Chapter Four: Back to the Act

Ambling along the quiet streets of New York City, Roger couldn't help but smirk at the sight of his friend. Mark's eyes were swiveling around wildly in his head as he whipped from right to left as they walked by each dark alley. The chuckle from Roger had Mark jumping. It had been just a few days since the musician decided to start walking with Mark and, so far, no muggings had occurred. Of course, that didn't mean Mark wasn't still cautious.

Rolling his eyes, Roger threw his arm loosely around Mark's shoulders, frowning as Mark tensed underneath his touch. "Calm down, Mark, nothing is going to happen out here." He smirked as Mark ducked his head to blush. "Just relax."

"It's nearly three o'clock in the morning, we're in a bad part of the neighborhood, and you expect me to relax?" Mark kicked his foot to the ground as he pushed his black-rimmed glasses further up his face. "Come on. Let's just get home."

"You know, it's really not that bad here." Roger shrugged. "I mean, once you get used to the fact that we're flat broke, hungry, and freezing down to our very bones in our tattered clothing-"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Cause, it's not helping."

"Here," Roger unraveled his navy blue and white scarf around his neck and handed it to the shivering filmmaker. "You look like you need this more than I do." He smirked as Mark brought his hands up to protest. "It's a gift! Consider it a Christmas present."

Mark wrapped the scarf contently around his neck, wincing slightly as it came in contact with another bruise.

"Are you sure you don't scream out to muggers?" Roger questioned, eyeing the bruise on Mark's neck. "Maybe it's just because you're a scrawny, white, Jewish boy wandering around in the middle of the night."

"What does being Jewish have anything to do with the mugging?"

"Nothing, but you have to admit, it has a nice ring to it."

"Yeah, whatever…"

Roger smirked at a sudden thought rushing through his head. He stopped for a moment, making sure his actions were unnoticed by Mark, as he waited for his friend to stay directly in front of him. Smirking, Roger came up from behind Mark and grasped his friend's shoulders tightly, though not tight enough for it to hurt him. Mark froze.

"See what I mean?" Roger laughed, ruffling Mark's hair. "Relax, man! I'm here, aren't I?"

Looking up to Roger with a frown, Mark shook his head. "Yeah, well I guess a scrawny, white boy walking around with a masculine, leather-wearing musician does kind of keep everybody off our backs." His frown grew deeper, if that was possible. "You know, that wasn't funny."

Roger shook his head and gestured towards the apartment door. "Home sweet home, see? All you need is some distractions when we're walking."

"Well, it does help that you're here."

Roger chuckled and ruffled the filmmaker's blond hair. "Awww, I wouldn't let anything hurt you Marky."

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Roger's arm flailed as he desperately tried to grab at the door of the apartment building before he could be pushed roughly onto the sidewalk. He had just been dragged from his apartment and was not in the best of moods. Eyes shimmering under the intense sunlight, Roger stared into the dark brown eyes of the businessman before him, who smirked contently. Roger stalked toward Benny and grasped the man by the collar of his suit, holding him a few inches off the ground and slamming his back into the building's brick wall.

"What the hell!" Roger screamed, his face inches away from the other man.

"You're a piece of work Davis," Benny said, coughing. He was still smirking at what he'd just done, but was cringing uncomfortably against the sharp pain of the door handle pushing into his back. "Let me go."

Flexing his hand into a tight fist, letting Benny's fancy clothes wrinkle against his skin, Roger gave an unsatisfied grunt and dropped Benny to the ground. "You're still a yuppie," Roger hissed. He looked to the door Benny was standing in front of and cocked an eyebrow. "What do you want? Mark's still in there; I need to be there when he wakes up-"

"Need to or want to?" Benny waved a finger in front of Roger's face before walking across the street. "Come on," he gestured ahead and pulled out his leather wallet, "we'll go to the Life Café. Besides, Mimi will be there with Mark as soon as he wakes up, and Collins will be back from his tutoring session in a few minutes."

Roger kicked a stray rock across the street and down an open sewage drain. "Yeah, whatever…" he ran a hand through his hair and sauntered across the street with his fists buried deep inside his leather jacket. Roger dragged his feet along the pavement as he turned the corner and impatiently called out to Benny, "Come on! We haven't got all day!"

"But we do, don't we?" Benny easily kept in step with Roger. "Or, are you just trying to hurry time so that Mark doesn't wake up without you there?"

Roger snarled.

Benny smirked. He opened the door to the Life Café and gestured Roger in first, "After you, my good man." Roger flipped his middle finger up and Benny chuckled lightly as he took a seat at the bar. "I'll take that as a thank you." Roger ordered a soda and Benny requested water, each man asked for a cheeseburger. "It's been a long time since I had one of these."

"Well, don't expect the rest of us have been feasting like kings like you since Muffy." Roger took a bite of his burger, but stopped as he waited for the usual correction of Benny's wife's name. It never came. "Not defending sweet Muffy anymore?"

Benny cocked a brow, carefully sipping his water. "You really don't pay attention, do you?" He smirked at Roger's glare. "Well, I guess you haven't changed."

"Unlike somebody we know," Roger scoffed, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Yeah, well, for your information, Allison and I are getting a divorce."

Roger couldn't even attempt to bite back his tongue before his accusation spilled out: "She finally snap because of your affair with Mimi?"

Benny frowned, the smirk falling so suddenly that Roger couldn't even tell that it had been there just moments ago. "I left her because she had the affair. Mimi and I were just friends; I told you that. Allison, on the other hand, had no problem skipping off to a condo in Brooklyn with her lawyer. Caught them when I got home early, on our anniversary, they were at our house that time."

Roger mentally blanched. "Oh… shit, Benny, I'm-"

"Don't say it." Benny waved a hand in the air. "Collins said I could stay in the spare room in his loft, the one below yours. I just figured I should tell you that I came back willingly, not just because I found out Mark was hurt." he shrugged. "Actually, I was only at the door a few minutes before the phone rang, by then they had already welcomed me back."

Roger carelessly tossed a fry into his mouth and chewed carefully, swallowing slowly before letting green eyes wander back up. "I am, though… You know?" Roger never could say the word, but he guessed he owed Benny that much. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry about the whole…rent, deal." He frowned. "I've got a job in the city working as an assistant for this producer so I'm still getting in some money, so, you know, I'll be able to pull my weight in the loft. Muffy's-"

Roger's lips curved upwards as he interjected "Muffy?"

Eyes glimmering, Benny said, "Muffy's father lost control of the building and it got handed off to some other guy that lived in a loft in a different building, the one that got burned down last month." Benny shook his head. "Anyway, they've got all the tenants a year-release plan that helps everybody save up for the rent and, if the tenants can't get the money on time, they've got help from some kind of source… I don't know. It's a work in progress. Everybody will be getting good heat, though. This new guy doesn't want anybody to revolt-"

"Like we did against you."

"Basically." Benny shrugged. "You don't have to worry about any of that, though, I've already paid both loft's rent for a year and the years before that you still owed. You're covered."

"You shouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"It's your money, not ours."

"This is different from the last time I was offering to pay the rent Dav- sorry, Roger." Benny chuckled. "Last time I did it because I wanted everybody on the Avenue to know that I was the good guy in all of this. I tried to make myself look good, I wasn't even thinking about you, Mark and the others. It's different this time."

"How?" Roger questioned, wanting more of an explanation than just a change of heart.

"My divorce brought a few things into perspective for me; it was more than just a silly loveless marriage between me and Muffy," Benny responded. "I realize that I had intentions in everything I was doing, but I focused it on the wrong thing, at the wrong time. That night, after Maureen's protest, when I saw everybody here at the café, I finally understood what I was missing. Until now, I didn't realize how much I truly missed my old life, missed the understanding of pain and missed the connection I had with everybody. You know? That bond…"

Roger nodded. "We didn't even know about it until Angel died. She's the one that showed us to believe in ourselves and our friendship…"

"In a weird way, she taught me too. I may not have known her, but she still had that same impact on me -you all did. After you left for Santa Fe, Mark and I got back to talking again, mostly about the things we'd missed out on when I got married and we reminisced about the times before everything… happened…"

"You'd give up all that money and power you had to come back to normal-Benny? You think it'll be that easy?" Roger smirked, the tone wasn't accusatory but, instead, friendly and playful.

"It's working, isn't it? You didn't call me a yuppie."

"Hungry and frozen?" Roger raised his glass.

Benny raised his glass too. "Some life that we've chosen."

Clink! The glasses met in the center and they fell back into their stools. "Yeah…"

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Mark woke up to the same sight he saw the night before: absolutely nothing. Everything was the same deep, blank nothingness that seemed to taunt him down to his very core. At first Mark was confused, his body shivered against the cold air that surrounded him and his ears twitched uncomfortably from the unusual weight that had been wrapped around his face. His hands, shaking in slight fear, flailed around and pushed off the soft blankets that he'd been trapped underneath. He moved his hands toward his eyes, or, where he thought they were, and the feeling of odd roughness made him flinch.

Bandages.

Pushing back against his mattress, Mark pulled himself into a sitting position. Mark wrinkled his nose and smelt some sort of cuisine. Flopping his feet over the edge of the bed, feeling like a fish out of water as he coughed against the rush of air meeting his lungs, Mark winced as the wooden floor stung his sensitive skin. Mark held his hands out before his body, waving them through the air, as he walked through the frigid room, which could only be his own.

Mark cursed, yelping as his knee came falling to the hard, cold ground and hitting itself onto a seemingly steel-like box below. He rubbed his sore knee with a frown. What am I dressed in? Mark questioned himself, fingering the black cloth covering his body. A clanging sound to his left had Mark tilting his head to the right and immediately wincing as a small shriek entered his ear.

"Oh," Mimi said, her soft-spoken voice lowering to a slight whisper. "Mark, are you all right?"

He felt her hands cupping his cheeks, moving his head so that his bandaged eyes were looking at her. Mark automatically looked away, ashamed. "I'm fine Meems. Just tripped." He smirked at his own stupidity. "Did I wake you?"

Mimi chuckled lightly. "Its lunchtime, you've been out for nearly thirteen hours."

Oversleeping can kill you. No wonder I feel like shit, Mark thought to himself as he pulled himself off of the floor, tensing slightly as Mimi's petite arm snaked its way across his waist and guided him onto his bed.

Mark remembered most of the night before, or, at least, now he did. Roger and Collins had picked him up from the clinic early in the morning; they brought him back to the loft where Benny had cooked some weird barbeque meal for lunch. All Mark wanted was soup though, something that wouldn't make his stomach flip and would go down his throat easily. Suddenly Mark felt the heat burn up his face as he recalled Mimi feeding him the soup as Benny talked to him about some film festival and Roger mindlessly strummed Musetta's Waltz. One embarrassing night down, many to go-

"Mark," Mimi's voice cut through his thoughts, "Are you sure you're all right? You feel a bit hot."

"Hot?" Mark shivered subconsciously. "No, I'm okay, really."

Mark tilted his head and felt his ears twitch. Everything was just too quiet to be the loft. No guitar being played, no whirring of his camera, no sing-song voice of Mimi as she danced to Roger's music, no bubbly laugh from Collins, no authority tone from Joanne, and definitely no high-pitch screeching Maureen as she practiced her next protest idea. It felt odd; like nothing was normal anymore. Of course, what would be normal without his vision? Especially abnormal to a filmmaker…

He gasped suddenly as he felt cold hands push two warm objects into his hands and close his fingers around them. He tilted his head to where the dancer was sure to be and Mimi only responded with a concerned tone in her voice. "You look like you're having trouble, just take it easy. Here," Mimi pushed a cold glass object into his hands, probably water, "take this and you'll feel better. It's supposed to relieve your headache."

Tilting the glass, Mark jumped as the cold water dumped onto his shirt.

He cursed.

"Let me," Mimi cooed, taking the water from his hands. "I don't want you to ruin Roger's shirt." She giggled lightly as she gently brought the glass up to his chapped lips and poured a little bit into his mouth. Mark sighed, his head turning as a blush crept up his face, causing Mimi to giggle again. "You're cute when you blush."

Mark felt the heat rise to his cheeks again, but shook it off quickly and questioned, "This is Roger's shirt?" He fingered the unfamiliar fabric. "Where is he?"

"Benny dragged him out of the loft to go to the Life Café for lunch." Mark could just picture the satisfied smirk on the dancer's face. "Anyway, that shirt, well, you fell asleep last night and Roger dressed you," the blush was back, but, if Mimi noticed, she kept quiet to save his embarrassment, "Collins told us that, under the doctor's orders, you're supposed to be warm. That shirt you usually sleep in was too thin for Roger's liking, so he gave you one of his old band shirts, which is about three sizes too big for you. Heh…what isn't too big for you? You need to eat."

As if on cue, Mark's stomach growled. "Well, I smelt something. Did you cook?"

"God, no!" Mimi laughed. "Benny come up from his loft and cooked up some soup."

Mark questioned in disbelief, "When did Benny get a loft?"

He heard Mimi let out a small sigh. "I guess nobody told you last night." She carefully grasped his arm. "Come on, I'll tell you over lunch."

One of the hardest walks Mark had ever had to make in the loft, and it was just from his bedroom to the kitchen. Mimi had her arm firmly around his own as another snaked its way back across his waist as she mumbled a few incoherent Spanish words under her breath. The clunking sound, he guessed, was of Mimi kicking away random objects that blocked his path. He bit his lip gingerly, his bare feet stepping on something very, small and sharp -Mark thought it was one of Roger's guitar picks. Mimi gently sat Mark in one of the chairs in front of the metal kitchen table.

"So," Mimi said, "Benny brought some cheap chicken soup."

"Yeah," Mark's voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears, "I can smell it."

"Okay, um, here," she gently tucked, what felt like a napkin, into Mark's shirt. "Just lean forward a little bit and I can help you."

You mean feed me? Mark bit his tongue back before he could actually voice his thoughts, and instead complied. A whish of air resounded off the liquid substance and soon the smell grew stronger under his nostrils. Carefully, he opened his mouth before closing it around the spoon and gently chewed into the noodles of the soup. Such a simple process was usually taken for granted, but, now, Mark took great care in making sure everything went well.

"Is it okay? Not too hot?"

"No." Mark shook his head, voice coming out in a whisper. "Listen," he paused as the spoon dipped the liquid into his mouth and he gingerly chewed the chicken and noodles, "Mimi?"

"Mark?"

"I…" Mark tried, turning away, "I'm sorry-"

"For what?" The confusion was evident in Mimi's voice, making Mark frown. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, but, you and Roger shouldn't be dealing with me. I mean, I know you're doing real well with your withdrawal, and both of you are on your relationship, but…" he shrugged, "maybe I should just-"

"Don't you say it. Don't you even think it," Mimi interjected quickly. "I can't even see you pulling a Santa Fe on us, especially now. You're staying right here, where you belong, with us. It may seem like a hellhole right now but, like I said, Benny's back with us now. I think that's why he went out with Roger, really, just to rekindle their friendship."

Mark raised a brow towards where he thought Mimi was. "Benny's living here?" He opened his mouth but soon the spoon was dunked into his mouth and he was coughing harshly as the noodle and soup made its way down his throat. "It's okay. I'm done."

"Are you sure? There's still some soup left, and you could use it."

"Do I look that bad?"

"Nah, just scrawny. As always…"

"Mimi," Mark drawled, "don't avoid the question."

"I didn't."

"About Benny. Listen, when I was at the clinic he told me about why he left and it's not really my place to tell you but… Do you feel it's your fault?" Mark heard the screeching of a chair and the soft patter of slippers walking across the cold tile of the kitchen. Mimi's back was to him, she busied herself by turning on the water faucet and the clanking sound told Mark she was washing the dishes. "Mimi, you still with me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Mark." Mimi suddenly shot back down to the table and grasped his hand, her thumb massaging his knuckles gently as she misinterpreted 'still with me' to a physical meaning instead of mental. "I'm still here."

Mark frowned. "Don't blame yourself Mimi, it isn't your fault."

"I-" Mimi opened her mouth to protest but let the words die on her tongue figuring that it was useless to argue. "Isn't it? Allison thinks Benny and I were having an affair; he was only trying to help me when Roger left for Santa Fe."

"Meems, come on now. That's not the reason, I know it. "

"Benny told her that, though, and she didn't believe him. She probably does think we were having an affair and now he's stuck with us."

"So? What's the problem? If Allison doesn't believe Benny then there must not be a whole lot of trust in their marriage. Right? And, if that's the case, then its better that he got out of that relationship." Mark shrugged his shoulders, bandaged eyes staring towards the dancer's presence as he flipped his hands and comforted Mimi with a soft-spoken tone and comforting, friendly touch. "If Benny was upset with you then he wouldn't have come here."

Mimi squeezed his hand and whispered, "Why do you have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Turn everything around and help somebody else?"

"Speeeeeeeeeeeak!"

"Hey, Mimi, it's Collins-"

Mark heard the sound of feet rushing towards the phone and suddenly Mimi's voice cut through the air. "Collins? Yeah… What? How could you forget your key? Okay- sure, yeah…no problem. Mm-hmm, they went to the Life Café together- Collins… Stop laughing! Okay, here I come-" Mark heard the window push open. "Catch!"

Click. The phone went back to its cradle and the window was shut with a clank.

Mark listened as Mimi's feet dragged along the wooden floor. "Where was he?"

"Tutoring," Mimi responded, her tone stating that she had forgotten about Mark's visual impairment and was feeling slightly guilty. "He got a phone call last night from some parent saying they would pay him extra money for private tutoring lessons."

Mark waited a few seconds before pushing himself out of the kitchen chair to move towards the duct-taped couch, using only his hands as a guide. He cringed as he felt the worried gaze of Mimi's eyes on his back, and heard her frightened squeak as he bumped into the round table before flopping down tiredly on the couch, barely missing the arm. He let out another sigh and ran a hand through his hair, waiting for the familiar clicking sound of the door and the stomping of Collins' black boots.

The door slid open and Collins' familiar cheery voice rang out, "Good afternoon!" Mark stared straight ahead, figuring that Collins would soon be near him so that he could feel the warm presence of the professor. "How's it going, boy?" Collins ruffled Mark's blond hair. "Hope Mimi fed you."

"I'm not that malnourished," Mark argued, fighting another blush that had surely already started to creep up his cheeks. "I ate some soup, if you're wondering."

"How many bowls?" The question was directed to Mimi.

Mimi responded, "Almost two. He seemed to have a slight fever, but I gave him two of those pills like you told me to."

Collins knelt down in front of Mark and frowned. "Have you been thinking about those sessions?"

"I don't need them," Mark mumbled. "Where are you going?" He heard it, he didn't need to see, he heard. Mimi's footsteps were getting more distant. "You don't have to leave, you live here too."

"I'm just going to make sure Benny and Roger haven't killed each other yet," Mimi replied. "I'll be back soon."

"Yeah, okay." Mark frowned, biting back his tongue.

Collins placed an arm on Mark's shoulder and called out, "Make sure Roger gets his ass back here too! I know he didn't want to leave this morning, but Benny probably dragged him out of here."

Always could read me, Mark thought happily. He looked to where Collins presence was and gestured helplessly to the white wraps around his eyes. "Do you think we could…? I just want to-"

"Yeah, no problem," Collins responded. "They've got to go back on right after, though. Come on, I'll get the first aid kit from the bathroom and change your bandages." Mark nodded, letting the older man lead him towards the cold bathroom before allowing himself to be pushed down onto the edge of the bathtub. "Stay here."

"Where are you going?" Mark questioned, fear evident in his voice.

"The bandages are in your room!" Collins shouted from somewhere else in the loft. Mark heard the bustling of movements somewhere in the area around him and knew Collins was still shouting words to make pointless conversation, just to lessen Mark's fear of feeling alone.

It was just too quiet in that room. He didn't want to be in the bathroom when it was quiet, especially not when the scenes replayed through his mind from those odd years ago-

"Mark, come on out? Are you okay in there?"

"Call 911!"

"Mark, stop it. Come out! Did you hurt yourself?"

"Call the number Rog!"

"I'm coming in!"

"Roger, don't! Please, stop, you can't touch her! She's… she… you… Oh, God!"

"APRIL!"

"Mark? Mark, are you in there? Earth to Mark! Boy, snap out of it." Mark shook his head, suddenly aware of the two hands gently slapping the sides of his face. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Mark released a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "just… Forget it, man- Can you?" He gestured to his bandages again, pulling them ineffectively only to feel Collins prying his hands away from his face.

"Okay," Mark heard the snipping of scissors, "but just for a few seconds."

White wraps flittered silently to the floor and Mark lifted his hands to slowly feel the extra padding of gauze that stuck over his eyes. He took one hand and pushed the gauze away from his face and used the other to cover his closed eyes. Dark bruise were suddenly exposed and the only thing that kept him from seeing -or, rather, not seeing- was the hand in front of his face.

"Mark?" Collins voice, so soft. "Move your hands."

The door clicked open.

"Don't rush him." Confused, rough-voiced, worried Roger Davis.

Mark let his arms drop onto his knees and tilted his head forwards to that his eyes would certainly be one the ground. He had never felt so much weight on just the simple process of opening his eyes.

It was just as he expected, but Mark didn't necessarily anticipate the feeling to be so unwelcome.

"Well," Mark croaked, "there you have it."

The filmmaker lifted his head up and blinked rapidly, once calm blue eyes now a ripple of worry and fright. Bruised and black bags covered both of his eyes as they glazed over and look straight into Collins and Roger.

"Just shadows."