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?

On the way home Mark had a hard time concentrating on the road, so he drove a little more slowly than usual. "Are you worried?" he asked.

Roger nodded, then realized Mark was watching the road. He smiled. His throat was dry. "Yeah," he said.

"You realize that since you have the subpoena, you're legally obligated to appear at the trial. If it's too much to handle, we can get David to write you a medical exemption, but that weakens the case against Robert."

Roger didn't know what to say, but he knew Mark wanted him to testify, so he agreed. "I'll testify. He... he... probably won't get off, right?" If Robert wasn't in jail, he would find Roger and kill him. Roger knew he would.

"I'm not a lawyer, but I don't think he has a leg to stand on. My exam today proved you had sex before your last birthday, so he can't deny the statutory rape charge. I'm not sure what else they'll charge him with, though."

"But they can't prove I didn't agree," he said softly.

"They can prove that it was rough, though. And they can also prove that he hurt you in other ways. That broken arm couldn't have been caused by a fall. Plus with statutory rape, it doesn't matter if you gave consent. The fact that he had sex with you while you were underage is enough."

Roger nodded, but he felt sick. He had gone willingly to Robert's the first time. Oh, god, what had he done? "It's not his fault," he said quietly.

"Roger, the way the jury will see it, he was the adult and you were just a child. He made a decision to have a sexual relationship with a young teenager."

"No. It wasn't his fault. Oh, god." Roger covered his face with his hands as he started to cry. "Oh god I can't undo this!"

Mark reached over and took one of Roger's hands. Driving one-handed, he did his best to comfort Roger. "Roger, it's ok. You're doing the right thing."

Roger buried his face in his elbow. He didn't want to take his hand out of Mark's. "He didn't do anything wrong, he didn't!"

"Roger, he hurt you! Even if you feel you did something to deserve it, he didn't have the right to hurt you. You're still recovering from what he did to your arm. No one has the right to do that, no matter what you think you did."

Roger shook. He had ruined Robert's life. He didn't know how to make Mark understand that

"Roger, if he hurt you, he could easily hurt someone else. If you didn't report him, he may have done the same thing to another boy. Or he may have blown up at work and hurt someone there. You stopped him. You did nothing wrong."

He cried harder. "I didn't mean to be bad," he sobbed, "but it's not his fault!" He curled up on the seat. They would be home soon. He didn't know why, but he felt safe there.

Mark continued to hold Roger. "Roger, it was his fault. He made the choice to hurt you."

"No," he whimpered. He took in a shaky breath. "L-let's just go h-home."

"We'll be there in a minute or so." Mark turned onto his street and pulled into the driveway. He used his keys to unlock the door and ushered Roger inside. "I'll put the pizza into the oven, OK?"

Roger was still crying and shaking. "C-c-could you... nevermind."

"Could I what, Roger?"

He shook his head. "Whatever you w-want."

Mark was getting a little tired of Roger constantly deferring to him. "What did you want to ask, Roger?"

He flinched. "Would-you-come-and-lie-down-with-me-for-a-little-while-please."

Mark smiled. Roger had finally asked for something that he wanted. "Of course. Lunch can wait. Do you want to lie in the bed?"

Roger nodded. "Yes, please," he said softly, surprised that Mark would agree.

Mark followed Roger up the stairs to the bedroom and climbed into the bed after him. "Do you want to talk or just want me to hold you for now?"

"B-both, please," he whimpers. He wipes his face on his shirt. "Are you angry?"

"A little," Mark admitted, "but not at you. I'm angry that Robert hurt you and got you to believe such negative things about yourself."

Roger held onto Mark's hand tightly. "It wasn't his fault."

"It's not yours either."

"I went to him," he said softly. "I asked him to take me in."

Mark wrapped him in a hug. "You trusted him. He abused that trust. You did nothing wrong, Roger. He made the choice to hurt you."

"He didn't mean to," Roger insisted. "He couldn't control himself."

"He made the choice to be in the room when he couldn't control his actions, Roger. I acknowledge that there are certain personality disorders that make people go out of control, but they still make the choice to react to something, or to remain where other people are in danger. He could have easily left the room before he hurt you."

"He did," Roger insisted. "He did, Mark! When things got really bad, he put me on the porch so I was safe."

"If he did it those times, he could have done it all the time, Roger. Even if you do the worst possible thing imaginable, you don't deserve to be hit, punched, grabbed, kicked or raped. Your body belongs to you and no one else has the right to violate it."

Roger began to cry again. "I wasn't raped! I wasn't, I'm not a fucking pussy! I said he could!"

"You're not a pussy, Roger. You're very strong. Did you ever tell him that he could have sex, even if you really didn't want to? Or did he ever initiate without asking permission first?"

"W-well... both," he said. Wasn't that what you did when you were in love? "And sometimes it hurt, but... but he loved me..." he explained weakly.

"Roger, that means there were times you didn't really consent. Now it would be hard to prove in court, but essentially, he forced himself on you. You're not weak. He's so much bigger and stronger than you are. Did he threaten you if you didn't have sex?"

"W-why would he do that? I kn-knew what would happen."

Mark tried to be gentle. He didn't want to make a mess of things, but he needed Roger to see that Robert had violated him in many different ways. Only then would he start to heal. "Roger, what would have happened if you refused him sex?"

"He would get angry with me... sometimes he didn't want me in the bed, o-or, if he r-really wanted he m-might talk about m-making me l-leave."

"And you don't think that's coercion?" he asked gently. "The threat of not having a home?"

"Y-you pay your m-mortgage," Roger argued right back. "You w-work, and you p-pay your mortgage and s-so you have a h-home. It only m-makes s-sense."

"But my bank doesn't violate my body to pay my mortgage. And from what I understand, you did plenty of work to earn your keep. If I paid you for the work you do around the house, at the going rate, you'd be earning about three hundred a week. You gave Robert all of that work for free, that should have more than paid for any food you ate or space you took up."

Roger pressed tighter against Mark, clutching his shirt. "Boys don't get raped," he says, as fiercely as a sobbing young man can. He can feel the heat of Mark's chest against his forehead.

Mark cuddled him closer and rubbed his back. "Yes, they do, Roger. Boys do get raped. They're just less likely to tell anyone."

"It was my fault," he whispered. "He had to..." But he couldn't remember why, just that it was true.

"It wasn't your fault. He had no right to make you do anything."

"He loved me. I just wanted him to be happy," Roger insisted. "I tried to make him happy... I tried so hard."

Mark hugged him again. "I know you did. Even if he does love you, he still had no right to treat you like that."

"Can we just stay here for a while?" Roger asked. He just wanted Mark to hold him.

Mark pulled Roger's body even closer to him. "Of course. We'll stay as long as you need to."

Roger relaxed. After a while, he couldn't cry anymore. He slowly pulled away from Mark. "Thank you," he said.

Mark gave him a last little squeeze. "I'm here for you, Roger. You're not longer alone."

Roger smiled shakily. "I... suppose you don't want me to..." he said, and cast a meaningfully look at Mark's groin.

"Only if you want to, and you feel ready for it."

"I-I want you to be happy," he said, wondering if this was the same pathetic nature he had shown Robert.

Mark placed a gentle kiss on Roger's lips. "I'm already happy. I'm happy with whatever you're ready to give me. I'm happy that you trust me enough to talk to me about your past and I'm happy just spending time with you. Anything more is a bonus."

The kiss made him blush for reasons he could not identify. "I... I give really good head," he said. "If you want, I'd be happy to do that for you."

Mark kissed him again. "If you're sure..."

"I just want you to be happy," Roger repeated. "Do you want anything?"

Mark thought for a moment. Though he appreciated the offer, he wasn't sure if Roger really was ready for that yet. He'd have to take the initiative. "I want you to be happy, too. I want you to do what's right for you."

Roger didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure if Mark was asking politely for sex or what. He would of course have obliged, if only he knew what was expected of him. "Do you want, um, me to... do something for you?"

Mark was tempted to say yes. It had been a long time since he had a lover in his bed, but he knew that he would never take advantage of Roger's willingness. "I don't need you to do anything for me, Roger. However, if you want to do something, I'm comfortable with whatever you want to do. You're still setting the pace, remember."

Roger bit his lip. "I think I'll just go make us some lunch, okay?" he said.

"That would be great," said Mark.

Roger headed for the door. He hesitated. "If you do want to, um, do things to me, it's ok," he said.

"I wouldn't feel comfortable with that unless you tell me specifically. Do you want me to do something to you?" he asked.

"It doesn't have to do with that," he murmured.

"Roger? What do you mean?" asked Mark. It was a good thing that his hearing was sharp.

Roger looked at him. "I haven't..." he began, then blushed. "It's nothing."

Mark was very curious now. "You haven't what?"

Roger shook his head, blushing harder. "I-It's nothing." It was enough that Mark was sure he'd been raped. He didn't need to know this, too.

"It's not nothing if you said it. You know you can tell me anything," said Mark. He wanted to get Roger talking, even if he was embarrassed. He needed all the practice he could get talking about personal matters.

He looked at the floor, his shoulders hunched. "I'll tell you if you want me to," he said softly. "But please, please don't make me."

Mark was torn. He felt that this information may be important, if not to the trial, then to understanding Roger better, but he didn't want to cause Roger too much distress. In the end he rationalized that Roger wouldn't have the option of not speaking in the courtroom. "I think it sounds important Roger. Please tell me."

Roger felt heat rise. "I can't get it up anymore, ok?" he snapped. He had never thought he would lose his temper with Mark. He liked Mark, very much in fact. He wanted to get closer to Mark. But he couldn't handle this.

Mark was more surprised at the tone of Roger's voice than at the revelation. It was most likely a psychological effect and the blood tests he had ordered would most likely rule out anything physical. Actually it was a good sign that Roger showed some anger. Even so, he chose his words carefully. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I don't think any less of you for it."

"Nothing to be ashamed of!" he cried, practically laughing. "Only systematic emasculation, nothing," he said. He needed to move but had nothing to do and nowhere to go. He knew the moment he stepped outside he would lose his anger and be frightened again. Even now he was frightened. Mark could kick him out after this. "Sooner or later I won't even be human."

"Roger, you're still human. And there are ways to get through this. There are treatments we can look into. You're not any less of a man."

"In what way am I not?" he asked, unable to see it. "It's bad enough I'm a faggot, now I'm not even that, I'm a fucking pussy."

"Hey," Mark snapped. "We don't use those terms here." He couldn't help it. The word "faggot" made him flash back to his first year in med school. One of his professors was severely homophobic and tried to use Mark's sexuality as grounds for dismissing him from the program. He had failed, but ever since then, the term always put him on the defensive, feeling as though he had to justify himself.

Under normally circumstances that was enough to make Roger cringe and beg forgiveness. Now he was too upset. "What you say doesn't change anything," Roger replied. "It doesn't make me any less weak and useless."

"Weak? You're not weak. You had the strength to leave a bad situation with less than the clothes on your back. You had the strength to go down to the police station and stop Robert from doing this to someone else. You're one of the strongest people I know! And useless? Besides the cooking and cleaning you do, you've made my life better. I'm happier because of you!" By this time, Mark was almost crying. In that moment, he realized that his feelings for Roger went deeper than he suspected. It hurt him that Roger was so down on himself.

Roger hesitated. He went over and sat next to Mark on the bed. For a moment, he just sat there, then he put his arms around Mark's shoulders and hugged him.

Mark latched onto Roger and started to sob. He cried for Roger's lost self-worth and the pain and humiliation that Roger had been forced to endure. After a few minutes, his tears subsided. "Thanks, Roger." he whispered.

"You're welcome." Roger let his hands fall into his lap. "Can I stay home for a few days?" he asked weakly. It was partly going outside that brought him so low. When he went outside he was sure everyone saw him, and knew.

"That should be fine. We'll take it one day at a time, OK?"

He nodded. "Do you want me to make lunch?" he asked. Cooking was familiar, something he could rely on.

Mark realized Roger felt the need to do something useful. "Yes, please. I'm getting a bit hungry."

Roger nodded, relieved. "What would you like?" he asked.

Mark thought for a minute. He thought about the pizza in the fridge, but realized he wasn't in the mood for it. What he really wanted was his mother's chicken soup. "Can you make chicken soup?" he asked. It wouldn't be his mother's but it was comfort food.

Roger nodded. He could do that. "Would you come with me? If you want to?" he asked. He still didn't like being alone.

"Of course. Just don't ask me to cook!"

He smiled tightly and opened the bedroom door for Mark.

Mark led the way to the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools along the counter. For a few minutes he watched Roger get the things he needed from the cupboards and start the soup. He wanted to talk to Roger some more, but didn't know if he should.

Roger sauteed chicken and onions in a pot, then added tomatoes and broth. He added worcestershire sauce, sloshing it straight from the bottle. "Okay," he said. "It, it just needs to simmer for a little while."

Mark nodded. "Thanks. I need some chicken soup today. What should we do while we wait?"

"Whatever you want," Roger said. He couldn't think of anything he wanted to do, particularly. Maybe sit in the laundry room.

"I don't feel like TV or board games right now. Maybe I should call that lawyer about the trial?"

Roger's shoulders rose, and he looked at the floor. "Okay," he says softly.

Mark indicated that Roger should sit down on the couch and then went over to the spot where he had dropped his briefcase to retrieve the phone number. He brought the phone to the couch and sat next to Roger, placing his free arm around the younger man as he dialed.

Roger tensed. He pressed closer to Mark, listening to the ringing on the other end of the line.

After a few rings Mark heard the recorded message come on at the tone he left his message. "Hello, this is Mark Cohen calling regarding the trial of Robert Evans. Roger Davis and I received our subpoenas and would like to have a meeting to discuss our testimonies. We can both be reached at 555-1092 for the rest of the day or you can call my office line tomorrow. Thank you." He hung up the phone. "Some days I hate answering machines."

Roger was a little relieved. He hadn't wanted to talk any more about this. After Mark hung up the phone, he sighed in relief. "Y-you'll talk to him tomorrow," he assured Mark. Unfortunately that meant Roger would.

Mark sighed. "I know. I just want to know what we can expect. I've testified at trials before, but that was different. I barely knew the people. They were just patients. Once I was done, I didn't think about the trials. This time I do care. I'm not just giving medical information, I'm testifying on behalf of someone I care about." He wanted to add more but wasn't sure if he could say it, so it came out in a whisper. "Someone I love."

Roger stared. He blinked. Had Mark really said that? No one had told Roger they loved him in years. Even his mother felt the need to qualify her love. Even though you're gay. "Y-you do?" Roger asked, barely believing it. But then he paused and realized that Mark probably didn't mean him. He probably meant Robert.

Mark nodded and wrapped his arms around Roger. "I realized it upstairs. I love you, Roger."

Roger pressed his face against Mark's shoulder. "I love you, too," he said. "A lot. And that scares me."

"I'm scared too. I don't want to hurt, you."

"Mark? Do you think maybe we could eat in bed? Just tonight," Roger requested.

"Of course. We'll have to be a little careful with the soup, but that's fine." He almost made a joke about crumbs in the sheets, but didn't want to spoil the moment.

Roger bit his knuckle and nodded. He had actually made stew; he considered telling Mark this, but then decided to let it go. Soup and stew were close enough. Maybe Mark wouldn't tell. Or he would like it. Hopefully. "I should check on it."

"I'll come with you," said Mark and he followed Roger into the kitchen.

Roger checked the stew, stirred it and added flour to thicken it a little. "Does it look ok?" he asked, hoping this came up to Mark's expectations

"It looks great...Thicker than I expected, but that will keep us filled longer."

"I can thin it," Roger said quickly. He headed for the sink. A little water, that was all it needed.

"No, don't bother. It's less likely to spill when we eat it in bed."

Roger nodded, unable to shake the feeling that Mark was looking for excuses. "It's nearly ready."

Mark smiled. He was getting hungry. "Why are you so eager to eat in bed tonight?"

"I just feel safe there," Roger explained. He found some odds and ends of bread in the bread drawer, most of it free of mold but verging on stale.

Mark grabbed some extra large mugs from the cupboard. He figured they'd be easier to balance than bowls. In spite of the thickness of the stew, there was still potential to spill. He also grabbed some spoons and got the butter out of the fridge. "I can understand that. When I was younger, I used to build forts in my bed. Nothing would scare me then."

Roger smiled. "I did, too," he said softly. "Old bread is really good in stew. I don't like throwing things out," he explained.

Mark got some cans of pop out of the fridge. They'd be more portable than glasses. He also got two trays from a kitchen drawer. "My grandmother never threw anything away either. My father told me it was because she didn't have a lot when she was younger."

"Was she born before the Depression?" Roger asked. He supposed it was possible, and it would certainly explain any hoarding tendencies. He simply hated wasting food. He knew a good French dessert made with old bread and milk, then fried

"Yes, she was. A lot of my older patients are the same way. They'll send me checks in resealed envelopes or bring me samples in milk bags that were washed out."

"Mark? I'm sorry about... how everything went today," Roger said softly. He ladled stew into the mugs and covered the pot.

Mark rifled through drawers looking for napkins. "I know it was hard for you. Um, were you able to talk to David, or would you prefer someone else?" After Roger's revelation in the bedroom, there was no way that Mark would allow Roger to stop seeing a therapist, but he was willing to search for someone compatible.

Roger nodded. "He's okay," he said, even though he hadn't told David much of anything. "B-but do you think, maybe, that y-you could stay next time?" he asked, knowing there wasn't much of a chance. Still, he'd never know if he didn't ask.

"I'll have to discuss that with David, but I'm willing. As long as you do the talking and don't just hide behind me. And we'd have to fit it into both our schedules." Mark smiled. "And you won't be allowed to go to the bathroom until after the session."

Roger opened his mouth to ask if he could go to the bathroom before the session, then he realized what Mark was referring to and he smiled. "I... I guess that makes sense," he said, scratching at his arm. "I'd just feel better if you were there."

Mark led the way upstairs to the bedroom. "I'm wondering if the courts may make you talk to one of their psychologists... it's a possibility."

Roger followed him, clutching the steaming mugs of stew. He shuddered. "W-would you come with me?" he asked. Talking about everything with Robert was bad enough with Mark. Without him, Roger couldn't do it.

Mark nodded. "As long as they let me, and it does nothing to weaken the case against Robert."

Roger smiled. "Thank you," he said. In the bedroom, he set the stew on the table and crawled into bed.

Mark crawled in behind him, but sat up and took a mug of stew. "Mmm... this is delicious. I thought I wanted soup, but this is better."

"Thanks," he said, beaming. Roger took the other mug and the end from a loaf of bread. He pulled out the center, tore it into little piece and put them in the stew, then started to eat.

Mark copied his actions and found that Roger was absolutely right about old bread in stew. He ate in silence for a while, then decided to broach another sensitive topic. "Roger, you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, and I'm asking this as your doctor. How long have you been having... difficulty with... um... getting it up?"

Roger swallowed a mouthful of bread and stew. "A while," he said. "I guess maybe a year... Sex just isn't fun anymore. But, um, I can't do it on my own, either." He used the heel of bread as a scoop for stew and just focused on that, trying to pretend he was doing something else.

"Were you ever injured down there? Or have any other symptoms?" Again, Mark was almost positive it was a psychological problem or a reaction to all the stress Roger was facing. He just wanted to be sure.

Roger considered for a moment. He blushed deeply, but when he replied it was to say only, "No."

Mark nodded, but then furrowed his brow. He remembered some of the activities Roger had been forced to engage in. One of them may have caused an injury. Roger was obviously embarrassed. "After the trial, we'll look into it further. It could be your diet or trouble with your circulation, or stress or a number of different things. We'll get through this, too."

He nodded. "Okay," he said. He continued eating in silence. When he had finished, he waited until Mark was finished, too, then asked, "Should I go wash the dishes?"

Mark shook his head. "Just rinse them and put them in the sink. They can wait until tomorrow."

"Okay." He climbed over Mark carefully and picked up the mugs. Heading downstairs, Roger began to feel afraid, but he didn't say anything or go back to the bedroom. He made his way to the kitchen and quickly rinsed the mugs, then sprinted back to the bedroom. He crawled back into bed. "Hi, Mark."

Mark shuffled over and wrapped his arms around Roger. "I liked having a picnic in bed. I don't think I could do it every day, but it was fun."

Roger smiled, feeling better. He melted in Mark's arms. "Thank you for everything," he said softly.

Mark cuddled him further. "You're welcome. Thank you, too. You showed me what it means to be in love."

to be continued!

Reviews would be very much appreciated... please?