Points to anyone who can see what play I stole Mark's delirious line from, the one Roger talks about being bitten in the ass by Mark's theatre days about. It's not the exact thing, but close enough.

Chapter 9: I'm Lying in an Alley Because I Took a Step Too Far

"We are all on drugs yeah,
Never getting enough (never get enough)
We are all on drugs yeah,
Gimme some of that stuff,"

-We Are All On Drugs, Weezer

Part of Mark considered leaving the money on the bureau where the guy had left it. But another part, a much stronger part demanded that he take the money. It didn't matter how he'd happened to earn it, all that mattered was that now it was his.

He flipped through the crumpled bills. $100, plus a business card. Throwing the business card away, Mark gathered his clothes, got dressed and left the room as if nothing had happened, as if his whole world weren't falling apart, as if Roger hadn't left him in this shit strip club to go back to a shit apartment.

As Mark left, he caught the Man's eye. He stopped in his tracks, trying to fight the urge to go over there and buy some smack.

He hadn't really gone too far yet. He'd snorted the tiniest bit of what's his face's stash, but not enough to get high, just enough to get him through the ordeal. He could go back to the apartment, wait for Roger and tell him everything that had happened, minus the snorting part. And Roger would be so relieved he didn't do more that he'd take Mark back.

And angels could fly out of Mark's ass. Roger wasn't going to come back. He was coping with Mark's problem the only way he knew how, abandonment.

Shivering and cold, Mark shoved the money into the Man's hand and took the little bag in exchange.

Mark didn't make it five feet before he was opening the bag. He didn't have anything to inject it with but he snorted a quarter of the powder before tucking it into his back pocket.

Feeling the tiniest bit better, he started walking away once again before someone in the shadows called to him.

"Hey kid!"

A fist collided with Mark's face and then the world went dark.

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Either Roger was being paranoid or he was hearing someone in the shadows.

"Ugh," a distinctive moan came from the alley.

Someone was hurting in the alley. They could be close to death, or scared or cold and tired and…why the fuck did Roger care?

He didn't. But he was trying to be a new man, a man who would take care of people and make Mark proud.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he grumbled, ducking into the dark alley. "If I get mugged while trying to do a good deed-" Roger stopped. There was someone there. Beneath the dirt and blood and sweat, the person looked young, maybe 19 or 20. Probably a college kid who'd been flashing money in the wrong place at the wrong time. But looking at the kid's clothes, he didn't seem to be rich; they were too torn, too ragged to be new. It was definitely a guy, that Roger was sure of. His eyes fluttered open and revealed fierce blue eyes that seemed to pierce Roger's. "Roger?" The kid slurred out.

"Mark?" Roger whispered. "Mark…is that you?"

"Roger, you're mean…you left me."

Roger quickly tried to figure out how long Mark had been out there. He was probably suffering from hypothermia, depending how long he'd been out in the freezing New York air. Besides, Mark's coat was nowhere to be found. He wasn't even wearing his glasses; they were crushed next to his face.

"I'm sorry Roger," Mark began crying pitifully. "You're not mean. I'm mean. I…did bad things. I fucked up Roger."

He was clearly delusional; nothing else would make Mark so…childishly open. "Mark, it's okay. Can you get up?"

Mark lifted up his head and tried to nod it up and down but failed. "Maybe?"

"That's a no," Roger scooped Mark up with less effort than even he'd expected. Carrying Mark made Roger realize how much weight he'd lost, how small he'd become. "Shit Mark, when we get home I'm gonna have to stuff a steak down your scrawny throat."

A girlish giggle escaped Mark. "We can't afford meat Roger. Don't be silly. It's perfectly easy to be silly!"

Roger winced. There were Mark's thespian days coming back to bite him in the ass. "Right."

"Roger…when we get home can I call my mom? I want to tell her…tell her I love her," Mark buried his nose into Roger's neck so that as he spoke his breath warmed him. "And tell everyone…Collins and Maureen and Maureen's girlfriend and Benny that I love them. And I love you too Roger. Most of all you," his words were getting slower and breaths more labored.

"Mark? Stay awake Mark," Roger tried to recall what he'd learned in health class but he must've ditched the day they'd covered hypothermia. But he did know that Mark falling asleep would be a bad thing, he would most likely never wake up. "Mark, don't fall asleep, we're almost there."

"But…I want to," he mumbled sleepily.

"Well don't," Roger said more sharply than he'd intended. "I mean, just try to stay awake."

"Roger? If I stay awake like I'm 'sposed to, do you promise not to leave? Even if I'm bad again?"

He didn't answer immediately. He didn't want to promise even if he'd thought he'd be able to keep it. But Mark was so out of it, it was doubtful he'd remember any of this conversation in the morning. Still, a part of him felt bad about lying. Suck it up. "Shit Mark, yes. I promise I won't leave you again."

"Good. I'll stay awake."

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This chapter is dedicated to Becky. Probably wouldn't have appreciated the subject matter or the prolific swearing, but she definitely would have appreciated the fact that it's out there. Rest in Peace.