Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger glanced at a house number. He was getting closer--this was Mark's block. Although whether Mark still wanted to help him after the phone call was another story. Roger didn't care. He was desperate. Things had gotten worse and worse after that call, two weeks ago, and if Mark even remembered him he might not want to help.

But still... he couldn't care. He was desperate. Roger had been on the streets for the past hour, and it was now well after midnight. He hadn't had anything on when he left the house. He had a newspaper kilted around his waist, and probably looked completely insane, especially since the rain was making his newspaper fall apart.

When he finally found Mark's place, Roger nearly cried in relief. He hurried up the steps and rang the doorbell.

Mark was tossing and turning in his bed once again. Ever since that phone call two weeks ago, he couldn't stop thinking about Roger. Was he alright? Was his burn healing properly?

Mark didn't like the sound of the man who spoke to him. He vaguely reminded him of a bad relationship he had just after college, around the time he came out to his parents. That man was just creepy. He pressured Mark sexually and constantly put him down. Mark was lucky: he recognized the man for what he was and was able to break things off before they escalated to abuse. He knew Roger wasn't so lucky.

He looked at the clock, then at the wall, the ceiling, the door and then the clock again. Sleep would not come. He listened to the rain, the hum of the fridge and the soft tick from the clock in the living room. All of the sounds were familiar. Then came a sound that he didn't usually hear: the chime of his doorbell. He quickly donned a bathrobe and went to open the door.

"Roger?"

Mark was shocked to see the young man but recovered quickly when he realized that Roger was barely wearing anything at all. He reached out and laid his arm around Roger's shoulders to guide him into the house.

Roger stepped inside. He wondered if Mark would be angry that he wasn't wearing his cast anymore--but then, it had been almost six weeks before it was cut off him. He stood on the mat, dripping wet and trembling. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry to barge in on you, I didn't know where else to go..."

"It's fine. I'm glad you found me. I told you before you could come to me for anything." Mark noticed how much Roger was shaking. He knew it wasn't just from the cold. "Come on, let's see if I can find something that will fit you. You must be freezing."

"Thank you." Roger hugged himself tightly. He'd lost weight since the last time Mark saw him, and he didn't need to hear that he had gotten too skinny. "It's really cold out," he explained almost apologetically.

Mark led Roger to the bathroom and gave him a towel, then dug in his drawers for a pair of boxers, a set of sweats, and a pair of thick woolen socks. "Here, try these on. I'll make a pot of tea. Nothing like it to warm you up on a cold night."

Roger nodded. "Thank you," he repeated. He went into the bathroom and toweled himself as dry as possible, wadded up the newspapers in the waste bin, then pulled on Mark's clothes. He tightened the string on the sweatpants. They still slipped a bit, but they would stay on.

Once he was dressed, he found his way to the kitchen. "Thank you for taking me in like this."

Mark poured the mixture of peppermint leaves and chamomile into the metal diffuser then added the boiling water to the teapot. Mark knew the blend would help Roger to relax and warm him up at the same time. "You're always welcome here. I take it you'll be staying for a while."

"If that's okay," Roger said. He didn't want to impose. He had to impose, but he didn't want to impose any more than he absolutely had to. "I'm sorry I missed the last appointment."

"It's fine. I have plenty of room here." Mark poured a bit of tea into a cup and seeing that it had steeped enough, filled it to the top. He took a second cup for himself and brought the milk and sugar to the table. "I understand about the appointment. How's your burn and your arm?"

Roger added milk and heaps of sugar to his tea and drank. He showed Mark the burn. "The day I called you, it got burned again," he said. "My arm... hurts, but it's working okay."

Mark examined the burn a little more closely. He could already see some scar tissue forming on the wrist. "I'll put some medicated cream on it tonight and wrap it for you. Tomorrow you should come to the clinic for another X-ray so I can see if the bones are healed. It's a good sign that the arm is working okay."

Roger shook his head. "No-- please. I'm sure it'll heal fine, it barely hurts," he lied. It hurt like a bitch--but he could deal with pain. He drank more tea and added more sugar. He'd never been very good at drinking tea.

"I'm bringing you in tomorrow. You're in a lot of pain for someone whose arm barely hurts. Don't worry about payment. We can work something out."

"No, I can't. Please. Please don't do this." It wasn't the payment that was worrying Roger, and he would never in a thousand years admit to the pain-- but he sure wasn't about to deny it. Still, he would not go to the office with Mark.

Mark decided to let it go for a few days. It was obvious that Roger had a traumatic experience and he didn't want to disturb him further. "I'll let it go for a bit, but I'll bring home a soft splint for you. When did you get your cast off?"

"He-- I took it off a few days ago," Roger said.

"It may have needed to stay on longer, especially if you were recovering from other injuries. The soft splint should help, but if it gets worse, you'll have to come in for an x-ray." Mark sipped his tea and watched Roger for a while. He wasn't shaking as much, but still had a haunted look about him. He wondered what had transpired in the past weeks. He didn't know how to broach that subject with Roger, so he decided on focusing on something different. "Do you want anything to eat?"

Roger nodded his head. "Yes, please!" he gasped. It had been a while since he had actually eaten, long enough for his stomach to stop growling and only hurt mildly, like pressure.

Mark opened the fridge and pulled out the bread, some leftover pot roast, lettuce, butter and mustard. "Pot roast sandwiches okay with you?"

"Yes-- yes, that sounds great. Thank you." Roger tried to take his eyes off the food-- and saying that he couldn't focus on anything but food was quite something, since he still felt attraction to Mark.

Mark went about making sandwiches. Judging by the way Roger was staring at the roast, he probably hadn't eaten in a while. He made four sandwiches and placed three before Roger. When he returned the ingredients to the fridge, he took out the milk and poured Roger a tall glass. He probably could use the calcium.

"When was the last time you ate, Roger?"

Roger shoved half a sandwich in his mouth and chewed it a few times before swallowing with a sip of milk. "Not sure," he said, attacking the sandwich once more. "I don't know. A few days. Maybe five days."

Five days? No wonder Roger was wolfing down his food. "Be careful, then. If you eat too fast your body may not know how to react and you'll get sick."

Roger couldn't stop, though. He'd been kept hungry before, but never for so long, and he was starving. He drank some of the milk, knowing it would help his bones heal. "Thank you for the food," he said.

"Do you need anything else?" Mark asked. He inched his way toward Roger and laid a hand on his shoulders.

Roger flinched at first, but when he realized Mark wasn't going to hurt him he relaxed. It was actually a quite pleasant touch. He shook his head: "No... thank you. But however I can make this up to you, just tell me, it's done."

Mark felt Roger stiffen and then relax and started lightly massaging his shoulders. He liked doing things for Roger. "There's no need. It's just a few sandwiches. I'm glad I can help out."

Roger sighed happily. Nobody had touched him like that in a long time, and it felt fantastic, even fantastic enough for him to stop eating. "Can I stay here a while?" he asked softly. "Just until I find someplace?"

Mark deepened the massage. "Of course you can stay here as long as you need to." Mark kneaded Roger's muscles and thought about how nice it was to touch someone else without it being for a medical reason. Roger had this vulnerability about him that made Mark just want to hold him and protect him forever. Just the simple act of massaging was more contact than Mark had had in a very long time.

Roger moaned softly. He had, he reminded himself, been touched gently in the past, but it had never felt so... so protective. "And I know you mean it well about the X-rays, I know that. I'm sorry. I just... can't."

Mark knew there was a lot more going on than just insurance problems but didn't think it was the time to discuss them. "I think I understand. We'll talk about it again, though. I don't want you suffering needlessly. For now we'll just be careful with your arm. I want you to promise me that you'll let me know if you're hurting."

Roger nodded. "I promise," he said. He went back to eating, definitely not about to say no to food at this point. "I'm sorry I woke you in the middle of the night. But then if it wasn't the middle of the night, you wouldn't've been sleeping," he joked. Immediately he tensed, hoping he had rightly judged Mark as someone who would find this amusing.

Mark laughed gently. "Oh, a few years ago I may have been working in a hospital in the middle of the night, but ever since I went into private practice, my sleeping has been done exclusively in the middle of the night." Mark was glad that Roger was feeling relaxed enough to make jokes. "So, what brings you to my neighborhood?" he asked lightly in the hopes of getting more information.

"I came to find you. You're listed in the phone book and I had your number, so..." Roger let the statement follow to its logical conclusion. He had found Mark. He didn't have anywhere else to go.

"I'm glad you came." In an impulsive move, he wrapped his arms around Roger and pulled him into a hug.

Roger grabbed Mark and held him, surprised at his own impulsiveness. He sniffed, determined not to cry. "Are you this good to every vagrant you encounter?" he asked

"Probably not, but then I don't encounter many vagrants in private practice." He held Roger closer and then whispered in his ear, "You're safe now."

Roger trembled, afraid he was going to start crying. "Thank you."

Mark released Roger and let out a yawn. "I guess we should go to sleep soon. I'll put some towels and clothes for you in the bathroom and you can take the guest room while you're here."

"Thank you," Roger said again. He stood, took his dishes to the sink and washed them, already building himself an idea of how he'd be useful. Sure, Mark didn't think Roger needed to repay him, but that wouldn't stop Roger cleaning the house and anything else useful he could think of.

Mark waited for Roger and then guided him to the guest room. It was simply but elegantly furnished with antiques that he had lovingly restored himself. The linens were clean and white. "Make yourself at home. If there's anything else you need, just let me know."

"It's... it's really beautiful," Roger said. "Thank you." He went and sat on the bed, then smiled at Mark. It was a tight smile, difficult to manage, but honest.

Roger's smile warmed Mark's heart. He longed to take him and hold him close, to cover him with kisses and never let him go. Instead, he smiled back and said goodnight. Roger had been through a lot. He needed his space.

to be continued!

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