VIII. — PART 2 OF STORY

February 18th, 1991

The devil had a name and it was pneumocystis pneumonia. Roger had to read the diagnosis the clinic had given him twice to make sure he wasn't inventing things. It explained the chest pains, obviously, and everything else. He hadn't waited around to hear anything else about it and had walked out before the nurse had given him any prescribed medicine because he didn't want to know anything more. There wasn't going to be any running anymore. In his heart he knew that the virus had caught up to him and it was only a matter of time. He didn't care for what the doctor had to say about how long he had or whatever. He was sick, period but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He'd crumpled the diagnosis up and had thrown it into one of the many trashcans that were scattered around the city.

"So what did the doctors say?" Mark asked that evening, knowing he'd gone. He'd left money for it in the kitchen drawer, so Mimi wouldn't be suspicious of anything. Roger shrugged, playing Musetta's Waltz on his guitar without looking up at Mark.

"Nothing I've never heard of. Relax. It's just the weather that's getting to me,"

Mark looked at him in disbelief and Roger knew him well enough that Mark never trusted anything he said on the first answer.

"Roger…"

"I swear to God, Mark, I'm great," he lied. It took all of his strength to look at Mark in the eye just so the latter would be convinced. God, he hated lying, especially to his best friend. He'd rather ignore a question and walk away rather than lie, but sometimes there was no other way. He had to fib this time, so no one would worry. He just consoled himself with the thought that Mark would be able to forgive him someday.

Mark didn't speak for a while.

"Can I trust you on this?" he said finally.

"Dude, have you ever doubted me for a second?" Okay, that was a stupid thing to say because Roger already knew the answer to that one and didn't blame Mark one bit when he rolled his eyes in protest.

"Okay, but I'm keeping a close eye on you. If something goes wrong again, that's it. I'm taking you to the hospital myself, even if you'd be threatening to kill me."

Roger smirked. "Yeah, whatever,"

"Okay…"

The list started that day, after some sudden inspiration. Roger had read about things like them before, lists on what people wanted to do before they died. He'd thought about it as he sat on the window seat after Mark left him alone, with his guitar nearby and his journal on his lap. All of a sudden he wasn't writing a song anymore, but a ten-item list. He chewed on his pen constantly, a nervous habit, as he erased words and phrases and replaced them with new ones. He thought long and hard about each wish, wondering how he was going to pull any of it off without anyone being suspicious.

Reason says I should have died three years ago…

He'd cheated death more than once, but this time, he was sure he wasn't going to be as lucky. He stared at the list in his hand, wondering if he was going crazy.

No one's actually said you're going to die this year, a little voice in his head said. Maybe you're just being paranoid.

Roger blew the thought away, running the items on the list in his mind, the words imprinting themselves in his memory.

Better now than never. Even though some of the stuff here is going to kill me faster, he thought wryly.

He wasn't going to do them in order because he doubted it was going to be possible, but there was no doubt that he was going to do them all. No way was he going to die this year or whenever he was meant to go without finishing his list, he was going to make sure of that.

A/N: Okay, now I need help. I need other suggestions for Roger'sWhat-I-Want-To-Do-Before-I-Die List. I've already written a few chapters containing several wishes, but I might replace the others. Got any suggestions? Just leave them at the review page:) Thanks!