Chapter 16

Legal disclaimer-So you already know, I don't own them. Larson's estate owns them.

Author's Note-Dennis, my friend, nice to see you and thank you. This is more of a Mary and her panic chapter, so, read with the appropriate warnings, my reviewers and readers who don't review. I would love to hear what you think of it. It's heading a direction you're not expecting, but I do have a plan (no, really, I do). I hope all of you are having a nice vacation break-I am, Merry Holidaze you all. Reviewing is a gift, and it's a free one at that….

Mary found herself unable to sleep. She had tried, snuggled in close to Mark who was asleep in minutes, his warmth making her a bit too warm, her need to sleep evident, but her racing mind made it impossible. She lay awake for a few minutes then made up her mind, cocoa.

She got up carefully, making sure that she didn't wake Mark, and headed into the main room of the loft. Collins had left, the fumigation done and his time away from Chang making his heart hurt. They went off together, happy to have each other. Mary was sad to see him go, but happy that he was with someone he so dearly loved.

Mary went to the small fridge that the boys had rewired to work and tried to see if they had any milk. She had brought cocoa from her dorm room, her sure fire fix it for a sleepless night. As she found the tools to make her cocoa, she looked around the room and enjoyed the quiet.

The trip to her dorm had been interesting. She had a short while before opening at the theater to visit it, and she knew she had to. The cops had dusted it for all sorts of prints, the mess that they had made was one she really didn't want to clean up, but she had the realization that she was not the same person that was Erin's roommate. Her stopping Mark had started a chain of events that had changed her life. It was eerie, it was scary, and something deep down told her it was right. She felt like she had walked into a shadow of her old life, watching it go by as she walked around the room. Death changed her. It was for the better she knew, but it was still bothered her.

She made the cocoa and found herself sitting on the edge of the windowsill, staring at the snow. It had changed the landscape, it was calming, and it made her feel calmer.

"Have any more of that?" Roger asked from behind her.

"Spare pack is in the cabinet," Mary replied, after she recovered from being startled, "You scared me."

"Sorry," Roger smiled, "Private thoughts?"

"Kind of," Mary said softly, "Have a hell of a lot on my mind."

"You've been through a lot, want to talk?" Roger asked, adding the hot water into the cocoa.

"Yeah, I do," Mary said, patting the seat on the couch next to her, "If you're up to it."

"Always," Roger replied, pouring the last of her previous boiled water into a cup with the mix in it, "What's on your mind?"

"Roger, what the hell I am going to do?" she asked, not looking at him, but out the window.

"Mark?" Roger asked, softly, knowing how hard it was for her to talk.

"Yeah, if you're uncomfortable talking to me about him, I'll..." Mary started, her eyes meeting his, her hands slightly shaking.

"It's okay," Roger said, "I've been his best friend for years, Mary, what's wrong?"

"Me. I'm what's wrong," she said, "When I first met him on the street, I had no idea of how to talk to him, he was a guy. I don't do well talking to guys, well, that is guys who don't dance. He was the first one in a long time to get to know me for me. Not just another guy trying to get into a ballerina's tights, you know?"

"And this is wrong how?" Roger replied, watching her, "You, Mary Blaine, are a very interesting person. Not many dancers, sorry, ballerinas, would stop for a film maker. You did, got interested in what he was doing and now, you are a part of his life."

Mary turned away from him and back to the snow.

"Maybe that's it," Mary replied, "I'm so fascinated that I have met someone not in dance."

"Maybe that's what you need," Roger said, sipping his cocoa, "You have said yourself that you spend too much time dancing. Maybe seeing the outside world is something you didn't know you needed? I once had a huge fight with Mark, just before I moved to Santa Fe..."

"For two months," Mary interrupted, "Mark told me. You told him to stop living in his work and get out and live."

"He used to live in it, Mary," Roger said, "All he did was film, ask questions about life, while all around him he was missing it."

"He still does that," Mary said, "It used to be worse?"

"It was allthe time," Roger continued, "It was his only activity for a while. Angel had gotten him to see the world around him as he filmed, you know, take a moment to smell the roses. I think what Angel taught him and what I said hit him when I went to Santa Fe."

"Did Santa Fe help you?" Mary asked, "I know you had fought with Mimi, that's why you went…"

"That was part of it," Roger replied, sighing," You know, when I look back at it, it's good that I did go. I needed to get away from all the drama here. I had to let it all calm down. Luckily, Mimi came back to me. She's off smack, she's doing well, and I..."

"You love her, Roger, that's pretty evident, and you two are a great couple," Mary's reply was genuine, "There's a look you guys get when you're together that I can't even begin to explain."

"You should see it in the mirror, you get the same look when you're with Mark," Roger replied, "He really does love you, you know."

"Yeah, and tonight I realized that I really do love him," Mary replied, "He's the most understanding person I have met. I'm the one who doesn't understand love, Roger, that's my problem. Why him? Why now? You know tonight was huge for me, I don't know if I can have a relationship and ballet."

"You two are frighteningly similar, but, different," Roger continued, "Mary, what else is bothering you? You scared by all this?"

Mary didn't answer, just shook her head.

"Damn," Roger replied, "This the first guy you have ever…"

"Fallen for heart and soul?" Mary interrupted softly, "Yes."

Roger looked at her wide-eyed. While he knew her history, it hadn't occurred to him how scared of emotional commitment she really was.

"Mary, how can I help?" Roger asked.

"You already are, you're listening," Mary replied, "I've spent my life with one true love, the ballet. I have worked for it, bled for it, cried over it, raised my level of it, interpreted it, done everything I can possibly imagine with it, and still, I crave more of it. I meet Mark, and instantly, I don't crave it as much as I used to. I want Mark to see how I am doing with it; I want to have Mark at every performance, I…"

"Mary, is this love or addiction?" Roger asked quietly.

Mary stopped. It made sense. She loved Mark. She wanted him part of her life, more than ballet at that moment, but ballet to her was like breathing.

Roger watched her thinking about what he said. To him, it made perfect sense. She was addicted to ballet, to the feeling that you only get when all lights are centered on you, but, when it came to Mark, she was lost. He was a steady port in an unending storm, and she was lost in that very storm. Roger knew how she felt, the art of music and dance went hand in hand, but her need for the stage was addicting.

"Both," she said, "I hadn't thought of it that way, Roger."

"It's okay to," Roger continued, "You know, we all have our addictions in life, things that to us are like breathing. I was a junkie so that feeling from perfect shows stayed around as long as the smack did. I thought I had lost that feeling when April told me we had AIDS, but I didn't check out, Mary. I stayed around. Thanks to Mark, thanks to Collins and in her own way, thanks to Mimi. When I am with her and onstage, it's the same thing, I'm happy."

"She got you the hell out of the house, Mark said," Mary smiled, "He was used to you being a couch potato."

"I put him through hell," Roger admitted, "It's something I am not proud of, but he seems to have forgiven me for it. He's my best friend. Rehab was hell and he stuck with me. Post rehab was the center of hell; he stuck with me through that as well. When I was ready to give up, he kept me here. I owe him everything."

"I can only imagine," Mary replied, "He's the most loyal person I have ever met. I don't want to hurt him; I just love him and have no clue how to tell him."

"Tell him," Roger suggested, "Flat out, tell him. It's the big L, not the little one, you give a damn, girl, let him know. He deserves it."

"I know Roger, I know," Mary replied, "You're a good listener, you know that."

"I'm not just the pretty boy front man," Roger smiled, and then grimaced slightly. He had burned the inside of his injured hand with the hot mug.

"Your hand?" Mary asked, putting her hands out to look at his, "C'mon Roger let me see it."

"It's okay, there's no sign of infection," Roger said, "It's not bleeding, just sensitive to the heat from the mug."

"Let me see it, Roger," Mary insisted, "I'll get gloves, if it makes you feel better."

Roger submitted, turning his hand over. The wound was healing, the skin stitching itself back together. Roger had kept it very clean, but the gauze had gotten loose around the wound. The gash was still angry looking, but the area was clean. Mary tsked under her breath and went over to the hook where she hung her coat and dance bag. Rummaging through it, she took a small roll of gauze and tape from it, a bottle of alcohol and her leather gloves. Putting the gloves on, she then turned back to Roger.

"Lesson one in ballet is how to protect your toes, especially when they bleed, let me redress it, ok?"

He nodded. Just by her nature, he knew he could trust her.

"Just remember, I hate to be babied," he said, sticking out his hand and turning his head, "I also hate the sight of my own blood."

"No blood, it will probably burn a bit," Mary said, taking the alcohol and washing the gash.

It did burn as Roger grimaced. Mary started to distract him.

"You know, it won't hurt if you don't think about it," Mary continued, "Think about when it's healed."

"And I can play the Fender, that'll work," Roger laughed, as Mary continued, "You know, you would make a great nurse."

She looked at him and smiled, handing his hand back to him. The gash was perfectly covered, taped so that he could use his hand comfortably, and didn't hurt.

"I'm working on being a great girlfriend to Mark," Mary laughed, "How does that feel?"

Roger flexed his hand. For the first time since the attackers' blade sliced it, it didn't hurt.

"Wow, you're an expert," he said, hugging her, "Thanks."

"Just be careful with it," Mary warned, "I can only work my magic once a day."

"So can I, did I help?" Roger asked.

She hugged him back.

"Yeah, you did, thanks," she said, her voice muffled by his chest, "I think we both better get back to sleep."

Roger yawned.

"Good idea," he said, "Oh, and Mary?"

"Yes?"

"Don't hurt him."

"I won't, I promise."