To Be
DISCLAIMER: I do not own RENT or anything affiliated with it.
A/n: Okay, I know it's taking me forever to post chapters, but I'm a college student now. I actually have to write papers and crap. It's a lot of work, and it doesn't leave a whole lot of time for writing.
Mark glanced down at the paper in his hands and sighed. It was over. He could no longer simply pretend to be okay. "How long?" he asked, not looking up at the doctor. Instead, he turned and stared out the window.
"A year, maybe a little more," the doctor told him.
"Is that with or without chemo?"
"With. Without, I'd give you nine months."
"Would there be any point in trying? Other than prolonging the inevitable?"
"Probably not. I'm sorry, Mr. Cohen. We did the best we could," the doctor told him. Mark nodded and shot him a quick smile before turning to leave.
"How did it go?" Roger asked, as Mark walked back into the loft. Mark ignored him. "Hello, Mark, I'm talking to you." Mark walked into his room and shut the door. Roger followed him, only to find him sitting on his bed, staring out the window at nothing. "Mark, what's going on?" He waited for a second, until the realization hit him. "How long?"
"Nine months. A year at the most."
"Are you okay?" Roger asked, walking closer to him. Mark smirked.
"What do you think?" Roger sat down on next to him. "I was afraid of this. I hadn't been feeling well for a while… and then the pneumonia."
"What do you need me to do?" Roger asked.
"Stick around. Don't fuck with me like Liz," Mark replied.
"I never would. You know that," Roger told him. Mark just shook his head and continued to stare out the window.
"I thought things were finally going to be okay, you know? That I was finally going to be able to get on with my life. And then it comes back and fucks everything up again," he said. He glanced down at the picture sitting on the table next to his bed. It was of him with Maureen, Joanne and Roger. They'd taken it the night he'd shown his last film to everyone… Mimi had already left for work, and Collins had refused to get in the picture. He picked it up, started to break the glass, and then thought better of it and set it gently back down.
Mark pulled his coat tighter around his body as he stood outside Liz's building, trying to work up the courage to ring her buzzer. He didn't want to talk to her, but he had to at least give her the chance to explain. Finally, he just gave in and pushed the button.
"Who is it?" she asked over the intercom.
"It's Mark… Cohen. I… We need to talk." He waited for a moment before she replied.
"I'll be down in a minute." Mark just sighed and sat down on the front stoop to wait on her. He glanced around at the other buildings, watching the people and wishing he had his camera until he heard the door open behind him. Liz walked out wrapped in her robe.
"I wasn't exactly expecting you," she told him.
"I wasn't expecting to come," he replied. "Why?"
"Why what?" she asked.
"Why did you leave? Why didn't you at least say goodbye?"
"It's complicated, Mark," she replied.
"I've got time. Hell, I've got nine months," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I was scared, Mark. What the hell did you expect? We hadn't even been dating a month, and all of a sudden you just drop this on me," she replied.
"It wasn't like I had any warning about it. And you wanted to know," he reminded her. He stood up. "I should have known this was a bad idea. I just thought that maybe I should give you the chance to explain." He started to walk away.
"Wait, Mark. What did you mean when you said you had nine months?" she asked. He turned around.
"I meant that I'm dying, Liz. And this time there's nothing they can do," he replied. He glanced down at her left hand. "Congratulations." He motioned towards the ring. "It's nice."
"Thanks."
"Who's the lucky guy?" he asked.
"Reggie." He nodded and turned away from her, headed back towards the loft, wishing he'd stayed away.
"She's fucking engaged to the bastard," Mark said. He leaned back against the couch cushions and sighed.
"She deserves him," Joanne said. It was quite evident from her tone of voice that she didn't mean the comment in a good way. "Have you decided what you're going to do?" she asked.
"No. There's always a chance, but I don't know that I want to spend what time I have left in the hospital," he said. She just nodded. Maureen walked over from the loft's kitchen and sat in Joanne's lap in the chair.
"You should at least give it a shot, Marky. You never know. It might work out for the best this time," she told him. He nodded.
"Or it could just make me too sick to enjoy what's left of my life," he said. Joanne closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.
"Mark, you need to stop thinking like that. You have to think about all of the other possibilities. Not just the negative outcomes," she reminded him. He stood up and walked toward his bedroom door.
"I'm sick of fighting this shit, Joanne! Just when I think it's gone and done with, it comes back. I don't know if I can take another round of it," he said. He turned and walked into his room, shutting the door behind him.