A/N: 'Broken' belongs to Jack Johnson.

XXVI.

April 17, 1991

It's not supposed to be this way.

Roger is sitting in front of them on the sofa, dressed in his dark green hoodie and sweatpants, moving about as if to find a comfortable position. Dodge is behind him, sniffing around for bits and pieces of food stuck on the upholstery. Mark notes wryly that they look more alike now that Roger has had his haircut. He's sitting with Mimi, Collins, Joanne, Maureen and, surprisingly, Benny (even though they've 'made up', Mark stays as far away from him as possible) as a group, all of them unconsciously having the same body language: arms crossed, bodies leaning forward, as if trying to keep warm, even though the heat's back in the loft for some reason (Mark suspects it's because Benny himself is there and doesn't want to sit through the unusual spring cold that the loft readily accommodates). From somewhere behind them, they can smell Roger's restaurant-made birthday food that Joanne and Maureen have already set up in the kitchen, but they're not paying attention to it now. None of them speaks, and a tension is building up between all of them. Mark fingers the piece of paper in his hands. He found Roger's list of the things he wants to do before he dies a few days ago, and he's itching to ask about it, as well as what he found stapled to it, but he doesn't. He's practically holding his breath as he waits for Roger to settle down.

It doesn't take much longer. Roger finally relaxes and clasps his hands as he leans forward, this mad grin on his face. Mark wonders how a doomed man can look so damned happy. He wants to mimic him, but every time he attempts to, his face feels as if it would rather be torn apart.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Roger speaks.

"Wow," he says with a childish smirk. "I can't believe you're all here…I only wish though that it didn't have to take somebody…y'know, dying…to get all of us in one place, 'cause we miss out on a lot when we're incomplete…" He points his finger playfully. "Yeah, Benjamin Coffin III, I'm talking about you. Welcome back, bud…"

Mark sees as Benny hangs his head almost shamefully.

"Anyway…" Roger breathes. "I guess you all know what this is…what the hell I'm doing. Why you guys are here. This is easier than a letter…God knows I won't be able to write a single coherent one since I talk faster than I think…."

Roger coughs painfully into his hand and Mark jerks automatically, ready to help him, as does Mimi. But as quickly as they came, the coughs cease and Roger slaps a smile on his face.

"Ahhh God, where was I…? Fucking coughs ruined my train of thought…oh yeah…" Roger shifted his position since Dodge was trying to climb into his lap. "I've never been much of a sentimental guy…and…I don't want to make you guys…you know…cry or anything…'cause I want this to be happy still, y'know…?"

Fat chance, Mark thinks grimly, noticing that the women are already in tears and Collins doesn't look like he's far behind. Mark himself still looks relatively calm, though he knows he doesn't feel the same way and won't be for long. He grips his arms, unable to release his tension any other way. Roger, however, plows on.

"We all know this was gonna happen someday…" Roger's voice is quiet now. "And I'm sorry. I'll forever be sorry for all the shit I've caused all of you…with withdrawal…my HIV…" He runs a callused hand through his hair: back and forth, back and forth, as if he's amused by the new texture.

April. Withdrawal. HIV. Mark knows he'll do it all over again, given the chance. Lost sleep, near-starvation and frostbite, being dirt broke and practically on the threshold of going back to Scarsdale to start a new life…

"Anyway, I wrote a couple of songs for you guys. Two, actually. I know I've been quiet the past couple of years and I know you guys have missed my singing oh-so-much…"

The teasing grin is back as Roger pulls out his guitar from behind the sofa and makes it sit on his lap. He moves Dodge away before the puppy swipes at it and makes it out of tune. A soft laugh ripples through the bohemians as Roger plucks out a crystal-clear sounding Musetta's Waltz, probably the best version he's ever played, then looks back at them with a playful gleam in his eye. A chill runs down Mark's spine. He's heard Musetta's Waltz enough times to make his ears bleed at the sound of the first note and he's always hated it because of Roger's persistence in playing it, but it's one piece he'll forever associate with Roger and he's attached to it just because of that fact. He'll probably never watch La Boheme again, ever.

"Got you laughing, didn't it? Yeah, you'll miss that soon enough…" he chuckles.

"Don't say that, baby…" Mark hears Maureen whisper, but Roger seems unfazed.

"Anyway, this song's called 'Broken'…basically a thanks from a has-been rock star to all of you…"

He grins first before he plays.

"With everything ahead of us

we left everything behind

but nothing that we needed

at least not at this time

and now the feeling that I'm feeling,

well it's feeling like my life is finally mine.

With nothing to go back to we just continue to drive.

Without you I was broken

but I'd rather be broke down with you by my side

I didn't know what I was looking for

so I didn't know what I'd find.

I didn't know what I was missing,

I guess you've been just a little too kind.

And if I find just what I need,

I'll put a little peace in my mind.

Maybe you've been looking too

Or maybe you don't even need to try.

Without you I was broken

but I'd rather be broke down with you by my side.

With everything in the past

fading faster and faster until it was gone,

found out I was losing so much more than I knew all along

because everything I've been working for

was only worth nickels and dimes,

but if I had a minute for every hour that I've wasted,

I'd be rich in time, I'd be doing fine.

Without you I was broken

but I'd rather be broke down with you by my side."

It's a happy song, much like 'For Mark', but it's a calmer melody. As soon as it finishes, Roger doesn't wait for any reactions, but continues on to the next one.

"And this one…" He tunes his guitar, and when it's done, he looks back at them secretively, reminding Mark of the Roger he knew back in Scarsdale: the mischievous, but still quite innocent, little boy that had marched up to him the first minute he set foot in the town and said "I'm grounded" in response to Mark's "I'm Mark, who're you?"

"This one's called 'New York Lullaby'."

Roger starts strumming a soft-sounding tune, much like a lullaby. Mark licks his lips. The title gets to him somehow and Roger's face blurs as tears spring to his eyes and his throat seizes up. Roger didn't say it, but Mark knows this is it. One item on Roger's list has been burned into his brain from the second he read it: Say goodbye. This is it. This is the start of the official goodbye.

"The snow's falling softly again in old NY,

but all the little people can't sleep.

They flock 'round to the windows to watch city lights

And listen to cars down the street.

Hey pretty little girl with the curly hair,

Ain't it way past your bedtime?

Tomorrow you can get some drama goin' on

Or you can keep the bad guys in check

Or maybe you can go dancin' by your pretty little self,

But now you're just a little girl like that.

And you, buddy boy, with the sad eyes

What's so bad it got you down?

You've got stuff to do tomorrow, you're savin' the world:

You can be talkin' with your funny wise words

Or you can be running just behind a girl

Or you can show all the rest what you see through your eyes

But now, for now, you're just a little guy.

So forget all your troubles, just for tonight

And crawl into bed under the big city lights

'cause the whole world's just there, waiting for you

and me, I'll be watching

and cheering…

Roger's voice cracks, and his voice drops to a gentle whisper. His eyes are red and he fights to keep control so he can finish the song.

"Always…

To see all you'll do."

Mark loses it as a tidal wave of emotions crash down on him. It's a beautiful song, but it hits him like no song has ever done before. A bittersweet taste is left in his mouth; he not only sees themselves in the song, but also his unborn child. It's something to reassure, he guesses, but Mark still feels the tears coming faster and faster until they finally burst through and roll down his cheeks, accompanied by a strangled cry that gurgles up his throat. Beside him, Mimi sobs, her arms tightly hugging Roger's beloved Fender, the same one they're staring at now in his hands. Her tears run down the smooth red exterior and her thin body shakes with every cry that she utters as she says Roger's name over and over again.

"Roger…oh baby…Roger…my Roger…"

Dodge whimpers at her feet, clearly distressed by Mimi's crying, but for once, Mimi doesn't pick him up. Mark turns away for a moment, unable to look at Roger's face any longer, then practically forces his head to turn back and look at Roger, who's being projected in front of them on the screen, blissfully uninterrupted by their assorted cries and sobs. Roger, who's now only a moving picture, immortalized on film, stuck in a reel no one ever knew existed. Roger, who's now unreachable and untouchable, who's now so near yet so far.

Roger smiles at all of them, wearing an expression that shows his amusement at the fact that now he too is crying.

"I know, I know…I'm a wuss…but I guess I have a pretty good excuse since I'm about to go and all…" he laughs a little and sets his Fender aside. "First time I get to play around with Mark's camera and I'm already fucking up…" The musician wipes his face with his hands but keeps his smile. "I know it's a bit late in the show but, just for the record, today's March 22, 1991, and to follow suit with Mark's style, it's…fuck we don't have a clock in this house. Mark has the watch." Roger laughs again. "Well anyway, I just had my haircut, as you all can see, courtesy of my lovely wife. Mark's out for some air. Mimi's gone to class. It's just me and Dodge, who's here…" Roger turns his head and signals to Dodge. "Still not toilet-trained, but still cute and adorable. Thank you, Jo and Maureen for him. Uh-huh. Yeah.…"

Mark aches the more he keeps his eyes on Roger. If he could, he'd tear the list up in his hands right now, but he doesn't have the heart. He'll never know about it except for the fact that Roger did almost all of them (except for one, which was 'Meet up with Mom', but next to it Roger had written '…I'll do that soon enough'). He'll never know just how or when Roger did some of these things: 'Make peace with the Man Upstairs', 'Santa Fe'…because Roger is dead, and Mark feels utterly depressed because they're watching the goodbye video he apparently made, on the day when they're supposed to be celebrating the day he was born.

Mark turns away again and screws his eyes shut, covering them with his arm so he can shed his tears. Roger is supposed to be there. He's supposed to be there with them, celebrating his birthday and pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle Maureen brought, because he was doing just fine. He was responding well to the PCP treatment and Mark guesses he could've outlived the two months Callahan gave him. It was just like that fucker Fate to pull the rug from under their feet again, because it wasn't PCP that killed Roger but, ironically, something else that kills thousands of New Yorkers every year. Mark bites his lip as the memory of that night comes back and stings him right down to his very core.

"Mr. Cohen? This is Francine DuPont from the county hospital. Your friend, Roger Davis, was brought here at around 8:30 this evening after he was apparently mugged on the streets...Sir, I'm sorry to report that he was stabbed in the chest and the injury damaged an artery. He's in critical condition and probably won't make it through the night…"

Roger held on for that night, however. And Mark succeeded in convincing himself for about a few hours that Roger was going to wake up and be okay, but he was wrong. Roger started slipping away after that, even though he still kept on going for the next night, and the next. Collins said it was Roger's own way to help prepare them to let him go, by seeing him slowly die as each day passed. Everyone came to see him, even Benny, even though Roger never woke up. He died on April 1st, before any of them could get to the hospital. It was just like Roger to go on April Fool's, like it was his last joke. That whole morning that Mark spent in his hospital room, he half-expected someone to jump out from behind the door or the potted plant, declaring everything was all some extravagant April Fool's joke, from the stabbing to Roger dying, all planned out by Rog himself. When it didn't happen, Mark held on to the hope that Roger would come back like Mimi did, but he didn't. In the end, they all stood in the hospital room in silence, almost as if they were in a trance, until Mimi uttered the first sob as she went down on her knees beside her husband's bed and kissed Roger's hands.

That same day as well, before they could even start grieving, the hospital confirmed that Maureen's attempt at pregnancy was successful and that Mark's child was well on its way. Mark thought he was going to go insane that day. A life for a life. It was like there was some sick universal scheme to make him lose his mind. He stormed out of the hospital that day, furious at the world, depressed because of Roger's sudden departure, yet at the same time by some twisted means, excited for the coming of his child.

I hope you saw each other while you were on your way up to Heaven, and he or she was on his or her way down here, Mark thinks sadly, his fist tightly clenched around the list, knowing how much Roger wanted to see the baby.

That was two weeks ago and Mark has been numb since then without meaning to. He's kept his promise about the PCP; no one still knows and he doesn't think anyone ever will. He wipes his tears with his already-soaked sleeve and looks back at the still-running video, where he can see Roger still there, looking and being more alive than ever.

Mark isn't numb today. For today, Mark slowly allows himself to be sad because that's how he really feels. Just for today, he allows himself to forget a while about the baby and everything else that can make him happy, without feeling guilty, because he wants to be depressed and cry. Just for today, he doesn't fight with himself about hiding, because there's no use. Just for today. Because his best friend is worth his tears.

"…I don't know what day it is when you're watching this…but…God, I wish I could be there with you. Life's always been less shitty with you guys around." A sad expression passes over Roger's face. "Mark, Meems, Col, Jo, Mo, Benny…my brothers, my guardians, my mentors, the loves of my life, my friends…Benny, you are...not 'used to be', but 'are'…the funniest bastard, ever; Mo, never stop smiling, 'cause I love your smile (even though I never said it 'cause you'll get gross on me and shit)…"

Mark hears Maureen give a strangled laugh. "I love your smile too, baby…"

"…Col, my big brother, the guy I've always looked up to…don't get too excited about seeing me and Angel, man, okay? Take care of yourself; Jo, you are one great girl with a big-ass heart. I've always loved and respected you for that…Give me a call when Mo gives you a hard time…"

"Oh Rog…" Joanne says sadly, her cheeks wet.

"Meems…my baby, my love, my wife…and Mark, my brother, my best friend, my conscience…" Roger gazes directly at the camera as he speaks, his eyes glistening gently. Mark feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand and his throat seizes up again as, in that one look, Roger tells him a million things that only they can fully comprehend, thanks to countless talks in the wee hours of the night to little conversations over Cap'n Crunch in the morning. "It was always the three of us bearing witness to each other for the past year or so…thank you…for loving me, because that's never easy to do…"

It isn't, Mark replies, and he takes his glasses off because they've fogged up, and he pinches the bridge of his nose before wiping the glasses before putting them on again, but it's worth it. Because he's never had a friend quite like Roger Davis, and there is nothing he regrets about it.

"I did a list of what I wanted to do before I die…I couldn't do one thing…Santa Fe…" Roger cracks a grin. "I wanted to take you guys with me…like some middle school field trip and all…but I guess you guys would have to do the opposite now…you'll understand later. There was also that item about paying my debts to everyone…'cause I leeched off of you guys for like the past eight years or so…"

Oh my God. Mark stares at the list in his hand.

"He bought us tickets…to Santa Fe…" he says, his voice cracking. He shows the rest of his friends the plane tickets that are stapled to the list and they look and mouths hang open. There are six all in all. "Holy shit…how did he…?"

He receives his answer almost immediately.

"My Dad…he gave me my inheritance back...my Mom's too. I want you guys to have it all. Mark, Jo, contact a Joel Fremont 'cause he's the lawyer handling it. Benny, your rent's gonna be paid already, okay? So stick that up your ass and let's just be friends again…" Roger laughs at his own comment. "I know money isn't everything, but I owe you guys a lot, and Mark, Meems, Col…I don't want you guys starving or sick again…"

Mark stares at the tickets again in disbelief. He thought before that Roger pawned something or the other to get them. He rushes to the Nike box which he and Mimi unearthed from Roger's closet (and where they found the film reel on, with a note saying 'Have all the guys over when you watch this, including Benny, because he's still a part of us, no matter how much of an ass he became after marrying Muffy…give the guy a second chance, Mark') and flips it open to reach for the lone content: Roger's journal, where the list fell out of. He opens it and, sure enough, there's another note: 'Mark, you keep this, but the other guys can look at it if they want to. Congratulations on the kid in advance. I'm loving the little tyke already. I know that you already know about going to Santa Fe. Don't worry, man. Just go, for my sake. Be warm. Be happy, on me, because all of you deserve it. Give the little one everything it needs. Don't feel guilty about the money because it's yours now. I love you, man. I'll see you…

"Oh Rog…" Mark holds the battered journal tightly and the words scratched out in the familiar handwriting blurs. "Oh God…"

There really is no other friend like Roger Davis.

Mark returns to finish the video, this time with the journal in his hands. He watches as Roger sighs.

"Someday, this film reel's gonna break or get lost or whatever, but I don't want you guys creating such a fuss over it, especially you, Mark, because I know how much you love your films…" Roger cracks a teasing smile. "This is my goodbye, but I want you guys to see it only once, because goodbyes are only meant to come around once. Burn this reel after you watch it. Or bury it, or whatever. Just don't keep it. Have our memories, the happy ones, and keep them forever with you (like the cheeseball idea that it is), because that's going to last longer, and you can take them with you wherever you go…"

Another sigh, but Roger looks happy now. Contented even, even with the presence of tears escaping from his eyes.

"I'm gonna miss you guys…so so much…I don't know how much of a Heaven it'll be without all of you there…Leave a light on for me, okay? We're gonna see each other again…just don't get too excited and do anything drastic. When you get kids, tell them our story, 'cause I think it's one of the greatest stories that'll ever be told…Promise me you'll keep filming, keep laughing, keep living, keep loving…"

Roger smiles one last time.

"Then tell me all about it when you get here."

The film ends.

A/N: One more. You guys are good at guessing. :)