Chapter 21

Legal Disclaimer- Larsons own, I rent.

Authors Note-Yeah, I know, evil fanfic writer…hee hee. Couldn't resist it thought, and it's all going to fit together in the long run..To my readers and reviewers, Thank you. The reviews keep me going, and I appreciate it more than you know. For those who read Echoes, thank you even more. I'm sorry I hung you in the last chapter. I have my reasons, they are all starting to fit together now. Please Review. I appreciate it.

"Mark?" the voice was distant, but he did hear it.

"Mark? Can you hear me buddy?" the voice asked again, this time a little closer.

"Damnit, Mark, can you hear me?" the voice asked, this time he could tell it was male.

"Roger?" he asked, his voice somewhere between a creak and a whisper.

"Mark, stay with me," Roger said, putting his good hand into Mark's, "You're in the E.R. at Bellview."

"Why?" Mark asked, slowly opening his eyes.

Bright light wasn't his friend, it hurt to look at it so he closed his eyes. The antiseptic smell and that sound of suffering only found in hospitals attacked his senses. He was where Roger said he was and it wasn't some horrible dream. Fuck.

"Mark?" Roger asked again.

"Yeah," Mark's reply was clearer this time, but it was obvious that he was in pain.

"Stay here man, you went away again," Roger was eerily calm.

"Nope, still here, light hurts," Mark whimpered, "What the hell happened?"

"You and Mary were jumped," Roger was blunt and quick, knowing what Mark's next question would be, "She's okay, she's on the other side of the E.R."

"How did you?" Mark was confused, Roger was at the bar twenty minutes ago, how did he get here.

"She told them to call the bar, they let me in because you were asking for me," Roger continued, answering the questions he knew Mark was going to ask," You've been out a while, they think you have a concussion. Mary does, it's minor, and she's also broken her hand."

"Fighting off those guys," Mark's memory was slowly coming back, "I was helping her when the pavement got in the way."

"That's what she said, and both of you have the bruises to show for it, you should have just given in, but, from what Mary said, they got her wallet, not much in there, but she had put her insurance card elsewhere," Roger said, "You guys are very lucky."

Mark tried to open his eyes again. This time the light wasn't so bad, but he put a hand to his eyes. The headache that was living in the back of his brain was beginning to rear its ugly head. The throbbing began to start, but it was better than the stab of pain he had when he first opened his eyes.

"Hey, take it slowly, will ya?" Roger asked, "They wanted me to tell them when you were awake…"

"I'm awake," Mark said, trying to sit up, "Go check on Mary, will you? You know Bellview, I've waited hours here for you."

"And Collins and Benny, I know. She's fine," Roger said, "She's got insurance so they got to her a little faster than you, but they have checked you out. They ran tests on you while you were out."

"Roger, how long have I been here?" Mark asked, confused.

"It's 7:30am," Roger replied, "The gang is out in the waiting room."

"Aw, shit," Mark muttered, "I can see it now, Maureen and Joanne are fighting and Collins is wearing a groove in the floor…"

"Mr. Cohen?" a harried, yet ready doctor interrupted, coming up to them.

"Call me Mark," he replied, trying again to sit up and succeeding, "Where are my glasses Roger?"

Roger handed them to him. He put them on, wondering where the tape on the bridge of his glasses had come from as the room came into clearer focus. He was in a corner of the busy E.R. People worse off were spread throughout the room, he could see Mary sitting up on the other side of the room though. Her look back at him a mix of sorrow and relief.

"How do you feel Mark?" the doctor asked, watching his reactions to the room, "Do you know where you are? Do you know what day it is?

"I have a headache, but, pretty okay from there," he replied, "Roger said something about a concussion. It's December 19, no, the 20th, and I'm in Bellview's E.R."

"Our tests indicate that you have a minor concussion, you need to rest," the doctor continued, "It's not recommended that you do too much strenuous activity in the next few days, but I can let you out of here. That okay with you?"

"Yeah, it is, what about Mary Blaine, who I came in with?" he asked.

"She's been awake the whole time," the doctor replied, "Your concussion is a little more serious than hers, but, she's got a broken hand from fighting the muggers off. She's been a great help to the cops as well."

"That's good to hear," Roger said, gently helping Mark as he tried to stand up, "Mark, you think you should be doing that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine Rog, thanks though," Mark said, holding onto the bed to steady himself, "Can I see her?"

"She's been asking about you as well," the doctor smiled, "If you feel like you can, and your friend is willing to help you…"

Roger's arm went around Mark's shoulders before the doctor finished the suggestion. Mark gave him a quick thank you look as they started over to where Mary was. Mark kept walking steady, Roger's arm a good support as his feet felt ground. Mary had her eyes closed as they approached. Mark sat on the edge of the bed as she opened them.

"Hey good looking," he said, watching her reaction, "I understand someone won a prize fight here?"

Mary laughed and opened her eyes. Mark met her gaze as she reached forward to hug him, her left hand in a brace. He gathered her in his arms gently, both of them grunted as bruises met bruises, but happy to be in each others arms.

"I thought you were dead when you went down," she whispered in his ear.

"I don't die that easily," Mark replied, "Thank you for being the tough one, baby."

"Anytime," Mary said, sighing, "How are you?"

"Concussion, from what the doctor said, but I can get out of here, if they are okay with it, you?"

"Broke my hand, and that's okay, as long as it is not my foot, we're okay," Mary winced, pulling back to look at him, "Hi, Roger."

"Hey honey," Roger smiled at her, putting his good hand in her good hand, "Since the two of you are together, I think I should tell the gang…"

"We'll be out in a few," Mary interrupted, "I want the hell out of here too."

Mark smiled through the pain in his head. He ran his thumb down the side of her face where he noticed the tear starting to fall. He gently hugged her again, letting her head rest against his chest, as the emotions of the past few hours fled from her body. She didn't cry, just relaxed, letting her tension go.

"We're okay, Mary, just remember, we're okay."

Within minutes they were okay to go home. Roger and Mimi had been given instructions on what to look for if something was going wrong with Mark and Mary and they were told the news that Mary didn't want to hear, she was off her feet for at least a week. It made her upset, but she knew that she couldn't dance with a concussion. Her balance was screwy already, on her toes would be much worse. The relief of the group was instant as they emerged from the E.R., Collins giving gentle hugs, Chang excited that they were okay.

Joanne insisted on driving Mark and Mary back to the loft since she had her car out in the lot. Collins and Chang, seeing that they were okay went on to their jobs. Maureen offered to pick up breakfast for them and bring it back to the loft. Mary asked for one stop on the way home, one she knew she would regret, but work had to know.

Roger joined her on the walk into the lobby of the ABT. She knew the director would be in, and she knew that she looked bad enough for them to understand that she wasn't going to come in. She also had the note from the E.R. doc about her hand and the concussion. She was out for the next few shows of the run of the Nutcracker.

The director had been upset that she wasn't going to be there for the next few shows, but to see how bad she looked, he knew that what she needed was rest. He offered to have the theater nurse look in on her, but she refused. Slowly and painfully she made her way out of the theater, Roger steadying her when she needed it. They went back out to the car, Roger joining Joanne in the front of the car, while Mark and Mary stretched out in the back, squeezing Mimi into a corner of the car, but she didn't mind. She held Mary's good hand.

Luckily it wasn't that long of a drive to the loft. Joanne dropped them off, her need to work overriding her desire to make sure they got settled, but threatened Roger with a lawsuit if he didn't call with updates. He and Mimi slowly but carefully got them upstairs, stopping on the stairs for Mark to sit when he got winded. They finally got upstairs and into the living room, as Maureen arrived with breakfast.

Roger took it from her gratefully as Mary apologized and went into Mark's bedroom to lie down. Mark joined her, their joint exhaustion beginning to show. Maureen stayed, her knowledge of concussions being that she knew that they had to be watched, so the remaining bohemians started to take turns keeping an eye on Mark. Mary's concussion wasn't as bad, she could sleep without them worrying about if she had any problems, but they had to keep waking Mark up to make sure that nothing had progressed with his injury.

They ate breakfast in relative silence. Roger couldn't help but reply the last few hours in his mind. The phone call had been frightening, Mary knowing that Roger would want to know what had happened and where to find them. Sheer luck still had the gang at the bar, the band wasn't done yet, but Mickey understanding when he heard about the couple getting mugged. Roger sitting in Belleview, knowing that Mary was okay but seeing Mark so deathly pale and out of it was terrifying. He knew at that point it was Mark had gone through when Roger was high. Mark was not himself then, but the fact that he spoke coherently before he went to bed let him know his best friend was okay. He couldn't and wouldn't lose him. That just wasn't going to happen.

"Roger, why don't you get some sleep, I'll wake Mark up in two hours, k?" she said, sipping on her coffee, "You know I can do it."

"Thanks, baby," Roger replied, kissing her on the cheek, "I think I might just take you up on it."

Maureen looked at her and smiled.

"And I'll keep you awake," she added, "We'll talk about girl stuff."

Mimi smiled as Roger got up. He was beat. He walked over to the room that he and Mimi shared, gently opening the door to the room that Mark and Mary were sharing. Both of them were asleep, it was easy to see, and they were both snoring. Mary was curled up on Mark's chest, and he was curled around her, protecting her in his sleep. Roger turned back to the girls, flashed the ok sign and went on to bed.

Mark looked up, and realized that Mimi was shaking him. He was awake, and his head hurt. The light outside the window screamed 10 am, and he knew that Mimi had to do it, but it sucked to be ripped out of the dream he was having.

"Yeah, Meems," Mark whispered, "I'm okay. Thanks. I'll go back to sleep now."

She kissed him on the forehead as she quietly left, Mark in turn settling into the bed, making sure he didn't disturb Mary. She was breathing, he kept checking her as he tried to get back to sleep, and gently making sure her hand was angled well for her position in sleep. He didn't want her to wake up hurting. He settled back into his pillow then closed his eyes.

"Damnit, Mark wake up," Roger said, gently tapping Mark on the shoulder, "You're scaring the hell out of me."

Mark's eyes snapped open. Mimi had just been talking to him.

"What time is it?" Mark asked quietly.

"2," Roger replied, his relief that Mark was awake written on his face, "Mary's already up, she's actually eating something, and you were out for a while."

"Did you get some sleep?" Mark asked, slowly getting up himself, "And did you take…"

Roger took out the AZT bottle that he stuffed in his pocket and rattled it.

"Yep, I did," Roger gave him a hand up, "You don't have to worry about me Mother."

"Damn," Mark muttered, "No one has told Mary's mother about this, right? My own mother is used to my being mugged, she'll probably send money."

"No need, Mary paid your E.R. bill," Roger replied quickly, not remembering the promise he made her until he said it, "Fuck."

The face he made told Mark more than words could. He could see the pact she made with Roger falling apart.

"Shit," Mark replied, "I thought I told her not to do that."

"Mark, she was conscious, you weren't," Roger said, handing him his glasses, "They were taking forever to get to you, and she wanted to make sure that you got tests when you needed it. She was looking out for you, so stop it."

"But I should be looking out for her," Mark said, "That's what people do in a relationship, right?"

"Usually," Roger replied, "She loves you man. Deal with it."

"Yeah, I will," Mark said, walking out into the living room, "How is she feeling?"

"You can ask me that," Mary said, from where she had landed on the couch, "You ok?"

"The headache is settling down," Mark said, slowly heading toward the kitchen, "What I think I needed more was sleep. You?"

"No headache, surprisingly," she replied, watching him, "Hand's killing me."

"Mary, you should have just given up your bag, slugging the guy didn't help," Mark said, filling the teapot with water.

"How much do you remember?" she asked, "Once you went down it gets pretty blurry for me."

"You slugging that guy as his buddy hit me," Mark continued, putting the pot on the hot plate, "You screamed and I turned to see what was going on, then I remember pavement."

"Ouch," Roger said, from his usual spot by the window, "The doctor said you were hit by something, that's why he wanted us to keep checking on you. The headache should go away soon, but he doesn't know how long it will take."

"And I get to have my hand looked at next week by the theater's doctor," Mary said, glancing at Roger, "Wear the brace until then, they said."

"So, you don't get to finish the run of Nutcracker?" Mimi asked, "That sucks, Mary."

Mary leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. The impact of that statement still hadn't hit her. Whenever she spent extended periods off the stage it was horrible, like withdrawing from a drug.

"Yeah, it does suck," she said, her voice cracking, "I was really good at it, too."

The teapot came to a boil and started to whistle. Mark gently picked up the pot and poured the hot water into his waiting mug.

"Mary, you are good at it," Mark said, "I know it sucks that you don't get to finish it, but you were great when I saw it. There will be other ballets, sweetheart."

"Thanks Mark," Mary said, "but you aren't the theater's main supporters. When they like a ballerina, then they are usually set for life. This puts me out of the running for next season's big roles."

"Sorry, honey," Mark replied, adding milk to his tea, "Is there anything you can do?"

"Right now, no," her reply was soft, "Other than heal."

"They'll let you dance with the brace?" Mimi asked, "Won't that throw your balance off?"

"Yeah, it will," Mary replied, "But I can still take classes. The concussion is another story."

"It throws your balance way off," Mimi replied, "I had one a long time ago, I remember."

"Thanks," Mary said, opening an eye and looking at Mimi, "I can't believe I wound up with this one. He didn't hit me that hard."

"Hard enough to crack your head," Roger said, "The main thing to remember here is that it could have been worse. You both are lucky to be here."

"Lucky, huh?" Mary sat up, "Roger, I can't dance like this for at least a week, possibly two. I don't feel so lucky."

"Hey, don't launch on him," Mark said, sitting down next to her, "This is a stupid situation that we are in, Mary. Both of us."

"Yeah, I know," Mary's hand hurt, her head hurt and she was grumpy, "Stupidity fucking reigns. We aren't that lucky, Mark."

"Baby, what is wrong?" Mark asked, "You feel like shit?"

"That's an understatement," Mary replied, "I can't do what I love, Mark. This sucks. My head hurts, my hand is killing me, and all I want to do is be getting ready for a show."

"There's going to be other ballets, Mary," Mark said, "You're going to have to sit the rest of this one out."

"You don't get it, I don't want to," Mary said, "This is my life we're talking about, Mark. Without dance, I'm not me."

"I know that," Mimi said, "If I couldn't dance I would go crazy."

"Try it like this Mimi," Mary said, getting up, "Every day I dance. I get up early, I go to class, then another class, then another class, if I am lucky, I can squeeze a fourth one in, if I am not in a show. It's my living, my passion, my reason to breathe in the morning."

"Like me with filming," Mark said, "I get it."

"No, you don't," Mary sat up and looked at him, "You can't understand why I can't stand sitting here."

"The reason you're sitting here is because three guys wanted your money last night," Mark said, "The reason I am here is because I let them take it."

Mary glared at him.

"That's bullshit Mark," Mary said, "They wanted both of our monies, and you did what you could, you had no clue the guy was going to hit you over the head."

"No, but I could have protected you better," Mark said.

"I can take care of myself, Mark," Mary said, "I did before I met you."

Mark was stunned. Mary was angry. He hadn't seen like this before, only with her mother.

"I know what you're saying about dance, chica," Mimi said, trying to break the tension that was building, "You going to be okay?"

"No," Mary said, getting up, "I'm not."

She slowly walked over to the door of the loft, grabbed her coat and gently pulled it around her shoulders.

"I need to get some air," she announced, heading toward the window that lead out to the fire escape, "I'm not going far, since I can't."

"I'll go with," Roger said, grabbing his jacket, "I need some air myself."

He gave Mimi a sympathetic look as he followed Mary. Mark watched the look between them and sighed. He couldn't get anything right.

"You're being an idiot, Mark Cohen," Mimi started, "Can't you see that girl is hurting?"

Mark agreed.

"Mimi, what the hell do I do?" Mark started, "She wouldn't listen to me if I had told her to let them have her purse, she would still fight them off. I wanted it all to stop and would have if I hadn't wound up on the sidewalk."

"She's not mad about the fight, she's mad about not being able to dance," Mimi said, "She's also scared. She gets to spend more time with you, but are you the one she wants to spend it with?"

"I don't get it."

"Mark, LISTEN to me," Mimi said, her voice raising for the first time in a while, "All she's ever known is dance. She now can't dance, not even get on her toes until her head is healed. They aren't going to let her dance shows until her hand is healed. When you stop dancing, even for a little while, all the effort you put into it goes away. Quickly. Your body line, which you have starved yourself to get, starts to change, your gravity starts to sag, she's scared she might not ever be able to get that back."

Mark listened to Mimi; he hadn't seen it that way.

Mary on the other hand, was quietly sitting on the stairs that led to Mimi's old apartment, trying to shake the fury that rolled through her body.

"You going to be okay?" Roger asked, his back to her, his fingers stumbling for a cigarette, "Or are you going to sit out here and freeze."

"A little bit of both," Mary replied after a while, "Dammit, he makes me so angry."

"He shouldn't," Roger said, "I know he's frustrating, mothering and annoying at times, but that's Mark for you. He's pissed because he couldn't do anything to help you."

"I know, I know," she snapped, "He's just infuriating when he doesn't get it. Me not dancing is…"

"Losing a part of yourself?" Roger interrupted, lighting his cigarette, "Losing the one thing that makes you unbelievably happy?"

"Heard this from me before have you?" she asked grimly, "I am such a broken record."

Roger came over and sat down next to her.

"No, live it myself," he said, "Mark doesn't understand the need that we have to be on stage. He lives behind the camera, remember? You ever try to film the man?"

"No, does he get all crazy?" she met his eyes as they sparkled with a memory.

"Mark Cohen on camera is a fish out of water," Roger laughed, "But I know the real reason he gets that way."

"Okay, Davis, spill," Mary commanded, "What's the deal with him and the camera?"

"Much like you and I, Ms. Blaine," Roger started, "Mark Cohen is a control freak."