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 inhaled a mouthful of steam. He felt it almost solid in his mouth, the warmth as it traveled down his throat, then he opened his mouth and coughed. Roger's thin frame shook. He grasped the sink with both hands and spat hard into the basin. It helped clear his throat a little, but overall he only felt warm, which at least beat cold. Roger turned the knob to shut off the faucet. Sitting in the steam wasn't clearing his throat.

He left the bathroom and pulled his sweater on--wet wool would've been worse than anything else. Roger trailed his fingertips along the wall to ground himself. He needed to do something... what was it... oh, right. Casserole. He needed to make a casserole for dinner, then bedtime and he could rest. Roger opened a cookbook, sneezed, and shuffled out of the kitchen in triple-socked feet to find a tissue. Luckily Mark kept a healthy supply.

Roger shook his head and his brain rattled. He didn't want to cook. He wanted to curl up in bed and feel sorry for himself. He picked up the telephone and dialed Mark's number at work.

Mark was in the midst of filling out his thirty-eighth report of the day. The change in the weather had brought with it a dramatic increase in the number of patients with colds and flu. The sheer numbers had kept him incredibly busy and his hands were starting to chap from washing them so often. Not all of the patients were content to heed his advice of plenty of rest, fluids and chicken soup and a couple of the women had gotten hostile when he refused to prescribe antibiotics. All in all, it was a long day.

His office phone rang, giving him a welcome distraction. "Hello," he said.

His receptionist spoke briefly. "Dr. Cohen, there's a man named Roger on the phone. Can I put him through?"

Mark wondered why Roger was calling. He never had called the office before. "Of course, Linda. In the future, you can just put any calls from him right through."

"Alright, Dr. Cohen. Please hold while I transfer you."

Mark waited and heard the soft click as the line changed. "Roger? Are you alright?"

"Yes," Roger replied softly, his voice slightly rough from coughing all morning. Suddenly he felt sick with anxiety. Maybe called Mark at work hadn't been a good idea. After all, he might be busy. What if he thought it was an emergency and left a patient to speak with Roger? Sure, a lady with a cold was no comparison to a burning house, but... "Is it all right that I called you?"

"Yes, it's fine. I know you won't call unless you need to speak to me and if it's really a bad time, my receptionist will let you know. What can I do for you?"

"I just..." Roger started, then trailed off. He licked his suddenly very dry lips. "I wondered if... would it be okay if I didn't make dinner tonight?" he asked. "I can if you want," he added hastily. Roger still feared sometimes that Mark would get angry. He wasn't afraid of being thrown out anymore, though.

Mark immediately knew something was wrong but knew Roger wouldn't admit it over the phone. It would take a lot to keep Roger from making dinner. "Of course it's okay. I'll pick up takeout on the way home. Is there anything you would like me to get?"

"Whatever you like," Roger said. He wasn't sure how much he would be able to eat. Even starving he would have voiced no opinion.

"How does Thai food sound? I haven't had it in a while."

"Sounds good," Roger murmured. "That sounds really good." He looked around and shivered. It was cold in the house. "Do you think you'll be home soon?"

"I shouldn't be too much longer. I just have to finish the paperwork from today. I'll probably be home in an hour or so."

"Okay. I-I'll see you soon, then." He wanted to add that he was excited to see Mark, but decided not to. Mark might feel pressured.

"See you soon. Oh, and Roger, if you don't mind, could you light a fire in the fireplace? It's kind of a cold and miserable day and I kind of feel like having a fire tonight."

"Okay. I'll do that now," Roger said. He looked over to the fireplace and realized that once the fire was lit, he wouldn't be able to leave it alone. He had always been afraid of fires.

"Thanks Roger. I'll try to hurry."

"Thank you. I love you, Mark."

"I love you, too, Roger. See you when I get home."

An hour later, Mark pulled into his driveway. He took the cartons of food from the passenger seat and headed into the house. He could smell the crisp scent of wood smoke permeating the fresh winter air and breathed deeply to enjoy it. It was one of his favorite smells. He turned his key in the lock and stepped into the house. "Hi, honey, I'm home," Mark called, then giggled. He always had wanted to say that. He waited and didn't here a response from Roger. That was strange. Mark placed the food on the counter and called Roger's name.

Roger's eyes opened. He moaned softly, sat up and shook his head. He felt so exhausted. "M-Mark?" he asked. If anyone else was in the house, Roger knew he was in trouble. He stood and shuffled towards the kitchen.

Mark heard Roger stir and met him at the entry. "Oh, there you are." He then noticed how stiffly Roger was moving. His eyes were red and half closed. There was a slight rasp in his breathing. His cheeks were flushed with fever. In short, Roger was sick.

Roger smiled. "Mark," he moaned softly, and hugged him. He didn't feel the usual flood of relief at Mark's arrival home. He felt too tired for that.

Mark returned the hug, then used his hands to feel Roger's cheeks and forehead. They were burning hot. "How long have you been feeling sick?" he asked gently.

"Umm... I guess a day or two," Roger replied. He should have said something sooner. Mark would have fixed him. "I don't feel so great."

Mark nodded. "There's a cold going around and the change in weather makes people more susceptible. I've seen it a lot today. Unfortunately all you can do is get rest, drink fluids and stay warm. Why don't you lie on the couch while I get you some dinner?"

"Okay," Roger said. He feinted heading for the couch, then followed Mark into the kitchen. "Why do you think I'm sick?" he asked. He hadn't been around anyone but Mark, and Mark was well.

"It could have been a number of things. Germs float around everywhere. You might have picked it up at temple or when we went out on Saturday. Or I could have brought it back from the office. I wash my hands often but maybe you got it from my clothes or something. Plus you're under a lot of stress, so that may weaken you're defenses."

"Mark, what if God's mad at me?" Roger asked. Ordinarily Roger would consider this foolish, because he didn't believe in that sort of God but in a loving, just being.

"Roger, God doesn't give people colds because he's mad at them. They just happen. Besides, why would God be mad at you? Well, maybe some of the older people at Temple would think being gay would make him mad, but I'm gay too and I don't have a cold."

"I don't know," Roger murmured. Lately it wasn't just his gayness, it was everything. He felt like he messed up more often than he didn't. "I'm sorry... I guess I'll be laying around for a few days."

Mark gave him a reassuring smile. "Roger, there's nothing to be sorry about. I'll just have to take care of you until you're better. Although don't expect anything I try to cook to be fancy. I can make grilled cheese and heat up tinned soup, so we may have to live on takeout for a few days." He had finished putting the food onto dishes and grabbed some cutlery. "Why don't we eat in the living room, in front of the fire?"

"That sounds nice." Roger took as much as he could and quickly headed into the living room. He felt very unsteady. He sat by the fire and organized everything as neatly as possible. "How was work today?"

"Busy. You're not the only one with a cold. And most people won't accept that it will go away on it's own. Four little old ladies almost lynched me because they wanted me to write them a prescription for antibiotics to get rid of the cold. Unfortunately, antibiotics don't work on viruses but try telling that to the over seventy population of this town."

Roger laughed again. He had never tried that one and didn't think he ever would. "I tried the steam today, but it didn't help," he said softly. He enjoyed the image of four very elderly ladies attacking Mark with their umbrellas. He didn't know why he chose umbrellas, but he did, and it was very amusing. "My mom always said sitting in the steam helped your throat," he offered.

"My mother always had me snort up salt water to clear my nose. Not very pleasant, but it does work."

Roger laughed again. He had never tried that one and didn't think he ever would. "I tried the steam today, but it didn't help," he said.

Mark frowned. "I'll make you some tea with lemon and honey. That always soothes my throat."

Roger shook his head. He rested his hand on Mark's arm. "Can you just stay with me? While you're home?" he added. He didn't want Mark to think he wanted him to stay home from work or anything like that, but now that Mark was home, Roger wanted to be with him.

"Of course." He had finished eating so he placed his dishes on the coffee table and retrieved the afghan from the back of the couch. He spread it across Roger's lap and then slid under the cover next to him. Mark reached around Roger's shoulders and pulled him closer. "How's this?"

Roger leaned against Mark and hugged him around the waist. "Thank you," he murmured. He nuzzled Mark's shoulder gently. "Mark, can I still sleep with you? Or should I sleep somewhere else tonight? I don't want to get you sick."

Mark smiled. "That's sweet that you're concerned about me, but I'm exposed to colds all day at work. Of course you can sleep with me. I've already been exposed to the cold."

Roger smiled and nuzzled closer. He loved being near Mark. "When I'm near you, I feel better," he said. "I made up a routine for when you're not here... did I tell you?" he asked, aware that he hadn't.

Mark shook his head and cuddled Roger closer. "No you didn't. Tell me about it."

"I wash the dishes I used to make breakfast, then take a shower, then wash the dishes you used to eat. Then I clean all of one kind of thing. Dusting, sweeping, mopping, laundry, or bathroom depending on the day. I read for an hour and then--well between each of those I spend an hour or half an hour or so working on dinner."

"You really do keep yourself busy. What have you read lately?"

Roger shrugged. "I take things off your bookshelf. Always put them back, though," he added.

Mark smiled. "That's fine. Books are meant to be read. They do no good gathering dust on the shelves. Though since you moved in there hasn't been any dust."

Roger beamed at the praise. He liked knowing that he was really helping, and that Mark particularly cared. "Is there something else you want me to do?" he asked. "I have extra time."

Mark considered for a moment but then shook his head. "I can't think of anything. You take such good care of the place that I can't think of anything that needs to be done. You find something you like to do with that time."

"Oh." Roger hadn't thought about things he enjoyed in some time. He'd been twelve or thirteen years old the last time he considered what he enjoyed, young enough that this mainly included snowball fights and his brother's Atari. "I like Huck Finn a lot," he said. "That's my favorite of your books."

"You should read Twain's other stories. I really like A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. You should also try some Farley Mowat if you like adventure stories. Most of his take place in the Canadian Wild."

"Have you ever been to Canada?" Roger asked. "It's funny... it's not that far to drive, but I've never been."

"I went with my family when I was ten. We went to Niagra Falls and then Toronto, drove along the St. Lawrence River and into Quebec and then went to Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia. Cindy got to see Green Gables and I made the family go to this fort where they act like it's the 1700s and everyone spoke French."

Roger smiled. That sounded like fun, everyone pretending it was the 1700s. He remembered a Renaissance Faire he'd gone to as a child that was like that, and he had loved it. "Do you speak French?"

"Very badly. I remember most of my high school French, but talking about your aunt's red skirt can only take you so far. I can ask where the bathroom is and order coffee."

"I know the one phrase I'll need if I ever go to France. Parlez-vous anglais?" Roger asked with a truly horrible accent.

Mark laughed. "One day I'll take you to France. I'll ask for the washroom and you can demand that the rude Parisians speak English." he promised. "Where's the farthest you traveled?"

Roger laughed. "I thought I was asking if they knew how to speak English!" he said, truly apologetic. "When I was maybe nine years old we went out to California. I liked it there a lot. My dad was doing this work thing there, so we spent a semester in Los Angeles. We got to go to Disneyland and the beach. I liked the ocean... but it was fall, and instead of rain there were hot winds."

"There were beaches in Canada, too, but the air was cool. People still swam though. I'd miss the rain if I went to California. And the colored leaves."

"I missed it, too. And the snow. But the beaches were nice, and it was usually nineties degrees or more, and you could get french fries. And my teacher was this mega-hippie."

"That would've been interesting. What kids of things did he or she do?"

"She had us sit on the lawn and sing songs in Spanish while she played guitar. We made masks for Day of the Dead, and sang Easter songs on Easter and had a little carnival for Purim. Any holiday, we celebrated."

"I wish my teachers would have celebrated holidays. If we were lucky we got special word problems for Halloween and Valentine's Day when I was younger."

"Jack has seventeen pieces of candy. Andrew has eight. How many pieces of candy do they have?" Roger asked, trying to think up as many fun word problems as he could. "Cupid has two hundred arrows and 73.5 accuracy. How many people will be falling in love?"

"Exactly. Though yours were more interesting. We got things like if a ghost and a half met two and a half goblins and they all turned into witches, how many brooms would we need?" He chuckled. "Though those were some of my best memories of school. Did you have any other interesting teachers?"

"Some. Some not so good... in fifth grade we had to do reports on different countries and my teacher couldn't find mine on the map... I think it was in west Asia but all I really remember is that she couldn't find it. People like that shouldn't teach." Roger covered his mouth and coughed. "I know it's early, but maybe we could head to bed?"

Mark stood up. "Yes, that's probably a good idea. You need your rest." Mark helped Roger stand up and they made their way up the stairs and into the bedroom. "You probably should wear some pajamas instead of just your boxers tonight. You need the warmth."

"Okay." Roger fetched his pajamas from the drawer and pulled them on. "I love pajamas... did I ever tell you that?" he asked. "My parents bought me pajamas all the time. Birthday jammies. Christmas jammies. All the time." He crawled into bed, keeping to the side until he had Mark with him.

"My parents also liked giving me pajamas. I even got a pair for graduating from Med School." Mark leaned over and pulled out a pair with stethoscopes and syringes on them. "I think they had them specially made. Still, I appreciate the thought." He undressed quickly and put them on, then slid into the bed next to Roger.

Roger grinned and wrapped his arms around Mark. "I love you," he whispered. He nuzzled Mark's chest gently and closed his eyes. "I don't know where I'd be without you, Mark."

"I love you, too, Roger." Mark gathered the younger man into his arms and snuggled into his warmth. In a few short minutes, his eyes also closed.

to be continued!

Reviews would be very much appreciated... please?