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?

Mark read for a while and enjoyed sitting in the warm sunshine. After a few chapters he felt the need to shift and inadvertently brushed against something. With a start, he realized that Roger was sitting next to the chair. "Roger, do you want a chair or something to sit in?"

"No thank you," Roger answered quickly. "I'm fine here."

Mark tried to get back into his book, but had difficulty concentrating. After a while he gave up and just stared at Roger for a few minutes. He was concerned. Most people would go to the shed and get another chair or at least take one when it was offered. He'd noticed that Roger went out of his way to avoid disagreeing with him. And when Roger checked on the pie he thought he saw him wince once when he came down the stairs. He didn't know how to approach him about this, so he decided to stay upbeat and gentle and talk about unimportant things. "Nice weather we've been having."

"Yes," Roger said. "It's very... unseasonable." Just a week ago he had been running through the streets completely naked while it was raining. And now it was sunny--not something Roger would ever complain about. He toyed with blades of grass, plucked a long stem and made a whistle out of it. Roger smiled. He liked when his grass whistles worked out. "How's work been?"

Mark was amused by the grass whistle and tried to make his own, failing miserably. "Work's okay. It's been really busy lately. I guess I'm getting a reputation or something. My secretary took another day off this week and then I always get behind. I may need to replace her or get an office assistant to help with the backlog. The little old ladies constantly want my attention. Nothing interesting has come up, but one of the X-ray techs has been in a bad mood this week. Most of the people have been avoiding him at all costs."

Roger smiled. "Can't blame the old ladies," he said. "If you make sure the grass is tighter it won't sound quite so... uh... flatulent," he explained, demonstrating. He blew another clear whistle and smiled. "See? Which X-ray tech is it, Mark?"

Mark took another blade and tried it again. This time, he managed a good-sounding whistle. "Hey! It works. You're a genius, Roger." he grinned. "It's Robert who's in the bad mood. You had Jerry when you came to my office. Robert's bigger and kind of matter-of-fact. No one's complained but Jerry thinks he's been a little rougher with the patients this week. Must be having trouble at home or something. I sure pity Jerry and Melanie, the other tech. They're the ones who have to deal with him all day."

"Yeah, he... he sounds unpleasant," Roger murmured. He laid four strands out in a woven pattern and tightened them. At the mention of Robert he couldn't help but look about.

"He's not too terrible when things are going well for him, and he does good work most of the time. On occasion he's sloppy." Mark stretched a bit. "Listen to me prattle on about the office. Is there anything you want to do tomorrow before we go to my parents' house for dinner?"

"No," Roger said. He added more grass to his little mat. "Anything you like."

Mark watched Roger weave again. Here was another example of how Roger wouldn't risk displeasing Mark by offering a suggestion or opinion. "When you were younger, what did you usually do on Sundays?"

Roger shrugged. "Went to the library sometimes," he said. But only sometimes since he didn't know Mark's preference. Mark seemed to Roger like a library type though.

"That sounds great. I have a few books that need to go back anyway. I always love browsing through the stacks and looking at the new items. The last time I went, the got some new movies in. We could pick up a couple for next week."

"All right. What sort of movies do you like?" he asked.

"Almost anything. Film's always been a hobby of mine. I just like movies. Lately I've been watching a lot of foreign films with subtitles, to see how people in other parts of the world do things. I'm also into drama or movies that explore social issues or just experiment with different ways to tell the story. And some movies based on plays are really good too."

"Yeah," Roger replied, having absolutely no idea what Mark was talking about. He was seventeen and liked action movies and British television comedies and anything that involved Sean Bean topless.

Mark looked at the confusion on Roger's face. "How about tomorrow I choose one and you choose one so we both get something we like?"

"You can pick both," Roger replied. "I'm sure you have great taste."

Mark shook his head. "I want you to pick one. Your favorite. I want to know more about you and find out who the real Roger Davis is."

Roger shivered. He didn't want to pick a movie--he'd pick something Mark didn't like. He knew he would. "Sure. Maybe you could suggest something."

Mark laid a hand on Roger's shoulder once he saw the younger man shake. "What was the last movie you saw at a theater?" he asked.

"It was... oh... I'm not sure. Maybe that one about the, the two women who shoot someone and end up driving into the Grand Canyon," he said.

"Oh! Thelma and Louise! I remember seeing the previews for that and wanted to go, but never got around to it. Yeah, I'm up for that. I've got a few in mind to show you, but it depends on what they have."

"Okay," Roger said. He'd hoped to somehow argue his way round to renting his favorite movie--and by argue he means manipulate. Still, he'd liked Thelma and Louise and the bandit in it hadn't been half cute.

Just then the phone rang, so Mark went into the house to get it. "Hello," he answered.

"Mark, It's you're mother. I'm just calling to remind you about dinner tomorrow. We'll be eating around six, so you should come a little before then."

Mark rolled his eyes. Dinner always was at six, and always would be. "Don't worry, Mother. Roger and I will be there." Remembering their discussion earlier, he decided to make sure that there wouldn't be any surprise guests. "Mom, it's just going to be us, right? Family and Roger?"

"Why, yes dear. Lorraine couldn't make it tomorrow. I also invited the Feinbergs but they have a previous commitment. Why do you ask?"

Mark knew he was a bad liar and his mother always seemed to know when he wasn't telling the truth, so his mind scrambled for a truthful reason to be asking that was plausible. His gaze fell on the pie, cooling on the rack. "Oh… Roger is a good cook and he made a pie for desert. I wanted to make sure that we had enough for everyone."

"That's fine dear. I'm looking forward to meeting this houseguest of yours. See you tomorrow."

Once he hung up the phone he went back outside to Roger.

Roger was working on his grass mat. It was getting pretty big now, and he was having fun even knowing he would never be able to move it. "Hi," he said. He sat back when Mark came out.

"That was my mother, reminding me that dinner was at six tomorrow. No one else will be joining us. The people she invited couldn't come for various reasons. At least I don't have to endure Mother's matchmaking tomorrow."

"Oh," Roger said. He couldn't help but hate that Mark's mother, without even meeting him, considered him a poor match for her son.

"Watch, she's going to try to set you up with some young Jewish girl, too." Mark grinned. "It'd be just like her. She can't even say the word 'gay' without whispering it." His grin became wider and a glint appeared in his eyes. "Imagine the look on her face when she walked in on me with a boy in my room when I was seventeen." He chuckled at the memory.

Roger smiled. "That must have been very amusing," he said, trying to remember how he told his parents he was moving in with another man-- then he remembered. He lowered his head.

Mark calmed down for a minute. "I suppose there are less dramatic ways to come out to your parents, but she still didn't get the message. Dad had me speak with Rabbi Himmelfarb about it. Talk about embarrassing, especially since Nanette was in love with me since we took tango lessons when we were twelve. Mom's convinced that I'm just going though a girls-are-icky phase and will grow out of it eventually." He laughed again. "I don't think it's happened yet. I still think girls are icky. What about you, Roger? Do you think girls are icky?"

"Yes, Mark," he answered absently. If Mark thought it, then so did Roger. "Girls are icky."

"Good. That's what we'll say if Mom tries to set us up on a double date or something. I wouldn't put it past her." Mark decided to be a bit more serious. So he stopped laughing and faced Roger. "How old were you when you figured out you were gay?" he asked quietly. He admired anyone who knew themselves when they were as young as Roger.

Roger considered, then answered carefully, "I knew I liked boys when I was eleven. We could double date with lesbians. It would be the right gender setup for your mother."

Mark laughed at that. "You're right! It would. OK, where can we find some nice Jewish lesbians that aren't too far from our ages to date? I told you before, you're a genius." Mark chuckled for a while then got serious again. "I wrote a love note to a boy in first grade, but it wasn't until I was twelve that I realized I liked boys and didn't like girls. Nanette Himmelfarb kissed me after tango class one day and I realized I wished it was a boy kissing me instead. The next week I kissed Caleb Schwartz in the washroom during Hebrew school. Luckily he didn't tell anyone."

Roger smiled. "That sounds very... uh... excuse me." He rose and headed inside. Once upstairs, Roger went into the bathroom and locked the door. He splashed his face with cold water. Stop it, he told himself. Stop. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but it made his body feel heavy and wrong.

Mark followed Roger back into the house but did not continue up the stairs. He was slightly worried at Roger's abrupt departure. Had he said anything to upset him? He only wanted to share his life experience a bit, because he believed in sharing everything with a partner. He decided to wait for half an hour, and if Roger didn't come down, he'd try to talk to him through the door.

Roger sat on the ground, hugging his knees. The first person he had ever kissed... well, he couldn't tell Mark about that. And after Mark had shared so much with him, he'd probably be upset that Roger couldn't tell him-- or maybe he could. After all, it wasn't that uncommon a name, was it?

For the sake of a lie Roger flushed the toilet despite not having used it and washed his hands before heading downstairs.

Mark was glad to see Roger come down the stairs. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I just needed to use the bathroom. I'm sorry I interrupted your narrative."

"That's ok. I thought I upset you or something. I haven't thought about Caleb Schwartz in a while though. He was cute, not hot, but cute."

"No, no. I just... I feel bad. I don't have a lot of good stories to share with you."

Mark put his arm around Roger. "Don't feel bad about that. You probably haven't traumatized your parents nearly as much as I have mine. Luckily they don't know the half of what I did." He smiled. "Any story you tell will be interesting to me, Roger. And you are only seventeen. You're not old enough to have as many stories as I do."

"I can tell you about my first kiss, if you want," he volunteered.

"I'd love to hear about it."

"Well... my boyfriend walked me home after judo. My parents didn't like him so we were seeing each other on the sly, and... he pushed me up against a tree and kissed me. It was really romantic then but makes a kind of lame story."

Mark squeezed Roger's shoulders in a sort-of hug. "It's a great story. How old were you at the time?"

"I guess about thirteen."

"That's a great age for a first kiss." Mark pulled him even closer. "I guess we have more in common. My parents weren't too crazy about my boyfriends either, but that was because they were male. Why didn't your parents like this guy?"

"Well, they... they just didn't think he should be going out with... you know... he was a little older than me," Roger explained awkwardly.

Mark wondered exactly how much older the man was. When he was young, his partners were never more than a year or two older. After college he experimented more with different ages. He had no problem with a younger man and an older man falling in love, as long as they were both old enough to consent

"So, um, whenever you're hungry I made dinner and, um..." Roger desperately grasped for something to say.

"I'm getting kind of hungry now. When did you find the time to make dinner?" Roger was always surprising Mark.

"Right after lunch. While you were outside reading. Do you want to eat now?" Roger asked, already heading into the kitchen to set the table.

Mark checked his watch and realized that it was later than he had thought. "Yes, I think that would be great. Do you want me to help you with anything?" he asked.

"No, thank you. I have it under control." He served the casserole onto two plates and set them on the table. "Do you want anything to drink?"

Mark thought a moment, thinking what he had in the fridge. "I'm kind of in the mood for a beer. There should be a couple of cans in the fridge door. Soda too, if you want it."

"Okay." Roger fetched a can of beer and soda. He poured both into glasses--something about cans at the table was just too much for him to handle. He brought the drinks to the table and sat.

Mark took a bit of the casserole. "This is delicious. You're such a good cook Roger." He took a sip of beer. It complemented the flavor of the casserole perfectly.

"Thank you." Roger ate absently, watching Mark drink. He noticed that Mark drank small sips, which was a good thing. Still... he was just starting out so that wasn't a promise.

Mark noticed that Roger was watching him. "I like a beer now and then. Occasionally I'll have a sip of the hard stuff, but I don't often drink enough to get drunk. Maybe at a party or something. I usually need a good reason to lose control of my faculties." He took another sip. "What about you? Ever been drunk?"

Roger shook his head. "I don't drink," he answered, which was true. The last seder he'd attended, he still drank grape juice.

"Good for you. When I was doing my internship, I spent a few mounts in the ER. About half of the accidents I saw could have been prevented if people hadn't drank to the excess. Much as I dislike the old ladies with gout, at least they don't drink until their heart stops."

"People do stupid things," Roger said. "It doesn't mean they deserve-- I mean-- you-- it's not-- look. People shouldn't smoke. They don't deserve to die of lung cancer. Do they?"

Mark shook his head. "No, they don't deserve it. It's a terrible ordeal. Gay people certainly don't deserve AIDS. And those young kids who die of alcohol poisoning or drug overdoses don't deserve it either. I just mean that it makes me angry that people suffer when they don't have to. And telling loved ones that their family member died when it could be prevented is the absolute worst part of my job."

"Sorry," Roger said. Ok, so that was just pure idiocy. He berated himself for it mentally. Not only was he flat-out arguing with Mark, he was doing it while Mark was drinking.

Mark waved it off. "You're entitled to an opinion Roger. Don't be sorry for stating your mind. You've got some good points." He ate another bite of food and continued to nurse his beer, still aware that Roger was watching the glass as it made his way to his lips. "Does it make you uncomfortable if I drink?" he asked softly.

Yes, it made him uncomfortable. Roger, in his youth, had no experience with drink save others partaking. To him, drinking and becoming drunk were synonymous. But rather than say as much, he said, "It's your choice."

Mark noticed the tiniest shift in Roger's posture as he answered. "I'm just going to finish this one tonight," he said and returned to his dinner.

Roger nodded. He didn't say anything. Exactly how drunk would Mark be after one beer? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he figured preparing for anything was the best answer.

Mark felt the need to say something, but he wasn't sure what he could say to reassure Roger. He tried changing the subject to the dinner tomorrow. "So, are you sure you're ready to meet my family? It's not for the faint-of-heart," he joked.

Roger smiled. "I'll be all right. I'm no stranger to large Jewish families."

Mark smiled back. "You haven't said a word about your family. Do you have a lot of brothers and sisters?"

"I..." Roger began, then he stopped. "I used to," he said softly. "I can't see them anymore."

Mark got up and went to where Roger was seated to comfort him. "I'm sorry." He gave him a hug. "Do you mind telling me why not?"

Roger trembled. "Because," he whispered, "they would be ashamed of me."

Mark tightened his hold on Roger and stroked his hair. "Oh, Roger. They have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing you could do would make them stop loving you."

Roger covered his face with his hands, determined not to cry. Yes, they would, he knew. They would be ashamed of him and they would hate him. "Can I go to bed now please?" he whimpered.

Mark patted his back one last time. "Of course. I'll join you in a while, once I've taken care of these dishes." He noticed the look of objection starting to form on Roger's face. "It's only fair. You did them at lunch and you cooked tonight. I'll see you upstairs."

He nodded. "Okay." He climbed the stairs slowly and stripped. He paused for a moment--if Mark was drunk, Roger knew what he'd want. But he hadn't been too drunk earlier... Roger slipped his boxers off just in case then crawled under the covers. He curled up against the wall.

Mark took his time scraping the plates, then washing them. He finished his beer and poured Roger's discarded soda down the sink and washed the glasses, all the while thinking about what he had learned about Roger that day. He knew he came from a larger family and that he was too ashamed to go back to them. He had gotten into a relationship when he was thirteen. Mark suspected it was the same man that he had escaped from only the previous week. Roger was broken in many ways, and that made him just want to protect him and care for him until he healed.

Mark finished the dishes and then wiped off the counters and table. It was early, but he decided it would probably be best if he went to bed with Roger. Perhaps they could talk some more. He brushed his teeth and stripped to his boxers and climbed in beside Roger. Much to his surprise, Roger was completely naked. Over the past days, he had slept in boxers. "Roger," Mark whispered. "Why are you naked?"

"In case you wanted to..." Roger wasn't sure which verb would be acceptable to Mark. That basically summarized the point, anyway. If Mark wanted it, it was there.

Mark was a bit shocked. He had done his best to make sure that he pressure Roger about being more intimate. Why would Roger suddenly expect him to want sex? He decided to reaffirm that it was Roger's decision alone. "As much as I'd like that with you, Roger, remember it's still entirely up to you. Do you want me to ...?"

He shrugged. Was that relevant? "It's there if you want it," he said. It wasn't a problem for him.

Mark took Roger into his arms and kissed him. He held him tight and delighted in the familiar warmth of having another body next to him. He nuzzled Roger's neck and then whispered in his ear, "I'd like nothing better, but I only want it if you want it, too."

Roger slipped his hand around Mark. "No," he said. He wasn't going to lie. "But if you want to that's okay." It wouldn't be the first time and Roger sure doubted it would be the last. He didn't even mind so much. He liked the idea of Mark doing things to him.

Mark kissed him and then held him close again. "We'll kiss, we'll touch but not go any further. It's not okay unless you want it too. I can't take advantage of you like that." He cuddled up to Roger. "Why did you think I'd want to go further tonight?"

"Drinking... can make people..." Again words failed him. Roger blamed himself for this, for being stupid--it never occurred to him that some situations were difficult for everyone.

So he was bothered by the beer, Mark thought and silently vowed to himself not to drink in front of Roger until they could deal with his past in more detail. Luckily it wouldn't be too big a sacrifice for him. "You won't have to worry about that with me," he whispered.

"Okay," Roger said, more than a little relieved. He would have gotten up to put on his boxers, but he had no desire to leave the comfort of Mark's arms. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

Mark thought about bringing up the alcohol again, but decided it would be best to let it slide for now. Roger had a lot of issues, and that one was almost too raw. He thought for a moment and then decided to let his curiosity take over. "When was the last time you saw your family?"

"I guess... about three years ago. It was a little while after I had moved out. We argued a lot, and..."

"You must miss them a lot. I complain but I think I'd be lost without seeing my family every week or two." Mark cuddled closer. "You said you had a large family? How many brothers and sisters?"

"Three. My brother's nineteen and my little sister's fifteen. My other sister..." Roger swallowed, determined not to cry. He had spent years missing his family, and now he was determined not to lose it. "She's seventeen," he said, and let Mark make the connection.

"But you're... oh, your twin?" he asked quietly. That must be difficult. He and Cindy were fairly close since she was only a year older than him and they had often played together, but from his experience twins shared a special connection. He remembered at the hospital he had witnessed the birth of twins, a boy and a girl. Once they were cleaned up, the boy would not settle down unless his sister was in his sight. It got to the point where he had to suggest they share a bassinet in order for any of the other infants to get any peace.

"Yeah." Roger stroked his palm gently. "I think she... might have tried to kill herself last year," he said. He hoped that wasn't too much information. Mark might make the connection, with the ages and events.

Mark didn't quite know what to say. Working in doctor's offices and checking in on some of his patients at the hospital, he did hear about suicide attempts. He recalled a couple that may have been Roger's sister, but none of them had the last name Davis. Instead of commenting he hugged Roger closer and let him fall asleep in his arms.

to be continued!

Reviews would be very much appreciated