To Be
DISCLAIMER: I do not own RENT or anything affiliated with it.
"Fuck," Mark said, rubbing his arm where he'd just run into the door frame. It had been a month since he'd been told the cancer had come back, and he was halfway through a round of chemo. It was much stronger than before. He could tell that he was beginning to lose his eyesight thanks to the drugs. Even with his glasses, it was getting harder to distinguish between objects that weren't within a foot of his face. Not that his eyesight had been very good to begin with.
"You okay?" Roger asked. He'd already learned to let Mark do things for himself as much as possible.
"Yeah. What's one more bruise?" Mark asked. He made his way slowly over to the couch, where he laid down and closed his eyes. "I don't remember being this fucking tired before."
"You were. You don't remember because you slept all the time," Roger pointed out. He'd also learned to avoid mentioning any bodily functions that might cause Mark to get sick. That was the last thing he needed.
"I guess you're right," Mark said. His eyes remained closed.
"You going to sleep there?" Roger asked.
"Yeah," Mark replied. The musician shivered at how weak his voice sounded. Losing his best friend was still a terrifying prospect.
LINELINELINELINE
Mark leaned over the toilet, dry heaving. He was in agony, but there was nothing he could do to stop the pain. Finally, after what seemed like forever, his stomach calmed down and he was able to breathe normally again. He sighed and lay down on the bathroom floor, unconcerned with the fact that it was dirty.
"Mark?" Roger asked, walking in. He left for a moment, returning with his jacket in hand. He slowly knelt down on the floor next to his friend and draped the jacket over him before pulling the smaller man into a sitting position. "Are you going to be okay now?"
"Yeah," Mark muttered, not opening his eyes. He let his head lean against Roger's shoulder as the musician slipped his arm under his legs and lifted him off of the floor. "I can't do this any more," Mark whispered as Roger carried him into his bedroom. Roger gently put him in the bed and covered him up.
"It'll be over soon," Roger told him. He pushed the hair out of the smaller man's face and sighed. "Just a couple more days, okay Mark?" The filmmaker didn't answer. He was already asleep.
LINELINELINELINE
Roger watched in silence as the nurse drew blood from Mark's arm. "It shouldn't take too long," the nurse assured them as she labeled the vial of blood. Mark sighed and closed his eyes as the needle was removed from his arm. He'd never liked needles. As soon as the nurse was gone, Roger watched as Mark's strong façade crumbled. He looked down at the floor and his shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. Roger walked over and gave him a hug.
"Hey, it's okay," Roger told him. Mark was crying into his tee shirt.
"I don't want to die," Mark admitted.
"I know you don't. No one does, Mark. But you've just got to get over your fear," Roger reminded him. He held his best friend for a few more moments until he had calmed down. Then Mark sat up and dried his face, shooting Roger a grateful smile.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"Don't worry about it. I know you would have done the same for me," Roger said. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "C'mon, let's go get some lunch while we wait."
LINELINELINELINE
Mark was lying on the couch, staring up at the large hole in their ceiling. "Hey, you hungry?" Roger asked, walking over with a bowl of soup.
"Not really," Mark told him.
"You need to eat, Mark. You shouldn't starve yourself," Roger told him.
"Does it really matter any more? I'm going to be dead in a few months anyway," Mark replied. He slowly forced himself into a sitting position.
"I'm not going to let you starve yourself, Mark. The doctor said six months. I'm not letting you throw away what little time you have left," Roger said. He sat down on the couch next to his friend and forced the bowl into Mark's hands.
"You aren't my fucking mother, Roger," Mark reminded him.
"No, I'm not. But if I have to act like I am to keep you from killing yourself, then I sure as hell will," Roger said. He watched in silence as his friend stared down into the bowl of soup. "Mark, I know you're hungry. You haven't eaten anything in two days."
"I'm so sick of waiting," Mark muttered. Roger sighed.
"I know. But that's all you can do, Mark. You just have to accept it and try to live while you still have a little time left," Roger reminded him.
"Yeah," Mark sighed, picking up the spoon. He slowly began to eat. "I want you to promise me something, Roger."
"What?" he asked.
"Don't let me die in a hospital. When I get really sick at the end, just let me die here," Mark said. Roger nodded.
"Okay." Mark smiled a little and began eating his soup.
A/n: Well, this is the beginning of the end, y'all. I know that none of you are going to be very happy with me right now, but for me to write it so that he lives again at the end… it would just be too sappy. Plus, this way you all can't try and make me write another sequel, and I can actually get some work done on my other Rent fic, "Fifty-Four" (I won't start posting it until this one is finished, so don't start begging for it) and the novel I'm working on. So yeah, this one isn't going to go for too much longer. Probably just two more chapters.