving over to his best friend, Roger gently helped Mark uncurl and lie down flat on his back, causing the younger man to grimace in pain as he turned. "I'm dying."

The musician sighed and shook his head, "No, you're not dying," he gripped Mark's chin, pulling it up so their gazes would meet, "You have to stay positive—we're all dying Mark, it's not your time yet," Roger continued. "It's not our time."

"This isn't fuckin' fair," murmured the filmier.

"No, no it's not—We're going to get you through this Mark; just like you've gotten us through the past few years. It's our turn to be there for you."

"No day but today," garbled Mark as he looked up at his best friend.

Roger offered a soft smile before taking his best friend's hand again, "We should tell the others—"

"Not yet, let's make sure it's actually leukemia, before we tell them anything."

"Okay, but we can't wait too long, they have a right to know."

Mark became eerily quiet for a moment, then glanced back up at his best friend, "Did you ask why me?"

Roger smiled weakly, "I still do from time to time. You'll come to accept it—we're all dying Mark; some just faster and sooner than other's."

TBC