Blink Tears Chapter 14: Nothing’s Simple, a rent fanfic

Chapter Fourteen: Nothing's Simple

There was a small feat of feeling a single wet raindrop crawl down his skin, push through his thin article of clothing and slowly run down his shuddering pale arm until it drooped to the damp, gray pavement that had always eluded Mark. Never in his life did Mark think of taking the time, especially without his camera, to observe the world around him, taking in every sense of feeling and hearing all the tiny quirks the world had to offer. It never occurred to him that the sound of raindrops falling onto the pavement made a much different sound than the droplets from his showerhead into their bathtub, or how the feeling of the air conditioner differed from the feeling of natural air.

Of course, maybe Mark just never thought he had the time to think of these sorts of things. To really notice the small things life had to offer. Mimi had always preached their "No Day But Today" feeling, but did he ever really hear what she'd said? There was such a big difference, Mark had learned, between listening to something and actually hearing something. Had hiding behind the camera for all those years really make Mark miss out on those little joys? Over the past few weeks he had spent most of his time observing his friends from behind his own sightless eyes.

Mimi held the sweet mixed scent of vanilla and Roger's cologne of old spice. Maureen's different halves varied from the flaunted diva to the compassionate woman she truly was. Joanne had her mother hen qualities of business and strength of comfort. Benny's tones feeling brotherly, jealous, businesslike, and passionate. Collins, the father figure, with his emotional speeches of "right and wrong" as his tone of voice, showing his passion for anarchy, came to make Mark realize how human Thomas Collins really was. Then there was Roger, the zealous songwriter, confused individual, holding the flair of grief of life's past that could never be replaced.

The HIV+ and AIDS stricken, the residents of New York City living a true bohemian life, starving artists, never knowing what life had to offer.

Not really caring
Because they had each other
And that's all that mattered.

Right?

A gentle squeeze to his right made Mark tense slightly, nearly ready to jump out of his very skin as he shook his head from side to side and cleared his mind just in time to realized what he'd been doing before his thoughts had wandered. He looked to the side, blinking through the raindrops, and found the Roger walking close to his side, holding his upper arm, guiding him through the dark streets.

So lost with the beginning feeling of a single raindrop had made Mark zoned out of his world.

"You all right?" Roger questioned.

Mark knew green eyes were drilling into his very soul, trying to make his heart burst out of his very chest to confess some odd realization of discomfort with their current situation. Hell, who wouldn't be uncomfortable? Less than, what had to be, fifteen minutes had past since their "flight" from the loft, before which had Mark almost-literally tearing his hair out after listening Collins and Benny's failed attempt at the police station. He had truly hit Roger below the belt when he mentioned the musician's departure to Santa Fe and Mimi's disappearance after he left, but there was nothing else Mark could've said that would've helped his chances to look for Tammy.

He hadn't realized they'd stopped until Roger was squeezing his arm again. "Mark? Hey, man, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

Of course, Roger could read him like an open book. There wasn't much to do, Mark knew he couldn't lie to his best friend, but he honestly didn't know what the truth was either. He was just so…numb. Everything felt surreal, everything painless and emotionless. All the feeling seems to stream through his veins until there was nothing to think but the task at hand.

Find Tammy.

"Mark?"

"It doesn't make sense, does it?"

"What doesn't?"

"Everything."

"Mark-"

"My mind is telling me that finding Tammy is the right thing to do, but I'm not sure there's anything to that anymore. Everything feels so numb that I'm not sure which of my thoughts are actually coherent enough to be trusted." Mark looked towards the sky, flinching slightly as the raindrops hit him. "Does that make sense?"

"No," Roger sighed, "but I get what you mean."

"How can you?"

"Because I've had it happened to me, Mark." Roger breathed in a deep sigh and Mark tilted his head towards his shadow-formed friend just in time to see Roger run a weary hand through his brown hair. "It's almost like being through withdrawal. Nothing is right, but deep down something's telling you that you're doing the right thing, so you have to keep moving forward even if your want is trying to go the other way."

Mark couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe we're both confused."

Roger shrugged, sharing the laughter. "Listen, man, there's a big difference between what happened to me a few years ago and what's happening to you right now. You're right when you were talking about Mimi; I never would've forgiven myself if she died that night. If you're going to do this thing with Tammy then we're doing it together."

"Yeah," Mark nodded, "I understand that."

"Good." Roger chuckled again, his hand running through his hair again in a nervous manner. The musician took hold of Mark's upper arm again and guided him along the way through the rainy streets, dodging the slick mud and puddles. "It's just around here, a few more steps."

"Right."

It wasn't an easy thought to figure out where they were going, for Mark's mind still felt fried after having all his memories just come rushing back up to him. They were simply taking their chances by moving to the place where Roger had found Mark four weeks ago, in the alleyway where he had been mugged. Everything, they hoped, would go from there.

Hell, that'd be too easy to be true. Mark stifled his laughter at that thought.

How could they forget they were about to barge in on two druggies with a gun? It's simple, they couldn't.

Way to go Cohen, now you've dragged Roger into this damned mess…

"Here we go." Roger's voice protruded through Mark's thoughts and suddenly the musician was squeezing his arm reassuringly. Coming to the place where Mark had been found made the whole thing feel even more real than it already was. "You were over here," Roger tugged Mark forward, "in this alley."

The dark in front of Mark's mind made him shiver, and another comforting squeeze came from Roger. Mark stepped forward, not really sure what he was doing, but knowing he was in safe hands with Roger at his side, and tilted his head toward the sky. Everything in front of his face was still so black, not even the shadowed-lines of the figures loomed before his vision as he turned towards Roger's presence. He shook his head, blinking quickly against the rain, and ran a trembling hand through his hair.

He closed his eyes.

"Cat got your tongue, Cohen? Well, we'll just have to fix that." A blow to the cheek and two to his already bruised side. Mark's glasses flew from his face, a broken mess of glass shattering to the ground. "Better?"

Frank's voice was slurred, his words spoken through chapped lips that spat beer-infested breath into Mark's face.

"Stop it!" Tammy scrambled forward, but was held back by Jimmy. She beat her fist against his chubby chest and cried out, "Stop Frank! You'll hurt him! Please, Franks, stop! PLEASE!"

She didn't know any better. Maybe just by defending him she was endangering herself.

"It all started when Davis met you." Frank had ignored Tammy's angry rant and cocked the gun. "Well, now it ends here."

The taste of cool metal burned through Mark's mouth, his head twisting downwards as he blinked back against the rain hitting his face.

"Say goodbye-"

"Mark, man, there's nothing here." It was a scary realization that Roger's voice had no body to go with it. Everything was just so dark. The rumbling sound to Mark's left made him jump, but as he listened closer he realized it was just Roger moving a dumpster to the side. Roger's voice sounded from the left. "There's no window or anything. Didn't you say that's how you and Tammy got in?"

"Yeah." Mark shook his head, pushing back his memories. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Positive." Roger's voice came from his right this time. "This is the alley I found you in when those three were trying to– Mark? What's wrong?"

Mark caught himself. He'd been shivering so hard that he'd been hugging himself. It wasn't that the stormy weather was causing him to become cold, but he'd been shaking from the loneliness he'd suddenly felt without Roger's presence near him.

"I can't see," Mark stated.

"Mark I already know. I'm right here-"

"No." Mark shook his head. "I can't see anything."

"What? I thought-"

"It's too dark, Rog. There's nothing there -not even shadows."

"Here, Mark."

Roger's hands found their way to Mark's chin, moving Mark's head so that he was looking at something in front of his face. Possibly Roger, but Mark still wasn't so sure. He felt the musician's hands move to squeeze his shoulders reassuringly, but what was so reassuring when you couldn't even see what was in front of your own face? Mark squint his eyes through the impending darkness and blinked subtly against the raindrops, searching for any sign of some sort of visual confirmation of Roger.

Nothing.

"Mark," Roger said, "I'm right here. There's nothing wrong, just focus on my voice."

Mark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay."

"Think, Mark. What happened before you were mugged?"

Than there was Mark, all alone, stumbling through the streets of Alphabet City with no memory of how he got there and what had happened previously. He knew only a few things: he was hurt and he could not see anything but shadows. Head tilting sideways, Mark used his ears as a guidance as flashes of, what could've been people, wandered past him. His only thought was thinking that he wasn't far off from the loft-

"I don't know…I was just walking. I didn't know where I was."

Wetness on his face. New York rain. Mark jolted awake and the only thing he was aware of was the blackness staring down at him and the unbelievable pain coursing throughout his body. Hands reaching out blindly, Mark felt the metal that had to be his camera and held it close to his body. His camera was safe and he was safe. But where was safe?

"There had to be something."

"No, I was just walking. I knew I was near the loft and I knew it was raining and I couldn't see."

"What about Tammy? Think, Mark. Did she say something?"

"Anyway, he went on this rage and got a buddy of his, Jimmy, to buy this place-"

"And this place is?"

"Old bar. We're in the basement."

"An old bar. The basement, actually." Mark felt himself being along the streets and carefully fell into step with Roger's fast pace. "What are you doing?"

"There's got to be a bar around here somewhere. We're in New York City!"

Mark couldn't help but chuckle at Roger's words. "Where exactly are we? Close to the loft?"

"Yeah…we're not too far."

"Look… I'm sorry for running."

"Don't worry about it."

"Benny and Collins are going to kill us."

XXXXXXXX

Collins's eyebrow arched in an amused manner as he looked up just in time to see the bottom of Benny's classy black dress shoes, the bottom of them coated with wet mud that he'd been trailing around the loft's wooden floor. The man's foot fell to the ground with a defining clunk as his bald head poked through the doorway of Mark's room, his door having long since smashed to the wall. Frowning, Benny glared as he stalked out of the room and moved to inspect the bathroom before letting out an angry grunt and moving on to check Roger's room.

The two men had gotten back not thirty minutes ago from the police station and found themselves faced with an empty loft. They'd stood frozen at the door for what seemed like ten minutes, staring down at the half-closed metal door holding a struggling Blink in its place as the young pup struggled to worm his way out of the building, only having been got caught by the collar on the tiny lock hook. Enraged, Benny had stormed into the loft in an angry rant while Collins calmly scooped up the bohemian dog and calmly made his way to the soft brown couch, waiting for Benny to calm down as he relished in the fact of the soft cushions he'd yet to truly appreciate.

"Where in the hell are they?" Benny questioned, visibly fuming as he kicked Roger's door to the side and stood in front of Collins and Blink, who continued to sit in a satisfied manner on the couch. "They're gone!"

"Appears so."

"Where would they go?" Benny plopped down on the round coffee table across from the relaxed anarchist, his head falling into his hands as he gingerly rubbed his temple.

"Not sure," Collins replied. He set Blink down on the couch next to him and carefully brought his black knitted head off his head, slowly moving it over the floorboard and wringing it out, careful not to get the water on the couch and other furniture. He looked down and frowned at the wet spot he'd made on their black carpet. Looking up, stifling his laughter at Benny's stunned expression, Collins questioned, "Too noticeable?"

"What?" Benny coughed, staring blankly at the dark spot on the carpet.

"Noticeable. Is it noticeable?" Collins wrung his hat out once more before deftly fixing it back over his head. "It'll probably dry anyway. Who notices what's on a black carpet? Right?"

"Why the hell are you so calm?" Benny questioned, jumping up. "They're gone!"

"We shouldn't have left that message on the machine." Collins gestured to the light on the loft's answering machine. "Hell, Roger and Mark probably already knew the police weren't going to do anything."

Benny glared. "What are you talking about?"

"Leaving Mark with Roger probably wasn't such a good idea either." Collins's face scrunched up in deep concentration as he delicately pushed Blink off the couch and listened to the pup's claws clattering on the floorboards. He absently looked to Benny and said, "Probably wasn't Roger's idea anyway…"

"They're both nuts!" Benny exclaimed, hands rising into the air in a defeated manner. "Both so fuckin' nuts!"

"Probably."

"They could get hurt!"

"Most likely."

"Killed even!"

"Hopefully not."

"They'd better not," Benny snarled, "because then I won't get a chance to wring their necks!"

Collins shook his head. "Fuckin' nuts."

"Idiots."

"Assholes."

"Crazy."

"Psychotic."

"Bastards."

Collins looked down and frowned. "And they know exactly what they're getting in to."

Ruff! Ruff! Blink barked, teeth bared, some sort of paper sticking out of his mouth. Ruff! Ruff!

Benny, who had been pacing, tracking even more mud across the floor, looked down and arched a brow. "What are you talking about now? We've got to find them!"

Calmly, Collins bent over and picked Blink up into his arms, cradling the brown bundle of joy in his arms before plucking the crumpled, soggy piece of "paper" from the dog's jaws. He wordlessly shoved Blink into Benny's arms, ignoring the man's protests, and hopped off the couch to move toward the large window, looking for the bright light of the shimmering moon.

"What is that?" Benny questioned, pushing himself forward, Blink still in his arms. "It was on the ground, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Collins nodded absently. He held the thin paper a few inches in front of him and furrowed his eyebrows in concentrations. "Holy shit…"

"What?" Benny questioned, eyes widening in curiosity. "What is it?"

Turning slightly, the moonlight bouncing perfectly off his masculine form, Collins placed the thin object between his fingers as if he were showing a poker card. He flashed the picture to Benny and smiled. "April and Tammy Carson."

"Holy shit," Benny whispered, mimicking Collins. "His memory was-"

"-right on." Collins finished, shaking his head. "Can't believe it."

"I didn't want to believe it." Benny frowned. "What's that on the back?"

"A note to Mark-"

The lights flickered suddenly.

Darkness…

"What happened?"

"Power went out."

XXXXXXXX

Roger wiped a hand through his hair for, what seemed like, the fiftieth time that day. He stifled down his rising cough, not wanting to alarm Mark, and tightened his hold on his best friend's shoulder before sidestepping a manhole and abandoned hotdog stand. There hardly seemed time to talk as his eyes wavered uncertainly against the pouring New York rain and looked towards the various buildings lining the streets. Hell, the only reason Roger was so happy for the rain was because it seemed all the muggers and druggies had taken shelter elsewhere, leaving a free walking space. Still, Roger was extra cautious, for rain also meant them to be an easier target to other muggers who found it easier to attack in such weather conditions.

Terrific, Roger thought to himself sarcastically, just keep thinking those "positive" thoughts and this will be fine.

He felt Mark tense next to him as they brushed past a newspaper stand, the blond apparently still giddy from his adrenaline rush. Not that Roger could really blame him, it was quite an ordeal. There was still a matter of where they were going and what they would do once they got there. Not to mention the fact that Jimmy and Frank supposedly still had a gun.

Biting his lip, trying to escape his fleeing thoughts, Roger turned his head left and right, still looking for some sort of bar…

Could that be it? Was it really that simple?

Hell, it was close enough to be-

"Rog?" Mark's voice broke through his thoughts. "Why'd we stop? Do you see something?"

"A bar." Roger blinked. "There's a bar over here. Do you think that could be it?"

"Not sure." Mark sighed. "This'll be the sixth one."

"There are a lot of bars in this part of town." Roger shrugged, his voice was confident. "It's got to be this one."

"I think it's supposed to be a rundown bar. Druggies and drunkards come there to-"

"-to escape their problems and pain." Roger took a deep breath, suddenly flashing back to his past life with the Well Hungarians. "It's this one, man. It has to be."

Mark tensed even more. "Jimmy's bar?"

"Could it really be that simple?"

Roger's voice was a whisper, voicing his previous thought. He slowly led Mark into the alleyway and searched around the two walls, knocking on the dirty, rotting brick as if it was a giant door that would open at his very touch. Shaking his head, Roger took a moment to slow down his beating heart and tried again, this time more slowly. Squinting through the rain and darkness, Roger found that the brick wall was as dark as ever, the cement hard and chipped, the dumpster-

Wait! Dumpster!

"Holy shit…" Roger trailed off, eyes widening by the second, as he released Mark's arm from his grasp and, with great effort, pushed the dumpster to the side. Eyes wavered, his whole body swayed and Roger let a sly grin plaster his face as he looked to the sight in front of his eyes. "Holy shit," he repeated in a glorious tone. He looked towards the frozen blond and wrapped a delicate hand around his wrist before gently tugging him so that he was crouching down on the ground next to him. Smiling, Roger took Mark's hand and lifted it up to feel the cold, wet glass that was the window. "Recognize this?"

"A window." Mark's shoulders sagged. He repeated, "Could it really be that simple?"

"Nothing's simple," Roger said, "but at least it's a start."

The window had indeed been there. It had been Jimmy's bar.

Where the Well Hungarians had their first gig.

Where Roger and Mark first met.

Where they worked together.

Nothing's simple.

The window was boarded up, only a tiny crack of the windowpane showing through the top. Roger dropped lower to the ground, his hands moving to shade his eyes from the pounding rain as he crouched down just deep enough to peek through the tiny crack in the boards. Clearing whatever was stuck in his throat, Roger straightened and brought his sleeve down so he could wipe away the dirt and water that caked the glass. Adrenaline pulsing through his veins, Roger ducked again and peered through the glass-

Mark seemed to sense what he was doing. "What do you see?"

"Jeezus, man…" Roger took a deep breath.

"Roger? What is it?"

"It's Tammy." Roger chuckled suddenly, something fluttering in his stomach that he hadn't realized had been there. "It's Tammy!" he repeated, unable to stop the excitement from brushing across his features. "Holy shit!"

Had Roger not seen it with his very own eyes, granted they were blurred against the rain, Roger would've thought himself to be on smack again. He peered through the window again and delved deeper into the dark surroundings of the bar's basement. He remembered that place; he'd taken about twenty groupie girls down there before the Well Hungarians moved to a better bar.

"How is she?" Mark questioned, suddenly very frightened and excited at the same time. "Is she all right?"

"She looks…" Roger trailed off as he squint his eyes again.

Inside the dark basement he could barely make out the hunched brown-haired girl was curled up on a duct-taped couch in the middle of the concrete room. In a sense, she seemed fine, but as Roger peered closer to her shivering body, bruised form, and tearstained face, he couldn't help stop a frown from rising against his lips. She sat in front of a large makeshift fireplace made from burning wood and a small metal garbage can, and it seemed as if about five holes in the ceiling produced a tiny leak to drip water into the room. The murky water looked to be building slowly.

"Rog, the window's boarded up." Roger turned to find Mark running his hands across the damp wood. "Can you break it open?"

Roger nodded, inwardly slapping himself as he realized Mark's visual status. "I think I can." He dug through his jean pocket and produced the Swiss Army knife Collins had got him for his birthday a few years earlier. The knife seemed to be rusted, but the wood hanging the before the window didn't exactly seem too strong. Roger held the knife out before him and carefully tried to pry the nails out of the wood-

"Hello?" A voice said. "Is somebody there?"

"Shit," Roger grumbled to himself, turning around expect to see some homeless person noisy enough to wonder what they were doing in the middle of the alleyway. "Look…" Roger trailed off, eyes narrowing as he turned to find nobody there.

"Hello?" The voice was louder. "Is somebody there?"

"Tammy!" Mark yelled suddenly. "Tammy, are you all right?"

"Mark?" Tammy whispered. "Mark, I told you to forget about me."

Mark grumbled, "I did." And Roger would've chuckled, had their situation been different.

"What are you doing here?" Tammy yelled. "You'll be in a lot of trouble once Jimmy and Frank find you!"

Roger peered between the cracks and smiled slightly as he saw Tammy's head perked up slightly. "Tammy girl…" he whispered, eyes glimmering. Her eyes turned toward him and suddenly she hopped off the couch and ran through the ankle-deep water. She reminded Roger of April, her passionate green eyes and similar hairstyle. "Tammy," he said, voice clearing, "are you all right?"

Tammy seemed to have climbed up onto a box. Her voice was muffled against the glass that Roger had to strain to hear her cracked voice say, "Roger Davis, is that you?"

"Are you all right?" Roger repeated.

"Yeah," Tammy said, "I am now. Where's Mark?"

"He's with me," Roger replied. The crack was only big enough that at that distance they could only see each other's eyes. "Where are Jimbo and Frank?"

"Out to get some smack from The Man."

"In this weather?" Mark questioned.

"When you need it you need it." Roger sighed, shaking his head at the thought. "How long have they been gone?"

"An hour, I think." Tammy frowned. "What are you doing here? You'd better leave! You'll get caught!"

"We're not leaving without you." Roger said, "Stand back, Tammy. I've nearly got this wood down."

"They could be back any minute!"

"All the more reason to hurry." Roger placed his knife near the head of the next nail, grunting as he struggled to pry it out. "Can you push out the wood from your end?"

"There's glass!"

"Can you break it?"

"What about-"

"Tammy!" Roger yelled. "I don't know how much time we have! Can you break the glass?"

"I think…"

"Try!"

"Calm down Rog." Mark's hand made its way to Roger's shoulder. "She's scared," he whispered. "You can't blame her."

"No," Tammy whispered. "He's right. I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean to snap." Roger sighed, prying off the next nail.

Mark leaned forward, careful not to get in the way of Roger's actions. "Listen to my voice, Tammy. Just listen to me and we'll take you through this. All right?"

"Right." Tammy nodded. "Mark," she whispered suddenly, "I thought you died when you fell…"

"You couldn't kill me that easily." Mark smiled. "It just knocked me out. Selective amnesia and visual impairment."

"Which is why he couldn't remember where you were," Roger explained with a grunt, struggling with another nail as he tossed the third piece of wood to the side. "We would've been here soon, but things were happening that we couldn't control-"

"It doesn't matter," Tammy whispered. "You're here now."

"We'll get you out of here Tammy." Mark's voice was confident. "Don't give up. Not again."

"I just-"

"No," Mark shook his head. "Don't explain yourself. Don't apologize."

"It's been-"

"Think of right now Tammy," Mark interjected again. "We're here now, like you said. We'll help."

Another wood down. One more to go.

Their eyes met: Mark's sightless blue ones and Tammy's glimmering green ones.

"Mark…." Tammy gulped. "Thanks for-"

Mark shook his head, cutting her off. "Don't. You don't have to."

"There." Roger tossed the last piece of wood away peered at the glass between them.

Tammy frowned suddenly. "I can't break it. I'm shaking too much…I-I'm so cold…."

"It's all right." Roger grabbed on of the wooden planks he'd dropped. "Stand back, Tammy." He watched as she hopped off the box and fell back into the building water before moving back slightly until she was far enough away. Nodding confidently, Roger carefully guided Mark back a few steps and told him to stand back so he could break the glass.

Whack! One swing.

Small dent, nothing noticeable.

Whack! Second swing.

A crack.

Whack! Third swing.

Frustration building. The crack deepened.

Whack! Fourth swing.

More cracks. Roger grunted.

Whack!

Fifth time's the charm.

CRASH!

Plop. Plop. Plop.

Tiny shards hit the water and Roger fell to his behind as he dropped his sore arm down and didn't even bother to stifle his cough. Luckily Mark didn't seem to notice it. Roger looked to Tammy, her green eyes wide in surprise, almost as if she thought the whole thing wasn't even real. "Watch your feet," Roger said, "Some of the glass got down there. I don't want you to cut yourself."

"We all know that would be a shame, eh?"

Shit.

"Couldn't have guessed this. Could you, Frank?"

Roger turned; inwardly he cursed himself to oblivion. Standing before him were Jimmy and Frank, his old band mate's hand settled on Mark's shoulder as the blond filmmaker trembled against Frank's touch. "Let him go," Roger growled. He stepped forward, his hold on the wooden plank in his hand tightening.

"I'd be loosening that board if I were you, Davis." Jimmy snickered.

Frank stepped forward, bloodshot eyes crazed, and fell into a light that illuminated the druggie with his true hold on the back of Mark's shirt as a gun pushed to the filmmaker's temple.

Clunk…

The wood dropped from Roger's grasp.