Okay, random question for anyone: anyone either heard of or obsessed with the show called 'The X-Files'? :D It's officially one of my fave shows now and one of the episodes (Redux Pt.2 to be precise) inspired me greatly for this chapter. So yay! :D (For those of you who haven't watched it, but like either Sci-Fi or cop/FBI shows, CHECK. IT. OUT! It's supermegafoxyawesomehottness! :D)

Anyways, sorry this took so long :P Inspiration didn't hit me until a few days ago and then this long chapter took a few days to write & correct, etc. So don't kill me :P and enjoy the chapter :)

Recap:

I suddenly doubled over as I felt the breath rush out of me. I attempted to piece together what happened as I clutched to my throbbing ribs. As I gasped desperately for air, I realized quickly by the way Collins was letting his arm drop that it was quite obvious that he had lifted his bloody elbow to hit me! I tried to get enough air to yell at Collins, but before I could the man I desperately wanted to see right now came strolling into the room…

Well, the second man I desperately wanted to see right now strolled into the room.

Mark's doctor…

The balding man strode over to us quickly, looking as if he had some urgent news…

I felt my heart lift.

He has to be here to tell us Mark's awake! He has to…I mean, what other reason would he be rushing like that? I could only see a man like him rushing to tell us good news…I thought, blocking out anything my brain decided to throw at me to convince me otherwise.

I felt more rather then heard or saw Maureen and Joanne stand up beside me. I could also almost feel Collins overwhelming worry for Mark (and probably me as well).

Because of the doctor's swift walk, he got to us quickly and when I saw his sad eyes I prayed that he was sad because he wouldn't get the money from us he would get if Mark stayed long-term.

But sadly for me—us—that wasn't the case.

"I'm afraid you all will have to come with me. Mr. Cohen is not doing very well, and we must make sure you all say your goodbyes just in case."

Just in case…Those three words practically shattered me. Shattered my hopes, my dreams, my fake reality in which the doctor was just worried he was losing money…Just in case…Tears pricked my eyes, but I held them back.

Jesus H. Christ, I can't do this…I thought as I began to feel emptiness crawl inside me.

"Can—Can I take a moment p-please?" I hoarsely whispered, blinking quickly.

"Sure." The doctor said with a look full of pure pity. Usually this pity would piss me off, because Roger M. Davis, the "rock star" doesn't take pity and charity well…but I felt as if my whole body was numb to everything. I couldn't have cared less right at the moment.

Once the doctor had fully walked away to wait for us in the hall, I quickly wiped off any tears that threatened to fall. Thankfully Maureen and Joanne knew me well enough to look away; knowing vulnerability wasn't something I liked to show. My brain barely registered that Collins had left to call Mimi and Benny.

I breathed in deeply, and before I knew it a flashback had consumed me.

"Rog, listen to me okay? Breathe in and out with me, alright?" Mark whispered, winding one arm around me. I tried to nod but I couldn't; the sobs and the lack of breath were in the way.

Yes, that's right: I was having a panic attack at the moment.

Mark told me later on that I had quite a small one compared to the ones he used to have when he was a kid, but I didn't really care; at that point it was one of the scariest things I'd ever felt.

It was during my withdrawal when it happened. This was actually the one point in my withdrawal that I remember clearly:

The urge for a hit got really bad one night. I was practically convulsing in my room from the need. The night sweat soaked my skin along with my tears. My fingernails were digging into the palms of my hands, so hard that it was making my palms bleed. I was screaming into my pillow for most of the night, trying to get my frustration and my need out. Banging down the door hadn't worked earlier, so the pillow had to do.

The clearest point though at that time was this: I was willing to do anything for just a little bit of heroin.

Anyways, Mark had come in to check on me during the night, I guess to make sure I was alive or to feed me or something. The moment he opened the door, I moved as quickly as my fragile body could to get through the door. But since my body was weak and in pain at the moment, I couldn't move fast enough to get through the door. Mark closed it swiftly was a small glare at me, one that said: "You sure as hell aren't getting through this door."

That pissed me right off.

Before I registered what I was actually doing, my legs had pinned Mark to the floor and I began to mercilessly punch Mark over and over again, everywhere. Later on Collins told me that I didn't stop until I had drawn almost half a litre of blood.

It was the blood gushing down from Marky's broken nose that stopped me.

I had just hurt my Mark…

Mark Cohen; my best friend, my partner in crime, the one guy that had stuck with me during withdrawal and was still sticking by me…

I had just beaten Mark's face a bloody pulp.

I got off of him as quick as I could go and crawled to the nearest corner. I know this wasn't a very "tough-guy" thing to do, but I had to get away from Mark. I couldn't let myself hurt him anymore.

Before I knew it, my body was racking with sobs with the realization of what I had just did. I couldn't breathe; I couldn't think…well, I couldn't think of anything except for the pain. The pain of needing heroin, the pain of the gnawing guilt of hurting my best friend, the pain of the disgust I felt for myself at the moment for even touching Mark…

How could I be so stupid?

I started to bang my head against the wall of my bedroom, over and over again, trying to forget what I just did…but it wouldn't go away. It-It just wouldn't go away!

"Rog? Roger, shh…relax, breathe."

I stopped gasping, sobbing and banging just enough to see Mark moving slowly towards me.

He's okay…he's fine! I felt immense relief at that thought, and for a second I considered going to over to check if he was okay…

But my plan was thwarted the moment I saw Mark wince as he crawled his way over to me.

The banging, sobbing and gasping began again with a new force, and I knew I deserved every throb to the head, every breath I didn't get in my lungs.

"Roger." Mark said sternly and I quickly stopped banging my head; but the sobbing and gasping remained, and I couldn't stop either of them.

"Roger," Mark said, more gently this time, "I need you to calm down okay?"

I rapidly shook my head, not wanting to calm down. I didn't deserve it. I deserved to suffer for what I did to Mark. And to Collins. And to April. And to Maureen…the list went on and on, and every name that was added to list made me sob louder and harder.

"Hey, shh, stop Rog. Stop before you have a panic attack." Mark said ever-so-motherly, and I couldn't help the small chuckle following my sobs and gasps; Mark was such a mother hen.

Besides, it was too late then; I was already well into my panic attack.

"Rog, listen to me okay? Breathe in and out with me, alright?" Mark whispered, winding one arm around me as he realized this small fact. I tried to nod but I couldn't; the sobs and the lack of breath were in the way. But I followed orders and attempted to breathe.

After many attempts at breathing slowly and calming down, a few whispered instructions and comforting words, I found myself breathing regularly again, though with a few hiccups and a momentary sob here and there.

When I was finally calm enough to register everything, I slowly registered that Mark's nose was still bleeding profusely, and the bloodied shirt in his hand wasn't helping. Whimpering softly (though I wouldn't have never admitted it to anyone), I grabbed another clean shirt and gave it to Mark, hoping to help. He took it gratefully with a smile and held it to his nose.

"Thanks Rog." He whispered, squeezing me gently with the arm that was wound around me. We stayed there comfortably for awhile, with Mark holding me and me trying to hold back sobs. We actually stayed like that until my shaking and need for a hit subsided (for the most part) and I fell asleep.

But before I fell asleep, I slowly realized how great a father Mark would be someday.

I chuckled softly before shaking my head slightly at the memory. I've reviewed and remembered that memory so much now that I've memorized just about every detail (besides, it was one of my only memories I have of the withdrawal, and many a time I've used it to beat myself up with…though I have to admit that I'm glad I remember that)

I breathed deeply again and again, controlling my breathing and my tears. By now Maureen and Joanne had gone to wait for the doctor, and Collins was waiting patiently beside me as I calmed myself down.

"Rog?" Collins whispered after a few seconds more of controlled breathing. I slightly winced at the nickname and Collins seemed to notice it, because he quickly corrected himself with, "Roger? Ready to go?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

I followed Collins to the doctor, and from there we all (Mo, Jo, Tom and I) walked quietly down the ICU [A/N I'm assuming the ICU (Intensive Care Unit) is for people who need special attention like for people having heart attacks or something. If I'm wrong, correct me :)]. People rushed, cried, sobbed, flat-lined and made miraculous recoveries all around us.

It was screwing with my head.

I had to fight against my hands' wishes to cover my ears. It was just too much at the moment. But I'm not going to back out and turn into a chicken now. No…Mark needs me now and I have to be there for him. He deserves it after all.

"Roger…Just breathe okay?" whispered Collins as we went farther and farther down the hall. I only nod my reply, even though all I want to do is yell and scream and cry.

After what felt like hours of walking down the hall we finally reach the room where Mark is. The door of the room is closed, but there's a window that helps me easily look in (AN For those who watch X-files, the hall, the window and the room is EXACTLY like the one in 'Redux Pt.2' from Season 5).

What I see makes me bend forwards and lean on my knees, all the while trying to keep breathing normally.

I can barely see Mark through the tubes and cords around him and attached to him, but I'd know that bright red hair and dorky face anywhere. Someone took off his glasses for him and cleaned the blood off of his face (thank God). Because of the lack of blood though, I can see Mark's deathly paleness, something that reminded me of 'Snow White'—the story my mom used to tell my little sister when she was young.

Now I don't know which one I would've preferred: his bloody face or his pale face?

Neither.

I prefer the tomato flush that was on his face and neck when he left the loft earlier this morning (Wait, is it night time right now? The afternoon? This whole ordeal has made me lose my track of time) when I teased him about getting laid.

But I wasn't going to get that right now. For all I know, I would never see that again. So all I could do was pray to see it again and be thankful I at least get to see his face while he was—

No, positive idiot. Think positive or you'll never get through this.

I took one deep breath before righting myself again, nodding to Collins who had a questioning look on his face.

I walk forward towards Mark's room, barely minding the pitying looks from the doctor as I pass him to enter Mark's room (Maureen and Joanne had already entered; I could tell by Maureen's overwhelming sobs and Joanne's soothing noises coming from the inside). Collins followed me, but didn't go farther than the door (he gripped onto the door frame for dear life it seemed when he caught a glimpse of Mark). I was the only one of the group not being overly emotional at the moment; but I guess that was because all of my emotion was spent outside.

I walked towards the sleeping Mark, who looked like he was only breathing because of the machine connected to his mouth. I was probably correct in guessing that. I went over to his bedside and grabbed his cold hand, musing over the fact that Mark was almost as pale as the white sheets he was lying on. Tears filled my eyes (where were all these tears coming from?) as I stared at my hurt best friend, who you could mistaken for sleeping if it wasn't for the machines and tubes surrounding him—which were the only thing keeping him alive.

At this moment, as I stared at him, I couldn't kid myself: Mark was fighting for his life.

And according to his doctor, he was losing.

By now I was so far gone that the tears gathering up in my eyes didn't bother to fall. All that mattered was the fact that Death was staring me right in the face—but It wasn't coming for me like I always thought It would;

It was coming for Mark, my best friend and brother.

No cliffhanger's this time :P But it seemed like the best place to end it.

Anyways, R&R everyone! :) It makes my day and it inspires me and it takes so little effort, so please review :)