Hey guys, here's the second chapter. Thank you so much for the reviews, and thanks for the advice about the summary!
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or the characters. Woe.
Maureen nudged Mark gently through the door to his apartment, and he kept his eyes trained carefully on the floor. He was scared to death that one look at Roger's guitar, the door to his room, anything there might ruin the numbness he had managed to maintain. Another moment like the one when Mimi died might kill him, he'd decided. It was best that he just keep up this blah persona and not let anything get him.
"Are you tired?" Maureen said, still using a voice almost totally foreign to him, a quiet, tentative, caring one. He shrugged, not knowing what else do to. Maureen took his hand, leading him past the couch, past the guitar stand which he flinched at, looking away, then finally into his room. Mark sighed in relief. It felt nice to be away from the rest of the apartment. He and Roger had had a deal, they wouldn't mess which each other's rooms, ever, and therefore there weren't any painful reminders in his room, just a bunch of movie posters and extra rolls of film scattered about. Maureen let go of his hand and patted his arm.
"Try to sleep," she said, "I'll be out on the couch."
Sixty minutes later, Mark lay on his bed, eyes wide open, completely unable to sleep. His body was dead tired from being at the hospital twenty-four seven, but his mind was still reeling in a state of blah, and he was terrified that if he let himself sleep, the blah may slip away and never come back. Then he would actually have to deal with the world in all it's gruesomeness. And if he had to deal with it, he was sure he would fall apart. A small part of him hoped that if he did sleep, maybe he would wake up to find that the last seven years had been a dream, and everything was perfect–Angel and Collins would be bringing them Christmas presents and Roger and Mimi would be screaming at each other then making up five minutes later. But he knew this was an utter impossibility, and it was just his body trying to trick him into getting some shut-eye. He wouldn't listen to it, though. He wouldn't listen to anything.
A slight creaking sound brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to see Maureen poking her head in the doorway.
"You're still awake?" she asked. He could tell she was exhausted. She should be sleeping, he thought, she needed it more than he did. But she'd already seen his eyes open, there was no use in pretending to be asleep now. Slowly he nodded. Maureen entered, closing the door behind her and sitting down on the edge of his bed.
"It's all right that you can't sleep, you know," she said, "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll get tired soon. It's been a long week for all of us." Edging closer, she kicked her shoes off and settled onto the bed next to him, leaning her head on him. Ironically, Mark thought, this would have made him ecstatic not long ago. His heart would have been racing about what would happen next and he would have been frantically planning how to handle the situation, and already thinking of all the ways he would brag to Roger. But now there was nothing to make his heartbeat anything except regular, there was only enough to keep him alive.
Maureen sniffled a little, and Mark could tell she was on the verge of tears, because her eyes were shut tight and that was the only time she sniffled. She never got colds or anything, it was part of the Magic of Maureen. He placed a hand on her back, and a small sob escaped her mouth, a tear rolling down her cheek and onto Mark's shirt. This was where he was meant to be, he decided at that moment. He was good at being there when people needed him, and that's what he would do from now on. No mourning over things, no being sad and being a burden to people. He was capable of not feeling. That gave him the ability to be strong and he should use that for good, to help people who had very little strength of their own. Even if they liked to think they had an excess of it, like Maureen.
An hour later, Maureen was fast asleep. Mark was still awake, staring at the ceiling. He doubted he would ever sleep again. There wasn't really a need for it.