Chapter 4

Joanne covered her mouth with her hand as she slipped into the room. Mark lay on the bed, his back to the door, in all his glory. Roger had left an hour ago to get washed up, So Joanne and Maureen had come to keep him company. Maureen had gotten a call and left a little over twenty minutes ago. So Joanne had left to get some food while Mark slept. Upon return she had to keep from laughing out loud.

His blankets were kicked all the way down to his feet, his hospital gown half way up his back. Shaking her head, Joanne gently put her coke and the food down on the bedside table. She then carefully pulled his gown back down and the blanket back up around his shoulders. Leaning over she gently wiped the hair from his temple and pressed a kiss to it.

When she had first met Mark three years ago, she'd wondered how in the hell he'd ever dated someone like Maureen. He was scrawny, annoying, and weird. However, as she got to know him over time she realized why everyone in their little family loved him so much.

While he did hide behind his camera so he didn't show his emotions generally, he was quite possibly the most caring and loving person Joanne had ever met, next to Angel. "God must have given us two Angels," she whispered as she ran her hand through his hair again.

Two azure colored eyes opened, to glance up at her, before he frowned, "Acute myelogenous leukemia," he mumbled before curling up further, groaning at his stiff back.

"They're sure?" she asked softly, Roger had convinced Mark to tell them the news a few days ago. That way their friends could stay and not ask any questions.

"Better be," came the sharp but quietly, annoyed response. Joanne smiled weakly; they'd taken bone marrow twice now, the first time with Roger nearby, and the second with Collins. It had been worse with Collins, simply because the area was already bruised and hurting. Mark had been in pain ever since. Her eyes fell to his arms, she was fairly sure after all the blood taken that what he had left would never flow well through his arms again with all the holes they'd put into every vein.

"I'm so sorry honey," Joanne whispered softly.

"Chemotherapy starts day after tomorrow—I'm strong enough to begin apparently. Doctor Beckett wants me to stay until Saturday. Said it could be strictly out patient—there's anti-nausea medicine they can give me; said the stuff was getting better all the time."

Joanne nodded, as soon as they'd heard about his leukemia, the friends had immediately done all they could to find out what they'd be going through. Joanne had read more information for Mark's disease than she had for AIDS, and any court cases put together. If what he was saying was true, including the type, then she knew what he was going to say next as his face became downcast.

"They don't know what causes AML—and it's also the hardest to treat. According to the information Beckett gave me; the disease is most common in children, so when adults get it; they don't do so well with the medication."

"Listen to me Mark, I know you're scared: I wish I could say I understand how you feel, but I don't; however I promise we'll be there for you."

"I keep thinking this isn't happening to me, it's just some sick joke," he mumbled softly.

"I wish it was. Mark—what did Doctor Beckett say about your sister?"

He groaned as he slowly pushed himself onto his back and looked into her eyes, "Roger and I have been discussing it, and he's calling my parents before he heads back over here. They'll bring Carley and Cindy, the doctor says one of them should be as close to a match as they can get."

"I've heard of Cindy but…"

"Carley is fifteen, she's a good kid; I just wish I could have been there more for her. She's the youngest in the family, believe it or not."

"Really," smiled Joanne, "I always saw you for the baby."

"Feelin' the love Jo," muttered Mark as he closed his eyes. "I don't want to die."

She nodded, running a hand through his head, keeping it at the base of his skull, "I know honey." There were no other words, they hadn't all quiet accepted the fact that they could lose one of the strongest links in their little family.

o0o

The next three days were pure hell for Mark and his little family; they'd started the chemotherapy—if Roger hadn't known better he would have thought Mark was going through withdraw the way he was reacting to the medication. Especially the first day and a half; Roger was fairly sure they were thirty six hours he would never forget.

Glancing up at his best friend, who was no in a blissfully medicated sleep; he allowed his mind to wander back to those first hours.

They'd hooked up the IV drip nearly three hours ago; Roger was eyeing his best friend as Mark slowly became paler. He was sweating profusely as he gripped the side of the bed pan they'd given him.

Collins sat near by watching as Mark attempted to vomit his small intestines, they hadn't given him anything to eat or drink since inducing the first round of chemotherapy. "Oh this is fucking nightmare," gasped Mark between dry heaves.

Roger sighed as he stood by and gently wiped his friend's brow, "Can't they give him anything!" yelled Mimi in anger from watching her young friend suffer.

"They've given all the medicine for the nausea and vomiting they can. The doctor says it should pass in a few hours."

"A few hours!" hissed Mimi in fury, "Look at him Roger! He's not going to survive the next few minutes, he looks terrible!"

"I know that!" Roger bit back.

Collin's solemn voice interrupted their argument, "Stop it. All we can do is keep him comfortable; the doctor told us the first round would be rough."

Roger would never forget the sight of the machines Mark was hooked up to suddenly going haywire six hours later when his heart began to suffer due to dehydration. Friends shoved out of the room, they dropped Mark's bed so he was lying completely flat on his back and it was a flurry of activity as they pumped fluids into the body rapidly, forcing him to survive and see another day.

After that obstacle had been overcome, Doctor Beckett had explained Mark's immune system was completely shot due to the leukemia. Roger remembered the question Collins had asked, stunning them all into science.

"Immune system? You mean like the AIDS virus wiped out ours?"

"Yes it's very similar to that, just like a cold or the flu could kill you, it could kill him. You need to be prepared for this, you also have to be careful, what may have only caused bruises before, could now kill him. He's anemic, which means; as you saw, what should be a simple injury for most people, could cause him to bleed to death."

"Doc, what are Mark's chances?" Maureen always had to be the one to ask the questions no one else wanted to know.

Doctor Beckett's abnormally blue eyes, glanced at all of them before he nodded, "The type of leukemia he has is one of the hardest to beat, I'm not going to sugar coat this, there's a twenty percent chance that he'll survive the next five years."

Roger felt his stomach hit rock bottom for yet another day as he watched Mark allow all this information to sink into his young mind. "How can we help him so that he does survive the next five years? Or even the next two?"

"Keep him hydrated, put some actual meat on his bones, and try to just live your normal everyday lives. That's the best I can offer you, you do your part and we'll do our part with the medication."

This all seemed so surreal now, Mark was going to be in the hospital for another day and a half, and they'd finally gotten his medication evened out so that he wasn't throwing up everything they put into his weakened body. They'd also given him pain medication, however thus far, Mark refused to take it until the pain was too terrible to withstand.

They'd already had two rather large arguments over the pain medication, in which Mark had won both; proving that no matter how either man looked at it, both had the other wrapped around their finger.

His family was supposed to arrive shortly, and here they were; sitting in the quiet hospital room. Joanne sat on the couch, her head leaning against the arm, sleeping soundly. Mark was also fast asleep; Mimi was lying next to him on the bed, cautious of all the wires, as she gently caressed his hair. Roger was half awake watching him where there was a knock on the closed door.

Taking a long breath he moved over to the door and pulled it open, wondering who it was. He came face to face with a fifteen year old girl, bright blue eyes, identical to Mark's and short blonde hair. "ROG!" she cried in joy as she leapt into his arms.

Roger stepped out of the room and lifted the girls into his strong arms, hugging her tightly. He'd almost forgotten how much he liked Mark's youngest sister. She was a good kid, always had been. He grinned; remember how she'd always follow them around when they were little kids.

He gently placed the teenager back on the ground and looked up in time to see Mr. and Mrs. Cohen moving towards him. Emily Cohen was a kind woman. She wasn't incredibly tall, or beautiful, just the average looking mother; Mark had her eyes, and her fair skin and blonde hair. He also had her small frame. Roger could remember meeting her for the first time after he son got beaten up that day, and thinking she was quite possibly the nicest woman in the world, aside from his own mom.

Cindy Cohen, was also a fairly nice person, five years older than Mark, she was pushy and snotty when they were kids. When Mark had decided to leave home for good, Cindy had been the only one to actually support his decision. She had two small children, one was four and the other two; plus her husband Rick. Cindy looked more like her father than the other two Cohen kids. She had her father's heavier frame, and intimidating look to her.

Then there was David Cohen, Mark's father—a man that no matter how hard he tried would never redeem himself in Roger's eyes. Roger had hated this man from the first time he'd every seen the man's wrath.

Roger jumped as the thunder cracked through the sky above, he looked over at his mother, where she was sitting on the couch. "Honey, it's just a storm," she said ever so gently.

"I know," replied the twelve year old as he continued staring down at his homework.

The next loud crack however, was accompanied by a loud banging at the front door. Roger eyed his mom, before he lifted himself off the couch and wandered over to the door; pulling it opened he gasped at the sight, "My God Mark!" he pulled the drenched eleven year old into his house. "MOM!" He cried for his mother as he gently steered his friend towards the bathroom.

Angie stepped into the bathroom and was stunned to see Roger and his new friend. Mark was placed on the toilet lit, as Roger gently dapped at the boy's swollen lip. "What happened?" she asked pushing her son aside and taking over.

A mumbled reply she could barely make out caused her eyes to widen, "Mark, sweetheart, does your mom know you're here?" She asked gently running her hand through the child's hair.

This was easily the second time she'd cared for the young boy of eleven. The first time she'd been horrified when her son had brought him home. She was stunned that anyone could be so cruel to such a charming little child. This time however, it wasn't a group of older kids.

"Prolly not," muttered the child.

"All right, Roger sweetheart will you go get some clothes for Mark to wear, we need to get him out of the damp clothes. Then we're going to call your mother and tell her you're here."

"She'll be mad!" cried Mark.

"Honey, she has the right to know why you ran out of the house. Does she know your father hits you?"

Roger was stunned, his eyes growing wide, he'd always thought he was the only one with an abusive father. His step father Will Davis had quickly fixed that situation, giving his mother someone happy and safe to live with.

"Yeah," whimpered the scrawny eleven year old.

Roger disappeared upstairs to get what his mother asked for, when he brought back the clothes, his mother handed them to Mark, "Here, get changed, we'll leave you alone, I'll go call your mom and tell her you're safe and you'll be staying here tonight."

"Kay," whispered Mark.

Angie closed the door, so that the boy could change and headed over to the phone. Roger stood at the bathroom door, waiting for his newly found best friend to come out.

When the bathroom door finally opened, a teary eyed eleven year old met his face. "I'm sorry," whispered Roger.

The tears began to rapidly fall down the boy's face, and without even thinking about it, Roger grabbed his friend in a hug, and just held him as Mark cried.

Roger had never forgotten that moment, because over the course of the next twelve years he watched as Mark went from the sweet kid who yearned to be held, and loved, to a man who hid behind his camera and tried to avoid really feeling anything. As he met the cold green eyes, Roger felt his hatred wash over him harder than ever before.

"Hello Roger," Emily greeted her son's best friend with a gentle hug.

Carley spoke up this time, "How is he?"

Roger smiled weakly, looking down at the floor, "Well he's feelin' pretty bad right now. It's been a rough few days recently; they gave him something to sleep. So—we should let him get as much sleep as he can."

"Who are you to tell us—"

Roger held up his hand, silencing Mr. Cohen's words, "I've been here for the past ten days, watching your son go through hell as they poked, pricked, and tested him. I'm the one who's been supporting him when he's throwing everything he puts in his mouth right back up. I'm the one who's spent the past three nights holding him while he's trying to sleep. This has been one long nightmare, so please just let him sleep while he can; give him a few hours of peace from reality. Go find a hotel, I'll call Doctor Beckett and let him know you're here."

"Thank you Roger," Emily whispered gently as she looked at her two daughters.

"Your welcome, I'll call you when he wakes up," Roger offered before he slipped back into the room. Closing the door behind him he looked to the bed, where he was met by weary blue eyes.

Mark smiled weakly, "Thanks," he managed before Mimi's automatic caressing sent him back into a peaceful slumber.

"Any time buddy," Roger replied as he ran his own hand through Mark's hair, and then pressed a kiss to Mimi's head. "Why don't you go get some rest sweetheart, and take Jo with you, I'll stay here."

Mimi slipped off the bed, instantly Mark began to stir. Roger slipped his hand through Mark's hair, giving the comfort the boy was suddenly yearning for again, "Shh, you're okay kiddo. If you're worried about me, send Collins, but he's going to sleep for the next several hours. It'll be really busy around here when he wakes up, he needs the sleep, we all do."

"Okay, bye sweetheart," Mimi whispered pressing her lips against his.

Roger grinned and pulled her close suddenly, allowing himself to enjoy the contact for a few moments, before she slipped out of his grip; grinning, and woke Joanne up. "Roger is sending us home."

Joanne nodded, rubbing her eyes she moved over to Mark's side. She looked down as he continued to sleep. Caressing his cheek, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Get some rest, and take your AZT," Joanne ordered the last part to Roger.

"I will, thanks Jo," Roger replied pressing a kiss to her cheek in return.

He watched them leave before he moved over to the bed and smiled, "Just you and me again…aren't we a pathetic pair," Roger mumbled before squeezing Mark's hand. Heading over to the couch, he grabbed his guitar which Collins had brought by earlier, and slowly began to strum some of Mark's favorite songs.