Title: A Reason to Celebrate
Author: Kait Sudol
Summary: Why should Mark be proud?
Disclaimer: Mark and Roger belong to the Larson estate. No infringment was intended, I was just having some fun. I didn't mean to put them in something to putrid, but I figure this is my first step in becoming one of those prolific fic-every-holiday-writers. ::snerk:: ::eye roll:: I'm not making any money, please do not sue. Ira Spencer is mine, alllll mine. If you try to steal her, I will hurt you.
Rating: PG-13 for lots of swearing and sex references.

A Reason to Celebrate


Mark very slowly slipped back into consciousness after sleeping through most of the night. It was the most satisfying sleep that Mark could remember for a long while and he actually felt almost completely rested. It probably helped that he and Roger had shagged heartily all through the afternoon before passing out around six...

Something began to register with Mark as he became more aware of his surroundings. He couldn't move his legs. He started to panic. Had he become paralyzed during the night? Was he dead, was he dying and Christ, his leg itched so fucking much that he wish he could-- He stopped mid thought. Well... he could feel them... but there was something blocking movement. He blinked his eyes open, realizing suddenly that this would be useless without his glasses, which were no where to be found.

"Roge..." he muttered sleepily. There was a loud snore beside him. "Roge... can you move your legs?"

"If he wanted to, he could. I'm only sitting on you," came a voice from above. He didn't even need his glasses to tell who it was.

"Ira, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom at the crack of dawn?" he asked, quite exasperated at the fact that his very lovely rest was being interrupted. Ira snorted and slid off the edge of the bed. He felt something small and hard hit his chest. She had tossed him his glasses.

"It's not the crack of dawn. It's like...after eleven. Even I'm awake. I'm awake /and/ I had time to take the train down here. And I'm in your bedroom because I'm going to take you two bozos out today," the teen replied, as Mark slid his glasses on and started to sit up. There was another snore from beside him and Roger promptly stole all of the blanket for himself, muttering quietly in his sleep about rabbits and puppets.

"Hand me my pants, and why do you want to take us out?" Ira tossed Mark a pair of khaki shorts with boxer shorts tangled in the legs.

"Because, it's Gay Pride Day, you twit," she said, slapping his upside the head as he slid into his pants under the covers. "And my doting boyfriend and I decided between snogs last night that we should take you two out to celebrate your almost anniversary, considering you'll probably spend the real thing shagging each other into the headboard." She snorted again as Mark blushed and reached for a t-shirt.

"I forgot. And I don't need to know about your sex life, thank you very much."

"We don't have sex, nitwit, we just make out like bunnies." There was a strangled gag from the bed.

"No...no bunnies! Nooo...." Ira raised her eyebrows as Roger tossed and flailed, finally settling back down on his side. She gave Mark a look.

"What the fuck in that about?"

"It's a long story," Mark signed. "And why would we want to celebrate Gay Pride?" He buttoned his shirt and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to make it look a tad more presentable. "What the hell has being gay ever done for us except get us ridiculed, beaten up, and lost us a close friend?" He tried to keep the bitter twinge from his voice, but it was hard. He had loved Mimi like a sister and hated the fact that she had left so suddenly after she discovered he and Roger kissing. And after dealing with his prick of a father and Roger's homophobic ex-guitarist he was lucky to still be breathing. The taunts and jokes made his head hurt. He didn't know how Collins had dealt with it for all these years.

"Mark," Ira said softly, all of the taunting out of her voice. "I didn't know you felt that way." She very gracefully climbed across the junk littered on the floor to sit next to him on the bed.

"It's hard not to." He didn't even try to hide the bitterness this time. "I love Roger, Ira. I love him so much. He's my world. But... why should I be punished for it? Why should I be taunted and...and hit... and ostracized for loving him? I don't get it! I'm trying to do what's right in my heart, for once in my life. But every time we go out in public my stomach starts to churn. My father almost put me in the hospital, Ira! Blake almost killed me!"

"And those are extreme cases! The majority of the world doesn't care, Mark!" Ira's voice stayed quiet, but a fierce insistence crept into it. "A few people are assholes. They are. And they're violent and unfortunately, one of them is related to you." She squeezed Mark's hand.

"I like to try and forget that when it's possible."

"Not everyone is like that," she continued, knowing better than to get caught in the middle of the Cohen Family Politics. "I still love you, no matter what. So does Paul, so does Maureen and Joanne and Collins! Your sister still loves you, Mark, and her kids." She put an arm over Mark's shoulder. "I know it's hard."

"Why should I be proud of it, Ira?" he asked.

"Because it's who you are! And because you have the courage to be that person. You have the courage to be Mark Cohen, who loves Roger Davis, come hell or high water. You don't know how many people out there are afraid to say that." She smoothed his hair gently.

"And why is it worth it?" he spat, pulling away. "Is it worth it? Roger can be a goddamned prick sometimes, Ira. You know that. And this doesn't seem to effect him at all. The name-calling, and the jokes and the looks at our expense! This is what I'm going to have to put up with for the rest of my life? Why the fuck should I have pride in that?" It took all of Ira's strength not to slap him.

"You're an ignorant little fuck, you know that, Mark?" she growled. "People have died for this cause and you're acting all high and mighty about the whole thing. 'I can't take it', 'It's not fair!'. Well it's not fair, but we can't do a goddamn thing about it except accept it!" Mark jumped up from the bed. How dare she? It was his fucking life, who was she to say anything about any of it?

"I'm high and mighty?! Christ, Ira, you sound like a fucking gay rights pamphlet! It's who I am... that's shit, Ira, and you know it! I am Mark Cohen, I'll give you that much, and I do love Roger Davis. But that's as far as it goes. It's not who I am and you have no idea what it's like! You haven't been picked on and beaten and teased for this! How the hell can you justify preaching to me?"

"I'm not gay, but I have to put up with enough shit for interracial dating that I think I have a clue what it's like to be ostracized, jackass," she hissed. "And maybe I don't know what it's like. Maybe I haven't been beaten up or spit on, but that doesn't mean that I wouldn't put up with it if I was. It /is/ who you are. You shouldn't be afraid of who you are, ever. You should go out there and stand for something. Stand for this! Don't be such a goddamned baby!"

Silence. Ira and Mark were both breathing hard, staring at each other harshly. Finally, Mark sighed.

"I am scared sometimes."

"So am I. You think I wanna see you on the news as the latest hate crime poster boy?" She patted his shoulder and sat down next to him again, blushing a little at the row they just had. "Christ," she murmured, shifting the subject. "Can he sleep through anything?" Her eyes were fixed on Roger, who was still snoring quietly on the other side of the bed. "You must have really worn him out last night." Her eyes glinted mischievously. Mark took it as a peace offering and smiled at her.

"We were a little busy..." She snorted but remained silent. "Ira?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry for shouting. But you can be preachy."

"I know. And pretentious. I'm sorry for shoving this pride shit down your throat."

"S'okay." She leaned back on the bed, angling herself so that her head just missed landing on Roger's knee.

"I get scared for you. I just guess... I guess I think that if you take this by the horns you can deflect all of the shit." She sighed. "I'm sort of naïve."

"Very," Mark replied gently. "But that's not always a bad thing. And it makes sense. If I can just get up there in their faces, maybe it will be better. If I can say, 'you can't get me down. You can hit me and scream at me and I'll go on loving this man. And you can taunt me and I'll blow it off. And what I have here, what exists between Roger and I is better than anything you'll ever have.' Maybe they'll listen. Or at least respect me a little more."

"I respect you," she replied quietly. "I meant what I said before. It takes courage to just be together sometimes. And I admire that in you."

Mark remained silent for a long moment.

"You know... for a little teenaged twit you're pretty smart," he murmured. Ira grinned and jumped up.

"Come on. Let's wake up RabbitBoy and convince him to dress in drag before he's awake enough to protest!"

-end-


This fic was graciously illustrated by Sophia! ::flails:: You can find her picture here.

As always, comments to kait@frowl.org.