Roger's scream jolted Mark out of sleep. Maureen's eyes flew open. Mark waved at her to stay put.

"I'll go check on him. Go back to sleep," he said with a yawn.

Maureen nodded and smiled as Mark leaned down to kiss her forehead. Mark slid out of bed and crossed to the other bedroom, shivering. He knocked on Roger's door but got no reply. Opening the door, Mark saw Roger's empty bed. He went back to his own room to grab his glasses and a sweatshirt.

Back in Roger's room, Mark flipped the light on. No Roger. Mark tried not to panic. He turned to the living room, hoping to find Roger there. No luck. Mark knew he hadn't left. There had been no sound of doors shutting and stealth had never been one of Roger's talents. Mark frowned, and checked the fire escape.

He heard a small noise that sounded something like crying. "Roger?" he whispered into the darkened apartment.

There was no answer. Mark tried to follow the faint cries. He found Roger in the bathroom, crouching in the corner. Roger sat on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest, crying softly and trembling.

"Roger?" Mark moved slowly towards his friend. "Rog, what's wrong?"

"I forgot….I-I forgot…I…I wanted…I woke up. The-then April wasn't here so…"

"Shh, calm down, man. Deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths," Mark said.

He sat beside Roger, an arm around his back. A few minutes of silence passed before Roger could speak.

"I woke up and didn't remember where I was. I—I thought I was at April's. I got up to see why she wasn't in bed and-and…she…I came in here…I just—I thought she was here. I….there was so much blood, Mark. There was so much blood. And I couldn't do anything. I-I couldn't do anything."

Roger's voice was slightly more than a whisper. He sounded like a little kid, a scared little kid. Mark wished he could do something. They sat on the bathroom floor, Roger shaking and crying, Mark patting his back and holding his hand. When Roger calmed, Mark spoke again.

"You okay?"

Roger nodded slowly, not looking at him.

"You sure?"

Roger nodded again and stood up. Mark followed him into the kitchen and flipped on the coffeemaker. The first rays of sunlight streamed into the loft. Maureen would be up soon. She'd always been a morning person, unlike Mark and Roger. Roger leaned his head on the card table. Mark set a mug of coffee in front of him and sat down across from Roger.

"Thanks, man," Roger said.

He stared at the coffee, not drinking it. Mark watched him and frowned. "You tell Mo yet?"

"Not yet. I will though. Soon."

Maureen flipped the shower on but didn't get in right away. She knelt down on the floor and, quietly as she could, threw up. After, she wiped her mouth and climbed into the shower. She didn't want to be like this. It was the only thing she knew could help her keep control. Flipping off the water, Maureen stepped out of the shower and brushed her teeth right away. She brushed her teeth like crazy lately, four or five times a day some days.

"Mo? You okay?" Mark called.

Shit. How long had she been in there?

"Fine, Pookie. I'll be right out!"

Maureen shut the bathroom door and dressed quickly. Roger was on the fire escape when she got out. Mark stood at the kitchen counter. Roger's guitar sat abandoned in the corner, as it had been since April's death. Maureen sighed and went out to him, sitting beside him. Their feet dangled over the side.

"You okay, babe?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if you're okay."

Roger shrugged. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

He jumped up and offered a hand to her.

"You sure?"

"Positive. You?"

"I'm okay."

"You want breakfast?"

"Breakfast?"

Roger smiled. "Breakfast, the morning meal? I saw some eggs in the fridge. I could make an omelet or something."

Maureen hesitated and bit her lip. "You? Make an omelet?"

Roger laughed. "Sure. I'm not completely helpless."

She forced a smile, trying to mentally calculate the calories in an omelet. "Sounds good then."

Roger headed to the kitchen. "You want toast too?"

"Sure. Want some help?"

"Nah, I got it."

Maureen sat at the couch and picked up an old magazine from the coffee table. She was flipping through it when she heard Roger yell.

"Fuck!"

"Rog? You okay?"

"Son of a bitch! Fuck!"

"Roger?"

"I'm fine, Mo!"

She went to the kitchen, not believing him for a second. Roger stood over the counter, hand wrapped in a towel that was quickly turning red. Mark backed away, watching Roger. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from side to side.

"Roger! Oh my God! What'd you do?"

"I was cutting the toast and I slipped. I'm fine."

"Roger, you're not fine. You're bleeding!"

He kept his back to Maureen, holding the towel tightly to his palm. "I'm fine, Mo."

"Let me see."

"No."

She took a step towards him. "Roger, quit being so stubborn and let me see it."

"No! Don't!"

"Roger, wha—"

Maureen stepped up and Roger backed away, holding his injured hand to his chest. "No! Don't touch me!"

"Roger! Seriously, you're being an ass!"

"You can't—Just leave me alone!" He looked pleadingly to Mark, who stared at the floor.

"Roger Davis, I'm not going anywhere until you let me see it! What if you need stitches?"

"I don't need stitches! I'm fine! I'm fine!"

"Why won't you let me—"

"Because I can't let you get sick too!"

Maureen's jaw fell open. She turned her head from him to Mark and back. "Roger, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Just forget it."

"Mark? Marky, what the hell is he talking about?"

Roger knocked past her and went to the bathroom. He rummaged through the cabinet for a band-aid. It really wasn't a bad cut. Little deep, which was why it bled so much. Roger sighed, rinsing his hand in the water. He winced, but managed to clean it up and put a band-aid over it. It had stopped bleeding during his argument with Maureen.

She sat dumbfounded on the couch when Roger emerged from the bathroom. He swallowed hard and forced himself to cross the room to sit in the rocking chair. Maureen ran a hand through her hair, fidgeting in her seat. Mark stood at the counter. He still hadn't moved.

"What's going on, Davis?" she asked quietly.

"I have to tell you something."

"Okay. Shoot."

Roger hesitated and got up from the rocking chair. He paced a minute, trying to compose his thoughts. Maureen had been his best friend for more than ten years. What if she walked out? He couldn't think about it. Better to just spill it.

"Rog, you're freaking me out. Whatever it is, just say it."

Roger sat beside her and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the coffee table. He took a deep breath and turned to face her.

"Okay, um….I just gotta spill this, okay? No interrupting till I finish. Okay?"

Maureen nodded, frowning.

"April….she left a note. I found it before…before you found me. It said, um, it said that we have AIDS. And I didn't want to believe it so I didn't tell you guys. But, um…at the hospital, the doctors…I had the doctors run a test. I-I wanted…I just…I didn't think she'd…the….shit….they did the test…um…I tested—I tested positive for the HIV virus."

Maureen jumped to her feet, her eyes flying from Roger to Mark and back. "Roger, that's not funny!"

His eyes filled with tears. "Mo, I wish to God I was kidding….but I'm not."

"No! You don't have it! You don't! There was a mix-up at the lab. There had to have been a mix-up. You don't have it! You're healthy and you're straight and you're young and you-you don't share needles and—and it's a mix-up. It…Mark, tell him! Tell him he's wrong! You don't have it!"

Roger waited for her to stop for a breath. "Mo, I've got it….I didn't share needles. April did. She…she shared needles before she met me."

"But people…people who get that…." Maureen broke off, tears spilling across her cheeks. "You can't die, Roger! You can't!"

Mark finally moved from the counter and turned Maureen to him. She collapsed into his arms, sobbing. Roger sat on the couch alone, silent tears running down his cheeks.