PLEASE stop writing me reviews saying that you oppose Mark/Roger fics. This is a Mark/Roger fic and will continue to be a Mark/Roger fic. The summary says so. If you don't like it, don't read it. Your opposition will not change my views or my story.

To everyone else, that's most reviewers, thank you, I love hearing from you and am glad to provide entertainment!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Mark found his room very much unchanged from the day he had left for college. The books were lined neatly on the shelves, one difference: his mother's work, he guessed. The knick-knacks on the bureau were untouched. Mark took a red handkerchief out of the top drawer, where it was folded next to his X-Men boxers, and dusted off his music-box, a circle of blue plastic. The window displayed a number of paper fish before a false ocean background. At one time, the fish had moved in circles as the music played.

"… and you want me to welcome that into my home?" Samuel's shout carried through the walls.

Mark stiffened. He pushed the drawer closed quietly and lifted the snapshot on the bureau. It was a day at the beach. Lily wore a pink tank top and had been laughing as the picture was snapped. Samuel was happy but slightly angry, struggling to untangle a kite string. Cindy was stretched out on a towel, topping off her sunburn. Mark had his tongue wrapped around an ice cream cone.

"He's our son, it doesn't matter!" Lily retorted shrilly.

Roger stood by the door. He set their bag on the bed and watched as Mark examined the possessions he had most prized in his youth. Nothing about the room terribly surprised Roger. He smiled at the stack of notebooks peeking out from beneath the bed.

"Maybe he's not. Maybe we did a bad job of raising him, Lily, but it's one or the other! He's either our son or he's a queer!"

Mark went rigid. He had not expected his father to approve of his choice, but never had he imagined such an ultimatum. His heart twisted, and he wanted to be sick.

"Mark," Roger said softly. Mark shook his head. This wasn't something Roger could understand. His gut turned slowly to water. "Mark, look at me." Mark took a deep breath, shuddering and gasping. This could not end well. He turned and tried to think up some form of apology. "Come here," Roger said. When Mark remained still, Roger strode to him and pulled him into a hug. Mark didn't fight it, but there was a roughness to the hug, an awkwardness, as though it was both comfort and restraint.

The Cohen parents argued more softly, in hushed, angry tones, as Roger held Mark, stroking his hair gently and promising that everything would be all right. "I'm sorry for this," Mark muttered. "It's not fair to you."

"It's not fair to you, either," Roger observed.

Mark pulled away. He wasn't ready for this. He had always trusted Roger-- as a friend, a roommate. Mark wouldn't cry in front of many people. He was never hysterical, never lost control, and preferred to begin crying alone, give himself a few seconds and then pull together. He had not expected Roger's sensitivity to flare as it did. Roger wanted to hug and pet and comfort, and that was fine, Mark liked that, but he was not going to cry in front of Roger.

"I'll be right back," he said, stung by the hurt expression on Roger's puppy face as he nodded.

When Mark was in the bathroom splashing cold water on his face, Lily Cohen knocked on the open door to his bedroom. Roger looked. "Oh, hi, Mrs. Cohen. Mark's just in the bathroom."

Lily nodded. "Roger, right?" she asked.

"Yeah. Yes. Roger Davis," Roger said. He offered his hand; she shook.

"So, how long have you and Mark been together?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Roger considered the question. He appreciated what she was doing, how hard she must have been trying. "We've lived together for… it must be about five years now. A little less. We've been… uh, romantically involved for a little over a year."

Lily nodded. She spotted the guitar on Mark's bed and, recounting her son's inability to learn a simple piano melody, asked, "So, you're a musician?"

Roger nodded. "Yes. I play guitar and, uh, I sing a little. It's not… I make money," he stammered. "I have a… I went to…"

It was after Mimi died. Collins took him to the school, practically had to hold his hand, practically forced him into the exam room, but once Roger was sat behind a desk with an examination in front of him, instinct kicked in. After April he had been moping and lethargic; after Mimi, he was manic. Roger worked. He played a few solo gigs, unable to get the band together, and scrawled his essays in the dim light and lull as he tended bar.

Only Mark and Collins knew of Roger's degree. He had blushed crimson to realize he had earned it, and protested copiously: "I don't want it. I wasn't doing it for that. I just wanted to learn." Now he was glad. He had something to present to Lily, a redeeming feature, and he offered it. He wasn't a total waste.

Lily nodded. "I don't care," she said. Roger's blood ran icy cold. He had hoped for an ally in Mark's mother, someone who loved her son more than her prejudices. "I mean, that you're gay," she added hurriedly. "Roger, I just need to know that you love my son and you're good for him, and to him. That's all that matters to me."

"Mom?"

Mark stood in the doorway, shifting awkwardly. Lily turned and smiled. "Hello, Mark. I was just speaking with your…" Despite her claims, the proper word for Roger stuck in her throat. "Honey, you know we love you no matter what."

Mark nodded. "Okay," he said.

"I don't mean in spite of being gay, just… it's so good to have you home."

They embraced, awkward and empty. Over his mother's shoulder, Mark gave Roger a long look, begging.

TO BE CONTINUED

probably pretty soon, too. The next chapter's halfway finished :)