When We Are Happy
Chapter Four: Mimoso Art-Albina Pistol Marx Cohen (And Us)

Mark finally manages to drag himself back to the loft at ten that night. After Maureen and Joanne had found him wandering down Madison Avenue with his camera rolling and invited him for lunch, all he expected had been some free food. He hadn't been planning on spending three hours listen to Maureen over dramatize the rat incident. That cat might be cute, and he might be able to put up with Roger, but it is still nothing but trouble. Dragging a rat to Maureen like that? Is it trying to spite Mark? Just because he doesn't pay as much attention to it as Roger? Well, Roger doesn't pay as much attention to him now that he has that cat, and Mark isn't throwing dead rats at him.

"God, I need sleep." Dragging himself towards his room, Mark barely has time to put his camera on the desk before collapsing into bed. He's obviously lost it. He's jealous of a cat, he's putting up with his ex way after they've broken up, and he's jerking off to his best friend in the shower. He just needs to sleep for, say, a month. Then maybe he'll be sane again.

Mark curls up in bed, snuggling against the covers. Sounds like a good plan, he thinks as he closes his eyes. He reaches out for the blanket, finding his scarf. He starts to toss it off his bed when his fingers slip into a hole. Yawning, he opens his eyes and looks down to the striped cloth in his hands.

"I'll kill it!"

Mark throws the door to Roger's bedroom wide open. Roger looks up from the bed where he's sprawled out with Pistol. He tears his necklace out of his claws and hides the kitten behind his back just as Mark throws open the door and comes storming in, flushed and glaring. Roger has the nerve to actual chuckle. Like there is anything amusing about this.

Mark holds out his old blue and white scarf, the tattered ends dripping out of his fist. "It killed my scarf!"

Roger cocks his eyebrows, looking from Mark to the scarf, totally unimpressed. Mark can hear the cat meow, and Roger puts his hands back behind him to try and hold it in place. "So?"

"So," Mark says, looking around Roger and narrowing his eyes again. Stupid little cat that Roger is so concerned with protecting. "It ate it."

"He didn't eat your scarf, Mark." Roger rolls his eyes, obviously not seeing what the big deal is about the scarf. It is a big deal, though, and Mark is standing there with the cloth hanging out of his hand, trying to get Roger to stop smiling. "Look at him, he's like the size of my hand. He couldn't eat your scarf. If anything, your scarf would eat him."

Mark growls, which just makes Roger laugh again, and tosses the scarf around his neck. "It ruined my scarf," he says again, as if this time it is really going to sink into Roger's head. Of course, as far as he is concerned, Pistol can do no wrong and Mark is just overreacting. "I had this scarf for years, Roger, and now it's... It's a cat toy."

"Five years," Roger says, finally pulling Pistol out from around his back and setting the cat on his lap, petting it softly.

"What?" Mark asks as he wraps the scarf around himself. The tails fall down, shredded and unwinding and he can feel the giant hole in the back.

"Five years," Roger repeats. "I gave you the scarf, you know. For your first winter in New York." Mark nods slowly, amazed that Roger remembers. He had been complaining about the lack of heat, and this scarf ("A gift from my mom. It looks lame on me.") was the best Roger could do to get him to stop bitching about the weather.

"And now it's in pieces," Mark says, pulling at one of the tattered ends.

"He was just trying to play with you," Roger says, lifting Pistol and setting him on his shoulder. The cat wobbles a bit, biting at Roger's ear and knocking around his hair a bit. It's like the cat is purposely rubbing in that he gets to be closer to Roger. "He wants your attention, that's all. He just does shit like that so you'll notice him."

"Well, I noticed him. Now keep him out of my room." Figuring Roger is going to be impossible to argue with, Mark walks out of the room. He closes Roger's door, leaning up against it and sighing in frustration. What is wrong with him? It's just a cat. Why does he have to be so upset with it?

"Why is he so upset?" Mark rolls his eyes just imagining Roger sprawled back out over the bed with Cohen jumping at a string. Like the cat can answer him.

Of course, Roger's question is just followed by silence. Mark starts to get up from the door and head back to his room. Sleep, he reminds himself. Then Roger says, "I don't see what the big deal is. It's only a scarf."

It is only a scarf, and Mark really doesn't care that much about it. Yeah, it's nice to have in the winter but he isn't about to break down over something as small as a scarf. The point is that Roger just lets that cat do whatever he wants and never gets angry at it, never lets other people get upset with it, never runs off to Santa Fe when it's upset him.

Cindy is right. Mark does have deeply rooted emotional problems.

"Sometimes I don't get him," Roger says, totally oblivious to the fact that Mark is standing right outside his door and is clearly insane. He must have lost it, to be standing here listening to Roger talk with a cat while he starts comparing pet handling to real life situations. "I know... He's my best friend and I should... I should tell him..."

Mark leans up against the wall and waits. He isn't sure what he wants to hear. Maybe some sort of confession that he set Pistol up to tearing away at the scarf. He isn't sure, just waiting. "I'm just scared. What if he runs away?" Mark doesn't run away. Roger hasn't done anything yet to make him run away, and Roger has done a whole lot of shit starting with drugs and ending with that cat. Still, if he were going to leave, it would have been a long time ago. Back when Benny offered Mark a job and a way out of watching over a sick, relapsing Roger. Even then he stayed through the withdrawals. Why would he leave for something as silly as a scarf?

"You wouldn't run away, would you Cohen?" Mark freezes up, caught in the act of listening in on his best friend. He should just leave now. "Nah, you're a cat. Cats always know where home is." He named the cat Cohen? Is this because of what Maureen said? He is going to kill Maureen. "You'd stick around even if I told you I loved you, huh?"

In under half a minute Mark is out the door with his camera. It's not running away. It's working.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He should be going home. Mark wraps his arms around himself, trying to hide his camera in his jacket. What had he been thinking, walking out into Alphabet City at this time with an expensive piece of equipment? Did he want to get mugged? What the fuck had Roger been thinking when he said that?

Calm down, Mark tells himself as he loops around the block for the fourth or sixth or a hundredth time. Those are exactly the thoughts he isn't supposed to be having. Those had been out of context or something, and even if they hadn't been, what is Mark going to do about it? Okay, so he finds Roger a little attractive. He's always thought that, since the first time Maureen dragged him to see one of Roger's shows and there he was on the stage smiling down at Mark and glowing gold. Mark finds lots of people attractive, though. Mimi is gorgeous, but he would never do anything with her. Just because he thinks Roger is hot doesn't mean he loves him. Mark is a hormonal young artist; he finds lots of people attractive. Hell, he'd sleep with Allison Grey if it weren't for the fact that she is the daughter of one of the over-priced kings of capitalism.

Besides, Mark knows himself in love. He's a sucker for the girls he dates. From Nanette to Sasha to Maureen, it's always the same. He would do anything for them, but they always leave because he spends too much time with school or his work. He obsesses over them. He's still obsessing over Maureen, and he knows that if he weren't thinking about Roger right now he'd probably be thinking of her.

Shit.

Oh shit.

So he does do things that Roger asks, like taking care of Pistol while he's out and follows Roger out of the loft every time he goes anywhere and asks Mark along. Okay, but that's just a best friend thing. That's just Mark being a good friend with Roger. It's not like he's really that obsessed with his roommate.

Fuck.

Mark turns the corner and starts hurrying towards the old, worn down building and the loft and Roger and that damn kitten. He doesn't know why he is rushing into this. He doesn't even think it's possible that he could be in love with Roger whom he has known for years, whom he has seen through so much, whom he already knows so well that there can't possible be anything new or different between them.

He starts up the stairs, past some painted heart. Graffiti left by Collins and Angel. Collins knows, Mark thinks as he looks over his shoulder at the fading images. Collins asked if they were a couple yet, he hinted that Roger and Mark loved each other. He knows. Roger must know, right, if he's talking to a Goddamn cat about it. Is Mark really the last one to catch on? This is like Maureen and girls. Why doesn't anyone ever tell him about these things? They all think Mark is so observant, and he is as far as the outside world is concerned. They should know by now that he doesn't notice his own life as it passes by. The filmmaker is never on camera. How is he supposed to see himself?

He strips off his jacket when he gets into the loft, wrapping his camera inside it and placing it up high where Pistol can't get to it. What is he even going to say? Hey, Roger, I heard you tell the cat you loved me. Can we fuck? Not exactly the best planned speech. Mark sighs, running a hand nervously through his hair as he starts taking slow steps towards Roger's bedroom. They're still best friends. This is easy. Just go to him and tell him what has been rolling around inside Mark's head for some five years now. Try not to sound like a crazed stalker fan while doing that. Definitely leave out the bit where he started jerking off while smelling his coat. Even if Roger does feel the same that is still just weird.

Mark takes a deep breath, resting his hand on the door. He needs to stop beating himself up and open the damn door. No day but today is for everyone. For the junkie stripper who is turning her world around. For the anarchist professor who lost his angel. To the songwriter who keeps losing his songs. To the filmmaker who keeps closing his eyes when things get too graphic. He doesn't want to be the goofy best friend anymore. Just Maureen's ex or just Roger's caretaker or just the friend with the camera. Isn't it about time he recast his own role? Why couldn't he ever write lines like that when he was still using scripts to film?

"You're delaying," Mark points out to himself, staring at his hand as if it will grow a mind of its own and open the door already. Amazingly enough, it does. The door opens, and Mark steels himself for... He doesn't know. Stepping inside, he takes a deep breath and says, "Roger."

There is a light snore in reply. Roger is curled up in bed with the covers bunches around him. "You're an asshole," Mark sighs, flopping down on the bed next to Roger. He can see the drool sliding out from his mouth and pooling on the pillow next to him. Not exactly angelic. "I was this close to having a break down, and you are in here sleeping."

Mark gets comfortable on the bed, twisting and turning until he's curled up like Roger is, but on top of the piles of covers he's managed to tuck around himself. Is he cold? Mark looks through the open door to his bedroom. Maybe he should get him some more blankets. He doesn't want Roger to catch anything. Before he can climb back out of Roger's bed, the other boy starts stirring and making small, odd sounding grunts. Yeah, far from angelic. Mark stops moving, looking back to Roger as he yawns and stretches out slightly. Please don't freak that I'm watching you sleep, Mark thinks desperately as Roger starts to open his eyes. "Mark?"

"Yeah," Mark answers, slowly starting to relax again. He drops back to the bed, smiling at Roger through the pale light from the open door. Roger's squints and rubs at his eyes before smiling back.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, snuggling down into his pillow. Everyone thinks Mark is such a dork, but Roger is the one who treats his pillows like teddy bears. Usually Mark would tease him about being such a teenage girl, but right now he just smiles. Right now he's just glad Roger isn't going to run away if he lets this slip.

"Just checking on you," Mark answers, scooting over the blankets and a little closer to Roger now that he doesn't have to listen to him snoring.

Roger nods a bit, moaning some as he pulls the covers higher over his shoulders. "Where's Cohen?" he asks. Mark starts with a sarcastic answer before he remembers that Cohen is Pistol. Right on time, the cat springs up onto the bed, prancing over the huge waves of the blanket and right up to Roger. "Hey buddy," Roger says in a low, sleepy voice as he reaches for the small kitten.

After a while Pistol apparently gets bored of being sandwiched between the two of them and goes back to destroying Mark's things or killing rats or whatever it does when Roger isn't petting it. "Is it morning?" Roger asks, closing his eyes again and burying himself under the covers.

"Not really," Mark says, shrugging a bit and looking back at the clock. Eleven twenty-seven. "I was just..." Mark had just been walking around the block, wondering why he had to fall in love with someone like Roger. Don't they have enough problems just being friends? Mark already knows all his dirty secrets, his disgusting habits, his fucked up past and he still loves him. He really must be insane, but he doesn't regret it.

"Roger?" Mark doesn't know what he is going to ask. It doesn't matter, because next thing he is aware of he is pulling away from Roger after leaning forward to kiss him. Quick, chaste, almost entirely friendly except for the fact that Mark doesn't want it to be. Swallowing hard as he scoots back into his own space on the bed, leaving behind a confused looking Roger, he says, "Don't ever be afraid to tell me shit, okay?"

"Yeah," Roger says, and as Mark starts moving back he moves forward. Slowly, as if moving too fast will scare Mark off. "Okay."

They kiss again. Roger's chapped lips press against Mark and they just stay there, this limbo of a kiss they don't know how to respond to. Eventually Mark leans closer, licking at Roger's lips to get him to react. Then they're actually kissing, a soft and slow almost lazy kiss, but there is something there. Something more than just friendship sparks between them, and if Mark's brain were functioning he would want his camera so he could see what.

This kiss is broken by a yawn. Roger pulls back, lying back down on his pillow. He's smiling as he snuggles back into place, closing his eyes and yawning again. Mark can't help but laugh. "So that's it? The sex drive of the amazing Roger Davis?"

Roger doesn't even reply. Pistol seems to get it, though, jumping back onto the bed and scratching at Mark's shirt to defend Roger. He is so used to the kitten by now, that Mark just picks him up and moves him away. It's not exactly a movie style romantic ending to their kiss, but Mark likes that. There are no Hollywood fireworks, so maybe this is actually real.

Pistol looks up to him with wide blue eyes. He still seems to be glaring, but Mark doesn't care. He scratches the kitten behind the ears, smiling at the small, fluffy thing. If Mark hadn't heard Roger talking to it, he wouldn't be here now. That's enough to make him like Cohen. "Thanks, Pistol," he whispers, picking it up again and moving it away so he can snuggle up to Roger.

"Mark?" Mark pushes Pistol to the floor, rolling back over and facing Roger. He's still lying there with his eyes closed.

"Yeah?" Mark asks, tugging the blankets over around himself. Two fully dressed boys in bed together with a cat on the floor and a small pool of drool on the pillow. Could this be any less erotic? Mark really doesn't care anymore. He's just happy that he isn't confused.

"Were you talking to Cohen?" Roger asks without ever opening his eyes, moving his mouth only as much as he has to.

"No," Mark lies, putting an arm around Roger's waist. This all feels strangely easy, slipping into something more than friendship. "Go back to sleep."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"What do you mean, you lost it?"

Roger holds up his hands, taking a step backwards just in case. He dated Mimi long enough to know her style of fighting is typically more like the silent treatment than anything else. Still, her nails are painted a bright silver that makes them look like knife tips, and he'd rather not be in the way of that. "Look, it just ran away, okay? I'm really so-"

Mimi isn't listening. She throws her hands into the air, choking on a frustrated scream. "I should have known better," she says, shaking her head and shooting Roger a nasty glare. "God, Roger, you probably threw it out the door the first chance you got..." Her big brown eyes turn to Roger, looking for some sign of sympathy. "Please, tell me you didn't throw the poor defenseless thing out..."

"Gee, thanks for the confidence, Mimi." Maybe Mark had been right when he'd told Roger earlier that Mimi isn't the one acting like a bitch, that Roger is the one that causes all these fights. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, or started out this conversation by telling her that her 'stupid little cat' had run off. He can almost feel Mark in the back of the loft, glaring at him for being an asshole. Roger has never been good with his temper, though, and Mimi hurt him. "I'm sure it will come back in a few days. It's only been gone for two."

Holding out her hand, Mimi waves Roger off. "Forget it, Roger," she says turning around and heading for the stairs. Part of him is surprised there is no explosion. What had been between him and Mimi had been all passion and fire and energy, and exactly the sort of relationship Roger needed in his life then. Now that it had cooled down, both of them could hear a soft tick in the background of their lives. "Forget it, Roger, it's not about the cat."

"I know but..." His words are lost to the stairwell. Maybe when she's gotten her life in order they can start seeing each other again. Not even romantically, but he doesn't want to leave her like that. He knows better than anyone what it's like, those first few months after drugs when everything is jarring and all of life seems to hurt so much. She just needs some time, Roger thinks as he slides the loft door closed and walking towards his room. Mimi is a strong, beautiful girl. Stronger than Roger ever was. She is going to be fine.

Before he has taken three steps, there is a small meow that makes Roger jump, eyes flying wildly around the loft.

"Can we keep him?" Mark asks from the doorway of his room with Cohen snuggled up to his chest. Two pairs of blue eyes look up at Roger, big and pleading. Roger almost falls backwards, looking at the white cat in Mark's arms. He hadn't been able to find him for two days and he'd looked everywhere. Around the loft, the fire escape, the halls, the roof. Half the block must have thought he was crazy, roaming around the alleys and calling for the thing.

"Where did you-" He takes a few steps forward, reaching out to pet the cat. It really is Cohen. He can tell from the eyes and the slight cock of its head as it leans into his fingers.

Mark's face goes bright pink, his eyes focusing on the cat instead of Roger. "I, uh, sort of hid him."

If Roger weren't so amused he might have been angry. "You hid him?" He asks, smiling and cocking his head a bit to get Mark's attention. "I thought you hated him."

"I don't... Well, hate's a strong word." Mark smiles back at Roger, cheek still flushed. "But I wanted to keep him. And, you know, we can get Mimi another cat for her birthday or, I guess, if she really wants Pistol back she can set up a joint custody thing where maybe we get him every other week or..."

Roger's laughter cut Mark out of his rambling. "You want joint custody for a cat?" He teases, even if he thinks it's not that bad of an idea. There is more space in the loft for Cohen to run around in than at Mimi's place, anyway, and the boys managed to take pretty good care of him while she was gone. Why shouldn't they get to raise him?

"He's like you," Mark says, smiling down at the cat, which gives Roger time to stare at him. He hasn't seen Mark look that happy in a while, maybe since the day they met Angel and everything had been fun and good. Maybe he's the reason Mark is smiling like that, and that makes Roger start beaming. He hopes that Mark smiles like that more often. It's nice to be like this again, instead of watching Mark watch their lives fall apart from behind a lens. "He just kind of attaches himself to people."

Roger shakes his head, scratching behind Cohen's ear until he starts to purr heavily. "He's like you. He's always watching things and way too curious for his own good." He chuckles a bit at the color that flares up in Mark's cheeks.

"He's so clingy," Mark counters, poking Roger playfully in the shoulder. "He's obviously yours."

"Give up, Mark," Roger says, dodging Mark's hand. "He's too much of a dork to be like anyone but you."

Mark laughs a bit, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks back to Cohen, who playfully bats at a lens. "He's like you, Davis, just get over it," he says, jerking back from the cat's paws. "I like him."

"I like him, too." Both boys go quiet, staring down at Cohen who stares expectantly back at both of them from one to the other. "We should keep him," Roger finally says, breaking the silence slowly. "Maybe for just a little longer." Tried of being carried, Cohen leaps out of Mark's arms, walking to tear up the already ruined couch. While he's doing that, Roger turns back to Mark. "I'm surprised you can get attached to anything other than your camera."

Mark growls playfully, and he sounds kind of like a cat himself when he tries, cuffing Roger in the arm just enough that he pulls back. "It's not true," he says, smiling and ducking when Roger tries to hit him back. "I just don't think Pistol would be that happy with Mimi."

Roger stops what he is doing, mainly trying to find a way to hit Mark back, and reaches down just as Cohen is darting past. Hefting the cat into his arms, he looks over Mark. Like he can find something hidden away in those blue eyes. Like he's asking, what the hell are we doing? "You really think so?" He asks, getting Cohen to calm down as he pets behind his ear, wondering if that would work on Mark. "You think he'll be happier up here?"

"I think," Mark says, taking a few steps closer until his and Roger's hands are resting together on top of Cohen, and both forget to actually pet the cat. "He'd be happy as long as he was with you."