Chapter 13

Legal Disclaimer-The characters are Jonathan Larson's. The rights are his estates. The character of Mary Blaine is mine. Mine I tell you. No money made here.

Author's Note- Okay, nearly seven pages. Whoo, and we're still not at opening night. Funny story. It's holiday time where I work and we have a parade going on. The music for the parade is a kind of cheesy, but one of my co-workers asked me if I knew who the singer was of the song. I didn't (rare for me) and I asked those who would know. They didn't know, but called those who did and guess who it was………..Adam freaking Pascal. Now I know why I like that song so freaking much. Anywho, those who review, my love is yours. Those who just read, let me know what you think. Please. Fresh thoughts make better story-I promise. Sweetie-I hope you weren't offended by my last review and I hope you're feeling better.

The still of the evening was not lost on Mark Cohen. He sat staring at the falling snow, knowing that he couldn't sleep if he wanted to. The stress of the last few hours replayed in his mind, over and over, the man with the knife, the admission of murder, the heroics of his friends, it was a nightmare reel that he couldn't stop if he wanted to. The scenes of a few hours before, the knife, Mary's cold dead face, Collins screaming at him, all played back in his mind at a pace he couldn't control.

He had wrapped himself in a blanket, leaving his now girlfriend Mary Blaine wrapped up in his down comforter. She had fallen asleep in his arms about an hour earlier, not talking about the crime that happened, only wanting to hold him and be held herself. He had happily obliged, knowing he felt the same way. With Mary he had comfort, a serenity that he never felt with Maureen. She loved him for him and he loved her back. It was that simple of a relationship and Mark knew that he needed it more than oxygen.

"Can't sleep huh?" Roger asked softly, coming up behind him, breaking him out of his million mile stare, "Collins' snoring getting to you?"

The room's other occupant still slept on, the vodka they had shared helping him doze.

"No," Mark replied after a moment, "How about you? How's your hand?"

Roger held up his injured right hand. The scar was going to be small, but it still looked like it hurt.

"I need to keep it clean," Roger said, "But I should be able to use it in a few days."

"Great," Mark replied, "I know Mary said it, so I'll say it to. Thank you for being heroic and stupid all at the same time."

"Yeah, I know it was stupid," Roger admitted, "Heroic, hell no."

"Roger, I should have done something," Mark said, "Film the bastard, jump him myself, something."

"Will you quit beating yourself up about it?" Collins said from his spot on the couch.

"You hear the whole thing?" Roger asked.

Collins sat up and also gathered himself in his blanket. He was as cold as Roger and Mark, but sleep and the alcohol had warmed him from the inside. He took what was left of the bottle and poured a small amount into a paper cup and handed it to Roger. Roger took it from him and downed it, the alcohol warming him up as well.

"Yeah, I did," Collins replied, "Mark, what is your deal?"

"Nothing," Mark said, staring off at the falling snow.

"Bullshit," Roger replied, "You feeling like you were useless?"

"I was," Mark said, getting up and going into the kitchen to make himself some tea.

"Mark, you not only called the cops, you identified the guy, you told the medic about my status quietly," Roger started, "You were a help."

"I don't feel like it," Mark said, "My girlfriend is emotionally shattered in my bed. I should have stepped up and done something when she was attacked. Instead I just fucking witnessed it. Don't you get it?"

"You want to be the fucking hero, is that it?" Roger asked, "I'll gladly cut your hand if you want."

Mark shook his head and poured the boiling water into the teapot.

"No," Mark said, "It's not that. Something you said about a year ago keeps coming up. Mark lives in his work. I thought by meeting Mary I might actually start living. You know, get out there and get a fucking life for once."

"And?" Collins asked quietly.

"I feel like I'm watching my own life go by," Mark said, "I should have done something, guys."

Roger met Mark's eyes. The pain he met there was something he rarely saw in Mark, his best friend who had kept him going through his own form of hell. Mark had always been his bright light when things were black. This time, there was no light.

"Mark, you're not," Roger said after a moment, "Take a look at everything that has happened since you met Mary."

"A shit load," Mark replied, "I met someone who is as emotionally detached as I am. She would rather be dancing than breathing sometimes. She's been through hell in the past two days and I don't know how to help her."

"You're frustrated man," Collins said, "She's the first one in a while that can help herself, but wants you to help her as well. She's not Maureen."

"By any hope of the imagination," Mark said, "Thank God."

"Mark, you didn't," Roger began.

"No, we're not even close to having that conversation," Mark interrupted, "She's precious to me and I was a total ass in not being able to help her. Why am I so fucking useless."

"What are you suddenly a trauma counselor? Think about it, she finds her roommate murdered, has the fortune of having us to keep her a little saner. From there, she has one bright moment of dance then blam, all of it is brought up again with that bastard and his admission. Mark, it's called life, nothing is perfect in this life," Roger said, "The one thing you have going for you is that she really does love you."

"She loves the dance more though, Roger," Mark said, "I don't know if I can even compete."

"You can," Collins began, "She's made a place in her life for you. Be patient. It will all come in time."

"Yeah, I know that," Mark said, adding a stolen sugar packet to his tea, "I'm just not used to all of this, and hell, tonight scared the hell out of me."

"Us too," Collins said, "Helps to try and sleep it off."

"Can't," Mark replied, "I wish I could, but I can't."

"You're going to have to, not just for Mary, but for you, when is the last time you actually slept?" Roger asked, "You look like shit, Mark. For God's sake, go to sleep."

Mark looked at his friends. The look of concern warmed him. For the first time in a long time it was them worrying about him and not the other way around. Mark finished his tea and went back to bed. He gently crawled into the double bed, wrapping himself around Mary. He kissed her gently on the forehead and closed his eyes. As his body relaxed his mind did as well, ballerinas dancing across snow starting his dreams.

The morning light brought the headache of a lifetime to Mary Blaine. She opened her eyes and knew instantly the migraine that was soon to follow. She usually had them when the stress of opening night was getting to her, and this one was a doozy. Moving would hurt. Focusing her eyes would hurt, breathing would hurt. Damn, the timing was shitty.

Gently she opened her eyes again and tried to focus. She knew she was at Mark's, she could smell Collins' cooking in the other room, but the sounds and lights were getting to her. If she moved, she would be nauseous.

"Mary?" Mark whispered, not wanting to startle her, "You awake."

"Barely," she creaked, "What time is it?"

"8," Mark replied softly, "You okay?"

"I have a migraine," she whimpered back, "If you check my backpack there's a drug in there for them."

"Let me get some water," Mark said, "I'll be right back."

"Thanks," she whispered.

While it was mere minutes, it felt like hours and Mary knew that she would be in bad shape if she didn't have the medication at all. She felt gentle hands put a pill in her hand, and a glass in her other hand.

Her hand hurt. She couldn't remember why, but she took the pill then downed the glass of water.

"How long does it usually take?" Mark asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

Mary's weak smile warmed his heart.

"About twenty minutes," she croaked, "And Stay, please."

"Done," he replied, settling in next to her, "Baby, you name it, I'll do it."

Mary snuggled in next to him. His head was above hers and she could hear his heart beat. It was strong and steady, and it helped her to think about something other than the pounding in her head.

"This works for me," Mary said, "Thank you."

"You gonna be okay?" he asked, "I'm worried about you."

"It's just a headache, Marcus," she said, "Wish my hand didn't hurt as well."

"Marcus," Mark laughed, "I like that. Your hand hurts? You gave Kevin a hell of a right cross."

"Oh, yeah," Mary said, "I had forgotten that. I broke the bastard's jaw."

"You did, Mary," Mark said, "Remind me never to piss you off."

Even though it hurt, Mary laughed. She couldn't help it.

"Who taught you how to hit like that?" Mark asked, perplexed.

"My ballet instructor in high school," Mary replied, "Told me that women and men in dance have to put up with that crap from people all the time."

"Wise man," Mark said, gently rubbing his fingers along her shoulder.

He gently kissed her shoulder. She didn't react, it hurt too much.

"Died of AIDS last year," Mary said bitterly, "I found out before class and kept dancing."

"That's what he would have wanted you do right?" Mark asked, "You can handle it."

"Yeah, I know," Mary tried looking at the room again, she could focus, "Just sucks that I wasn't there to go to his funeral. Too busy with Giselle to leave. He was such a funny guy, Mark. Hell of a dancer as well."

"Death sucks," Mark stated, "How you feeling?"

Her eyes met his. She broke his glance quickly; focusing for long periods of time caused her head to hurt.

"Better," she said, "I only get these every once and a while, I figured I might get one with the stress since it's opening night."

"And after last night, you were bound to," Mark said, "I'm sorry I wasn't more of a help to you."

She pulled his face toward hers. She opened her eyes to meet his.

"Don't you dare start thinking that you weren't a help last night," Mary said, "Jesus Mark, you don't realize how important to me you were."

"Important?" Mark asked.

"Important," Mary replied, slowly sitting up, "Mark, you were a hell of a lot calmer than I was. Part of me wanted to kill him, part of me wanted to run all the way back to Boston, where I could teach dance, and the other part of me wanted to forget everything he ever said. Erin slept around, but she was always careful. He date raped her, that's why she broke up with him. More than likely, he gave her AIDS, but dammit, she didn't deserve to die for it."

"It's a death sentence anyway," Mark said, helping her up, "At least that's how Kevin sees it."

"And Roger, Collins, Mimi and you see it differently," Mary replied, "You know that while you were calling the cops and I wanted to help Roger, he wouldn't let me. He didn't want me exposed to HIV and told me you will kill him if he was responsible for it."

Mark sighed. Roger was looking out for someone other than himself. This wasn't the angry rocker he once knew. Maybe Mimi had caused him to grow up. It was a little startling and a little heartwarming at the same time. He could only hope. He gently put an arm around Mary who in turn leaned in to rest on his chest.

"Thank you for telling me that," Mark began, "He's changed so much."

"He told me how he found April, Mark," Mary interrupted, "He also told me how you dragged him kicking and screaming to rehab. He owes you his life and he knows it. You watched him fall in love with Mimi and almost lose her, and now, where the hell are you? In love with a workaholic who is so far into ballet that she's forgotten who she is."

Mary couldn't believe that she had finally admitted it. She was so far into the dance that she had forgotten who she was, until last night when Kevin admitted the murder. She very easy could have been Erin, and at least she was alive to realize it. One life had passed her by, and she wasn't sure if she would be the next one.

"Wow," Mark said after a few minutes, "You had that building for a long time."

"Yeah, I have," Mary closed her eyes, "That a problem?"

"No," Mark's reply was honest, "It's not. I'm realizing that you have fallen in love a filmmaker who doesn't know when to yell cut. Real life is too busy getting in the way."

"I'm beginning to think we were made for each other," Mary started, "Damn Cupid."

"You saying you actually love me, Mary Elizabeth Blaine?" Mark asked, putting his hand in hers.

"What did you do, read my driver's license?" she asked as he laughed.

"Yeah, I did," Mark said, "and do you love me?"

"Yeah, I do," Mary replied, her eyes opening to meet his, "Real life is getting even more interesting, isn't it?"