Author's note: Hey everyone, Kris here. I apologize for how long this chapter has taken, but I got caught up with school, and with stage managing. I had writers block for a good long while, so this was pretty hard. But, here it is. I hope you guys aren't lost with this one. I figured I had to introduce the main antagonist sooner or later, right?

I hope you all still want to follow this one. It's gonna start getting good, I promise. Reviews make my day! thank you for your continued support.

Aside from the awkwardness of his and Mark's close encounter a few days earlier, things didn't seem to be looking up for poor Roger at all.

As funny as it sounded, doing nice things for people was near impossible. This was New York, after all.

Handing out blankets to homeless people resulted in being screamed at, and cursed for assuming they needed any "God damn handouts!" and random acts of kindness towards strangers always ended with him almost getting his lights knocked out.

His heart was in the right place….

In the wrong city.

The pressure was only seeming to increase as his mind became more and more paranoid each passing day, imagining a higher power keeping a close eye on him.

If this was how he was supposed to prove his case, he had a sad chance going for him.

Today, he was going to head to the courts with Joanne to defend people who had been wronged. However, all the cases he witnessed had ended with a screaming or crying person, and a judge who was unwilling to hear a word.

Make that two failures.

Walking back into the apartment, he sank down on the couch, face buried in his hands. Mark was out filming. Joanne and Maureen had gone off somewhere together.

He tipped his head back as he gazed up at the ceiling. He felt awful. Everyone was running themselves ragged trying to help him, but they still weren't getting anywhere. He felt hopeless.

He got back up, tugging his jacket back on. Everything was getting to be too much. He needed some time to clear his head.

In his haste, he forgot to leave Mark a note explaining where he would be. He continued down the street, hoping he didn't run into the albino. Mark was jumpy about letting him go out alone these days. If he was caught out here, he'd more than likely get dragged back by his ear with a lecture.

He wasn't a child.

He could handle himself, and he'd be back before Mark even realized he was gone.

He lost track of time as he wandered deeper and deeper into the heart of the city. Through the good parts, the slums, eventually stopping in a dark area that looked dangerous.

He became a little alarmed as he realized he didn't know where he was. He should have been paying more attention, but he was too busy trying to clear his mind on the way.

That didn't really matter how, did it?

He continued on, glancing around. It seemed as if nobody was out and about. He was proven wrong as he caught sight of a scrawny guy tearing past the mouth of the alley way. He quirked a brow.

Suddenly, a large group of men passed as well, looking pissed. He narrowed his eyes. They were after the smaller man. Though he didn't know who the man was, he was heavily against stuff like this. He saw a little Mark in every single one of those helpless kids who needed someone to look out for them. It was how he and Mark had met.

On the playground, Isaac, the school bully, had always thrown dirt in the child's face, destroyed his toys, and yet, nobody had stepped up to help. One day, when Roger heard Mark's desperate sobs, he had sent Isaac flying across the yard. Mark had followed him around with admiration ever since.

Nobody was ever afraid of Isaac after that. He became a laughing stock, and even in high school, he had despised Roger and Mark. He was a messed up kid, even in elementary school. He wasn't important now, though. Roger hadn't seen him in over fifteen years.

As he heard the man let out a screech of "HELP!" Roger bolted from the alley, and took off after the gang. He had flashes back to when Collins was jumped, so long ago. He had needed help, too. This time, he wouldn't sit back unknowingly.

He soon cut down another side alley, and caught up with the pace of the man in distress. His eyes went wide as he saw the man was caught at a dead end. His legs carried him before he even realized what he was doing.

He skidded to a halt in front of the man. With a snarl, He took a protective stance, and stared down the pursuers. There were four of them.

And they were big.

The terrified man moved forward, clutching at the back of Roger's jacket. His hands were shaking.

"W-who are you? w-what are you doing?"

Roger hushed him.

"Just stay behind me…"

The man's grip tightened.

"That doesn't answer my question!"

Before anyone could speak again, a fifth person stepped out of the shadows, joining the four men.

"Come on, come on! what is this?" the voice sounded impatient. A man a little smaller than Roger, with fluffy brown hair, and icy blue eyes stood, watching them. He had a long scar down the side of his face.

"Stay away from him!" Roger growled, and the man behind him started to tremble. Something about the man who had just emerged seemed eerily familiar.

"I don't believe it… is that?" the man asked, looking Roger over with an expression of shock. Roger searched him as well, trying to remember…

"Believe what!? spit it out…" Roger yelled, anxiety creeping up as the four men started to spread around, on either side of the scarred man, blocking any escape attempts. A massive brick wall stood behind them. No way out, no way out, no way out.

"Roger Davis… you haven't changed a bit… still a knight in shining armor… though, now I guess you'd be a knight in dirty leather… I'm pretty shocked… I thought you were dead…. your friends sure were pretty upset… poor Marky had to be scooped up off the sidewalk when they were on the way to your funeral… little guy kind of just… lost it…"

He felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. Of course Mark had been through hell. He had to put his best friend in the ground.

He was probably going through hell all over again right now, worried sick about where Roger could be, dreaming up possible disasters that could have happened to him. He hadn't even left a note. He must have been gone for hours already.

By the end of this, he would owe Mark a lot. Especially apologies.

"How do you know Mark? how do you know me? will you just tell me who the fuck you are!?" Roger shot back, his patience fading. The scarred man got a look of amusement.

"Oh, Roggy! I'm hurt…. you don't recognize your good pal Isaac?"

Roger froze. He felt bile creep up in his throat. He had heard stories about what Isaac had done after high school. The guy was a nutcase. Yet, here he was, watching Roger like he watched the dead animals in bio before he dissected them years ago: with a twisted, and excited smile.

"Ah! there it is…" Isaac murmured, moving forward. Roger backed up. "Now that we're all re-acquainted again…. why don't you explain to me why your obituary was in the paper a few years ago…" he reached into his pocket, pulling out an aged newspaper clipping with Roger's picture on it.

"See?" he pointed to it, shoving it in Roger's face. "Right there… but yet… here you are…."

Roger narrowed his eyes.

"Why did you keep that?"

Isaac smiled.

"It was only the best day of my life… how could I not want a souvenir?… it brought me back to that day on the playground where you made me look like…" he clenched his fists. "Like a fool!"

Roger grinned precariously.

"You didn't need much help…."

Isaac was turning red.

"ENOUGH!" the man behind Roger squeaked in fear. "I thought you were finally dead! I thought I wouldn't ever have to think about you again! I thought I could finish what I started with your little boyfriend!"

"He's not my-" Roger sighed, glaring. "You stay the fuck away from Mark! You want him, you'll have to go through me first… the rules haven't changed, Isaac..."

Isaac continued to glare before finally breaking eye contact, and sighing.

"I'll get to him eventually… I'm not surprised you're alive again… I've seen stranger things in my lifetime… besides… I'll kill you as many times as it takes, Roggy… I'm a very patient man…"

Roger scoffed.

"You're out of your fucking mind…"

Isaac smirked.

"Some would say that, yes…" he then glared at the man that was hiding behind Roger. "Get out here, you little coward… face up to what you've done…"

"What do you want with him?" Roger asked, tensing for a fight. Isaac began to laugh.

"It doesn't concern you… who knows? you could be protecting the bad guy!"

Roger snarled. "He isn't the bad guy here, Isaac… anyone with two eyes could see that you're the aggressor…"

The man behind Roger started to whimper.

"He s-saw me walking alone one night years ago… and he… he t-tried to rob me… b-but I cut him… w-with my knife… and l-left a scar… he-he's been after me ever since… I dunno how he keeps f-finding me…"

Roger looked up.

"You're a coward yourself, Isaac… a coward with too much power… with no gang behind you, you're nothing…"

Isaac seemed unimpressed.

"You have a fair point there, Rog… but here's the thing: I still have a gang… so I'm not nothing yet..." He glared at the man. "Congrats… you just got your get out of jail free card… thanks to good old Roger, here… I have a new mission on my hands… my feud with you is over… get out of my sight before I change my mind…"

The man smiled, and shoved past Roger before running off. The men cleared a path for him, and watched as he fled. Isaac chuckled.

"Oh… human nature strikes again… you helped him… but then… there he goes! and here we are…" he stepped closer. "Human beings are selfish bastards, Roger… shouldn't you know that by now?"

Roger watched the spot that had just been cleared for the escapee, with scared, desperate eyes. Isaac suddenly lunged forward, pinning him against the wall in an awkward position, making it nearly impossible for the musician to wriggle free. A cold blade was pressed to his throat.

"How easy would it be…" Isaac whispered, tilting his head a bit. "Just a little slice… a little stab…" He looked Roger in the eyes.

They stayed that way for what seemed like years before Isaac let him go, and stepped back.

"However, it wouldn't be very sporting of me… I ought to let you get real cozy first… let you build up a false sense of security… and then… only then… will I move in…" He looked like he was about to turn away, so Roger stood up.

Suddenly, Isaac's knife slashed his cheek, and he yelped, falling to the ground.

"Keep that… bring it with you back home as a message to little Marky… that once you're gone… he's next…"

Roger sat there, holding his gushing face while Isaac walked off, his gang in toe.

Wandering the city to clear his mind was the worst decision he could have ever made.

Slowly getting to his feet, he began to wonder what else could go wrong as he tried to make sense of where he was. It was getting colder, and night was falling.

Something grabbed his arm, and he jumped, spinning around. The man whose life he had just saved was gazing up at him with cautious brown eyes.

"H-hey…"

Roger glared, and turned back around. Screw him. He was quick to leave him behind with Isaac.

Footsteps coming closer made him roll his eyes.

"W-wait! I'm sorry I left you back there, but I couldn't have fought those guys off! look at me!" Roger considered this. He had a point. He slowly came to a stop, and the man, who was too busy rambling, bumped into his back. He gazed up at Roger's tall form.

"Listen… it's cold… and late… come… come stay the night at my place… then I can help you get back to where you need to be… it's the least I could do…" Roger sighed.

"Fine… What's your name, at least?"

"I'm Emmett… they… they called you Roger, right?"

Roger nodded.

"Yeah…" he looked up. "Thanks…"

Soon, he was sitting on the couch of a small apartment. Surprisingly, this one had heat, in the form of a fireplace. Roger stuck his hands in front of it, finally starting to warm up. The gash on his cheek had been disinfected, and bandaged, and he had been cleaned up considerably.

Emmett walked in with a plate of food, and passed it to the rocker, who began to wolf it down. He watched, half amused, half disgusted. Soon, Roger finished, setting it down with a yawn.

"So… what… what was all that about you being dead? that obituary he was holding… I remember seeing it in the paper… when it came out… it was real..."

Roger crossed his arms.

"It's gonna be hard to believe… hell, I don't even believe it myself… but… here goes…"

He launched into the story. Every detail. He explained why Isaac hated him, and he told him who Mark was. He even included the kiss they shared at the park. By the end, Emmett was watching in awe.

"That stuff… it all really happened to you?"

Roger watched him.

"I'm alive again, aren't I?"

Emmett nodded wordlessly.

"Maybe… maybe since you helped me… that's a good deed, right? it… it can help your case…"

Roger ran a hand through his hair.

"I hope so… First thing tomorrow, I'm heading home… Mark is probably climbing the fucking walls…"

Emmett smiled a little.

"He cares about you… a lot…"

Roger stared at the fire.

"Yeah, well… maybe I care about him a lot, too… maybe I'd give anything just to live happily ever after with him, and keep him safe, and all that other shit, but we can't always get what we want, can we?"

Emmett watched him sadly. They stayed in silence before the small man finally got to his feet.

"Goodnight, Roger… I wish you luck… no matter what happens to you…"

Roger watched him disappear into his room, and close the door. The tall blond soon sank down on the floor beside the fire, wanting to be near the warmth. He didn't care about the comfort of the couch. Exhaustion was suddenly creeping up, and he was then fast asleep, dreaming of a filmmaker with the most gentle blue eyes holding him, and keeping the nightmares at bay.