Blink Tears Chapter 2: Steps Toward Friendship, a rent fanfic

Chapter Two: Steps Toward Friendship

"Davis!'

A hand ran through spiky, bleach-blond hair as Roger looked idly up from his position at the desk in the back room of the bar. He fingered the cigarette in his hand for a moment, taking a long drag. Scooting back, his feet fell lazily to the ground as he as let his eyes roll. "What's up?"

The guitar player, Frank, shrugged helplessly as he poked his head through the door. "Jimmy needs you at the mic. They hired this geek-faced kid to tune up the sound, or some crap like that… I'm not sure. It's supposed to make us sound better. Who knows with all that damned static, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Roger flicked his cigarette to the side before smashing it with the heel of his boot as he walked buy. His steps were remarkably slow as he nodded to the different regulars who sat at the tables near the front of the stage. Multiple groupies waved as he passed by, swooning as he winked a cocky eye and flashed a smile. Roger stepped up to the stage and slouched. "What's up, Jimbo?"

The overweight man in question growled, "That's Jimmy." He plastered on a faux smile and pointed a chubby hand over his shoulder to where a blond boy, looking too young to be in a bar, stood behind the stereos and various sound equipment. "This is Mark Cohen." Jimmy shrugged before walking away abruptly, but not before remarking, "Play nice, Davis!"

"So," Roger prompted, kicking the ground, "what's up Marky?"

"Just Mark." The blond blushed crimson as Roger cocked an eyebrow. "Well," he continued, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he flicked a switch on the soundboard before gesturing to the microphone on the stage. "I just need you to sing a few lines from one of your songs; and then I can probably kill this problem with the feedback." He cleared his throat. "So… Whenever you're ready."

Roger nodded absentmindedly, not really understand what Mark had just said. He slung his guitar strap over his head before strumming a few chords easily, just to get a bit warmed up. The lyrics Roger sung were one the Well Hungarians wrote: a hard, metal song. He soon transferred that into a softer version though and closed his eyes as the words flittered through his body. Nobody would ever hear this version because Roger was a "hard rocker" that didn't have a sensitive side.

"Davis!" the bass player, Tony, yelled from backstage and the song was abruptly cut off. "Damn! What the hell was that?"

Roger shrugged, eyes turning towards his guitar to strum a few chords. "Just something I was playing with."

Frank stuck his head out. "Stick to the hard stuff Davis. That was just scary."

"Whatever." Roger gave a faux smirk before turning his head towards Mark and questioning, "Was that it?"

"Yeah. Have a great show, Roger." Mark nodded before turning to Jimmy to express his leave and promise to be back at the bar the same time the next day. He flashed a shy smile to Roger as he grabbed his messenger bag and camera from behind the sound equipment and walked out the door, letting it swing in the wind before slamming shut.

XXXXXXXX

"Mister Cohen? Mark? Mark, can you hear me?"

Calm, innocent blue eyes blinked rapidly against the nothingness in front of him, blank shadows dancing. Mark was vaguely aware of the violent shivers shaking his body as stiff hands hurriedly trying to hug themselves against the frigid air. It was cold outside; that much he remembered, it was cold out and it was raining. He remembered the thunder and lightning overhead, too. Mark recalled the short walk from the alleyway in Roger's arms as the rocker's soothing words kept going, trying to keep him awake.

Now, another voice invaded his ears.

"Mark, you need to answer me."

"Ye- I'm…" His throat was raw and he felt as if he was drunk as his once-calm voice crept out of his mouth in a slurred tone, "Yea-"

"Take your time Mark. We're not trying to rush you." The feminine voice closed onto his face and was now directly above him. "I know you're cold right now, but we're doing the best we can to warm you up. Do you understand?"

Mark nodded. His back arched suddenly as a bout of pain shook his body and elicited a whimper out of his mouth. His eyes widened at the pain as he tried, desperately, to cling to the fresh air that was now leaving his body. He suddenly felt a cold plastic object cover his mouth and nose and heard the same voice telling him to take deep, calming breaths. Mark complied. His heartbeat returned to a more normal pace as he sunk into the bed cushions he was lying on. His body continued to quake uneasily; but he slowly felt the warm air rushing through his lungs, and that calmed him. He was so tired.

"Mark? Mark, please, answer me. I'm Dr. Tara Cork. Do you understand?" The feminine voice wavered in and out of his ears. "I know it hurts, Mark, but I need you to try and talk to me."

"Fi- Fin… Fine-" Mark responded brokenly from underneath his oxygen mask, gently pawing the uncomfortable object away from his face. "Ne- I need… wat- water."

"Water?"

Mark nodded. He winced at the prick in his arm, another whimper coming out of his mouth. Before he could make another noise voicing his pain, Mark felt a sudden euphoria of relief splash through his veins. His face contorted in a sort of satisfied expression as a faint smile plastered his face and Mark closed his eyes.

"No. Mark, stay awake. Okay?" A petite hand gently slapped the sides of his face as his body shook through the cold shivers. "Mark? Mark, are you still with me?"

"Ye- Yea…" was his slurred reply, his eyes blinking rapidly against the suddenly light in front of his face. "…'m fine."

"Please, try to stay awake."

Mark turned his head, hearing the familiar sound of pen scratching against paper. He could just imagine Dr. Cork's business-like face s she stood to the side of his bed and checked over his vitals, temperature, and other stats that doctors normally look at in the hospital.

Hospital…

He hated that word: Hospital. It reminded Mark of all the times he had in with Roger when he was in the "Junkie Days" and was frequently overdosing, and after when he was going through withdrawal. He remembered going to the hospital when Collins got pneumonia, too. It had seemed as if their old friend wouldn't make it, but he did, defying the odds like always. Of course, then there was Angel. She wasn't as lucky. Mimi was next, and most certainly would not be the last.

It all seemed ironic that Mark "I'm the last to survive" Cohen would be the next bedridden in a hospital though.

"Mark? Mark, are you still with me?" The gentle slapping motion was back on his cheeks. "Mark, you need to stay awake." He moaned as his eyes had involuntarily closed shut over his thoughts. "Mark, look into the light."

What a thing to say, Mark snorted.

"Mark, open your eyes."

She sure likes my name. Well, she does sound pretty.

"Pay attention. Mark? Mark, can you tell me where you are?"

"Can… I can- Can barely see…" Mark choked suddenly.

He felt hands on his eyes. "Mark, answer the question."

Mark nodded, his eyes still closed. "Hospital."

"Good. Good…Now, do you remember what happened?"

What happened? Did he remember? His breathing quickened as his body let out a sudden spasm and his limbs flailed slightly, as if he was trying to get away from some imaginable enemy. Mark's eyes popped open, eyes tearing from the brightness of his surroundings. Everything was dark, everything was unfocused, and, most of all, everything was…shadows. Shadows danced before Mark's eyes and so suddenly the fear was protruding him and he wanted to get away. Mark squirmed, kicked, and all but yelled -except, it didn't come out as a yell. Mark let out a hoarse whisper that mixed with mangled sobs.

"Mark? Mark, I need you to calm down," Dr. Cork whispered the soothing words into his ears. "Mark, just take a deep breath and calm down. We'll ask you again later, with more time. Do you want me to let your friends in to see you?"

Suddenly the words came out easily. "No."

"No?" The words came out hesitant through the feminine voice. "Mark, you do not want to see your friends?"

"No." Mark repeated, more forcibly. He knew this act from Angel's admission into the hospital, and Mark did not want his friends to see him like this.

"Mark… Mark, please, it would be very important to let your friends come. The one, who brought you in, Roger, I think, was telling us that you two were as close as close can be. That you two, and the rest of your friends, are family." He suddenly felt somebody massaging his eye. "Now, I know you don't want anybody to see you weak, but some other things are more important than your pride." Mark turned his head slightly, wincing as his bruised eye washed up against the white cloth of the bed sheets. "Okay?"

"O- okay," Mark whispered, his voice cracking as tears began to well as he repeated strongly, "Okay."

"Okay." Dr. Crow nodded. She dabbed his face, wiping the wetness away from his cheeks. "Okay, I'll be right back."

He nodded.

XXXXXXXX

"Well, I did not expect to see you here."

Looking up from his sprawled out position on the floor, Mark wiped the blood away from his lips with the palm of his hand as he careened his head to the right at the familiar voice. He found himself looking into smug green eyes and inwardly groaned before nodding an uncertain salutation to the man. Mark slowly straightened into a sitting position and scooted back toward the closest corner; hugging his knees to his chest in a sort of protective manner. His eyes trailed Roger as the man strolled from the bench at the other end to kneel down in front of him, still wearing his smug smile.

"It's Matt, right?"

"Mark Cohen," Mark responded. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, careful of the bruise under his eye "Roger Davis, correct?"

The bleached-blond, leather jacket wearing, toothpick chewing musician nodded in satisfaction. "So… What are you doing in my humble abode?" He stood up and gestured his arms around his surroundings in exaggerated movements.

"Your humble abode?"

"I've been here a lot, you know," Roger shrugged. "I guess it comes with the lifestyle. Musician playing in a rowdy bar… It kinda spells out jail time." He flashed a toothy grin as he ran a hand through his hair. "Of course, this time I was just trying to help a fellow out after the show ended when I was walking home. Got caught up in a big brawl, cursed out a cop, and basically got booked on being a disturber of the peace-whatever the hell that means."

"Peace," Mark spat, "yeah, I'll say. I was just passing by this gang fight and got caught in the crossfire."

"Never been to jail?" Mark shook his head, soon finding Roger plopping down next to him on the hard, concrete. "Yeah, it's not as fancy as the movies show it. They won't hold you for long, you're young. As soon as your parents come and make bail, they'll let you out with a glare and then they'll slam the door in your face. It's nothing big."

"My parents?" It was Mark's turn to eye Roger. "I don't live with my parents. I'm eighteen and a college dropout, Brown University. I guess you could say I've been disowned, or whatever, but I haven't talked to them since I got out of Scarsdale."

"I hear yah," Roger sighed. "I dropped out of high school, ninth grade, to start a music career. Of course, as you can see, it hasn't been terrific."

"Your songs aren't bad, just loud," Mark said, thinking of the Well Hungarians' performance from that night. "That last one was good; the one from earlier, when I was checking the sound. It sounded…real."

"As apposed to our other ones?"

"Well…I didn't mean …no-"

"Chill, Mark. Can't take a joke?" Roger shoved him lightly in a brotherly kind of way. "I know what you mean, though. The other guys were the ones that wanted that rock-hard only shit. I just want to play, ya know? I mean, ya have to know what I'm talking about, right? Why'd you drop out of college?"

Mark let his knees loosen as he leaned against the concrete wall behind him, glazed eyes staring determinedly ahead. "I had to get away from everything in Scarsdale. I just felt closed in. I'm a filmmaker, see, so I felt like I needed to move into the city so I could get some hands-on experience for my documentary. Now, instead of being in a clean building with sheets, I'm living in some rotten motel with my friend, Benny. He, Benny I mean, is supposed to be finding us a place to stay and he got me this job to help pay for some kind of loft that he's looking at…"

"Everything goes from there?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah, something like that."

"Well," Roger smiled, "you'll be a famous filmmaker and I'll be the cool, stud rock star. Hell, maybe I can make a soundtrack for your first movie and you can shoot my first video!" He slung an arm around Mark's shoulders. "We'll be at the top in no time."

"Yeah…"

XXXXXXXX

The bohemians stood away from Roger, respectfully letting the man deal with the crisis of his best friend in his own way. Roger had long since slid down the wall and was now sitting on the floor next to the waiting room chairs, knees drawn up to his chest and head leaned back against the cheap, white plaster. He cocked his head suddenly, realizing that this was the same position Mark was in when Roger found him. Quickly, Roger then unfolded his legs and crossed them in an Indian-style position, hands pushing down on his knees as his head feel toward the floor. One question flowed through his mind.

Why Mark

Roger's head fell back into his hands. "Fuck…"

"Mister Davis?" A feminine voice made his whole body shoot up suddenly, eyes centering on a pretty woman in a white coat near the door where they had taken Mark. She was a tall petite woman with light brown hair and dark brown eyes, in her hand holding a silver clipboard and a small pen as she let her eyes flicker around the room patiently. "Mister Davis? Mister Roger Davis?"

"Just Roger." Roger stood up quickly. He bypassed the other five bohemians who remained seated, their worried eyes trailing him as he walked quickly up to the doctor. "Is he okay? Can I see him?"

"Roger, I am Doctor Tara Cork; let me tell you that Mister Cohen-"

"-Mark."

"Mark," she corrected quickly as she silently gestured him to the side of the waiting room, letting him sit down with her. "Mark has suffered from a case of subacute hypothermia, but currently we are using intravenous fluids and warm, moist oxygen to warm his core body temperature."

"Is he okay?" Roger questioned, still unsure of what was happening. "Will he be okay?"

"Yes, but I'd like to keep him under observation." She frowned. "He'll have to stay overnight and you may take him home in the morning if everything checks out okay."

"So, he's okay?"

"Roger…" She bit her lips thoughtfully, trying to think of the best way to approach the subject. "Has Mark ever been abused or… possibly, hit over the head?"

"What?" Roger's head snapped up. "No… I mean, well… I don't… Why?"

"We've run a couple of tests on Mark earlier and it seems that everything is fine, he's healing very well from the hypothermia and it seems all his scratches and bruises will heal in their own time. However…I'm afraid I've run across a certain roadblock. A certain visual impairment and slight case of amnesia…"

"What?" Roger croaked. His eyes turned to search for the usual comforting gaze of Collins and the professor looked to him with questioning eyes before he stood up from his chair, whispering words to the other bohemians, before walking up to Roger. "Thomas–"

Collins simply clasped his friend's shoulder. He turned to the doctor and offered his free hand. "Thomas Collins. Just Collins."

Dr. Cork exchanged pleasantries.

"Right," she sighed, "well, Collins, as I was just telling Roger, Mark is suffering from some sort of visual impairment and is accompanied by a case of amnesia."

"He told me he couldn't see anything," Roger said. "He said it was just shadows of things, outlines. He also didn't know what was happening and didn't want to come here…"

"Lack of interest, yes, it's one of the symptoms of hypothermia. Now, it is possible that the sudden amnesia is also due to the hypothermia, but that isn't very likely. What I'm thinking is that Mark's mind is blocking something out, something that may have physically hurt him in some way and the way he is blocking this certain fear is by playing with the mind. His visual impairment, however, could also by psychological."

"Dammit!" Roger yelled suddenly, finally reaching his breaking point at the talk of Mark becoming blind. "Whoever the hell did this, I will find them, I swear it. Will he see again?"

"It is poss-"

"I want a straight answer," Roger demanded as he stared down at the woman, flinching involuntarily as Collins squeezed his shoulder. "Don't give me that statistics shit."

"There is a slim chance that he will regain some vision. Right now, he is not blind. It takes time to tell-"

"Time we don't have." Roger scowled. "Will he or won't he get better?"

"Please-"

The doctor was cut off as Collins' glance turned toward her quickly before he quickly grasped Roger's shoulders with both hands and looked deep into his worried eyes. "Roger, listen to me for a second." Roger averted his gaze, but Collins continued, "Mark, he's a filmmaker. Having this sort of visual impairment, for him, is as bad as they come. Filming is Mark's life, it's what keeps him driving on-"

"He can survive without it," Roger mumbled, his tone of voice showing that he really didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "He can survive without a camera."

"Think about it, man. What would you do if you couldn't play your guitar ever?" Roger shook his head. "Exactly. Now, there's a chance, if we get past this, that Mark can get his sight back. Visual impairment is not always permanent, he can get it back."

Dr. Cork cleared her throat. "He is very groggy at the moment and I asked him if he would like to see you-"

"Where is he?" Roger asked as his voice suddenly changed to confident and hopeful.

"Now, at first he didn't particularly want anybody to see him, he is possibly ashamed, but I have convinced him that a few minutes with his friends should be fine."

"Didn't want to see us?" Roger deflated. "Why?"

"Roger, Mark's afraid right now," Collins tried to reason. "Do you remember when Angel was here? It took all of us just to get Mark to set foot in the hospital, think of how he feels now. He doesn't want us to see him weak…"

Roger nodded as he turned to Dr. Cork expectantly. "Okay?" He nodded to her question. "Now, I've put some gauze over his eyes to protect them from the lights, it seems he is still seeing shadows of people, like before, and I also have him hooked up to an oxygen mask so he can get some clean air. Try not to overexert him."

"What about the rest of us?" Roger questioned suddenly, eyes searching for Mimi.

"It would be best if it was just two at a time, but…" she chewed he lips thoughtfully. "For you, I'll make an exception. However, if anything happens I will not hesitate to call security and throw you out."

Collins walked over and quickly explained the situation before helping them all up to their feet. He watched as they followed Roger towards the clinic door before noticing Mark's camera and carefully tucking it under his arm protectively -making sure it was still on first.

XXXXXXXX

Roger and Mark had settled themselves comfortably in their lone cell, each with sloppy grins on their face as they sat across from each other in the same cross-legged position, knees inches from touching. Roger tossed his head back in a bout of laughter as Mark, in turn, grinned happily at the other man's delight.

"He didn't care?"

"Nah, this is my father we're talking about. I came home at about 3 a.m. almost every single day and the only one who noticed was my dog, Skippy. Sure was a crazy pup, that Skippy. The beast from hell, I tell ya!" Roger laughed.

"A beast from hell named Skippy? Sure, I'd call that a hellhound."

"Hey! You didn't know this dog. He was evil."

"Come on Rog," Mark hid a grin, "he couldn't have been that bad."

"Please!" Roger persisted, "This dog was the sweetest thing when we first got him. It was all nice to everybody that came and never once tried to bark, bite, or growl at me. It was almost annoying how happy and nice that damned dog was."

Mark gave in. "Fine. How'd this oh-so-wonderful dog turn nasty, then?"

"Not sure, exactly. See, this one day he got out, ran away, and he came back a week later all…jeez, what's the word for it… Frisky?" Roger grinned as Mark stifled a smile. "You can make your own connections, but the neighbor's poodle never acted the same way either."

"That's disturbing!"

"Hey, you wanted to know!"

"HEY! ONE AT A TIME!"

"Oh, damn," Mark tilted his head to the side suddenly as his eyes glanced out the cell's bars. "Do you hear that?"

"Yeah…" Roger stood suddenly, Mark following suit, as they leaned into the bars and listened for the voices-

"SIR! Please, calm down!"

"We're here together! They should both be here anyway, just let us in. Besides, we paid bail already."

"Man, forget this…"

"STOP! You can't go back there!"

"Shut up. Here, man, just follow me, I know my way around. That damn fool got himself in trouble again-"

"Terrific…"

"I know that voice," Mark sighed. "Shit, I'm in for it."

"I know that voice too." Roger's eyes widened in realization. "Music enthusiast…?"

"Professor of 'Actual Reality'…?"

"Damn it, Roger! Do you know how much you screwed up this time?" A large black man wearing a knitted black hat wrinkled his nose at Roger as he watched the guard open the cell, freeing the two men from their personal hell. He switched his gaze to the smaller man and questioned, "Let me guess, you're Mark Cohen?"

Mark nodded and questioned, "Thomas Collins?"

"Just Collins."

Roger turned towards the other man: black, bald, and a cool exterior. "Benjamin Coffin III?"

"It's Benny. Are you Roger Davis?"

Roger turned to Mark and swung his arm around the young man's shoulder. "Well, Mark, how's this for irony?"

XXXXXXXX

Well, he certainly doesn't look well, Roger thought to himself as he slinked his arm around Mimi's waist and listened to the woman gasp in surprise at their unusually pale friend. He let her bury her face into his shirt and carefully watched the others pack into the tiny room with the same concerned expressions on their faces. It seemed as if nobody would make the first movement, but, possibly, they were just waiting for Roger to say something.

How can I?

There was Mark, the young man who he considered his rock and best friend, laying shivering and pale in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask over his face and gauze covering his eyes.

What was there to do?

Suddenly the familiar whirring sound reached their ears, and for a fraction of a second Roger couldn't breathe. The sound was Mark's camera, he looked towards the entrance of the room and found Collins standing at the door, face plastered with a tight smile and eyes squinting as he looked through the black devise.

"March 30th, 10:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time. Three months have gone by since we were all brought together again, and now something disastrous happens. I guess it just goes to show you that these are the harsh realities of living. First shot, Mark, lying in the hospital bed after Roger found him, too damned stubborn to quit -and that's why we love him."

"Mm-hmm…" Mark moaned suddenly, everybody in the room jumping and Maureen whimpered. "Ye'r really good."

Collins grinned cheekily as he placed the camera down on Mark's bedside table, making sure to keep it pointed at everybody. "Yeah, well, with you jabbering about your camera all the time…"

"Hey." A thin smile filled his face as he shook slightly, drawing the blankets closer around his body.

Maureen stepped up this time letting her hand find his and squeezing it reassuringly. "Pookie…"

"Do I look that bad?"

"No!" Maureen said, a little too quickly for Mark's liking. "No, Pookie, you look… well, erm… hot?"

Red color rushing to his cheeks made everybody chuckle. "Th- Thanks." He turned his head slightly to stifle his moan. "Roger…?"

"Yeah?" Roger stood quickly. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Sorry 'bout before," he slurred. "I guess, 'm too stubborn…"

"Hey, no big deal." Roger shifted uncomfortably as Mimi edged him towards the head of Mark's bed. "I'd probably be the same way."

"Still… thanks," He felt Mimi's hand close on his own next and shivered from the cold touch. "You doin' okay… Mimi…?"

"That's supposed to be my question." Mimi smiled at Roger as she bent down to kiss Mark's forehead. "I'm doing okay Mark, just get better, okay? We'll be here for you once you're out of this damn hospital."

"Least it's -gulp- warm." Mark smiled. "Right Benny?"

"How'd you…" Benny began but stopped at the blunt imply that he was-

Mark answered anyway, a small frown on his face. "I… ca- can sen…se you."

Benny smiled as he reached over to jab Mark's shoulder gently. "Ya always were a smart ass."

Mark smiled.

A small man, dressed in faded blue scrubs, knocked on the door. He shook his black hair from his eyes and looked toward Roger. "Mister Davis? I'm sorry, I need a word. I'm Dr. Adams, one of the doctors on call."

"Sure…" he hesitated slightly at the door as he looked to Mark. "I'll be back soon…"

The doctor gently gestured Roger to follow him into the hallway, a short way down from the room. He looked to him in a certain manner that made Roger's stomach lurch. "Now, I know this isn't the perfect time to mention this Mister Davis, but-"

"Payment?" Roger croaked as he ran a hand through his hair. Shit, he thought at the doctor's sorrowful nod. "Now?"

"Mister Davis, I'm afraid we cannot keep Mark here over the night if you cannot pay…"

"What?" Eyes narrowed dangerously. "Look, doctor, it doesn't matter how rich you are when you're in a hospital! You cannot refuse treatment on him just because we can't pay-" he took the doctor up by the collar and closed his face so that they were just inches apart.

The doctor placed his hands on the Roger's calmly. "Now, son, calm down-"

"I am not your son."

"Now Davis," Benny sauntered over casually, his words drawling out slowly and effectively. He gently forced Roger's shaking hands to lower the weaker man, smiling smugly. "I think this doctor needs to get his information checked. Mark's visit is already paid for." Benny glared. "Possibly you should look to Dr. Cork next time before you think to disturb a patiently and his family."

"Well, this is…" the doctor suddenly shrunk under the different pairs of angry glares, "I'm…"

"Sorry?" Roger snarled. "You will be…"

He made a fist but Benny easily pushed it down letting the doctor run off. "Interns," the man explained easily, "they make mistakes, nothing to fuss about right now."

"Sure…" Roger frowned. "Must be nice to have money."

Benny shrugged. "Some things are nicer to have…" he looked to Roger and gave a faint smile. "Let's get back, shall we?"

"Yeah, and, erm… Benny?" Roger scratched the back of his head idly. "Man… I'm-thanks." He placed a hand on the man's shoulder and pulled him into a friendly embrace.