Title: Playing The Game

Summary: Games and Conversations and Mark.

Notes: One month Post-RENT. Also, there is a little bit of language in this, so tread carefully.

And thanks to Bound Dragon, sundrynotes, Evangeline Daae, and missxflawless and KP.

They were playing that stupid game again.

It was pointless and unnecessary and extremely fucking morbid, and Mark hated with a passion when Collins and Roger would play it. They would sit on the couch, grinning as they took swigs from cans of beer. Roger would tap a pen against the side of the couch and Collins would lean back, arms behind his head. And then they'd look at each other, those same stupid grins still on their face, and they wouldn't even have to suggest it before they'd be playing it again.

"My turn," Roger was saying. "I'd go out on Halloween and take kids' candy."

Collins snorted, but it sounded like he was trying to cover up a laugh. "Stealing candy from kids? Lame. And a new low, Davis."

Mark was hunched at the table, holding his camera and trying to ignore his friends' conversation. It was impossible, though. He was a filmmaker, trained to listen. Even, apparently, when he didn't want to.

Roger shook his head, wide-eyed and laughing. "No, seriously. Old people can do anything, why the hell not take advantage of that and get free candy? You know it's foolproof."

Collins leaned forward and pointed at his mouth. "False, my friend. You forget—you're old, you won't have the teeth to eat candy with."

Roger gave him an impish grin. "Dentures, Collins. Dentures."

This time Collins let himself laugh loudly. He draped a hand over the back of the couch and turned himself around. "Hey, Mark, feel like joining the fun?"

"No, thanks," Mark muttered. He turned his camera around in his hands, aware that he was holding it, but not focused on it. "You know I hate it when you play that." He was sure that Collins and Roger could hear the tension in his voice, no matter how he tried to hide it.

Mark risked a glance up at his friends. Roger was looking down at his hands while Collins was grinning again. Mark was starting to hate the unnaturally good mood that Collins had been in ever since he had come in last month at Christmas. "Come on, Mark. Who doesn't like a good game of 'What We'd Do If We Were Eighty'?"

Mark frowned. Collins could joke about it all he wanted, but all three of them knew that the name of the game was really 'What We'd Do If We Could Live To Be Eighty.' And that was the last thing Mark needed a reminder of, even if they thought it was fun to deal with the inevitable through laughter. "Let's just talk about something else," He finally said, unwilling to deal with the subject anymore.

In the near-silence that followed, Roger tapped his pen against the couch once more, Collins stretched and leaned back against the couch again, and Mark continued playing with his camera.

Finally, Roger spoke, breaking the silence. "Well," He said, and just by the tone of that one word, Mark knew what the topic of the next conversation would be about, and he nearly groaned out loud. "Maybe we can talk about your film."

"What do you want to know about it?" Mark asked guardedly. It wasn't like Maureen to ask about one of Mark's films. Then again, it wasn't like Maureen to stop by the loft for absolutely no reason, but that was happening, so maybe the world had turned upside down and all the unlikelies had turned into reality. That, of course, was unlikely.

Maureen rolled her eyes. "I don't know," she said, sounding exasperated, though Mark wasn't exactly sure why. It wasn't as though he was the one who had stormed into her house to bother her. "Just tell me about it."

"Well," Mark said carefully, standing up from his chair and heading to the kitchen-area of the loft so that he could get some water. "It's finished."

Maureen shot him an I'm-not-stupid glare. "I know that," She snapped. "I was there when we watched it, so you don't need to get all sarcastic." She sat down on the chair that Mark had just deserted and crossed her arms. "You know what? Just don't tell me anything. Excuse me for caring about you."

Mark ignored the twinge of guilt he felt at being unnecessarily rude to Maureen and brushed it off as insincere remorse. "Well, it's like you said. You were there; you saw it. What more do you want to know about it?"

"Why do you get so upset whenever anyone talks about it?" Maureen shot at him.

"What? I don't get upset."

"Oh, I'm sorry, you're right. This is actually what you're like when you're in a good mood. My mistake." Why was it okay for Maureen to be sarcastic, but not for him to be?

Mark set his glass of water down on the table with a loud thud. "Why are you even here?" A pathetic attempt to change the subject; Maureen was much too persistent for it to work.

"Because." Maureen followed him to the table and leaned on it, her thick hair falling over her shoulders in long strands. "You've been so cranky lately. I just wanted to know what was wrong."

Mark waited.

Maureen rolled her eyes. "Oh, all right. Joanne kicked me out of the apartment because she needed to work on some case or something."

"Ah."

"But really, Mark, you have been cranky lately." Maureen picked up Mark's glass and drained all of the water in it.

"Don't do that," Mark snapped at her as he snatched up the empty glass and refilled it.

"See?" Maureen cried triumphantly. "Told ya."

Mark ignored the smug look that she sent his way. "Look, Maureen, I've got some work to do. So, if you don't mind…" He trailed off, giving her an expectant look.

Maureen smiled widely at him, all teeth. "Please, Mark. You don't have anything to do. You're just saying that because you want me to leave. But you know that as soon as I leave, you're going to get restless and wish that I was back." Nevertheless, she picked up her bag and started towards the door.

Mark scowled. It was not fair for Maureen to jump between annoying and perceptive like that. It threw him off guard.

Just as she reached the door, Maureen turned around again. "Hey, you know what you should do with your film?"

"What, Maureen?" Mark asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Use it as the background for your latest protest?"

"You wish," She retorted. "But no, that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Then what were you going to say?"

"You should do a big screening of it. Or show it at some film festival. Something like that. You know, let more people see it." From the seat across from him, Mimi reached over and stole a fry. She made a face at the amount of salt on it and wiped her hands off on her uniform.

"Won't your boss get mad that you're eating when you should be serving customers?"

"Not if he doesn't know," Mimi grinned. "Besides, I think he has a crush on me." Her face suddenly darkened. "Don't tell Roger that."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Good." Mimi looked like she was eyeing his fries again, so Mark surreptitiously slid the container a little closer to him. She gave him a look, as if to let him know that she could steal food from him anytime she wanted and nothing he did would stop her.

"So how's the job?" Mark asked. It was a little strange seeing Mimi in the waitress uniform. Though with her easy-to-relate-to personality, it made sense that she would do well when it came to getting tips.

She shrugged. "It's a living. Better than the alternative. You know how it goes." And he did. He had done his share of jobs-to-make-ends-meet. But he suspected that Mimi was talking more about the pressure of when she had been a newly-clean stripper in a job where most where junkies. Plus, after that scare on Christmas, he knew that all of them were grateful that Mimi was in a job that wasn't so physically demanding.

Mark thought that he had effectively changed the topic of the conversation, but Mimi was not to be easily deterred. "Really, Mark, have you considered doing something with your film?"

Mark sighed. "Actually, you're not the first person to suggest that. Maureen said almost the exact same thing last week when she stopped by."

"Great minds." Mimi took another fry and swirled it around in ketchup before eating it.

"Maybe not."

Mimi glossed over his words. "So if both Maureen and I have already told you this, why haven't you run out of the restaurant already and started looking for places to screen it?"

Mark ate a fry to stall for time. Then he said, "Look, Mimi, it's not that simple. There's more to it then just looking for a place to screen it. You need—"

"Money, time, and people who will watch it," Mimi listed off on one hand. "I know it's not simple, Mark, but it's not that complicated, either. If you really wanna do it, then it can be done." It was a very Mimi-esque way of thinking. Do what you want to do, screw the obstacles and the consequences.

Mark looked up and watched a large group of people file into the restaurant. "Shouldn't you get back to work?"

Mimi waved her hands dismissively. "They can handle it." She grabbed another fry and continued speaking. "Tell you what, Mark. You just decide when you want to screen it. I'll take care of all the details. I'll get someone to sponsor you, and I can invite tons of people to come and see it."

Mark sighed. "Mimi, has anyone ever told you that you have a habit of butting into people's lives when they don't want you to?"

Mimi flashed a bright smile. "All the time." She looked up and noticed more people entering the restaurant, and then she saw the hostess who had spent the last five minutes gesturing at her to get back to work. She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Guess I should go," She said. She grabbed one final fry and dipped it in ketchup, then swore as the ketchup dropped onto her uniform.

"Karma for stealing them," Mark told her, and she gave him a one-fingered salute in return. Then she smiled again.

"Don't worry, Mark, I'll get everything taken care of," She promised as she licked a finger and attempted to rub the ketchup off her uniform. She was wearing one of her typical Mimi-grins, the one that meant she was up to something, as she hurried off.

Mark shook his head to himself and ate a fry before he suddenly realized what her last words to him had been.

"What is it that you've taken care of?" Mark asked, disbelief evident in his voice. He hovered over the phone anxiously. He hadn't been planning on answering it, but the leaver of the message had claimed that it was "extremely important."

"The screening," Benny replied. Mark could just imagine him in his office, one hand holding the phone and another holding a pen, filling out paperwork. Benny was a master of multi-tasking. "I've taken care of all the details. No need to thank me, consider it an act of kindness from one friend to anoth-"

"Wait, what?"

"The screening that you want for your film. Which I'm looking forward to, by the way, since I haven't seen-"

"Wait, what?"

"Screening. You. Film." Benny was starting to sound annoyed. Mark vaguely remembered how Benny hated being interrupted.

"Wait-,"

"If you say "what" I'm not going to tell you anything else."

Mark opened his mouth and shut it. "Okay. Go on."

"Mimi and Maureen called and told me that you needed a place to screen your film for a large group of people. They also said that you might need some…money for expenses." Benny stopped speaking, implying that there was more to say.

"What else did they say?"

"That if I ever wanted to be considered an acquaintance again, that I would do this without complaint. And that just because I did do it didn't mean that they liked me." Benny sounded mildly bothered by this fact, but Mark was sure it was more at the thought of Maureen and Mimi attempting to negotiate with him than at what they had actually said.

"So, basically, you now have a location for the screening of your film. All expenses taken care of. Just tell me the date, and it will be finalized."

"No." Mark shook his head. "This isn't happening. I never okayed this. No way."

"They also told me that you would say something to that effect," Benny said calmly. "They assured me that it was merely modesty speaking."

"It's not!" At Benny's silence, Mark groaned. "Benny, seriously. My film is finished, but it's not ready for a screening!"

"They said you might say that, too. And they reminded me that you had, in fact, already shown it to some people." Here Benny sounded annoyed again. "Speaking of that, Mark, I'm a little hurt by how I wasn't invited to see it. I know we've had some tension between us, but I still count you as my friend and I thought—"

Mark put his head in his hands. This was not the time to have to deal with Benny whining.

"Benny, it was a crisis It didn't feel like the right moment to mail you an invitation." He sighed and tried to focus. "That film is not good enough to show to anyone else. Come over and you can see it, Benny, but please don't let this stupid screening happen."

"Again with the modesty, Mark." Benny chuckled and suddenly sounded like himself from two years ago. "Dude, just chill out about it, 'cause it's happening no matter what. Quit being nervous. I bet the film's great."

Mark sat down heavily. "My film's going to get shown at a screening. Damnit, Benny, do you have any idea what this means?"

"It means that you have friends who care about you and are somewhat invested in your future," Joanne said in her typical logical fashion. "Honestly, Mark, I don't see what the big deal is. This isn't life-threatening and it's certainly not worth calling me so late at night."

It was eleven, which didn't feel too late to Mark. But then again, he guessed that it was different for people who actually had to get up at sunrise.

"Sorry, Joanne," He told her. "But tell Maureen that she needs to call up Benny and tell him that this isn't happening."

Joanne sighed on the other end of the phone line, and Mark knew that he wasn't going to like whatever it was she had to say. "Mark, you know as well as I do that there's nothing I can tell Maureen that will stop her once she has an idea in her head and a willing partner-in-crime. Why don't you try talking to Mimi?"

"Do you know Mimi at all?"

"Do you know Maureen?" Joanne retorted. "It's pretty much hopeless, Mark. Though really, it doesn't seem like a very bad situation to me. You get to show your film to the masses. Maybe an influential critic will be there. This could be a defining career move for you."

Mom could recognize that to anyone who wasn't him, this seemed like a good opportunity. But the problem was that they just didn't understand. This was about more than just showing a film to a group of people. It was about more than he could say, more than he wanted to think about. And it wasn't fair that he was being forced to deal with it against his will.

"Hello? Mark, are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry, Joanne. I'm here." He sighed. "Are you sure you can't just find a way to get Maureen to stop?"

Joanne didn't even bother to answer the question, but Mark hadn't been expecting an answer anyway. "Mark, why is this bothering you so much?"

"Maybe it's because I don't need a reminder that all my friends are dying!" There, he'd finally said it. He hadn't meant to shout it, but he couldn't help it. Collins was just great at asking questions that people didn't want to answer.

Mark took a deep breath and calmed himself down. "Maybe that's why I don't like to play that stupid game."

Collins didn't say anything for awhile. He just looked at Mark from his position on the couch, in the exact same spot that he had been sitting in the other day. Mark, who was sitting across from him, once again pretending to fiddle with his camera, also stayed silent.

They were the only two people in the loft. He supposed that was why Collins had decided to ask Mark why he always tensed up whenever Collins and Roger started playing their new favorite game.

It was a dumb question. Mark knew that Collins knew why. He suspected that Collins had just wanted to get him to say it out loud.

Well, he had said it.

"Maybe that's the same reason why we play it," Collins said finally.

"You need a reminder of your own death?"

"No. You do."

Mark scoffed. "That's ridiculous. I know you're dying. I know I'm going to be alone. Why are we even talking about this? This really isn't light conversation." He tried for a casual chuckle and failed.

Collins ignored him. "Yeah, you know. But do you know?" He stared at Mark meaningfully.

"Collins, you're not even making sense."

"Why don't you want to show your film?"

"I'm just not ready to. Is that so hard for everyone to understand?" Mark sighed in frustration and got up from the couch, prepared to stalk to his room and ignore how much he felt like an angsty teenager. Or maybe like Roger when he was in one of his moods.

"Mark-"

"Collins, you don't know everything!"

Collins let out a long breath, deep and slow. "Okay. Fair enough. But—let me say one more thing, okay? Because it's something that I just figured out."

His hand hovered over the doorknob to his room, but Mark stood and waited.

"You can't change what's already happened. Or what's going to happen. You just have to…accept it." He ran a hand over his hair and looked up at Mark, who was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

Slowly, Mark stepped away from his room and sat next to Collins on the couch. He raised an arm to his shoulder, offering support. Collins smiled gratefully.

"Please, let's talk about something else," Mark said, but he wasn't sure if he was asking for his sake or for Collins'.

Collins just nodded quickly. He looked up at Mark and opened his mouth to speak.

"Want to play a game?" Mark looked up to see Roger standing in the doorway to his room.

"It had better not be—"

"Don't worry, it's not." Roger came towards Mark and sat on the floor beside him, back against the wall and legs crossed in front of him.

Mark gave him an odd look, but shrugged. "Okay. What game?"

Roger tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. "Truth. Like Truth or Dare, but without the dare part."

Mark opened his mouth and closed it again. Roger obviously had something he wanted to say. He decided, after some deliberation, to go along with it. "All right."

"I'll start." Roger lowered his head and looked straight ahead. "Does Mimi's boss have a crush on her?" He threw a quick glance at Mark. "You have to be honest."

Mark couldn't help but grin. "Nothing we say leaves this room?"

"Nothing."

"Then yes." Before Roger could react, he launched a question at him. "Do you trust Mimi?"

Roger breathed in sharply, which meant he understood just what Mark was asking by that. "Yeah." He threw out the next question quickly. "Do you want to call a truce with Benny?"

Mark thought for a moment. "Yes. Do you?"

"Maybe. Do you still like Maureen?"

"No." And it had taken a long time to get to that point. "Is "Your Eyes" the best song you've ever written?"

Roger grinned sheepishly. "No. Don't tell Mimi that." Then he was focused again. "Why have you been so agitated lately?"

Now they were getting to the real heart of the matter. Mark fought against his first instinct, which was to avoid the question by answering with one of his own. "Because of my film," He managed. He took a minute before he asked his next question. "Are you happy?"

Roger hesitated, but not for too long. "Yes." He glanced at Mark out of the corner of his eye. "Are you?"

"I don't know," Mark said as honestly as he could. "I mean, yeah, I am now. But I'm not, because I know…I just know." That I won't be soon.

Roger nodded, and Mark knew that he understood. He took a deep breath, and prepared himself for the next question, the question that he wasn't even supposed to ask. "Do you know why I don't want to show my film?"

Slowly, Roger turned to look at him. Mark stared straight ahead, well aware of where Roger's gaze was directed.

When Roger finally spoke, it was quietly. "Maybe." And then, even quieter. "Do you want me to say why?"

"Yeah."

This time, Roger breathed in before speaking. "I think you're scared of how good things are now. And I think…I think that you know that if you show your film then you're accepting that things have to change. And become what you might not want. And you don't want to lose what you have now. Because you know what's gonna happen. Eventually." Only the sound of their breathing, until Roger spoke again. "Am I right?"

"It's my turn," Mark said. "Are you scared?" It was surprisingly easy to ask it point-blank.

"Yes." Roger said it without faltering. "Are you going to screen your film?"

He'd known the answer all along. He wasn't sure why he'd tried to fight it so much when everyone had known all along how it was going to turn out. "Yeah."

Roger turned to him again. "Are you scared?"

Mark didn't even bother telling him how it wasn't his turn. He had a feeling that it wasn't really about the game anymore. "You bet." He laughed a little, and it sounded strange in the filled silence of the room. "I hate time."

"Who doesn't?" Roger asked, but he was smiling, and Mark guessed it was because he knew that neither of them really did. "What are you gonna say at the screening?"

"Hi. I'm Mark. Mark Cohen. And this is, uh, the official screening of my documentary, Today 4 U." He grinned. "If you don't know that, then now would be a good time to get out while you can." Scattered laughter.

"Anyway. This film was inspired by a lot of things. Mainly by real life, and by the situations that I was going through. Basically, I couldn't pay the rent." More laughter.

"But it was also inspired by one of my friends, who passed away a few months ago. She taught me a lot about what it means to live, and not to hide—whether from yourself or from the truth or from death or from…the future."

"So with that in mind, this film is dedicated to her. But it's also dedicated to my friends, all of those people who have stuck by me. They'll actually be making appearances in the film." Maureen beams up at him from her seat in the front row. "But thanks to those guys, because without them, I wouldn't be here showing this film, and all of you wouldn't be here, preparing to watch it." And that was true. It was funny, in a strange manner, the way his fear had only been overcome by the help of the very people who were central to it. Funny and strange, but of course it made sense.

"I think that's all I have to say. So here's Today 4 U, a Mark Cohen film. Hope you enjoy it." The audience claps, the front row clapping loudest of all, and the lights dim and the film begins to roll.