Bee Davis

S60: Not a Victory March

Sun, 01 Jul 2007 23:40:28 GMT

Title: Not a Victory March
Author: Bee
Pairing: Matt/Harriet, Suzanne/Harriet
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1271
Summary: Harriet tries to move on after Matt, and might not entirely succeed.
Notes: Um... I have no idea where this came from? :D
Dedication: for Aubrey, because she asked, and because she's my everything.
Spoilers: Only if you don't know Matt and Harriet are broken up. Which would mean you've never seen the show EVER, so what the hell are you doing reading fic for it, anyway?
Disclaimer: Not Sorkin. Get over it. Nor am I Leonard Cohen.

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

"Matt, could you just leave it for one minute?"

"You're the one who brought up the breakup!" Matt practically yelled, throwing his hands up. Harriet whirled on him.

"Could you keep it down?" she hissed. "I just mentioned the breakup. You're the one who insisted on going off on a diatribe about how I shouldn't have sung the National Anthem on--"

"That's just the tip of the iceberg, Harry!" Matt interrupted.

"I don't care, Matthew!" Harriet pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to fight back a headache. There was no reasoning with Matt about things like this, and she knew that, but she couldn't stop herself from trying. "I don't want to argue about this right now. I have to change." She turned and closed herself into her dressing room There was nothing she could do to change his mind. He'd have to stop bringing it up sooner or later, now that they were working together. Except that Harriet knew Matt too well to think he'd drop the subject willingly any time soon.

She sighed, sat down at her dressing table, and cried softly.

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Harriet waited until the building grew quiet, knowing Danny would have dragged Matt out to the wrap party. She couldn't go tonight - it was too tense, she was too upset. She couldn't hear anyone moving around outside, so she let herself out into the empty corridor outside her dressing room and headed towards the exit. She cut through the studio to save time, and to see if the lights in Matt's office were on. They were, she saw, but she couldn't tell if he was actually there, or--

"He's not here." Harriet squeaked, surprised by the voice, and turned quickly to find the source. The only other person in the room, who Harriet hadn't noticed before, was a young blonde woman sitting in the first row of seats.

"Suzanne," she sighed, pressing her hand to her chest, "you scared me."

"Sorry," Suzanne smiled sheepishly. "I just figured, you were looking up at his office... he forgot to turn the lights out. I'll do that before I go home."

"What are you still doing here?" Harriet asked. "Shouldn't you be at the wrap party? Or home?"

"Shouldn't you be at the wrap party?" Suzanne asked pointedly, raising her eyebrows. Harriet tried not to get flustered.

"Well, I just... wasn't in the mood..."

"It's peaceful in here, when everyone's gone," Suzanne said, rather unexpectedly answering Harriet's question. Harriet stopped trying to make excuses, and tilted her head slightly, curiously. "You can... you can almost feel the history," Suzanne continued. "It's like... if you're quiet enough, you'll hear the echoes of shows that happened before any of us were here." Harriet looked around, listened carefully. All she could hear was her breathing and her heartbeat, far too loud in her ears. "You... want to listen with me?" Suzanne's tentative voice sounded positively booming in the silence. Harriet hesitated. She wanted to go home, to take a long hot bath and pray and forget about Matt. But she didn't really feel like being alone just yet.

"Sure." She smiled and sat down next to Suzanne, who flushed, startled that the comedienne had actually taken her up on the offer. "Do I have to do anything special?"

"N-no, not really," Suzanne shook her head, not quite meeting Harriet's eyes, tugging on her fingers as her hands lay in her lap. "You just... close your eyes, breathe slowly, and... listen." She demonstrated, and Harriet just watched her for a moment, wondering at the beauty of someone believing in something bigger than them. Then she closed her eyes, breathed slowly, and listened. She heard nothing for a long time. Just as she was about to say something, she heard Suzanne shift in her seat and felt a pair of soft lips press against hers.

It was her imagination, she knew that, but in that moment, she could've sworn she heard the ghost of an echo of joyous laughter.

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

"Harry, talk to me. Please?"

"I can't, Matt." She sighed. Ran a hand through her hair. "You can't just keep antagonizing me and expect me to want to talk to you!"

"I'm not!" Matt protested, sounding a little hurt. "I'm just... I'm trying to apologize, Harry." He reached out and grabbed her hand, earnestly trying to meet her eyes. Harriet couldn't quite do it. "I don't want to fight with you."

"No, you don't." She looked down at their hands. "You want to get back together, though." She could feel him stiffen, tense up, as if waiting for something. She didn't know if he was afraid she'd kiss him or walk away.

"Yeah," he said reluctantly. "Yeah, I do."

"Oh, Matthew..." She felt like crying, almost, because he was so sweet, and so earnest, and so wonderful, and she'd loved him once. She'd loved him very much. But it was too late, a couple of months too late, maybe even only a couple of weeks too late. She couldn't love him anymore, not like that. "I can't..."

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Suzanne was waiting for her when she came out of her dressing room after the show. She looked lovely, Harriet thought, in a dark blue dress she'd decided to wear to the wrap party. And the way she lit up when she noticed Harriet made Harriet's heart tug oddly. She couldn't tell if it was love or regret, but she didn't really have time to wonder before Suzanne came over and grabbed her hand, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. "Ready to go?"

"Let's not go to the wrap party tonight," Harriet said impulsively, smiling widely. It didn't quite reach her eyes - with her eyes, she begged Suzanne to understand what she couldn't say.

And Suzanne saw that, and understood. Or maybe she was just laid back and willing to do whatever Harriet wanted. Regardless of the reasons, she just nodded and smiled understandingly. "Dinner, then. It'll be fun."

"Thank you," Harriet said, smiling gratefully. Suzanne just smiled back and led her out of the building. They cut through the studio, as usual, and Harriet glanced up at Matt's office out of habit. Usually she let her gaze linger for a moment, but tonight she looked away quickly.

She would have to work hard to forget the figure standing in the window watching them leave.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

S60: The Unraveling of Perfection

Thu, 28 Jun 2007 21:52:31 GMT

Title: The Unravelling of Perfection
Author: Bee (starletfallen)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Danny/Suzanne
Summary: A single mistake snowballs into something that might be unsalvagable. ANGSTY
Spoilers: It's post-canon, but really only even vaguely spoilery through Breaking News. And then only indirectly.
Notes: Um... spoilerwarning Y'know how Suzanne's mom took Percoset? I have a theory, based on her description of withdrawal, that Suzanne might've, too, when she was a bit older. So... just keep that in mind. Also, I wrote these for writing_game.
Disclaimer: Not Sorkin. Not mine.

Distant

"Danny?"

Silence.

"Danny, please? Don't be mad."

He sighed slightly, his back still turned to the blonde girl sitting on the bed. "I'm not mad. I'm..." he hesitated, searching for the right word.

"Disappointed?" she asked in a small voice. He nodded, still staring out the window. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I think... I think you should go." It hurt to say it. There was a long pause, and a rustling as she got off the bed and pulled her clothes on.

"I'll see you at work," she said quietly. "Don't do anything stupid." Then she walked out, and Danny heard the door close behind her.

"Too late," he responded quietly, even though she wasn't there to hear it, and fingered the packet of pills in his pocket.

*

Fault

"He used," Suzanne told Matt, her tone and expression unnaturally flat.

"I- I don't... what happened?" Matt asked, his voice hushed and serious.

"He got high," she said, still flat. "It was my fault. You can fire me if you want. I deserve it."

Matt blinked, startled, and looked closer at Suzanne. Saw the guilt and pain in her eyes. Saw the circles under her eyes, from not sleeping. Saw the way she was twisting a tissue in her hands.

"No," he said gently. "But go home and get some sleep, okay?"

Suzanne nodded and left without another word.

*

Avoid

"Where's Suzanne?" Danny didn't bother knocking.

"Why yes, I had a good weekend, Danny, thanks for asking," Matt muttered. Then he shook his head. "She called me yesterday and told me she had a family emergency and had to go out of town. Why didn't you alre--"

"Shit!" Danny slammed his fist against the doorway, and winced slightly. Matt stared at him for a moment.

"She... didn't really have a family emergency, did she?" he asked slowly. Danny sighed and shook his head. "You guys fought?"

"Yeah," Danny said softly, his shoulders slumping. "I think I might've screwed up pretty bad."

*

Status

"Suzanne?"

Suzanne didn't turn around, didn't stop sorting through the papers that had piled up on her desk. Danny had to make due with watching her back. "Yes, Mr. Tripp?"

He grimaced a bit. She shouldn't be so formal, so distant. It answered his question without him having to even ask. They weren't okay. "I... It's good to..." He sighed. "Welcome back. We missed you."

"Thank you," she said. He waited a moment, then went back to his office. He felt tired, strung out, like he'd been crying for hours, even though he hadn't shed a tear. He'd missed her more than he'd imagined, he'd wanted to apologize for how he'd reacted, he'd wanted to hold her, kiss her again.

She hadn't turned around once.

*

Flaw

"It's a perfect plan," Danny said determinedly as he typed up an email.

"Oh, yeah," Matt agreed, grabbing one of Danny's uneaten french fries. "It's perfect. Except for one thing."

"What?"

"You tried this before with Jordan, and it didn't work."

Danny stopped typing for a moment, but didn't look away from the screen. "This is different," he said, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. "This is different and it'll work. She'll come back."

There was a long pause. "Yeah."

Danny sighed and deleted the email without sending it.

S60: Stop, Listen, Think

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 01:01:00 GMT

Title: Stop, Listen, Think
Author: Bee
Rating: PG
Fandom: Studio 60
Pairing: Danny/Suzanne
Summary: Suzanne gives Danny a good reason to stop obsessing about Jordan, if just for a night.
Notes: Thank you to allfireburns for prompting me. *grin* Yaaaaaay!
Disclaimer: I am not Aaron Sorkin. Ergo, I do not own Studio 60. It's sad but true.

"Danny, you need to stop."

"Can you believe her?" Danny paced a bit, running a hand through his hair. "I'm just trying to tell her that I'm a good guy, and I'm an interesting guy, and--"

"Danny, I'm serious."

"--why can't she just see how charming I am? I'm charming! I'm charming and on occasion, I'm even debonair!"

"Mr. Tripp!" Danny stopped pacing and blinked at the young blonde woman who'd dragged him away from Jordan and the wrap party and who was standing with her arms crossed looking considerably irritated.

"What, Suzanne?"

"You're being a jerk," she said bluntly. Danny blinked again and opened his mouth to protest, but Suzanne cut him off. "I know you're going to say you're a nice guy and you're charming and debonair and all that... that shit." Danny almost took a step back in surprise - in the months he'd been back at the show, he had heard many people say many things, but he'd never heard Suzanne curse any worse than 'damn it' when her computer decided to freeze up on her.

"I... what are you trying to..."

"Danny, she's not interested. She's told you to back off in no uncertain terms," Suzanne said slowly. "And the fact that you keep pushing it does not show that you're a nice and charming guy."

Danny paused for a moment, trying to process. "Did you call me 'Mr. Tripp'?"

"Danny, that's not the point--"

"Because you haven't called me 'Mr. Tripp' since you started working as Matt's assistant."

"I was trying to get your atten--"

"And I just think it's a very notable occasion."

"DANNY!" Suzanne smacked her hand against the wall and Danny fell silent again. She looked down, breathing deeply for a moment before continuing, "You should back off. Leave Jordan alone."

"No," Danny said firmly, shaking his head. "I really like her and I think if she'd just stop and listen to what I'm saying, then--"

"Listen to me, Danny!" Suzanne said, looking up, and Danny was struck by the pleading look in her eyes. "Stop trying to hard to get her attention and listen to me." She stepped forward, one step, tentative and... scared. She was scared. Danny couldn't imagine what she was scared of. "I've been trying to tell you. And you've been so busy chasing her that you haven't even noticed me."

"Suzanne, I don't--"

"I--" she interrupted, holding a hand up. "I think you're charming. I think you're a nice guy. And I think that sometimes you're debonair. And I just wish you'd be charming to me." Danny almost stopped breathing. She couldn't be saying what he thought she was saying. It wasn't possible. "I know you're not stupid, Danny. And you're not as dense as Matt. I know you know what I'm talking about."

"Suzanne," his voice was a lot more uncertain than he'd thought it would be, and softer, "I don't know if we can do this. I'm your boss--"

"And Jordan's yours. Just... just think about it. Spend one night not thinking about Jordan... and think about me." Suzanne took another tiny step forward, putting her only a foot away from him. Danny met her eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. There was something vulnerable there, and he could only remember Suzanne looking vulnerable when talking to him twice before. He couldn't betray the trust that she put in him by being vulnerable in front of him.

"Yeah," Danny nodded slowly. "I'll... I'll think about it." Suzanne smiled hesitantly.

"Good," she said quietly, and rocked forward a couple of times on the balls of her feet. Danny was about to ask if she wanted anything else when she rocked forward again, followed through with a step towards him, and kissed his cheek lightly. "And leave Jordan alone," she added before slipping quickly back out to the wrap party, bumping into Matt on her way out. "Hey Matt. Good show," she said with a quick smile.

"Thank you!" Matt grinned and sauntered in, raising an eyebrow at the expression on Danny's face. "Uh... did I miss something? Did the show not go well? Did Jordan stop telling you to leave her alone?"

"No," Danny said distractedly, feeling his cheek burning a bit. "She just... wanted me to think about something."

Matt considered him for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay. C'mon, you're missing the party." Danny let Matt lead him back to the wrap party, even though he knew he wouldn't be thinking about anything but Suzanne for the rest of the night.

Somehow, the prospect wasn't entirely disagreeable.

RENT/Buffy: Witchy Woman

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 08:09:27 GMT

Title: Witchy Woman
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Roger/April
Word Count: 3,540
Notes: Christmas present for allfireburns. This isn't entirely a crossover, but it's from the verse we have with flytrue where there are OCs for Watcher and Slayer and such, Roger's a vampire (witha soul!), April's a witch, and Mark's... well, a book-witch, and not a practical-witch, like April. The title sucks - If you can come up with something better... please don't hesitate to suggest it.
Disclaimer: Not Joss, not Jon. Nate (the Slayer) belongs to allfireburns, as does this version of Roger. Mark's half-hers, half-mine. Tyrone, Nigel, Kim, and Chris (unnamed Watcher) belong to flytrue.

"Sorry." He told the brown-haired teenager as he wrenched her head back, exposing her neck. "But I'm going to kill you now." He started to lean in, fangs extended, and she whimpered. She was so young, he noticed. Pretty and young. She probably had no idea how shitty life was, not yet.

"Fuck!" he shouted, mentally cursing that stupid messed-up spell, and shoved her away. "I can't do it!" He punched the wall, cracking the bricks. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"Well..." a young female voice said slowly, "How about this: We'll wait 20 minutes, then you can try again and I can knee you in the balls and run." He turned and stared incredulously at the brunette, who was standing a few feet away with her eyebrows raised and a smile playing about her lips. He frowned and crossed his arms.

"You know, most people would consider now a good time to run." He pointed out.

"Oh, I know." She smiled sweetly and rocked back on her heels. "But how many witches can say they've kneed a vampire and lived to tell about it?" He raised an eyebrow, fangs still extended and face still monstrous.

"Aren't most of you people pacifistic vegetarians or something?"

"Well, everyone has off days."

He grinned suddenly – a slightly feral, predatory grin. This girl was something else, something he'd never run into before. "I'm Roger." He said finally. The girl grinned widely at him.

"My name's April."

He was curious why a shop would be open this late; and he was bored – that's why he walked into the little pagan store that night. The first thing he noticed was the almost-overwhelming yet pleasant smell of peppermint and burned sage. The second was that, despite it being almost 11:30 at night, the only visible employee looked hardly over 16. And he looked very familiar.

"Hi, welcome to Cohen's Books and Herbs, can I help you?" the boy asked with a faint smile. The quiet type, it seemed, hiding behind his glasses and undoubtedly more comfortable doing inventory than manning the front. Roger shrugged.

"Just looking around." He wondered briefly if he dared risk attempting to feed off this kid when another employee came out of the back room.

"Hey, Mark, I'm almost out of hoarhound, comfrey root and... rosehips." The pretty brunette said, not looking up from her notebook, a pen tucked behind her ear. Roger stared in disbelief – of all the people in the city, the girl working here was—

"April?"

She looked up, startled, and he froze. If his heart were still beating, it would've stopped. She blinked in a confused manner for a split second, and then a bright smile blossomed on her face.

"Hey, it's the little vampire that couldn't!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "You stalking me or something?"

"Hardly." Roger snorted, noticing the other clerk – Mark – looking at him through narrowed eyes. "What?" he asked challengingly.

"Don't either of you start." April said, putting her notebook down. "You'll mess up my store."

"Our store." Mark said calmly, still looking at Roger suspiciously. "This is the one who attacked you?"

"What if I am?" Roger interrupted, an eyebrow raised.

"Boys!" April snapped, hands on her hips. "I don't think you two've been introduced. Mark, this is Roger, the vampire who didn't hurt me. Roger, this is my brother, Mark."

Siblings. Well that would explain why Mark had looked so familiar. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other, Roger wondered why he hadn't thought of it before – same brown hair, same bright green eyes, even the same smile, though Mark's seemed more reserved. "Nice to meet you." Roger said dryly. Mark didn't say anything. Roger rolled his eyes. "So this place belongs to you guys?" He stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around. It was a small store, but it seemed well-stocked.

"Yeah. Willed to us. Our parents started it." April said quickly, and cleared her throat. "I take care of the herbs and incenses and magic, and Mark does everything else!"

"Are you guys even old enough to have hit puberty yet?" Roger asked dubiously. April drew herself up to her full height (she was as tiny and beautiful as a china doll, was she as fragile?) and crossed her arms.

"We turned 17 last month." She said, her eyes flashing a challenge. Roger grinned wickedly.

"Just as I thought. Hardly out of diapers."

April gasped in mock indignation, and though it didn't hurt him, it rather surprised Roger when she closed the space between them in two quick steps and smacked his arm. "You jackass!"

"April!" Mark yelped, looking rather scared that Roger was going to snap their necks or suck them dry.

"Oh, he won't hurt us." April smirked. "He's got a soul. That's why he couldn't bring himself to hurt me."

"He... what?" Mark blinked. Roger gaped at her openly for a moment, and wondered how the hell she'd known about that...

"So, who cursed you?" April asked, a wicked grin on her face. Roger scowled a little.

"No one. I'm not that stupid." He growled. April looked intrigued.

"You'll have to tell me that story sometime, then." She said finally, smiling. Roger found himself smiling back – an honest-to-goodness smile like he hadn't given in god knows how many years.

"Maybe I will."

He was never sure afterwards what exactly possessed him to do what he did six months after he found the shop. The Midget Twins, as he'd taken to calling them (both were under 5'5"), lived over the shop in one of the two apartments, and they'd never bothered to rent out the second. April, much to Mark's discomfort and displeasure, had offered it to Roger within a week. Mark and Roger hadn't exactly hit it off, but they were slowly coming to a place that might be called friendship. With April, however... they always seemed to be in the same room. She seemed to adore teasing him, despite of (or, often, because of) the fact that he was a vampire. And he... well, she made him smile.

Still, that was no reason for him to go and do what he did.

And what he did was to corner April against the kitchen counter while she was making dinner and Mark was downstairs watching the shop.

"Roger, the burgers are gonna burn." She said, her voice tense with uneasiness and uncertainty. She was scared, he could smell it, hear it, feel it start to build in her, and he growled.

"Let them."

It had been leading up to this. Everything, every word, every laugh, ever joke, every time she'd sat with him during the day and read from whatever book she was reading just to get him to stop brooding. That first night in the shop they'd talked. They'd gone upstairs for hot chocolate, much to Mark's disapproval, and eventually she'd slipped a little sachet on a string from around her neck, where it had been hidden under her shirt. "This is for protection. You need it more than I do." She'd smiled and gotten up on tip-toe to slip it around his neck, then kissed his cheek, just at the corner of his mouth.

And he'd wanted more. With every moment, he'd wanted more. And finally he'd come to the conclusion that he needed more, even just once.

He leaned in, April's eyes widened in fear.

But instead of his mouth meeting her neck, it captured her lips, and Roger kissed her as passionately as he could remember how. It was funny, how he'd thought of so many things that it would make him feel and think...

All he could think was that she tasted like peppermint.

He pulled back finally and she just sort of stared up at him for a moment. His eyes met hers uncertainly – more uncertainty than he'd felt in almost a century – and he realized he almost felt warm.

She licked her lips finally and whispered, "What took you so long?"

When the burning hamburgers set the smoke alarm off, bringing Mark with it, they didn't notice, too wrapped up in each other to care.

It was bad. He'd known it was bad. He just hadn't expected it to be this bad.

He'd smelled it towards the beginning. Something just a little off about her. Seen it in the way she would zone out sometimes for no reason. Heard it in hardly-noticeable slips of tone and wording. He'd told her to go see a doctor. She did.

They sent her home.

A month later, she was in the emergency room, sobbing because her head hurt so badly, and it was all Roger could do not to scream at the nurses to get her some fucking painkillers. That would just make her more upset, but he couldn't handle seeing her hurting like that. Mark had paced. Roger had sat next to her, holding her hand. It was as if they'd switched places for a night.

They ran test after test on her, and she was so drugged with painkillers that she was hardly coherent, and two days later, they had an answer.

Brain tumor.

Too deep in the brain to operate. That's what the doctors told them. It may be benign. We'll start her on radiation and chemotherapy. Mark nodded.

She was weak, and sick – sicker than she had been, because the original problem wasn't going away. Her hair fell out in clumps, and in their bed at night, she'd curl against his chest and sob; because her head ached, because she felt awful, because her hair was falling out...

Because she could feel herself slipping.

Not into death. The realized relatively quickly that the tumor was benign, and it had stopped growing – it wasn't going to kill her. He'd've known if it was – it would be obvious. To him, at least. No, where April felt herself slipping was worse, in a way, and more frightening.

"Things don't think right anymore." She'd confided to him one night in a frightened whisper. "I think I'm losing my mind." And despite how much he'd wanted to protest, to tell her that it wasn't true, that she was fine... he knew she was right. Mark had noticed it, too. She wasn't always quite "all there". She'd say things that made no sense, but she'd say them like they were so important.

The treatments did nothing. Eventually the health insurance (and their savings) ran out, and they stopped. As long as the tumor didn't start growing again, the doctors told them, she'll live a long time yet.

With headaches. And only brief moments of real lucidity. Some life, Roger thought. She was crazy. Sometimes he could hardly keep from yelling at her, hitting her, lashing out, even though none of this was her fault. The perfect excuse to leave, to move on.

But he couldn't. It didn't make sense to him. Roger Davis was impatient, cared for himself above everyone else, wouldn't waste his time taking care of some mental invalid who was only lucid enough for real romantic involvement about a quarter of the time, probably less. And yet he was still here, soothing her when she'd freak out over nothing, comforting her when she started crying because nothing made sense anymore, and watching with a broken heart as she continued to cheerfully do her job making amulets and teas and the like. It was all she had that hadn't been at least partially stolen, and Roger was so thankful for that.

"Slayer's coming." She said one morning when she woke up in their always-dark room, and Roger frowned.

"It was just a bad dream, 'Ril." He murmured, and kissed her forehead, his arms around her waist. "Just like the past three nights."

She didn't say anything, but just snuggled up against him until her head started aching so badly that she cried and he had to give her one of the painkillers he always carried before he went to sleep for the day.

He mentioned it to Mark that night, and Mark's eyes widened a bit.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he groaned. "Shit." Roger frowned.

"Why would I tell you? It was just a nightmare..."

"April dreams things. Always has. Things that haven't happened yet." Mark rubbed his temples and cursed again softly. "Look, be... be really careful for a while, okay?"

"...okay." Roger said, dubious. There were many things he believed, but prophetic dreams were not one of them.

Until the next night, when word started spreading among the local underworld that the Slayer was in town.

"I'll teach you to hunt innocent girls, you bastard!" the tiny girl was a lot stronger than Roger'd imagined possible, and he winced when she kicked his chest, sending him flying into a wall. The Slayer pulled out a stake and hefted it, starting forward, and April screamed, launching herself at the smaller girl.

"No, don't! No hurting!"

The Slayer tried to shove April off without hurting her, a look of confusion flickering almost unnoticeably across her face. "He's a vampire, kid." She said, not taking her eyes off of Roger, who had decided that – despite what he wanted to do – moving was not the best idea right now. "He was going to kill you."

"No! My Roger. Mine. No hurting no hurting no hurting!" April was in hysterics, and detached herself from the Slayer only long enough to fling herself at Roger, covering Roger's chest with her body. Roger tried to move her, just in case, but she clung so tightly...

"What's going on?" Mark stepped out of the shop a few doors down, looking worried.

"Go back inside, sir." The Slayer said calmly. "Everything's under control." Mark took in the situation in an instant and sighed.

"So you're the Slayer?"

That got a double take. "What do you know about it?" was the suspicious response.

"Call your watcher and then we can all go into the shop and get squared away." Mark shook his head. "We've been waiting for you."

"Wha—"

"And don't kill Roger, okay? My sister's crazy enough without someone staking her boyfriend."

In the stunned silence that followed, Roger grabbed April's hand and they slipped back inside, leaving Mark to deal with this new development.

He wanted to kill Tyrone. He wanted to rip his throat out with his bare hands, tear him apart.

But he was already dead. He was dead, and Mark was dead at his hand, and April was shattered beyond what Roger could repair.

He knew, technically, that it had been a demon who'd murdered April's twin right in front of her, a demon who'd taken her and held her hostage and done who knows what to her until Nate and Nigel had found them. He knew the demon had killed Tyrone when he'd possessed him.

But Tyrone was the only name he had to put with that face, so it was Tyrone he'd hate as he held April tightly and wanted to cry (if only he could) when Chris reluctantly sedated her, so she would stop screaming and rest.

He wanted to kill Tyrone, and he made a vow that if he ever saw him again, he would.

She was gone.

He didn't know where, but she was gone.

He'd known something was wrong when she wasn't home by sundown two days ago – she never went out alone after then, she was still scared, or something. And then when he and Tyrone and Nate and Nigel all together couldn't find her...

Two days. Almost three, now. And no one could find her. Roger stayed out looking until almost sunrise, making it back to the shop with only five minutes to spare. Normally, Tyrone would've snapped at him for that, or Nigel would've told him to be more responsible.

Today, Tyrone just went about his business getting the store ready. Nigel was already home. Roger glowered and stalked upstairs without a word to Tyrone or Nate. Anger. That's what he showed.

Except that when he got upstairs, and into their room, and locked the door. That was when he pulled out her favorite sweater and pressed it to his face and curled up on her side of the bed, wishing like hell he could just cry.

He couldn't handle it. He tried, for a week, and just...

One morning he holed himself up somewhere safe and didn't come back. He headed out of town, where they wouldn't find him. He knew April would be upset, but he needed space. He needed to think.

He smelled it the minute they'd found her. Well, technically, it had been a couple of hours later, when he'd clung to her long enough to calm down and think about things other than "she's alive". But he had, and he'd been so fucking glad she was asleep, because he'd nearly shot across the room.

She'd slept with someone else.

Never mind that there was no possible way it had been consensual, he knew her far better than that. She was pregnant, and vampires couldn't have children.

He got over that pretty quickly, though. Well, he thought he got over it, but there was no way to be sure until he saw her again. But there was still the issue of the fact that she was pregnant. It wasn't that he was pissed that it was some other guy's kid – he was pissed about that, but only because it meant the other guy had raped her. His problem was that, despite the fact that she rarely had the mental stability to be sexual or overly romantic, he was her boyfriend.

Which meant that he'd be expected to play daddy. And he couldn't do that. He killed people on a regular basis, because even with help, there was no way both he and Nigel were surviving solely on refrigerated blood. And Roger didn't have quite as much of an issue with live feeding as Nigel did.

He cursed. He had an explosive temper with an amazingly short fuse. Except when it came to April, but April was an exception. But the point was that he'd be a terrible role model and a terrible father. He didn't even like kids.

So he stayed away for a month. Get her used to functioning without him, because why would she want to keep him around when she realized how bad an influence he'd be, and that he didn't want to be a father? This was, of course, going to have to be after she found out.

He came back for less than an hour at first, and she was... so happy to see him. And he was uncomfortable and his heart was breaking over the thought of losing her, and so he pushed her away. Left her crumpled on the floor sobbing and screaming that he'd promised he'd never never leave. But he couldn't...

Almost a week later, he came back. She knew, by then. And he clung to her and told her everything. That he wouldn't be a good father. That he was no role model for a kid to have. That he didn't want to be a father. Eventually, she stopped arguing, but he knew she didn't agree.

But by then, he was busy reassuring her that he wasn't going to leave, and they left the subject for another day.

April's water broke at 3:30 PM, two days before her due date. She didn't tell anyone, and when the contractions started getting bad enough that she couldn't hide it anymore, she refused to go anywhere until sundown, so Roger could come to the hospital. She wouldn't go without him – she hated hospitals.

At 1:27 AM, April brought into the world a baby girl with dark hair and green eyes – Kim later said she'd never seen eyes that green on a baby. The doctors handed her to April first, and April immediately held her up for Roger to take.

"Oh, I... n-no, I really..." he stammered, taking a small step back. April smiled that sweet, naïve smile at him.

"Go on." She urged, and he reluctantly stepped closer to take the baby in his arms. It felt awkward for a split second... and then he looked down at her and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Roger stared down at the surprisingly quiet baby with a mixture of awe and adoration. He glanced up for a moment at April and smiled uncertainly, and she beamed back, looking the sanest he'd seen her since Mark had died.

"What's her name?" Roger asked softly.

"You pick." April said, equally soft, and Roger looked up at her, startled.

"Y-you mean..." April nodded and he felt a surge of nervousness and uncertainty. He shouldn't be naming the baby, it wasn't his baby, he had no idea—

He looked back down at the little bundle in his arms and just stared at her for a minute, and realized that the strange feeling that was swirling inside his chest was, against all odds, pride and love. He smiled and gently kissed the baby's forehead.

"Hey, Rebecca Rose. I'm your Daddy."

Firefly: Hardened Criminals

Sat, 23 Dec 2006 05:29:21 GMT

Title: Hardened Criminals
Rating: G
Word Count: 206
Summary: Mal doesn't want the crew to know what their cargo is.
Notes: Written as one (of hopefully two) of allfireburns's Christmas fics. Love you, ai ren.
Disclaimer: I'm not Joss. So I don't own them. ~~Gorramit.~~

"I want to get this done with before anyone starts askin' what we're carrying, you understand?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"We are hardened criminals and I don't want knowin' to affect my crew in any way."

"I completely agree, sir."

"I don't know why Li Mei feels the need to smuggle these things near halfway 'cross the 'verse." Mal grumbled as he and Zoe left the hold where Jayne, Simon, and Kaylee were stowing Serenity's newest cargo.

"Don't rightly know, sir." Zoe said dryly, following after him. "Might be a way of gettin' out of taxes."

"Might be so." Mal shook his head. "I just hope no one gets a look at it, or—" He was cut off by a crash, followed closely by a string of curses and Simon's calm voice asking if anything felt broken.

"Hey, are those... Hey, 'Nara!" Kaylee's voice rang out cheerfully above Jayne's rather colorful language. "Come look at these, they're adorable!"

Mal didn't turn around. He just stood in the doorway leading out of the hold and sighed.

"Zoe?"

"Yes sir?"

"What're they lookin' at?"

"Wobbly headed geisha dolls, sir."

"Thought so. I'm goin' to go to my bunk, see if I can salvage my dignity."

"You do that, sir."

RENT: Can and Can't

Mon, 30 Oct 2006 10:01:09 GMT

Title: Can and Can't
Characters/Pairing: Toby, Maureen, Mark, Collins, Benny, April, Roger
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Everyone needs something from somebody else. The question is what.
Notes: Written for Dented Plaster prompt #20 – I Want You. It's a bit of an odd format – ask if you get confused. Toby belongs to the incomparable soscaredtolove, she just lets me borrow him.
Disclaimer: Don't own it.

I want you to stay here, right here, and never leave me (she did, and it hurts). I want to be able to hold your hand and kiss you and call you mine. I want you, all of you, all to myself. It's so unfair.

"Toby, don't do this to me!"

You can't be gone, I don't want you to be gone, I don't want to believe it, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to keep trying, not with you gone. I don't have anyone now, I don't want to be this lonely. I can't believe this, I won't believe this, you can't leave me you bastard, but I don't hate you. God, I can't do this.

"Please give it back, Maureen?"

I want you to be happy, both of you. I want you to be with the person you love instead of the person you rebounded with and settled for. I want you to be the happiest you can be, him too. I want you two to be friends again. I want you to be happy again.

"Don't fall, Mark."

Don't be so amazing, don't be so wonderfully adorable. Can't you just be any other guy, one that won't capture my attention so completely? I can't handle you. Can't handle what you do to me. But I can't leave, can't kick you out, can't stop being friends. I don't know how I'm going to get through these couple of months until there's someone else here to distract me.

"Hey, Tom, you want some coffee?"

Stay here, stay strong, keep fighting, you can beat this. I know you can, you can beat anything. Keep laughing, stay healthy. God, I want to kill him, how could he do this to you? I need you to fight this, I need you to beat this. I need you here and alive. You have to stay strong. For me, at least.

"Benny, can't you just mind your own business?"

I don't want you here, I don't want you looking at me, telling me what to do. You're not my father, you're not the boss of me, you're not my keeper. Don't look at me so heartbroken, don't look at me so accusingly. I'm not falling apart, I'm not unable to take care of myself. I don't need you.

"April, d'you think you can leave me alone for ten minutes?"

Why are you so damned stubborn and possessive and shit? I wish you'd just leave me be. I need you only to fuck you, for you to fuck me, I hate you, I love you, I hate you. Can't you just decide whether or not to care? You aren't worth all this pain; but I know you could be, if you wanted to be. Fuck you, why can't I help but care a little?

"Hey Roger, come look at this!"

RENT: Stop to Think

Mon, 30 Oct 2006 09:49:59 GMT

Title: Stop to Think
Characters/Pairing: Maureen, Collins, April, Roger
Rating: PG-13
Summary: If they'd stop to think about it, they'd love them
Notes: Written for Dented Plaster prompt #94 – Somebody to Love. Four drabbles about people who should be loving someone.
Disclaimer: Don't own it.

"That's very kind of you," Della said. "But I'm sure he'd love her if only he stopped to thing about it."

In a very quiet voice Rumplestiltskin said, "I don't think love is something you stop to think about."
-from The Rumplestiltskin Problem, by Vivian Vande Velde

If he'd stop to think about it, he'd realize that he isn't doing her any good, insulting her friends and putting her down. He'd notice what an amazing young woman she is: talented, beautiful, funny, loyal to a fault. He'd see that she's been hurt badly by the loss of her best friend and betrayal of her boyfriend, and that she's only managed to start healing because of the vaguely scruffy looking young man who's attached himself to her. He'd see all this and realize that he just wants her to be happy, and that he loves her very much.

If he'd stop to think about it, he'd probably tell his lover the truth. He'd tell him that he hadn't been very careful in the past, and that his last test had been two years ago. He'd feel ashamed of how flippant he is about their relationship, how he brushes off the heartfelt gestures, the oh so sincere 'I love you's. He'd see that, though he's independent, his lover needs him. He'd realize that he's been a jackass to one of the sweetest men on the planet and would kiss him and love him and resolve to never leave him.

If she'd stop to think about it, she'd let herself acknowledge that he treats her far better than she deserves from him. She'd realize that, even though he seems to be hers, he's not, and never really was. She'd apologize to hell and back for what she did, how she got him, and would let him go (if he wanted) to get his true love back. She would sit back and marvel that he can (and does) love her, she'd get clean (and help him get clean too). She'd let herself admit that she does love him, despite all odds.

If only they'd stop to think about it, the love they've never felt would come rushing in. They would pull back, say 'how stupid I've been!', and cherish the person they should love, be it a daughter or a lover. They would see (and admit) their mistakes and do their best to change. They'd do everything – absolutely everything - in their power to make that special person happy. They would accept differences, admit secrets, give up the bad habits that hurt them. They would love. A noble theory, with only one flaw:

Love isn't something you stop to think about.

RENT: Flying

Mon, 30 Oct 2006 09:36:13 GMT

Title: Flying
Characters/Pairing: Mark, Collins
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I fail. Just read it. Loftmate thinks he can fly.
Notes: Dented Plaster, written for Dented Plaster claim #10 – You Wear the Sun and Mark Cohen claim #25 - Puppet
Disclaimer: Don't own it.

The wind whipped around him, cold and insistent. The edge was so comfortable – just enough risk to make his heart beat, but wide enough that he wouldn't fall – and he found himself wishing it would start snowing. Snow just seemed right for tonight.

He closed his eyes, and the world around him seemed to die, fade away, turn to dust. All that was left was him, the wind, and the ledge his feet were on. He could swear, his eyes closed and listening hard, that he heard her voice, felt her hand on his shoulder.

You can fly, she whispered. Fly with me. He stepped forward half a step, knowing he was dangerously close to the edge and feeling a grin spread across his face – he would fly, not fall, isn't that what she said? He believed her implicitly, and spread his arms gleefully to catch the wind that was swirling around him, trying to lift him into the air. He lifted a foot to take a step forward and –

"Mark? You up here, man?" Mark's eyes snapped open and he threw his weight backwards, away from the edge that had seemed so tempting a moment ago. He was shaking, almost unable to move, when Collins poked his head around the corner of one of the large pointless-seeming things on the roof. "Hey, you okay?" he frowned, worried.

"Yeah," Mark choked out. "Just tripped."

"Okay." Collins said slowly. "Well, just be careful – wouldn't want you to go flying off the edge of the roof, would we?"

Mark shuddered. "No." he said softly.

That night, he started taking his long-forgotten medication again – he'd rather be safe and a little dulled than sorry and flying.

OC: Window

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 09:31:36 GMT

Title: Window
Word Count: 1,166
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (for language only)
Summary: When you lose something perfect, it's hard to go on.
Notes: Written for allfireburns, on her 18th birthday (I love you bao bei!) and inspired by a drawing by harbek (included at the end of the story), with one line stolen from Nat (whose LJ I don't know). I honestly don't know if this is some sort of fanfic or if it's an original story. If I ever get the MC to talk to me again… I'll let y'all know.

You have to let me at least take a picture of your face if you're going to model for me.

No. I… I can't. Just… can't you take artsy pictures or something?

If it's about the glasses, they'll turn out fine.

No, it's not that. I just…

You don't do eye contact?

Yeah… how'd you know?

I don't know what color your eyes are. I notice those things about people, but I still don't know what color your eyes are.

Oh. That's… pretty observant of you.

I'm a photographer.

Right.

…You wanna talk about it?

I… not really.

Okay.

…So you're just gonna take pictures of my back and shit?

Pretty much.

… He said he loved my eyes. That's why I don't… do eye contact. I don't want to hear how nice my eyes are. It's not him saying it, and I don't want to be reminded.

Okay. Who is he?

My soulmate.

Pretty dramatic, don't you think?

Not really. He was. He was… everything to me. He was… he was city and poetry and light and dark and imperfectly perfect. One of those people who embodied the city, you know? Wild and… and rough and painful… but there was still love there. And you couldn't help but love him.

Huh. Sounds like an amazing guy. Where'd you meet him?

Club. A show. He was a musician.

What club?

I… I've forgotten.

Liar.

Yeah, well. Anyway, he was up on stage and his voice was… amazing. Imperfectly perfect, that's really the only way I can describe it. Do you understand?

I think so.

He was unearthly when he was on stage. Then you get him off stage and he was goofy and silly and caring and stupid and just as human as the rest of us. But on stage… on stage he was a god.

Did you ever tell him that?

What, and feed his ego?

Hey, a smile! I'm making progress. Continue.

Continue what?

The story. How you and he ended up meeting. How the hell you got to my studio. And, of course, the shit in between.

Oh… right. Um, well, he was watching me, for most of the show. I thought it was my imagination, but then he said he'd been watching me and… well I never asked him if that was just a line or not.

A line?

To get me in bed.

Did it work?

No. But I went anyway.

What happened?

We had sex… god, it was amazing. It was… he knew everywhere to touch. Knew every way to make me moan and shudder and—

Yeah, okay, I get the picture.

Don't laugh. It's true, he was… it was like he knew my body better than I did. And I didn't have anywhere to go, and… well, afterwards I stayed until the next morning. And next morning rolled around and he didn't kick me out, he just… smiled and said it was nice having a pet in a no-animals building.

So what, you were like… a sex object?

No! No, nothing like that… it was our joke, you see? I was the puppy he couldn't actually get. I… he loved me. He really did. More than almost anything, that's what he told me.

He told you he loved you more than almost anything? Jackass.

No, he… he said more than everything else. But his music was more important. It was always the most important. And there were… other things.

Drugs?

Maybe. I don't know. He could've been fucking someone else on the side for all I know. But it didn't matter, because he came home to me every night. He curled up in bed with me every night. He fucked me hard enough to make me cry, sometimes, but it was wonderful because it was him and I was his and that's all I ever wanted to be.

Sounds like you two were pretty happy. Why the hell is this all in past tense?

We're not together anymore.

No, really?

You don't have to be sarcastic.

But it's so fun! Anyway, you know what I meant. Why did you split up?

… I don't really… god, I can't believe I'm… He got into some shit. Did some stupid things.

So you left?

No! Never. I couldn't have.

He left you, then.

In… in a way, yes.

In a way?

Yes. ... He… he loved my eyes. He said he could drown in them. They were deep pools of emotion, no matter what it seemed like I was feeling, you could always tell what I actually felt if you looked in my eyes and knew how to read what was there. And he did. He always did. And sometimes I hated him for it, because why shouldn't I have private emotions, you know? But… really, I was glad. Because it felt so damn good to have someone care enough to learn how to read my eyes.

He could read them past the glasses and the hair?

Yeah. Well, the glasses. Growing my hair out was his idea. He said it'd look cooler, and that I could hide my eyes behind it, so no one else would be able to learn my eyes like he had. As if anyone but him could read my eyes like that.

So. Sounds like a great guy, really in love with you… what the hell happened?

He… died.

Oh… I'm so… god, I didn't mean to bring that up, I'm sorry.

It's okay. I just… miss him.

How did he… I mean, if you don't mind my asking.

Got mugged. They didn't take anything, not his wallet, nothing, so… so the police figure it was probably a hate crime. Against us, you know?

Fuck. They ever catch the guys?

No. Coulda been anyone, really. Lot of people didn't like us. Didn't like what we stood for.

So where are you living now?

Same place. I didn't want to move – that's the only place I have that… that he's still there. There's memories of him there, like there aren't anywhere else. It… hurts, but it's better to feel and remember than go numb and forget. Feeling might hurt more but I'll take it any day. It helps you feel alive.

You're a brave kid. I'm honored to be taking your picture.

You still don't have a picture of my face.

True. I'll live.

Maybe… I'm not going to… do you understand why I…

…That'll be a nice picture.

I didn't know you were going to snap one just then.

Yes, well, it is a photo shoot.

Yeah. Right. I forgot, sorry.

No prob. …They're blue.

What?

Your eyes. They're blue. They remind me of windows.

Windows into a house? That's kind of an old cliché.

No, not in. Windows out. Windows into the rest of the universe. Fuck, I'm not making much sense.

No, you're not. But I think I get it anyway.

You want a Kleenex?

No, just keep shooting.

I never stop, kid.

Good.

RENT: Morning Sounds

Wed, 11 Oct 2006 08:19:56 GMT

Title: Morning Sounds
Fandom: RENT
Characters/Pairing: Mark
Word Count: 203
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: There’s something different about the morning sounds in the loft on June 5th, 1995
Notes: This is 24-verse, as nearly as I can tell. Sometimes Mark likes to lie to me. This is also going on the assumption that RENT starts on Dec. 24, 1995.
Disclaimer: I don’t own it!

It was quiet.

That was the first thing Mark thought when he woke up on June 5th. There was no sound of Collins snoring, probably because the anarchist was likely sitting on his bed reading some philosophy journal like he had been when Mark had fallen asleep. There was no sound of Roger complaining, trying to wake up, telling everyone who talked to him to fuck off, because he had locked himself in his room and there was no one trying to get him to come out. There was no sound of Maureen murmuring in her sleep or rolling over, ever the late sleeper, because she’d gone out last night and hadn’t come back, not that Mark entirely blamed her. And, most noticeably, there were no kitchen sounds. No one making coffee, eggs, pancakes, humming as they did the dishes and ready to greet anyone who happened to wake up with a cheerful ‘good morning’ and a coffee fixed how they liked it. No petite brunette to joke with as he ate his cereal, going in and waking Roger up by 10:00, when she left for work at the diner. No April.

There was just silence, and it made Mark want to scream.

RENT: A Damn Good Coat

Tue, 10 Oct 2006 07:30:59 GMT

Title: A Damn Good Coat
Characters/Pairing: Mark/Collins, Roger/Maureen, Benny
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sometimes life just isn't fair, especially when you're losing your lover. (I suck at summaries)
Notes: Dented Plaster-verse. Started ages ago for soscaredtolove, continued yesterday for allfireburns, and completed today for bohemian21 because she's sick and needs cheering. Holly, dear, I know this isn't exactly a cheering story, but my Roger/April muse has abandoned me for the night. >.>
Disclaimer: Not Larson. Getting no money. Owe money to the bank. Please don't sue.

I can't be here, this can't be happening, not after everything... he's gonna be fine. He's going to come out of it this time, just like he always has, he's going to be home by the end of the week, the doctors are stupid, they don't see how strong he is. He's going to make it. He is. He has to make it, he--

"Mark? Mark, honey, are you okay?" Mark dragged himself out of his thoughts and blinked wearily up at Maureen, who was hovering worriedly in the doorway of the hospital room. Mark sat up, gently slipping his hand out of the one he'd been grasping, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to smile.

"Yeah, just tired." he stifled a yawn. Maureen sighed and pursed her lips.

"Go home and sleep, Mark." she said gently. "He'll be fine, and I promise I'll call you if anything changes." Mark chewed his lip and frowned at the sleeping man in the hospital bed for a moment. "Go, Mark." Maureen insisted.

"I... Okay." Mark agreed reluctantly. He got up slowly, his limbs stiff from the plastic chair he’d been sitting in for the past 16 hours and 27 minutes. Maureen grabbed his hand briefly as he walked by and squeezed it comfortingly, then went to sit in the seat he had just vacated. Mark’s eyes lingered on the man in the hospital bed, recalling every line, every crease of his face, his hands, his—

“Mark.” Maureen’s voice stopped him and he nodded, turning and moving slowly into the hallway. The walk from the door of the hospital room to the door of his apartment was torturously slow, despite it being no more than ten blocks. He would move slowly, lost in thought, remembering how they’d had dinner at that deli last month, and how they’d kissed in the rain in that corner of the park. Then it would hit him that if something happened while he was walking, he had no way of knowing, and he’d speed up, almost running, until he’d forced himself to calm down and slow down.

It didn’t take long to reach the apartment, let himself in, and lean against the door wearily after he closed it behind him. He took a moment to close his eyes, compose himself for the people that weren’t there watching him, before he moved further in, pressing the play button on the answering machine as he passed it.

”Mark? Honey, are you there? It’s Mom.” Mark sighed, taking off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. ”Roger called us this morning and told us what was going on. We just wanted to let you know that we’re praying for both of you. Give us a call as soon as you can. I love you.” A loud beep sounded before the next message started. Mark hugged himself and stood in front of the answering machine, watching it and hoping it didn’t have a message from Maureen.

”Hey, man, it’s Benny.” The older man’s voice sounded tired and strained. ”I’m stuck in the airport in Dallas… I won’t be able to get back until sometime tomorrow morning, earliest. Just… aw, shit, you probably won’t be there to get this message, but if you do, you tell him to hold on, okay? He ain’t getting away from me that easy.” Mark laughed shortly, not allowing the laugh to become a sob. ”I’ll see you in a few hours.” There was a long pause, and Mark could hear the sounds of an airport employee paging someone over the intercom. ”Just hold on, okay? We’re here for you. Love you, man.” The machine beeped again. Mark held his breath as he waited for the next message to play, telling him he needed to be back at the hospital now, that he might be too late…

Nothing. No more messages. Mark remembered to breathe again and collapsed onto the couch, wrapping his arms around his legs and hugging his knees to his chest. The apartment was so empty without Tom’s laugh and presence, and it was compounded by the knowledge that those things would probably never fill the apartment again. Mark bit back tears at the thought – he wouldn’t be able to stay here, in this place that had been their home since they’d moved out of the Loft, not without Tom. A few homey touches could be found here and there – the price they had paid for letting Maureen help them move in. There were a handful of picture frames scattered around, with pictures of the group, one shot of Tom, Benny, and April, looking like the siblings they were (even if Tom had different parents), one shot of Maureen and Roger’s wedding, and numerous pictures of the big black anarchist and the scrawny Jewish filmmaker with their arms around each other, happy as clams, finally together after years of skirting the issue.

Mark had asked Tom, once, about Angel and soulmates and where Mark himself stood in the scheme of things. “Relationships like the one I had with Angel are almost unheard of.” He’d said slowly. “I think that we were meant for each other in a way that was deeper than most people ever get. If the reincarnation theory is true, I’d have to say that Angel and I are just destined to find each other, life after life.”

“What about me?” Mark had asked, his tone teasing but the question earnest. Tom had smiled and kissed his cheek, tightening his hold on the smaller man.

“You’re the kind of true love that comes once and only once, reincarnation or not. And that’s just as special.”

Mark sighed and pushed his glasses up onto his forehead to rub his eyes. It had been weeks since he’d slept well, worried out of his mind by every sneeze, every cough. Tom had been sick, true, but he’d begged Mark to not take him to the hospital until it was absolutely necessary, and Mark had honored that. At the least, it gave them more time together and alone, precious and priceless as they felt the end catch up to them.

And then last week Tom had coughed up blood and Mark put his foot down, bundling the anarchist into his leather jacket and half-carrying him to the hospital. He’d kept deteriorating, but he’d had a smile for Mark every time their eyes met. Then, 17 hours ago, he’d fallen asleep, and they hadn’t been able to wake him up.

The doctors called it a coma. They said the likelihood of him waking up was slim. Mark didn’t care what they called it or what the likelihood was that he’d come out of it - he planted himself in that damn orange plastic chair and hadn’t budged until Maureen had made him leave. She was right, really, he was so fucking tired. Maybe he’d just rest for a little while…

It was dark when the harsh sound of the phone ringing startled Mark out of sleep. A drowsy glance at the clock revealed that he’d slept for nearly eight hours. He stretched, waiting for the machine to catch the phone – he and Tom had never kicked the habit of screening… Then suddenly he remembered the call he was waiting for and launched himself at the phone.

“Hello?” he asked breathlessly. Please don’t let it be Maureen, please God, don’t let it be bad news…

“Mark?” Maureen’s voice was tinny and strained, as if she was trying not to cry. Mark understood instantly.

“I’ll be right there.” He said without a second thought, and hung up the phone, racing out of the apartment with nothing but his keys and his scarf. He would make it in time, Tom would wake up for a moment and Mark could tell him how much he loved him, and he’d get to say goodbye. He had to say goodbye.

It took forever to get to the hospital, it seemed, even at a dead sprint (or as close as Mark could get to one), and by the time he reached the hospital doors he was out of breath and barely able to stand. But he couldn’t stop. He panted and gasped for breath, willing his rubbery legs to carry him forward as quickly as possible. He headed for Tom’s room… and stopped at the lounge area for Tom’s floor. Maureen and Roger were there, sitting on the floor, Maureen’s face buried in Roger’s lap, her shoulders shaking, and tears streaming down Roger’s cheeks. Benny sat nearby with a dazed look on his face and a suitcase at his feet – he’d come straight from the airport.

“No…” Mark whispered, rooted to the spot. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. Tom was strong, he always had been, he’d always beat whatever life threw at him… Roger looked up and saw him, his eyes full of pain and fear, and under different circumstances Mark would have recognized that Roger had been reminded, yet again, of his own mortality, and Mark would’ve tried to comfort him. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, the only word on his lips was a whispered stream of “nononononono…”

Roger gently moved Maureen - who stayed on the floor hugging her knees, looking lost - and stood, walking to Mark with a bundle in his hands. Mark shook his head as Roger stopped in front of him. “No.” he whimpered, as if pleading with Roger could change the outcome. Roger said nothing, just pushed the bundle into his hands. It felt intimately familiar, and Mark glanced down with a frown.

He held an old, well-worn, well-loved brown leather coat, bought one Christmas Eve from a street vendor on St. Mark’s Place. Mark clutched it tightly, lifting it to his face, smelling the combination of smoke, aftershave, and deodorant that made up Tom’s smell. Eventually, Mark realized, the smell would fade from this coat, and the only place that smell would ever be found would be in his memory. Something inside of Mark broke with that though, and his legs refused to support him anymore – though they did give him a chance to reach a chair.

Roger sat next to him and hugged him tightly as he buried his face in the soft leather and cried for the lover he’d lost. He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

RENT: Talkative

Tue, 03 Oct 2006 15:14:05 GMT

Title: Talkative
Charaters/Pairings: Benny/Mark
Rating: PG
Summary: Mark talks a lot
Notes: This is... bubblegum pop verse. Aubrey and Alex started it, I... caught the bug. This is a very cute verse. Mark is short, somewhat spastic, and he tends to talk. A lot. Oh, and this isn't bubblegum pop canon, it's just something Aubrey asked for outside the Nederlander last week.
Disclaimer: Don't own RENT. Will let you know when I do. Until then... no suing, please.

"...So I guess I'd really be no good if I worked for a big production company." Mark finished his ramble with a satisfied nod. Benny just stared at his roommate with a mixture of shock and amusement.

"You talk a lot." he said finally, a little smirk on his face.

"Yeah, I guess I kind of do." Mark agreed with a sheepish grin. "April says I talk compulsively, especially when I'm nervous or something like--" the newest ramble was cut off when Benny pressed his lips to Mark's, and Mark forgot all aboutt what he'd been trying to say.

RENT: Be My Savior

Mon, 02 Oct 2006 18:31:57 GMT

Title: Be My Savior
Characters/Pairings: Roger/April, Mark/Maureen, Benny, Collins
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Roger meets an angel one night at a show, and things don’t turn out the way they were supposed to.
Notes: I wrote this on a plane from Chicago to San Jose, after having spent the night in the Chicago airport getting very little sleep because I missed my connection from Laguardia. So if this is cracky… that’s why.
Disclaimer: I’m not Jon Larson. If I were, I’d be dead and unable to write stories like this for you to see. Also, if I were Jon Larson, I wouldn’t have squeaked and fallen off Aubrey’s lap when Christopher walked by the Nederlander on Friday. Nya. … also, I have boobs.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Roger thought desperately. It wasn’t. She was his heroine, his savior, his angel.

She wasn’t supposed to fall.

* * *

“I don’t date musicians,” the petite blonde told him with an infuriatingly calm smile. Roger grinned as winningly as he could.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted a date, I asked if you wanted a drink,” he pointed out. She kept smiling.

“I don’t do one-night stands, either,” she said in a patronizing tone. “Go back to playing rock star and screw one of your groupies,” she suggested, and turned away to talk to whatever friend she’d come with. Roger glowered a little and stalked back to the stage for the next set. He watched her all night, but she didn’t look up at him once.

* * *

“Fancy meeting you here,” Roger said with a cocaine-induced smirk. The blonde turned from her friends, who wandered off to dance, with a surprised look.

“Well, if it isn’t the little boy who thinks he’s a rock star.” she didn’t smile back, but frowned slightly. “I don’t think you’re famous enough to support your habit, yet,” she said, eyeing his worn clothes. “Seems to me you should stop.”

“Maybe you could convince me,” Roger growled seductively, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. She shook her head, removed his hand from her hip, and stepped back.

“No thank you, Roger Davis,” she said, and melted into the crowd before he could respond.

It hit him that she remembered his name, and he frowned. He’d never asked what hers was.

* * *

“Who is she?” Benny asked, flopping down on the couch next to Roger. Roger glared half-heartedly, but just stuck a foot on Benny’s lap in retaliation.

“Who’s who?” he asked nonchalantly.

“This girl,” Benny said, calmly dumping Roger’s foot onto the floor and pointing to a sketch in one of Roger’s open notebooks. “You’ve been obsessing over her for nearly two weeks, man. Who is she?”

“I don’t know.” Roger sulked, frustrated. “I tried to pick her up at a show, and then at a club, but she just… brushed me off like I was just another guy.” Benny smirked silently and Roger brushed his fingers over the sketch. “I don’t even know her name,” he sighed.

“Maybe you should ask next time you see her,” Benny pointed out teasingly, but Roger didn’t seem to notice.

“She’s something special, Benny,” he murmured. “I’ve got to have her.”

* * *

He spotted her after a show a week after Benny’d asked about her. He took a hit off the joint he was holding, then passed it off to one of his band mates and sauntered over to her.

“You know, I don’t think it’s fair,” he said. She raised her eyebrows.

“What?”

“You know my name,” he said with the grin that drove his groupies wild. “But I have no idea what yours is.” She pursed her lips.

“Why won’t you give up?” she asked, looking exasperated. Roger started to say something suave (or what he thought was suave) but then stopped. This girl didn’t take crap from anyone, it would seem, and maybe honesty would earn him points.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. She nodded and turned back to her drink. “Your name?” he asked hopefully. He saw her roll her eyes slightly, and he frowned, a little lost in thought. “Although you might not have one,” he mused. She turned to him, probably to ask what he was on (heroin and a little pot, not that it mattered), but he quickly continued. “Someone told me once that angels don’t have names.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed, for a long moment, until someone put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” the somewhat scrawny young man with glasses asked her, eyeing Roger suspiciously.

“Yeah,” she said absently, not looking away from Roger, her expression bemused. “Did you find Maureen?”

“Yeah, she’s waiting outside.” the young man (barely more than a boy, honestly, Roger thought) glanced between Roger and the blonde girl. “I’ll, um… go wait with her?” he asked. The girl nodded, and the boy turned reluctantly to go outside.

“So, is my information correct?” Roger asked, trying to be just charming enough. “Are angels really nameless?” The blonde girl was silent for a moment, then gave him a secretive smile, her eyes twinkling.

“Perhaps,” she said simply, and slipped off the barstool, moving towards the exit. She hesitated at the door and turned back to look at Roger. He waved slightly and she smiled again before disappearing through the doorway. Roger felt a thrill of victory.

She’d started to get interested.

* * *

“How long are you going to make me beg for your name?” Roger asked quietly, kissing his blonde angel’s neck just behind her ear. She smiled softly.

“I don’t know,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “I rather like being called ‘Angel’.” Roger growled in mock frustration and nipped at her earlobe. She squealed a little and giggled. “Plus, it keeps you interested.”

“I don’t need that mystery to keep me interested,” he murmured huskily, sliding his hand down the smooth skin of her stomach and then lower. She whimpered a little and arched into his touch.

“I’ll tell you,” she whispered, “when you stop using,” Roger sighed, not wanting to get on that topic again, and slipped his fingers into her to disrupt her train of thought. “God, Roger…” she gasped, and he forgot, for a while, that his Angel had any other name.

* * *

“We need a couple more roommates,” Collins said, dropping the bills on the counter. Benny and Roger looked up, startled.

“Why?” Benny asked, and Collins held up a piece of paper, looking vaguely pissed off.

“Mr. Grey raised our rent. Again.”

“Fucking… Where the hell are we gonna find roommates who’ll actually pay?” Benny asked. Roger just sat silently, looking thoughtful.

* * *

“This is my best friend, Mark Cohen, and his girlfriend, Maureen Johnson,” the blonde said with a smile. Roger, Collins, and Benny nodded hellos, and Maureen grabbed a rather surprised Roger into an exuberant hug.

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” she gushed. “April’s told us so much about you all!” Roger’s eyebrows shot up and he mouthed “April?” at his Angel over Maureen’s shoulder. She grinned and nodded.

April. It was bright. Colorful. Lively. Just like she was. April.

“So,” Collins was saying, “How’d you three like to move in?”

* * *

Mark was waiting up for him when he got back from his gig.

“You’re up late,” he said, slurring a little from the drugs and the booze. Mark bit his lip and looked down at his hands.

“You’re hurting her, Roger,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. Roger froze, suddenly sobered up.

“What?”

“The drugs,” Mark said haltingly. “She’s scared and… and upset…” Mark glanced up to meet Roger’s eyes. “She started cutting again,” he whispered, looking scared. “She hasn’t done it since high school, but… the signs are all there. I know,”

Roger glanced to the door of the bedroom he shared with April, with his Angel, and swallowed hard. “What should I do?” he asked uncertainly.

“Stop using,” Mark’s voice was firm, and Roger nodded. He didn’t particularly want to, but…

His Angel was hurting. He’d do anything to stop that.

* * *

“Ten to one, she’s pregnant,” Benny declared as he and Mark and Roger stood outside the Life Café speculating why April had been feeling so crappy lately.

“No way, man, she’s on the pill!” Roger punched Benny in the arm.

“It’s probably just the flu or something,” Mark said, the lone voice of logic and reason, as always.

“No, ‘cause it’s…” Benny trailed off for a moment as an ambulance sped by, sirens blaring too loud to speak over. He started to continue when Mark peered around the corner.

“It’s at our building,” he whispered, fear in his voice. Roger’s eyes widened.

“April!” he gasped, and took off running, Benny and Mark right behind him. They reached the top of the stairs about the same time as the paramedics, who stopped to ask a blood-soaked, hysterical Maureen if she was hurt. “April!” Roger shouted, and Maureen let out a wail.

The bathroom door was open. He could see her on the floor... he raced in.

His anguished scream brought everyone but Maureen and one paramedic to the door.

“Wake up, Angel, please wake up!” he sobbed, rocking back and forth, clutching April’s lifeless body, heedless of the pool of blood covering the floor. The paramedics could tell there was no hope for the young woman, and busied themselves with gently prying Roger off the body. Mark had collapsed and backed himself into a corner, even more hysterical than Maureen.

Benny saw the envelope taped to the refrigerator with Roger’s name on it. He opened it and pulled out two pieces of paper. Looked at them. Quietly showed one of them to the paramedics, who told him to stay away from the bathroom for now. He stayed behind to wait for Collins while the paramedics radioed for a cleaning crew, and took Roger to the hospital to get cleaned up and tested. Mark was given a strong sedative, and slept on the couch as the bathroom was surgically cleaned of all traces of blood.

When Roger finally got home Benny gave him the note that had accompanied April’s test results.

* * *

It wasn’t right, this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be here, with him, both of them clean and healthy and happy. Making a life together.

She wasn’t supposed to have fallen. She’d fucking saved him, and in return, he’d… he’d killed her.

Because that’s what it was, when you came down to it, he thought. He’d lost her, his beautiful, bloodied, broken angel, because he’d killed her.

Only one way to forget. Only one way. And that was to go right back to what she’d saved him from.

But it didn’t matter anymore, Roger told himself as he slipped the needle into his vein. It didn’t matter, she was gone, he’d killed her, he wasn’t worth anything.

It didn’t stop him from feeling guilty as he pushed the plunger.

Sports Night: Whisper in His Ear

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 00:13:02 GMT

Title: Whisper in His Ear
Characters/Pairings: Dan/Natalie
Rating: PG
Summary: Dan and Natalie have a chat during commercial break about blue margaritas and white dress shirts.
Notes: Once again, written for Aubrey at Disneyland. I love this one. It's set before Jeremy shows up, in the first year of the show, probably. IT'S CANON DAMMIT!
Disclaimer: Not Aaron Sorkin. Don't own Sports Night. (...damn.)

"Five minutes back," came the voice in his ear, and Dan flashed a thumbs up at the camera so the girl in the control room could see him.

"Hey Natalie, it's blue margarita night," he said with a grin. Next to him, Casey rolled his eyes.

"Is that a suggestion?" the voice in his ear responded, sounding amused.

"Only if you wear my dress shirt afterwards," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Okay, kids, can you not talk about this while the whole crew is listening?" a new voice asked from his earpiece.

"Yes, Dana," he said dutifully.

"Ten seconds back. Love you."

"You, too." Dan grinned. "Welcome back to Sports Night..."

Firefly: Playtime

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 00:12:25 GMT

Title: Playtime
Characters/Pairings: River/Kaylee
Rating: PG
Summary: River wants to play with Kaylee, but not cards or jacks.
Notes: Written for Aubrey at Disneyland. I'm not the biggest fan of River/Kaylee... in fact I'm not a fan at all... but I think this turned out pretty nice.
Disclaimer: If Firefly were mine, it wouldn't be off the air. I would have found a different network to air it.

"I want to play." she says, sitting on Kaylee's bed cross-legged and calmly watching Kaylee tinker with some bit of machinery.

"Okay, River, what do you want to play?" Kaylee asks. "I've got cards and jacks and—"

"No, not those games. I want to play like you play with Simon." she says. Kaylee looks surprised and starts to protest, when River leans over to kiss her and she forgets why she was going to say no.

Soft lips on soft lips, a dancer's lithe form twining with the sturdier body of a working girl, and things are never the same.

RENT: Muffy

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 00:11:54 GMT

Title: Muffy
Characters/Pairings: Benny/Alison, Mark, Roger, Collins
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Is Muffy really all she seems to be?
Notes: Written at Disneyland, for Aubrey.
Disclaimer: Don't own RENT. Thanks.

I remember when Benny first brought Alison to meet us, we all thought he was insane.

"This is never gonna last, man." we said. "She's a fucking rich-bitch from Westport. She'll date you to piss off her folks until they threaten to cut her off or she gets bored." Benny insisted it wasn't like that. He bit our heads off any time we called her 'Muffy' (which was often). When he left, we thought he'd sold out, married Alison to get money, a male gold-digger. When we found out he'd been sleeping with Mimi, we figured he was so miserable with 'Muffy' that he'd gone elsewhere to be satisfied.

It had been about a month since Benny paid for Angel's funeral when he called and asked to meet for lunch, to catch up, relive the old days when it was just us boys in the loft, before April, Maureen, Alison, Mimi... even Angel, as much as we had loved her. When Benny walked up to the table, he looked vaguely apologetic.

"Ali's with me." he said. "Do you mind if she eats with us?" Since Benny was paying, I couldn't really say no, and he waved over a petite redhead I barely recognized from the one meeting and the wedding six months later. She gave me an aloof smile and sat down gingerly, keeping silent as Benny tried to loosen up our stilted conversation. It wasn't until she let out a sweet laugh at some joke I'd cracked at Benny's expense that things really loosened up. She smiled, laughed, talked, and... she reminded me of April. I thought that maybe that's what had captured Benny's attention in the first place.

I watched the two of them all through lunch, laughing, sharing meaningful looks (and food), and even kissing a couple of times. It hit me at some point that I was looking at a couple who had probably been through some hard times, and some stupid mistakes, and some bad fights, but who were very happy and very much in love.

Right before we parted ways, I apologized to both of them for being such a jerk for so long, but that I'd thought Ali had been a completely different type of person (not that I was excused for that).

"I always did get the feeling you didn't like me." she said, her eyes twinkling. Then she apologized to me for having been such an ice queen. "People always judged me for my family and lifestyle before they get to know me." she explained. "They expect me to be a bitch, so I give them what they expect. You get hurt less that way." Then, after kissing my cheek and making me promise I'd call, she grabbed Benny's hand and dragged him out, saying he needed to come help her pack – they were moving to Astoria to get out of Manhattan and away from her parents.

Roger didn't believe me when he came back from Santa Fe and I told him.

Collins came home on Christmas Eve.

"Mark's got some great footage." Roger told him. "He's cut together a screening. We're gonna watch it tonight."

"In honor of Benny's wife—" I started.

"Muffy." Roger sneered. I glared at him.

"Alison." I said, thinking of the invitation to a housewarming for a certain couple who'd just moved into a nice little house in Astoria and smiling. "For... pulling Benny out of the East Village location."

RENT: Poor Baby

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 00:11:19 GMT

Title: Poor Baby
Characters/Pairings: April
Rating: PG-13
Summary: April wants to know why everyone can't seem to see what she sees.
Notes: This is April Coffin. So she's Benny's sister.
Disclaimer: Don't own RENT. Don't plan on owning RENT. Other than the copy of the movie I have, at least. I do own that.

Y'know, I watch them, and I can't stand them anymore. Oh, I mean, sure, they're still my family and all that, but... They don't seem to see things clearly all the time.

Poor Collins, they say, sick and going to die. What about poor Benny, on the verge of losing his best friend to a disease he did nothing to earn?

Poor Mark, they say, that Maureen left him for another woman. But what about poor Maureen, who only left because she couldn't handle being ignored while Mark took care of Roger? Mark may not have meant to ignore her, but he did, and it drove her away.

Poor Mimi, they say, only 19 and dying. What about poor Mark, who envies her vibrancy and feels so inadequate because she got Roger to go out the night she met him — something Mark had been trying to do for months.

Poor Roger, they say, for getting sick and losing his girlfriend. Poor Benny, he's lost his baby sister. What about poor April, who was so deep into "the scene" that she couldn't find a way out? What about poor April, scared of hospitals and death and dying finding out she was dying? What about poor April, too afraid he'd be born sick to keep him, but too selfish to get rid of him and just move on? What about her? What about poor fucking April, huh?

What about me?

I didn't have a choice and they don't see that, just like they can't see the other unlikely victims. Poor Benny, poor Collins, poor Angel, poor Maureen, poor Mark, poor Mimi, poor Roger... yet they always forget the one name that probably deserves the sentiment more.

I can't hate them-- they're my family — but sometimes I come awfully close.

Sports Night: Knowing

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 00:10:49 GMT

Title: Knowing
Characters/Pairings: Dana/Natalie
Rating: PG
Summary: Dana wants to know things, and Natalie does.
Notes: I wrote this for Aubrey, back in June, because she asked me to. Mwah.
Disclaimer: I am not Aaron Sorkin. Ergo, I own not the Sports Night.

"Why do I put up with them? Why?" Dana asked as she dug through her desk.

"Because they're the best?" Natalie theorized from the couch.

"Every day, I subject myself to mockery and a lack of respect."

"Or maybe because you can't find anyone else..."

"I just want to understand how I can be so masochistic."

"...or because you think Casey's cute..."

"It's like I enjoy having a splitting headache every night."

"...and if you want Casey, you have to have Dan..."

"And I just... oh, where is my aspirin?"

"In your purse." Natalie stopped rambling to tell her. Dana blinked and quickly peeked into her bag.

"Oh." she said, pulling out a bottle of aspirin. "Well, then." She took two, then after a moment's consideration, took one more. "How'd you know it was there?" she asked.

"Because that's where I put it this morning." Natalie smiled. Dana groaned a bit and sat down heavily next to Natalie, resting her head on Natalie's shoulder.

"What am I going to do if you ever leave?" Dana asked quietly. Natalie kissed the top of Dana's head and wrapped her arms around Dana's waist.

"I'm not going to." she said firmly. "Because I love this place, I love this job, and I loveyou." Dana buried her face in Natalie's shoulder and yawned. "C'mon." Natalie smiled. "Let's go home."

"Okay." Dana let Natalie lead her out of the office and down the hall toward the elevators. "Hey, Natalie?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too. You know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I don't mean just because you're my best friend and—"

"Dana?"

"Yeah?" Natalie leaned over and kissed Dana softly.

"I know."

"Oh. Well... good."

RENT: A Sad Cliche

Wed, 27 Sep 2006 23:39:33 GMT

Title: A Sad Cliché
Fandom: RENT
Characters/Pairing: April/Roger, Mark, Collins
Word Count: 1,425
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, character death
Summary: Five kisses Roger and April never shared... and one they did.
Notes: This is Purgatory-verse. That's a verse that Aubrey (allfireburns) and I have. Basically all you need to know about it right now is that April is Mark's little sister. It helps to know that Mark has issues with depression, but it's not necessary.
Disclaimer: Don't own RENT. Nope, still don't. Um... no. Do I look like a dead, geeky, adorable, male composer to you? No? Then I'm still not Jon Larson and I still don't own RENT.

"I could kick your ass." April snorted, poking Roger in the leg with her bare foot. Roger raised an eyebrow dubiously.

"You're tiny, April." April leveled a glare at him. "I'm almost a foot taller than you!" he pointed out in his defense.

"You're abnormally tall, yes." April 'conceded', and roger rolled his eyes – he wasn't quite six feet. That wasn't abnormal. "But," she continued with a confident smirk, "I could still kick your ass." Roger considered this silently and April sat back in her beanbag chair, triumphant at last. She wasn't prepared for Roger's attack, and squealed loudly when he started tickling her.

"You think you could kick my ass now?" Roger asked, grinning.

"Yes!" April declared, before dissolving into a fit of giggles when Roger intensified his attack. She thrashed, trying to wiggle out from under him to escape and plan a retaliation.

But suddenly she looked up and they both froze, their faces barely inches apart. April thought, in the back of her mind, that if he kissed her now it would be so deliciously clichéd... and when he moved in slightly she thought it was going to happen, her brother's best friend was going to kiss her and god, she hoped he wouldn't regret it and--

The door slammed. "'Ril? You home?" When Mark walked into the den, April was flicking through a magazine and Roger was on the couch watching TV. Mark smiled a little and went to flop next to Roger, ruffling April's hair as he passed her. "Anything good on?"

"Not really. Wanna call for pizza?"

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1... Happy New Year!" April joined the chorus of voices filling Times Square and cheered as the ball dropped, clapping and grinning. She glanced over at Roger and caught him staring at her with a bemused smile on his face. She grinned at him. "What?" she shouted, barely able to hear her own voice over the cacophony of the New Years revellers. Roger shook his head, that little smile still in place. April laughed a little. "No, really, what?" Roger hesitated, then did something April was not expecting.

He stepped forward, wrapped his arm around her waist, and kissed her.

April didn't know what to do but kiss him back. When he didn't break the kiss after a moment, she found herself slipping her arms around his neck, learning into him and losing herself in his taste, his arms, his lips. Her back was burning where his arm touched her, it was fire and electricity and joy, doing what she'd wished he would do since they'd met over a year before.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at her, not moving his arm from around her, she slid her hands down, pressing slightly against his chest. "You're drunk." she said as softly as she could and still be heard. She focused on a spot on his chest, watching her breath cloud as she exhaled. Roger tilted her chin up with his free hand, and she flicked her eyes up to meet his.

"Not that drunk." he told her firmly, and kissed her again.

Around them, people let out exclamations of surprise as the snow started falling. Roger and April didn't notice anything but each other.

"Do you, Roger Davis, take this young woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and hold, forever and ever, amen?" Roger rolled his eyes slightly at the minister, but smiled at the petite young woman holding his hand.

"I do." He said, though it was more a declaration, and was rewarded with one of the bright smiles he'd seen so few of in recent months.

"Okay, good, you'd better." a small burst of laughter rippled through the guests. "And do you, April Cohen, take this..." the minister paused and gave Roger a once-over before reluctantly continuing, "Man as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and hold and not cook for unless you want to see his head explode?" More laughter from the guests and April had to stifle her giggles.

"I do." she said, glancing to grin happily at the young man in glasses standing behind Roger. He smiled back, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. His smiles never did anymore.

"Well, by the power vested in me by, god help them, the state of New York, I now pronounce you an old married couple." There was a pause, then the minister rolled his eyes and smacked Roger upside the head. "Oh for god's sake, boy, kiss her!" The guests laughed (again) and cheered as Roger pulled April in for a deep kiss. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Roger Davis!"

As people began to mill around the community center, clearing the chairs away to set up for the reception, April gave the tall black man who'd officiated a hug. "Thank you, Tom." she whispered. He hugged her tightly and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Anything for you, sweetheart." he said. "Now, you go enjoy your party."

"Thanks for getting us the room, Paul." Roger said, shaking the older man's hand.

"It's not often joyful things like this happen in our group, Roger." Paul said with a sad smile. "We're all really happy for both of you."

"Thanks."

"Mazel tov, sweetie." Mr. Cohen said, kissing his youngest daughter's forehead.

"Thanks, Daddy." April sighed. "Mom didn't come, I guess." Her father shook his head.

"She's too angry at Roger still." he explained. "She said to tell you she was heartbroken to have to miss this, but she didn't want to embarrass you or ruin your day because she's not ready to talk to him just yet." he hesitated. "She also said to tell you she's happy you love him so much and that he stuck around." April smiled a little.

"Well, tell her thanks and that I'll come home for the next holiday.

"Will do, sweetie."

"So, you're family now." Mark said softly, looking thoughtful and not meeting Roger's eyes. Roger nodded. Mark took a deep breath and smiled – his lips just barely curling, but a real smile, one that made it to his eyes this time, even if they were filled with tears. He glanced up and met Roger's eyes. "Brothers?" he asked hesitantly, holding out a hand. Roger bypassed the hand and pulled Mark into a tight hug, which Mark readily returned.

"Brothers."

"I'm very tired." Roger had to strain, even in the silence, to hear the breathy whisper from the green-eyed brunette in the hospital bed. He bit his lip and smoothed her hair back.

"Then go to sleep, angel." he said softly, willing his voice not to break. She nodded, her eyes drooping. "I love you."

"Mmm..." she smiled weakly, squeezing his hand as tightly as she could (and it wasn't tight enough, she could kick his ass, this wasn't right...). "Love you, too." There was a short pause. "Kiss?" she asked hopefully, and Roger leaned over to kiss her tenderly. When he pulled back finally, she smiled again and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep almost instantly.

Roger hardly noticed the tears falling, sliding swiftly down his cheeks and into his lap. He couldn't move, not knowing that this was probably... probably the last...

Ten minutes later, Roger stood in the back of the room clutching a simple gold wedding band as April Davis was pronounced dead.

"Baby?" April hovered in the door of the room she shared with Roger, her hands balled up in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Roger grunted, not entirely awake yet, and she came to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed. "We... we need to... I just..." she bit her lip and looked down at her hands, then smiled a little at Roger. Not her bright, open, cheek-to-cheek smile, but a tight smile. A forced smile. One that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Never mind." she said, leaning over to give Roger a soft kiss. "Love you, baby."

"Mm-hmm." Roger rolled over, still half asleep, and she left the room reluctantly, closing the door quietly behind her.

After that day, Roger blamed himself for not noticing she was upset, not asking her what was wrong. Even Mark said he shouldn't feel guilty (about that, at least), but he still did.

If he'd noticed, she'd still be alive.

OC: The Devil in His Voice

Fri, 22 Sep 2006 19:41:35 GMT

Title: The Devil in His Voice
Genre: General
Word Count: 899
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for sexuality
Summary: Blind Honey has one fantasy, and only one.
Notes: Um... okay, this takes place in the universe allfireburns and flytrue have with some OCs of theirs... And it's really not fanfiction, except that this girl has heard Nate and Tyrone sing in RENT. That's all.

When people talk to me about beauty... I don't get it.

They talk about eyes, hair, hips, breasts, arms. They talk about lips and smiles and body shape. Sometimes voice gets tossed in there, and then I'll perk up.

Voices I understand.

People tell me I'm rather beautiful. I keep my hair long, usually in a braid it comes to my shoulder blades, and people say it's a shade of honey-brown that's hard to get naturally. I don't know if that's a good thing, or not - people tell me it is, but they could be lying. You have to be nice to people like me. After my hair, the thing most people comment on are my eyes. Grey, they say, and not clouded, so it surprises them when they realize those pretty grey eyes don't do anything but look pretty. Decorative, if you will. All in all, a very good-looking dame.

I wouldn't know. If I suddenly could see and caught sight of myself in the mirror, I wouldn't know it. I place much more stock on voice. Mine, for example, is... well, not to toot my own horn, pardon the cliche, rather sweet and smooth. A little younger-sounding than I'd prefer, but all in all, a very pretty voice. So I agree with people who say I'm beautiful (or at least pretty), but for a completely different reason. 'Sweet as honey', once again, pardon the cliche, but in this case it's true.

That's why I have people call me 'Honey', if they must have a name for me. I try to avoid that, though. It's nice, in my trade, to be anonymous.

I have, a few times in my life, met or heard truly beautiful people. One of them was my grandmother, as odd as you may think it. She had a rather low voice, almost a man's voice, as smooth and rich as the maple fudge she made every year at Christmas. There was a boy I met once and only once at the beginning of my career, when I was... oh, probably 16 or 17. He was young, probably only 14, though he swore he was older. His voice hadn't cracked yet, somehow, and still had that pure clarity that only a boy can have. It sounded, to me, like what a crystal clear mountain stream should look like. I could be misplacing my mental 'images' in thinking that, but that is what I think of when I think of his beautifully clear, young voice and gentle hands. There was an actress once, in a musical, who made me shiver and almost turned me to the 'dark side', if you will... not that the blind have any other side, but it seems to be a pretty common expression.

And then there was him.

I have never heard a more perfect voice. You may think I'm crazy, but it was true - rich and full and clear, able to convey great emotion without obstructing the clarity and beauty, with the barest hint of a lilting accent that most of the world probably couldn't hear. And he could sing like an angel. Better than an angel - like Lucifer.

Perhaps you think that's not a compliment. After all, what could sing better than an angel? But Lucifer was, in essence, the heavenly choir director before he wised up and blew out of there. So he must have a lovely voice. And being "fallen"...

Well, there is something to be said for temptation and seduction and the pleasures of the flesh, believe me. They are my trade, and I am exquisitely versed in them. And this man had seduction in his voice, even if he didn't mean for it to be there. It was there, the desire, the passion, the needwantneed of unfulfilled desire, and from the first verses I heard him sing, I wanted to be the one to fill that desire. I knew I wouldn't be, though. That was for her to do. His girl, his fantasy, I could tell it was her from the moment she stepped on stage, and no matter how many times I went back to drown myself in the ecstasy of his voice, it never changed.

And I envied her. Oh, how I envied her.

I listened, after that, for hints of his voice in anyone else's. Every so often, I found someone, and as I let him fuck me into the bed or the floor or the wall of whatever seedy motel or grungy apartment we ended up in, I'd imagine that voice, in all its seductive, fallen-angel, perfect, wanting glory, and I would climax so high I could hardly breathe.

I'm sure it was a great confidence booster for my boys.

So here I am. Blind Honey, they call me, she of the sweet voice, grey eyes, and phenomenal mouth. 25 years old, ten years out from hearing the man who has defined my every fantasy, my 'image' (if you will) of the perfect lover. Blind Honey, and won't she do you good, 'specially if you sound like that Astin boy. You sound close, you talk to her, she'll give you the best you've ever got. Don't matter she's blind, she's better'n any other whore on the streets.

Blind Honey, who counts beauty by a different standard than the rest of the world, and is probably happier for it.

OC: This Kiss

Tue, 19 Sep 2006 20:14:51 GMT

Title: This Kiss
Characters/Pairing: Vanessa, Mori
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Your cigarette traces a ladder..."
Notes: *shrugs* Random Original flashfic. Don't ask. I'm happy with it.

She was sitting in a dim corner of the bar, wreathed in smoke like so many of the people there. It was different, though, with her - the smoke was somehow otherworldly, obscuring her in a beautiful veil through which Vanessa tried to make out the color of her gleaming eyes and the shape of her knowing smile. She was Fey, her skin seeming to shine in the darkness. And before Vanessa could lookaway, those eyes locked on hers, a smile (or was it a smirk?) forming on those perfect ruby lips. No signal was given, but Vanessa found herself standing and walking to the woman's table.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked over the music. A slight shake of the head, dark hair catching the light, just brushing the tops of her ears. Vanessa sat; the stale, smoky scent of the bar was washed away by jasmine and something that hinted of spice. That smiling smirk had not budged, the beautifully tapered ankles stayed crossed under the table. "I'm Vanessa."

"Mori." The vision had a voice to match, low and sultry and soft as velvet, but Vanessa could hear it clearly over the cacophany of the room. "Call me Mori."

"Mori." Vanessa repeated in a whisper. Exotic, to match the tild of her almond eyes, which proved at close quarters to be the same color as her hair.

"You were staring for an awfully long time." Mori commented, and Vanessa flushed, getting the feeling she was being teased.

"Well, I was just... I mean, I haven't seen you here before and... you're just so beautiful." she said finally, her usual decorum flown to the winds, and she felt unbearably childish and stammering before the silky sophistication which Mori seemed to embody. Mori laughed, a sweet mocking laugh.

"Oh, I know." she said smoothly, taking one last drag on her cigarette before putting it out, and Vanessa tried not to stare at the creamy, slender fingers tipped in red. "But that doesn't explain why you were staring."

"Oh, I... well, I, ah, I just..." Vanessa stammered, trying to force her mind to work the way it was supposed to, the way it always had before in the presence of beauty. Mori leaned over, her breasts brushing Vanessa's arm.

"Perhaps you wanted to show me how beautiful I am?" Mori purred (for there was no other way to describe it) into Vanessa's ear, and Vanessa felt the breath catch in her chest. She couldn't find her voice, but it proved unneccesary when Mori's perfect lips pressed to hers. Vanessa was consumed by the softness and warmth and decidedly un-smoky cinnamon taste. Mori's hand cupped her cheek for a moment before sliding down, over her breast, coming to rest on her thigh. Vanessa closed her eyes, exploring Mori's mouth with her own. Her entire body was on fire, begging for touch, satisfaction, whimpering moaning stroaking, begging for her--

And then it was over, and Mori stood, that smirk still on her lips (now somewhat fuller from kissing), her eyes glowing like a cat's, reflecting the neon lights... and she was gone. Vanessa was left at the table feeling more spent than if they'd been together sleepless all night, and only the lingering scent of jasmine and a pack of clove cigarettes told that there had been a Mori at all.

RENT: Lonely Nights

Tue, 19 Sep 2006 15:03:54 GMT

Title: Lonely Nights
Characters/Pairing: Benny/April, mentioned April/Roger
Rating: PG-13
Summary: April gets lonely when Roger's not home.
Notes: ...BLAME AUBREY. April is Benny's sister. And... yes, you read that right. *shudders* Incest. Oh god, incest... Although apparently it works? In a... weird and creepy way? Written for speed_rent challenge #233
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, and I don't ever plan to. Shiny?

It was nearly 3 am when Benny felt his bed sink under the weight of someone climbing in with him. He blinked sleepily and turned his head to glance over his shoulder. He sighed as he made out the smaller, dark-skinned girl curled up against his back. "April, what are you doing?" he asked in a mumble.

"Roger's not here tonight." she said, sounding slightly pouty, slightly mischievous, and slightly... Benny sighed - she must've shot up earlier. She wasn't really high, he could tell by her voice, but she hadn't really come down entirely, either.

"So you're... climbing into my bed in the middle of the night?"

"I was lonely. Couldn't sleep." Benny sighed and rolled over onto his back, letting his little sister curl up on his shoulder, his arm around her. She made a little noise of contentment and was quiet for a moment. Benny was beginning to think she'd fallen asleep when she shifted a little. "Why don't you have a girlfriend, Benny?"

"I don't know." Benny shrugged a little, wanting to avoid the question. "I just... why are you asking me this now?" April smiled a little, a slightly Mona Lisa smile that Benny could hardly see in the dark. He got the feeling that she knew exactly why he didn't, and that made him uncomfortable, especially when she was giving him that smile. "Go to sleep April."

"I don't want to." she murmured, rolling on to her stomach to look at him, still pressed against his side. "I'd rather stay up with you." Benny swallowed hard, trying to ignore the hint of something he'd heard in her voice.

"Well. It's late and I have work tomorrow, so no." he said, laying back and closing his eyes. He felt her shift her weight onto his chest, and opened his eyes to see her staring directly into them.

"Please? We haven't stayed up together in ages." She sounded almost pleading, almost lost, her eyes holding a desperation and uncertainness that had never been there before Roger and the drugs, and Benny hesitated to answer, because he hated seeing her like this. He wanted to make everything alright again. Before he could say anything, she seemed to take his silence for some sort of affirmation, because she leaned in, capturing his lips with hers, and he wondered how long it had been since he had felt this, tasted this. He pulled back a little.

"April, no, we can't--"

"Why not?" she challenged, sliding her hand down, and Benny's breath caught. "You're my brother. I love you."

"But--" Benny started to protest, but she had claimed his lips again, her hand working through his boxers, and he couldn't fight it anymore, because it was so familiar, and he'd never stopped her before. Never stopped himself before. So the room was filled with gasps and very very muffled groans, and Benny was absently glad that Collins was MIA this week.

When their hearts had slowed from the wild pounding they'd reached, Benny sighed and pressed a kiss to April's forehead. "You shouldn't do this every time you get lonely. What if someone finds out?"

April smiled at him, giving him a lingering kiss. "So they find out." she said confidently. "We move. So what?" Benny pondered that a moment, then shook his head and wrapped his arms tighter around her too-thin frame.

"Let's not let them find out." he murmured in her ear. She smiled and snuggled against his chest.

"Whatever you say, brother dearest."

RENT: Animosity Aside

Sat, 16 Sep 2006 21:32:47 GMT

Title: Animosity Aside
Characters/Pairing: Mark, Roger, Benny/Maureen... almost.
Rating: PG
Summary: Benny and Maureen put their arguments aside for one day.
Notes: Wow, okay... I am ridiculously proud of this story still. I love it love it love it. That is all. Written for speed_rent.
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, and I don't ever plan to. Shiny?

It was really cold in the hospital, Maureen thought as she sat in one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room. Actually, had she not been so preoccupied, she probably would've been complaining non-stop. As it was, though, she hardly noticed how cold she was. She sighed and stood to stretch and go in search of a water fountain - she'd been sitting in that chair for over two hours. She finally came across a water fountain near a recessed row of payphones.

"He's gonna live." someone was saying, his voice weary. "Yeah... Mark's in with him now..." Maureen looked up sharply, without taking a drink. She knew that voice. "I don't know, Tom... I don't think they even want me here." Maureen glanced around the corner and caught her breath. Benny was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed and his cell phone held weakly in one hand. Maureen bit her lip and wrapped her arms around herself - Benny had probably saved Roger's life, and he thought they didn't want him there...

"Okay... no, we'll be okay, I think. Yeah... I'll call you tomorrow and let you know how he's doing. Bye." Benny hung up and sighed, letting his head sink into his hands. Maureen stood there watching him until he finally looked up and met her gaze. The fear and worry in his eyes surprised her at first, but she realized with a bit of shock that Benny had known him longer, had been friends with him longer, and generally had more reason than she did to be upset. He stood slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Hey."

"Hey." Maureen whispered. They stood in awkward silence for a moment. "I um... just thought I'd see where you went."

"Oh." Benny nodded. Another silent moment passed. "Maybe we should..."

"Yeah." The two of them slowly made their way back to room 428. When they reached it, Maureen eased the door open and glanced in. The two figures in the room nearly caused her to start crying. In the bed, Roger was perfectly still - unconsious and hooked up to all sorts of machines. Next to him, sitting in a chair with his head resting on the edge of the bed, Mark had fallen asleep, his glasses pushed up on his head and Roger's hand clutched between both of his, even in sleep. Maureen took a deep breath to calm herself and closed the door softly.

"Mark's asleep." she said in response to Benny's questioning glance.

"Oh. Well. That's good." he said uncertainly. "And... Roger?"

"The, um... the doctors say there's a chance he might not wake up." she said, her voice shaking slightly. "There was so much heroin in his body..." she choked on the words and tried to keep tears from welling up in her eyes. Benny glanced over at her and before she knew it, he had his arms around her and she was crying into his shoulder. "I wish... I wish April were here..." she sobbed.

"I know." Benny replied quietly, his voice cracking slightly. "So do I."

For a few minutes in the middle of the hospital, all arguments between the two former friends were forgotten. Maureen knew in the back of her mind that once things had calmed down, they would go back to fighting - Benny would go home to Alison, Maureen would stay here with Mark, and neither of them would admit that this had occurred.

But until then, she wasn't letting go

RENT: Lost Girl's Lullaby

Sat, 16 Sep 2006 21:28:25 GMT

Title: Lost Girl's Lullaby
Characters/Pairing: April, Roger, Mark
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "The constant clickclickclickclick was like a lullaby, gently but insistantly urging her to close her eyes and rest in the darkness."
Notes: Um... None, really. If you have it on hand (and are so inclined), put on Tori Amos' "Can't See New York" while reading. It's a very mood-right piece. Written for speed_rent challenge #9.
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, and I don't ever plan to. Shiny?

It would've been better, she reflected, to have closed and locked the bathroom door before she'd gotten into the tub. But now she was already wet, and she didn't want to make a mess. Blood was hard to get out once it stained something.

It wasn't that she didn't want to live - on the contrary, she wanted to live very badly. But she knew, deep in her heart, that she couldn't handle living like... like she would have to, now. Especially not without Roger. Oh, he'd be there in body, perhaps, but... he hadn't really been Roger for months now. So she took the only path she could think of - die sooner rather than later, on her terms rather than the virus'.

But she should've closed the bathroom door.

Mark and Roger weren't supposed to come home until that evening, but she could hear the door opening, Roger's voice soft, and Mark's laugh brighter than she'd heard it in weeks. Then there was a shape in the doorway, and a gasp, and a muffled thump as something fell to the floor. As Mark backed away, screaming for Roger, she found her eyes drawn to the camera Mark loved so much; the camera he'd carelessly let fall to the floor. It must've gotten turned on when it landed, because she could hear the clicking sound it made when Mark was filming something. Though it was on its side, it was pointed directly at her.

Roger ran in, seeming to move in slow motion. He fell to his knees next to the tub and grabbed her wrists - she could barely feel it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his face - panic-stricken, pale, and scared. He turned and shouted something at Mark; she couldn't make it out, the clickclickclickclick of the camera was too loud. He turned back to her, all his movements still painfully slow. Mark had disappeared from view. Roger's mouth moved - she knew he was saying her name, and she was almost sorry she couldn't hear it. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the camera's lens; the camera filmed on.

Things were starting to get hazy, and a blackness hovered at the edge of her vision. The only thing still in sharp focus - maybe too sharp - was that camera, the sound of it growing so loud it seemed to penetrate her very bones. She was so tired; the constant clickclickclickclick was like a lullaby, gently but insistantly urging her to close her eyes and rest in the darkness. She smiled slightly and closed her eyes, hardly feeling Roger's hands on her shoulders, trying to shake her back to wakefulness.

Her last thought was that she couldn't hear the clicks of the camera anymore, just distant sobbing.

RENT: You Didn't See

Sat, 16 Sep 2006 21:08:52 GMT

Title: You Didn't See
Characters/Pairing: April
Rating: PG
Summary: April saw so many things... but she missed what was important.
Notes: This was my first-ever April-fic. Second person because I was in a weird mood. It was actually the story of the death of April Cornwell in milliways_bar, but that's not important.
Disclaimer: I do not own RENT. I do not own April. I DO, sadly, own the stupidity that kept me up late and caused me to write this story in second person. Okay? Thank you.

You saw it, all prepared, and you stood in the bathroom, the door locked behind you, and surveyed the scene: The bathtub, filled with water - warm, so you wouldn't feel the cut of the knife laying in the soap dish. A note taped to the mirror that reads:

Roger, baby, we've got AIDS.

I love you...

Goodbye.

You took a deep breath. You knew that Mark and Roger would be home any minute, and you had to make sure you weren't still alive when they got back. Ignoring the fact that you were still in your clothes, you slowly lowered yourself into the tub. You wouldn't have gone through with it if it weren't for the crack. If you hadn't forgotten to take your anti-depressant. If you hadn't gotten the news on that particular day, when you were depressed and home alone. Life is filled with "what ifs".

The cut did't hurt, you found, but afterward there was a sting, and your arms started to get this dull hollow ache, as if something were being sucked out of them. You guessed pretty quickly why that was, as rivers of brilliant, vivid red poured into the water.

Oh, how my pain is glorious... Your last thought.

"Roger..." whispered, your last word.

And then you found yourself standing before an open door, with dazzlingly bright light on the other side. What was there for you to do but walk through?

This is what you know, what you saw.

What you didn't see was Roger coming home a few minutes before Mark, who had stopped to interview someone about their opinion on the dangers of conformity. What you didn't see was Roger's face when he walked into the loft and saw the overturned table, and the scattered books and papers, from your initial angry reaction to the news. What you didn't see was Roger banging on the bathroom door, begging you to open up and finally kicking it in when he got no answer.

What you didn't see was Mark's face when he finally got to the loft and found Roger in the bathroom, sobbing uncontrollably and holding your lifeless body.

What you didn't see was the pain you brought to their lives, especially when Roger now needed you most.

You saw many thing: AIDS, death, a knife to bring it swifter and with less physical pain. But you didn't see the important things.

And that's where you failed