A/N: Okay, this story has the SHORTEST CHAPTERS EVER. In my little notebook that I carry everywhere that I write in, it's all one chapter. I STILL have more after this already written. I just had to find a breaking point that was suspenseful, and I couldn't find a good spot that wasn't like... ten billion words down the road. I know you-all are DYING to know what happens so... I decided to post. And thanks to Sargent Snarky for your common sense.

Also, what makes me laugh is that 1/2 of the reviews you guys gave started with the word "OH." It makes me laugh. But thanks to everyone who reviewed... 10 reviews in one day. And I've got FOUR chapters on "I might not be here" and only like 16 reviews... hmm... hint hint By the way, I'm still working on "I might not be here" and "A beautiful face". I just had a pressing need to... stab Mark? Just kidding. I'm wasting your time. Start reading the story, already!

"Someone! Help!"

Roger awoke and sat up on the couch.

That sounded like Mimi.

"Help!" came the cry again. Roger got up and grabbed his coat. He ran downstairs at record speed. Once outside, he looked left and right, searching for Mimi.

"Mimi?" he called, out of breath.

"Roger! In the alley! Hurry!"

Roger dashed after Mimi's voice, wondering what could be wrong. He ran down the alley, spotting Mimi kneeling on the ground next to a body.

"Mimi, are you—oh, my God." Roger realized that the bloody, crumpled body on the ground was Mark. He knelt down next to him and looked him over. Gently, he pried Mark's trembling hands from his abdomen and lifted up his shirt. Mimi held Mark's hands out of the way and peered at the wound. In the shadows of the alley, all Roger could see was a black, wet mess that seemed to grow by the second. He yanked Mark's shirt back down and stood up quickly.

"Stay here, Mimi," he said, and then he changed his mind. "No, I'll stay here. You go into the loft and call 911." She stood up immediately and ran. "And get some clean washcloths, too!" he called after her. He knelt back down and pulled Mark's hands off his stomach.

"Don't touch it, man," he said, folding Mark's arms over his chest. "I don't want you to get that infected." Mark whimpered and tried to move his hands back, but Roger held them in place. Mark was breathing in short, quick breaths, making hoarse, panicked noises every time he breathed out. The gradually got quieter, and Mark's legs stopped kicking.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy, don't pass out on me," Roger said, patting Mark's face to keep in conscious. "You've gotta stay awake. Stay awake, Mark."

Mimi reappeared with an armful of washcloths from the loft. Roger pulled up Mark's shirt again and took one of the cloths from Mimi.

"I got a few of them wet to wash of the… the blood," she said. Roger nodded and let Mimi take Mark's hands. He wiped Mark's stomach with the wet cloth, and Mark let out a strangled cry. The cloth turned from light blue to dark red instantly. Roger grabbed another cloth and pressed it onto the now-visible wound. He remembered from somewhere that he was supposed to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. He added another cloth to the first one and pushed down. Mark screamed a bloodcurdling scream and struggled against the pressure.

"Roger, I think it's his ribs!" Mimi said. "That guy was kicking him, and I think I heard something crack."

"Stop! Stop…" pleaded Mark hoarsely. Roger let up on the pressure and snatched two new washcloths.

"Meems, let go of his hands," he said. She did so, and Roger handed the cloths to Mark.

"Put them where I can put pressure without hurting you," he said. Mark placed them where he wanted them on his stomach, and Mimi took hold of his hands again. Roger pressed down on Mark's stomach once more. Mark groaned, but didn't struggle. In fact, he started to relax.

"Mark, babe, don't pass out," Mimi said, shaking him gently. "Stay awake. Don't give up on me here, Mark."

Mark's head fell to the side, and Mimi let go of his hands to grab his face. "No, wake up! Mark, open your eyes. Come on, babe. Wake up… Please wake up."

"Mark, man, don't do this. You gotta wake up," Roger pleaded, still pushing on Mark's stomach. "If you fall asleep, you might not…" He didn't finish the sentence.