A/n: I hope you're smart enough to figure out what the memory referred to in the begging, and several times throughout this long ass chapter is. Title is shadow in French.

I only got one review last chapter, and despite being appreciative of that reviewer because they review ALL my chapters, and how could I ever thank them, I am pissed. Just fucking review, Jesus Christ its not that hard.

Une Ombre

( 3 weeks after the previous chapter)

He hated that damn clock.

Its mocking tick tick tick tick. The way it made him anticipate a startling boom.

Tick tick tick

He hated how Maureen just HAD to have her protests in those shitty neighborhoods.

He hated himself for neglecting to keep Mark within his presence before leaving the protest.

He hated the dry paralyzing fear welling up, and his lack of ability to force it down.

He hated the memory that was causing it.

Tick tick tick

God Mark should have been back ages ago

Tick tick tick

Oh god, had it happened again

Tick tick tick

No it couldn't. It couldn't It couldn't It couldn't,

Tick tick tick

Oh Jesus it was all his fault, he should have stayed with him

Ticktickticktick

He had been unable to find Mark after his first search, perhaps he should try again

Ticktickticktickticktick

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. It happened again. It had to. What if he wasn't as lucky this time? What if he had been killed?

His heart began pounding harder

Beatbeatbeatbeat

And the memory began to rise as he tried with all the strength he could muster to repress it

The heavy tingling feeling of terror and anticipation settled in his stomach at the realization another 10 minutes had passed

Why didn't he just fucking stay with him? It could have been that fucking simple. That fucking easy

Ticktickticktick

The loft door slid open

He held his breath, a lame attempt in readying himself for what he may or may not see

He turned

Mark standing in the doorway

His breath rushed back, and the memory shrunk to a size where he could swallow it

Where it wasn't threatening him

And there Mark was, standing in the doorway blood dribbling from his lip, above his eyebrow, and absolutely covering his hands and majority of his clothes. His glasses were knocked askew and one lens was crushed. He quivered slightly, but seemed steady despite his abnormally pale complexion and occasional involuntary spasm.

Oh god it had happened again

"Mark!" He rushed to the younger mans side, a certain dread beginning to lull his mind

"Mark, what happened? Are you alright?"

"I was mugged, What does it look like? " And how are you supposed to tell if one is hurting when the only thing that ever escaped their lips were sarcastic comments?

"Well jesus, are you alright?" He began to shake a little harder " Mark?"

"I think I mighta killed him"

"What?"

"I managed the knife he drew out of his hands. When he charged me I stuck the knife out and closed my eyes. It went into his stomach. Then I ran"

" You need to lie down, lets clean you u-"

"I'll be right back"

"What?" Bewilderment. Mark silently limped toward his bedroom. Making it to the door before Roger intervened "Mark what the fuck? Where are you going?"He merely turned the door knob and hobbled inside, the sounds of a drawer being opened clumsily was evident "Mark, what the hell?"He made his way to the door frame to examine the circumstance.

Now he wonders if he really would have ever wanted to know

Mark is hunched over near his bed side table, something reflecting the light grasped in his hand. His head tips back slightly before he replaces the item and turns to leave

"Roger! What the fuck, why did you follow me I said I'd be right fucking back"

"I followed you because you looked like you were about to pass out ass hole. What the fuck did you just do?" Mark tried to push past him to no avail, for Roger grabbed at his arm firmly.

"Do you smell like alcohol?" The shaking had ceased to an extent.

"What? I don't fucking know, I was just mugged in an alley way in New York City, only god knows why the hell I would." Roger sighs

"Go shower, you're covered in blood" and the other complies silently. When he is sure the

shower is running, and being discovered was not a feasibility he crept his way back in Mark's room. He danced across the littered floor, coming to rest at an old beaten up dresser. He reaches for a handle and yanks at it, finding its intent is not one of opening. He begins yanking at it fiercely, the only result being a disturbing crash as the entire bed side table flipped over. As the wood landed, thudding loudly on the ground, an array of little metal objects rained onto the hard wood floor as well, making sharp disoriented thunders upon meeting the ground. He held his breath for a few pain staking moments, and upon realization Mark remained unaware of this little dilemma proceeded with his investigation.

The blind was closed and in the blackness of the late night, he as unable to make distinctions as to what had fallen from the dresser. Deciding turning on the light was too risky, for it most likely didn't work anyway, he chose to pull the blind back, allowing the moonlight to file in.

The pale rays cast silvers pools upon the ground illuminating the dented hard wood floor

The varying objects forgotten thrown about

And finally caught the countless blades scattered across the ground

Restlessly glinting, dancing in white rays

So damn many of them

All those fucking glinting blades

covered in blood

He backed away slowly

And then he ran

He ran into the bathroom, heeding the fact that Mark was in the shower, and threw up violently in the toilet

He couldn't get that picture out of his mind

And when nothing was left he continued to dry heave

And didn't notice Mark, wrapped merely in a towel, beside him rubbing his back until he was nearly done

He wasn't sure how long Mark had been consoling him, nearly the entire ordeal he was sure.

Mark had just been mugged and he was already taking care of Roger. As per fucking usual.

"Mark" He leans back against the wall as Mark hands him a glass of water and brushes his hair away

"Yeah Rog?, shh relax"

"Why do you -" Then he recalled. Mark was plaid only in a towel. His gaze fell feverishly to Mark's arms.

Covered

Everywhere

Angry slash after slash

Some raw and bleeding , some scabbing, others faded old and a sickly color brown

His pale skin was an angry, raw, vibrant, sickly red

Deep, deep red gashes, lining each arm from the wrist up to the inner elbow

Varying in size, age, depth, length etc.

All

Fucking

Over

He leans back over the toilet and is violently sick once more.

He is trembling violently when he finishes

"Why do you cut yourself Mark?" And Mark goes rigid for a few moments before blinking a few times

"Huh?"

"Why do you do it?"

"Roger what are you talking about?" A baffled appearance has set on his features

"Why do you fucking cut yourself?"

" Roger, I have no idea what you're talking about, I don't cut myself"

"What the fuck are you talking about? Look at your arms! I know what the hell cuts look like Mark, Its not like I haven't done it hundreds of times before"

"Roger c'mon you're sick and tired, now I do not cut myself"

"But the razors and-"

"C'mon" He helps him up and begins to lead him to his room

"But Mark just look at your -"

"Its alright Rog" He helps the other into his pajama pants and leads him to bed

"But you… I.. you're … you .. "

"Shh its alright go to sleep. Night Rog"

"But you cut yourself Mark!"

"Shh, Roger just go to sleep. And I . Do . Not . Cut . My . Self." he says firmly, shutting the door behind him.

Sighing, he pushes his back against the wood and sinks to the ground.

The wounds begin to bleed.

Roger awakes to Mark shaking him fiercely. The room is dark, and it cannot be past 3 a.m.

'Rog, its alright you were having a nightmare"

"Mark" he sits up abruptly, because the nightmare was simply a manifest of what was nagging him. " Mark, when you didn't come home on time tonight, it scared the shit out of me. I was so fucking terrified. I thought it… IT happened again." He whispers the later part of the sentence, fearing what such a fragile subject, never spoken of once since its occurrence, may result in. "And oh god, I couldn't imagine what I would do and -"

"Hey now, I'm fine. Jesus man, don't start worrying about everything. That's my job. Don't pull a Mark on me now" Mark smiles lightly, letting it waver as Roger doesn't return the gesture.

"Roger?"

"Oh god Mark, in the nightmare I saw it all again. It happened again, just like when it actually did. It was like reliving it. God Mark did I really do that to you? Did he really make us?" And Mark winced, Because this was the only sexual encounter between them (expect possibly the one on the piano bench, which was never spoken of, for Mark was seriously unsure if Roger was actually THERE mentally at the time) that Roger could recall, the only one has was aware of.

And perhaps he was lucky not to remember; because Mark just couldn't fucking forget.

"Its alright though. It happened. You had to, it wasn't your fault. Regret is inevitable, but wallowing in it will merely lead to irresolvable resentment. And then where will we be ? Almost everyone deals with unimaginable pain, and we aren't any special case. And we know better than to resent fait, right?"

"I guess.. But.. When you didn't show up I thought… Oh god Mark, you're alright" And then he's launching forward and catching Mark's lips with his own. And Mark, he isn't sure what to think at this point. And really he doesn't care.

He needs this, and wants it.

So he kisses back because, god they're alright

And Rogers here, and the HIV isn't after him yet

And at that thought all he wants is to get closer , because he never wants to think of letting go.

So both shirts are quickly discard, curtsey of his need to always remain with Roger, and Roger is reaching into his own dresser for a condom

And the only thought daring to entice Mark's mind was one of implacable, yet positive emotion.

Because this, he was sure, was the first time they would have sex

And mean it.

"It was a mistake Mark!"

"A mistake!?! You fucking attack, then proceed to have sex with me for 3 hours and it was a fucking mistake!??!"

"I wasn't think-"

"Bull shit Roger! Fucking bullshit! You weren't high, you weren't grieving, or suffering from trauma or withdrawal or any fucking thing else you could blame it on! For once It was you Roger! God damn it" He kicks the wall " Jesus Roger you're HI fucking V infected and I still let you fuck me. What were you bored? Scared? Felt like you were losing control so decided you needed control over something?" His face is red now. He never screams. Ever.

"Mark, it was a -"

"Fuck you, just fuck you. I'm not one of you're fucking druggie groupies, one of your damn followers. I am not about to let a fucking washed up ex- amateur rock star ex fucking heroin addict have any fucking power over me you bastard." He softens a little, realizing he's gone a little too far. Scared at how little he cares. "So tell me Roger, why. just fucking why?"

"It was a mistake" Roger sighs.

Mark turns and makes his way out side of the door, leaving the atmosphere with a few heavy words to cling to

"Yeah, it was a fucking mistake"