Mark cornered Roger after homeroom. "Okay, so, what happened?" Roger frowned. "What?" Mark raised an eyebrow. "You're limping. You are covered in bruises, and the way you're carrying yourself, I'm guessing you have some broken ribs. What happened?" He softened his tone. "I'm asking as a friend. What happened?" Roger shrugged. "I fell. Down the stairs. It was no big deal." Mark's expression was skeptical. "You…fell? Really?" Roger looked away. "Look, I …it was Charlene, okay. She was really drunk, and judging by the state of the ashtrays surrounding her, incredibly high. She looks worse than me, believe me." Mark smiled softly. "Roger, you can't piss her off like that. Just let her do her thing. Stay out of the way." Roger nodded, absently. "Yeah, I guess. I…I have to go. I'll see you at lunch." Mark watched him limp away, sadly, longing to help him. 'He needs to call Child Services,' he thought. He wanted to stop him. Instead, he just stood there, watching Roger limp away, knowing the storm had only begun.
Roger crashed at Mark's place that weekend, after canceling his gig. Mrs. Cohen refused to let him be on his feet until Sunday evening, so she waited on him hand and foot. And while he'd never have admitted it out loud, Roger enjoyed every minute of it. Sunday evening came much to fast, and Roger headed home warily, wondering what was in store for him.