Chapter Seventeen: Exeunt

May 24th, 4:55 PM, Eastern Standard Time

Step… Step… Step…

Mark held on to the bars next to him with a hardcore grip as he inched his right foot off the ground and bit his lip from screaming out through the pain. His face contorted in obvious discomfort, but he bare the expression of a man in deep concentration. He felt his back give slightly and heard the creak of his own spine twist in his very body, though; Mark believed his mind was just playing tricks on him. The grip on the bars pressed tighter as the cloth of his black gloves wore softly against the metal. Another step caught a small smirk to befall Mark's face, though the pain continued to make its presence known. However, the cheering of Roger at his side made everything seem better; it urged Mark on as he took another step…step…step…step-

Suddenly the blackness returned in front of Mark's eyes, his once colorful vision becoming engulfed in the spotted black dots that had attacked him randomly throughout the day. Mark's vision wouldn't be the same, not the picture-perfect it had once been before the month of April, but it would get better gradually over time. The blackness was less frequent without his glasses, though, it was still there. It came and went quickly though, and, for that, Mark was grateful. Everything swam into vision again and the pace was set once again.

Step… Step… Step… Step…

Mark stumbled forwards as he cursed the pain shooting through his back. He vaguely felt a pair of strong arms enclosing around his waist as another pair took hold of his shoulders and straightened him slightly. "Whoa," Mark laughed slightly as he regained his footing and stepped up straighter and gave a small nod to the two men holding him up. "I'm okay," he said. "Sorry. Guess my back finally got the best of me."

Roger squeezed Mark's shoulder before letting go, watching the physical therapist, Bruce Wilks, do the same on Mark's other side. The physical therapy had started nearly two days after Mark was dubbed strong enough to get up from his hospital bed. It had to start early, though, for with the little amount of progress Mark had made so far it seemed as if the filmmaker would be wheelchair-ridden for quite some time. Mark would be in the sessions for at least two more months before seeing some better progress, and it would all go from there. He had, however, been allowed back to the loft, pertaining that he was extra careful on the stairs.

"Here," Roger handed Mark his water bottle before hobbling back to his seat. The musician was off his crutches, but he still had a splint and small limping problem. Still, Roger held his own as the best friend role and had insisted -for lack of a better, more appropriate word- to be apart of the physical therapy sessions. "You all right, man?"

Mark grunted, though, he said, "Never better."

The therapist simply rolled his eyes; he'd been told by Collins and Roger numerous times that Mark never voiced his pains. It hadn't changed, even over the incident of last month, but Mark truly was getting better at expressing emotions. Still, this was physical therapy, and Mark never came off as the strong one of the group.

"Wipe yourself off, Cohen." Bruce thrust a white cloth in Mark's hand. "Why don't we call it a day? You've all ready got an hour and thirty minutes under your belt, no need to overexert yourself."

"If I hear that damned word overexert one more time I'll strangle you." Mark growled. He'd hard too many people over the course of just one month telling him he needed to take it slow. Hell, this was New York City! Who took life slowly? "I'm fine for another thirty."

"You might be," Bruce continued, "but I've got another kid coming in here for his session. You're lucky you even got that extra thirty, the kid had to stay at school for some shit exam he had to take."

"Exam?" Mark questioned, head moving so he didn't have to turn his back. "How old is this kid?"

"Teenager, I think. He turned eighteen almost two months ago."

Roger frowned. "What happened?"

"He was trying to help some homeless guy when this gang banger shot him for his troubles." Bruce twiddled his finger hesitatingly. He wasn't exactly supposed to give out information like that. Shaking his head against his guilt of giving out confidential information, Bruce looked up and gave a small smile to the frowning men in front of him. He took the black wheelchair and gently wheeled it over to Mark so the filmmaker could flop down on it instead of having to walk the short distance, which would've caused a strain on his fragile back. "Look, he was a good kid, didn't do anything wrong."

Mark simply shrugged, a frown plastering his face. "No good deed goes unpunished. The story of my life."

"Hey," Roger leaned over and squeezed Mark's shoulder. "You are getting better."

Mark shrugged again. "I'm ready to get out of here. When do you need the payment for the next month's session?"

"All ready got it, actually." Bruce scribbled absently on the clipboard in his hands. "The guy, Benjamin Coffin, paid for this month too. Though…" Bruce looked up suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed in sudden realization, "I wasn't supposed to tell you that was I?"

"Probably not." Mark tossed his worn pair of gloves into his camera bag and fished out another pair, swiftly putting them on with practiced ease as he flexed his fingers through the holes in the tips. Over the four weeks of working through his physical therapy, Mark had learned the tricks of maneuvering around in his wheelchair, with Bruce's helpful tips.

"Oops." Bruce's face fell. "Shit, don't tell him I let it slip."

"No problem." Mark shrugged. He rolled around in his chair as practice before nodded contently and looked to Roger pointedly. "Ready to go?"

"Sure."

Roger pushed the door open and gestured for his wheelchair-ridden friend out first before turning to shake hands with Bruce. He thanked Bruce for the helpful session before walking out the door with Mark leading the way. The concept of Mark being in a wheelchair was still new to Roger though, and he had such an urge to help Mark at every second the wheelchair got loose, stuck, or just wasn't working properly, but Mark was different than that. Mark was still Mark through thick and thin, the filmmaker did not want to be the so-called weak one in their bohemian family just because his legs weren't working properly. It was like he had to prove to everybody that he wasn't any weaker because of his new disability.

The filmmaker and musician wandered through the various hallways of the county hospital before finally finding the exit and entering the windy breeze of the New York City air. Though murky, the warm weather brought small amount of euphoria through the two men. They were just happy it had stopped raining.

Like Mark said, it's the time of the dying rain. Roger chuckled to himself. Whatever the hell that means…

"Rog? You all right?"

Turning with a slight jerk, Roger smirked slightly as he realized he had just zoned out in the middle of the exit of the hospital building. He looked to the side and found a highly amused expression crossing Mark's face, the man had just made his way half-way down the wheelchair ramp towards the street. "Yeah. I'm all right," Roger finally replied. He shivered visibly against the wind, tightening his leather jacket closer to his body, and said, "Cold?"

Mark simply nodded. "Thinking about Benny?"

Roger was mildly confused, albeit he guessed a hint of wonderment crawled up his expression. "Why would I do that?"

"You two are acting like…I don't know…friends."

Walking up, Roger grabbed the handlebars of Mark's wheelchair, happy to see his friend going with the movement, as he maneuvered them through the city toward the short walk to the subway. "Is that such a bad thing?" Roger questioned as they moved. "I thought you wanted us to be friends."

"I did- well, do…" Mark trailed off. He frowned as he noticed the stares the New Yorkers gave him as Roger wheeled him onto the subway and fastened the chair near the door. He would never get used to those stares, those looks he got everywhere he went. Being visually impaired was one thing, you didn't have to see the pity in their eyes, but being a wheelchair was different, you saw everything.

No more shadows to hide in…

Roger seemed to sense this so he formed a fake laugh and said, "Well, like it or not, that yuppie scum is our yuppie scum."

Mark breathed in a sigh, he would go with it. "Yeah. Well, it's a start."

"It's more of a start! It's a beginning!"

The length of Roger's words wouldn't hit them until they got to the loft. Benny and Collins were sitting on either end of the coffee table in the living room, on their knees, playing a rousing game of chess as Mimi looked on from her perch on the arm of the couch. Joanne and Maureen were at the performance space getting ready for the next protest idea and Tammy was locked away in her room, no noise coming but a slight scuffle of various objects moving around. She had taken space in Mark's room, a pullout futon she slept on.

The three in the living room didn't even move at the sound of Mark's wheelchair scratching the floorboard nor did they respond when Roger cleared his throat annoyingly and sarcastically asked if anybody was home.

Ruff! Ruff! The only person…or, dog, who seemed to notice the duo's entrance, had been Blink. The brown furred bundle of joy leaped from the couch in the living room, leaving the side of a phased Mimi, and ran toward Mark. Blink jumped on the wheelchair and pressed his paws against Mark's stomach so he could lick Mark's face.

"Calm down." Mark turned his face so he could get Blink to stop licking his mouth, but he smiled and laughed nonetheless. It had been nice having the sole attention of the ecstatic pup and Mark was growing a close bond with Blink. The pup and Mark had become linked somehow, each were yearning for attention and each were happy to give it.

"What's with them?" Roger whispered out of the corner of his mouth as he absently patted Blink's head.

"Dunno."

Ruff! Ruff! Blink leaped from Mark's lap and bounded over toward Mimi again. Ruff! Ruff!

"They're zoned, man." Roger shoved Mark's arm. "See this is what happens when we leave them for two hours?"

"What do you expect?" Mark wheeled towards the coffee table and inspected the chess set admiringly.

"Weren't you two playing this when we left?" Roger questioned.

Mimi was the first to break the threesome's small silence. "They were. Still are. Same game. Same move. Same turn."

"Yeah." Collins barely even blinked. "It's on me. Just one more and…" he picked up a black knight and tapped it against his palm annoyingly before placing it back down to where it initially was. "This sucks."

"I'm winning." Benny spoke in a monotonous voice. "He needs to move now. I'll beat him next turn."

Mark blinked. "Really? Well, Collins, what about…" with hands moving effortlessly, Mark picked up the black bishop and moved it exactly five spaces diagonally. "There. Checkmate."

Benny looked to Collins. "Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

"Shut up."

Roger just laughed. "You spent two hours on that!"

"Not two…" Mimi pouted. "They stopped long enough to make a late lunch."

Benny nodded to Mark. "There's some soup in the pot on the stove if you still want some. I think it's still hot."

Mark opened his mouth to protest, but, at the look on Roger's face, Mark nodded wearily and rolled toward the kitchen. The loft was easier to maneuver around since Mimi and Maureen cleaned it up that one month ago, and they'd spaced out the couch from the kitchen area to help Mark fit his wheelchair to and from each room. Granted, Mark still got stuck from time-to-time, and it was usually met with frustration by Mark's part, but he'd learned to let Roger and the other bohemians help him through it.

Being handicapped is different from being visually impaired.

Better or worse, Mark did not know.

Hell, at least he had his camera.

Distinct parts of Roger's conversation with Collins, Mimi, and Benny floated through his ear:

"How's he doing?" Benny questioned, his voice desperately trying to be low enough that Mark wouldn't hear. It didn't work. "He seems better."

"Seems is the word for it." Roger's voice. "Bruce says he's making progress…"

"But?" Mimi put in. "What's wrong?"

"Progress is a good thing, Roger," Collins pointed out needlessly. "Unless…there's something you aren't telling us?"

Roger simply sighed. "It's nothing."

"Do you always get this worried over nothing?" Collins questioned.

"Well…it could be nothing. Might be something…"

Benny wasn't a patient man though. He wanted facts. "Spit it out Davis."

"Keep your voice down!" Mimi hissed. "He's right there."

As Mark made an effort to nosily clatter through the dishes and silverware in the cupboards, he took a bowl and grabbed the spoon from the large pot on the tall counter in front of him. Mark carefully kept his back to his friends thinking, maybe if they didn't see him face-to-face they wouldn't think he heard them. Did that make sense though? Either way, Mark distinctly saw Mimi's finger wag briefly in his direction and watched, from the corner of his eye, to see Benny quickly swipe the hand down.

"He can see that!"

Truth was, though, Mark couldn't.

The shadows were back again, making their unwelcome presence known. It was as if somebody had turned off the switch of Mark' source of light. Mark watched the shadows dance before his eyes as he mindlessly continued pouring the chicken noodles into his bowl. There wasn't much to do as it happened, for it was gone as quickly as it came. Mark was careful not to hiss as he jerked from the shadows and spilt a bit of the hot broth onto his fingers, though a frown worked to the corners of his mouth as the burning liquid touched his pant leg and swept through the thin cloth of his pants. It wasn't the stain that had him frowning though…

Mark couldn't feel the heat in his leg.

He couldn't feel anything…

Mark blinked tears and shook his head against the thought. The whimpers of Blink at his side brought him back to the present, and he tilted his head and turned back to the conversation:

"…it's not like's he's doing worse," Roger was saying, "I'm just saying that he's been moving along slower than most. It's hard to bring up his strength after all that he's been through, and it doesn't help that we have virtually no money to feed ourselves."

"Well, I-"

"Benny, as much as I hate to say this, we do need more help."

Mark heard the smirk in Benny's voice, "I was about to volunteer."

"Yeah, well, I hate volunteers."

Figuring this was as good a time as any; Mark turned in his chair and held up his bowl. "You might want to get some of this too Rog." He took a bit of the noodles and smiled fondly. "It's real good."

"Me?" Roger cocked a brow. "I'm not really hungry. You eat it."

Roles still switched, eh?

"You're just as underweight as me-"

Collins cut in and pushed Roger towards the kitchen. "Go on Roger. Plenty for both of you. Mimi made sure!"

"Mimi's cooking-" Roger swallowed the crack in his voice and involuntarily shriveled at Mimi's glare. "Sure, love." He kissed her cheek and moved toward the kitchen to inspect the soup. "Looks good. Right Mark?"

Mark swallowed what he hoped was chicken and nodded. "Yeah. Real good."

Mimi simply shook her head. "Tammy'll back me up." She pounced towards the destined door and knocked. "Tammy! Tammy, open up!"

Ruff! Ruff! Blink bounded for Tammy's door, skidding to a sliding stop across the wooden floor to stop at Mimi's feet, and proceeded to pounce on the door so he could scratch the fragile wood. Mimi giggled and Blink only responded by barking again. Ruff! Ruff!

"What is it?" Tammy called from the still-closed door. "I'm kind of busy!"

"Mark and Roger are back," Mimi called back. There was only silence on Tammy's side. "Tam? Tammy, are you all right in there?"

"Um…yeah. Yeah! Hang on, Meems!"

A scuffle made Mark cock a brow and exchange confused glances with Roger, but soon Tammy shimmied through a small opening in the door. She looked tired; a light pair of black bags under her eyes, and her hair was scuffed up slightly. It had been nearly a month since she got out of the hospital and each of the bohemians had a good eye on the woman. She hadn't taken the transition out into life as smooth as they had hoped. Tammy was jumpy, to say the least, and she cringed when anybody talked to her, was scared when they were walking through the streets, hid whenever they saw The Man, and she refused to go out at night.

Only Mark figured that it would be a hard getting used to the so-called free life for Tammy. Hell, who could rightfully blame her?

Her bandages had been taken off and the scars were healing slowly.

Tammy closed the door of the bedroom and gave a small smile. Her green eyes were slightly faded, almost as if she was hiding something, and her brown hair had grown out slightly. It was almost mid-back length, though her bangs nearly covered her eyes. She gave a small nod in Mark and Roger's direction before finally noticing Blink and moving to crouch down beside the dog. "Hey there," she cooed as she scratched Blink behind the ears.

Mimi titled her head thoughtfully. "What were you doing in there? You've been locked up all day."

Mark looked up suddenly, very surprised at that news. He was even more surprised that when he caught Tammy's eyes she looked away quickly. Too quickly. Usually she was very open to her feeling with Mark, not just because he was one of the only ones there that understood what had happened -though not fully- but Tammy felt she owed it to Mark. Collins had taken the liberty to explain Mark's visual impairment to her and, not quite unexpectedly, Tammy hadn't taken the news well.

Frowning, Tammy replied, "Oh," she straightened and bowed her head, "I was just working with that new camera you all got me."

Tammy was a photographer through and through -almost as Mark was with his filmmaking. The bohemian family had gotten her a new film camera a week after she had gotten out of the hospital as a sort of welcome to bohemia present.

"Those damned things are tricky," Benny commented as he helped Collins clear their chessboard. "Are you working it out?"

"Nearly." Tammy smiled, the action not meeting her eyes. "Was there something you needed, Mimi?"

"Oh!" Mimi exclaimed. She pointed her finger in Roger's direction, "He won't try my soup! Tell him it's delicious!"

Tammy simply laughed. "It's delicious."

Mimi, however, was satisfied enough with that and turned towards her boyfriend. "See! Delicious!"

Roger simply rolled his eyes as he held up the bowl he had scooped full with chicken noodle soup. "Happy?" He swallowed down the noodles and almost cringed at the lump going down his throat. "Real good, Mimi."

"I hate that." Mimi mimicked, "Real good."

"Don't hate," Tammy said simply. "It's not nice."

Mimi looked to her and shrugged carelessly before bounding back to her spot on the arm of the couch. "We're going to the Life Café for dinner-"

"-as if we go anywhere else," Benny cut in.

Mimi ignored him, "-and Joanne and Maureen will meet us down there-"

"-as if anybody else was coming," Collins said this time, sharing a smirk with Benny.

Mimi ignored him too, "-then we're going to that bar on the corner-"

"-Maureen's influence probably- Hey!" Roger frowned, nearly spewing his soup in the process, as Mimi slapped him in the back of the head. "What was that for? They did it too!"

Mimi ignored him and turned to Tammy. "Are you too busy?"

Tammy chewed her bottom lip. "Well…I've got things to do here."

"Oh, well, we can just order-"

"No!" Tammy bit back her yell. "No…It's some photography work that I need to do; it'd be fine if you were all gone." She forced a laugh. "I need some quiet around here when I'm working, you know?"

"Do you need any help?" Mark questioned as he rolled towards Tammy. "I can stay and help if you want."

Tammy's voice turned to a meek whisper and she avoided eye contact. "No. This is something I need to do by myself."

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Mark eyed the doors of the Life Café wearily, his mind wavering in and out of the rant Maureen had delved into after he accidentally asked her about how the new protest she and Joanne had been working on. It had been at least fifteen minutes and the diva had been at a nonstop pace at telling Mark every single detail of how the new factories should be shut down and torn down to make homeless shelters; "…it's better than them polluting the air!" she had exclaimed. In the middle of it, though, Mark's mind had wandered back to Tammy. The green eyes she wore those two hours ago so full of secrecy, pain, and…guilt. She had been hiding something from them, and Mark desperately wanted to know what it was.

"Mark, are you even listening to me!" Maureen exclaimed suddenly as she banged her fists on the table. She cocked her brow at Mark's startled yelp before nodding to herself and stating bluntly, "You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Tammy. You're thinking about Tammy."

Looking around, Mark was pleasantly surprised that Maureen was considerate enough to lower her tone so that this particular conversation could be shared in private between the two of them. Mark had noticed the tiny changes in Maureen over those four weeks since he'd gotten out of the hospital. It turned so that Maureen wasn't her usual clingy, self-centered drama queen-ish self and had leaned more towards her compassionate side, the side Mark had first fallen for way back when they first started dating.

Maureen tilted her head and pursed her lips, a quirk Mark had deciphered as Maureen in a critical thinking mode. "What's wrong? Do you not trust her to be in the loft alone? She's a big girl, Mark; she can handle a couple minutes without us watching her."

"How do you know?"

"I don't." Another blunt statement. "You never know, though, do you? You've just got to trust her."

"She's got that…look in her eye-"

"What look?"

Mark sighed. How was he going to explain this one? It was the Pre-Roger-Santa-Fe look she had got, the look where a person's unsure of the life they're leading and want a concrete reason for staying. It was the look of a person who was unsatisfied with their whole persona of being where they were, doing what they were doing, and feeling what they were feeling.

The look of a lost, confused person.

Somehow, though Mark couldn't explain how, in those few seconds of trailing thoughts on how to make Maureen understand what he was so worried about, Maureen had got it in the simple blink of an eye.

"Oh…" she said. "That look."

"Yeah…"

"You don't think she'll leave, do you?" Maureen questioned, her voice lower now as she realized the extent of their conversation. "I mean…you don't think, after all she's been though, she'd go out on her own."

Mark shook his head. "What else? She's trying to escape her past Maureen; moving away from New York and pretending that whole year never happened seems like the best idea in her mind."

"So? You know what to do!"

"What?"

"Catch her!" Maureen hissed. "Get up and go after her, right now! Persuade her that being part of a big group of friends is a better way of handling grief than going off on your own!"

Get up and go…

Mark frowned. "Mo…"

Get up…

"What?"

"I can't get up." He gestured uselessly to his wheelchair and rolled backwards in example. "Any other suggestions?"

"Just one… ROGER!"

Roger lifted his head from his conversation with Mimi. "Yeah?"

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I didn't know exactly what to put in this letter but I've been thinking about my choice of words every day since that week I got out of the hospital. I know it's nearly been four weeks, and I should've left sooner, but I got so attached to this life that I couldn't bare to leave. Then I realized how selfish that sounded, how…self-centered I was being in this whole mess. It's ironic that April is the month that everything took place, if it was coincidence I don't really know, but I think in a way April -our April- was watching over us. I was never a spiritual person, but that's what I've come to believe.

There isn't much to say to all of you though, nothing I can say can rightfully live up to the words of gratitude I want to express to all of you for giving me a chance to be myself in your bohemian life. That's the thing though, it's your bohemian life. I tried to give it a while, maybe it would help me fit in more, but I couldn't get it. You all felt like my family, but I still felt separate. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but I'm working on it. After everything that's happened to me with Jimmy and Frank…I can't stay here like this. Not now.

All the hurt I caused you all, especially you Mark, I feel as if I should go away for a while. I'm not sure where I'll go, maybe to Santa Fe like Roger told me about his trip, maybe then I can really understand what my place in New York is. What my true place…

I'll be back. I swear it.

Love,
Tammy

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Roger and Mark had made it to the bus stop in record time, just seconds before the doors could close. The old bus driver had at first been weary to let one of his passengers stall the strict time schedule of his driving, but he'd made the exception as long as Tammy didn't take too long -which she didn't plan to. So, there she stood, Tammy Carson with a brown messenger bag slung over her shoulder and a black suitcase wrapped importantly in her death grip. She bounced impatiently from foot to foot, obviously embarrassed to have been caught, and kept her eyes focused anywhere but at the calm eyes of Mark Cohen as he waited for a concrete explanation.

"Well?" Mark questioned desperately.

"I left it all in the note, Mark." Tammy's voice was but a whisper. "It explains everything-"

"No, Tammy, it doesn't. There are so many reasons for staying. What about Roger, Maureen, Mimi…me-"

Tammy shook her head, her eyes glazed with unshed tears. "I hurt you so much Mark. You spent a month visually impaired, practically blind, you'll never regain full use of your vision, and you're in a wheelchair! All because of me! How can you be so forgiving of that?"

"You've had it so much worse-"

"That's my reason!" Tammy cried out. "I can't just stay here and pretend I'm all right with everything that happened. I need to get away from New York and explore the states a bit. Just keep moving around. Find my reason for staying…" The words failed her. "I need to forget what happened, forget my past, forget my…nightmare."

Mark frowned. "We can help you with that. Here. Stay here, Tammy. Let me help you."

"Don't you see?" Tammy finally looked to him. She visibly winced as her eyes met Mark, his eyes having been so full of pain and regret. "Sometimes you need to lose what you really need to understand why you need it. That simple fact makes me want to leave more than ever. I'll find my place and if my place is in New York than I'll come back…I just need to get away for a while."

Mark's frown deepened. "After everything that happened…I thought you-"

"Remember that night when we were in the basement?" Tammy questioned suddenly. "The fire was building all around us, the roof was collapsing, Jimmy and Frank were dead, Roger was bleeding, you were trapped under all that debris, and I was freaking out?"

"Of course I remember, Tammy." How could I not? "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You said that once the rain dies down -the dying rain- it would become a time of peace. Everybody would find their contentment. There'd be a bit of light shining through all that darkness…that pain and suffering." Tammy tilted her head thoughtfully. "Dying rain. It took me a while to catch on…"

"Tam-"

Tammy shook her head. She crouched down in front of Mark's wheelchair and delicately took the filmmaker's hands in one of her own as another came to place on Mark's right cheek. "I need to find my peace."

"Nothing I do will make you stay-"

"I do need this."

Mark smiled lightly. "Stay happy, Tammy."

Tammy kissed Mark on the cheek, her lips lingering slightly longer than they should have, before pulling away and readjusting her bag on her shoulder. She nodded thoughtfully to him, wiped her tears, and replied, "You too."

Roger, who had stayed back away slightly so the two could have a moment to themselves, came up slowly and wrapped his arms around Tammy. He whispered into her ear, "Your sister would be so proud of you."

"No," Tammy laughed lightly, "she wouldn't." She kissed him on the cheek and pulled away. "Marry Mimi, Roger. Have a happy life and live every day to the fullest it can possibly be. Then live more."

Roger nodded. "I'll miss you Tammy-girl."

"Take care of each other." Tammy stood between the two men, tears freely falling down her cheeks.

She gave each of them one last large hug and gave a small wave as she finally entered the gray bus. Roger pushed Mark's wheelchair so they were up to the curb and both men watched with heavy hearts as the bus drove out into the night.

"Did you really think she'd stay?" Roger questioned as he placed a hand on Mark's shoulder.

"No," Mark answered truthfully, "but I had to try. She'll come back when she's ready…I think."

"I came back, didn't I?"

Mark smiled. "Yeah. You did."

"Come on," Roger smiled as he squeezed Mark's shoulder, "let's go home."

And as he began to blink tears away from his now-dry eyes, Mark relaxed again Roger's hand on his shoulders and allowed the musician to push his wheelchair all the way back to the loft.