Title: These Things Must End (But Who Asked You Anyway?)
Author: Kait Sudol
Disclaimer: Mark, Roger, et al belong to the estate of the late Jonathan Larson. May he rest in piece and thank his lucky stars he isn't alive to read this.
Summary: Mark and Roger meet in a not-so-lovely situation.
Rating: PG

These Things All End
(but who asked you anyway?)

I knock softly on the door before entering. The knock is more habit than courtesy, more situational than personal. The stark white-ness of the hospital seems to order perfect manners. Hospitals have always intimidated me. It doesn't matter when I'm there, hospitals just convey this tactless, starchy, emotionless death.

I push the door open the rest of the way, my breath catching in my throat. He's sitting up in bed, his eyes pleasantly glazed over as he stares out into the sunny courtyard past his window. My heart physically aches watching him. He was so gorgeous. Now.....everything about him is different. Not ugly. No, he can never be ugly in my eyes. The disease is the ugly thing. I remember how he used to flit around the room with such boundless energy and enthusiasm. The way he would smile and switch feet when excited. I remember how his hair would stick out, largely uncontrollable, even when gelled into spikes. I can almost see the excited glow his work used to give him. That has all slowly left him over the past few weeks. He's shed pounds off of his already gaunt frame. He barely has enough energy to sit on his own. He's deathly pale, and his hair is slowly falling out in patches and clumps. The only things recognizable are his eyes. His eyes are still bright, even with the knowledge of this crippling illness.

I watch him for a moment, almost scared to interrupt his contemplation. Finally, I softly clear my throat. He snaps his head towards me, startled. His expression softens into a slightly sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry," he greets warmly. "I didn't hear you come in." I sit on the edge of his bed, handing him the flowers I clutch in my trembling hands. It hurts me to see him like this. It hurts me more than it hurts him, I sometimes think. It's not supposed to be this way. I'm the one who is supposed to get ill. I'm the one who is supposed to wither away. He's supposed to have many good years ahead of him. He's supposed to go on and do great things with his brilliant mind. This isn't supposed to happen.

"It's alright," I tell him softly. "I wasn't very loud. How are you feeling?" I don't know why I ask. I know that he won't admit to the pain he's feeling. The chemo hurts him, but he doesn't admit to it. He smiles and says he's fine when I know he must be in intense pain.

"Thank you for the flowers," he says with a grin, placing them on the table beside his bed. "And I'm feeling a little tired, that's all." He glances at the window again, moving his head quickly. Several strands of hair float slowly to his lap. I hold back the tears that threaten to overtake me, and instead focus on my angel again. I can't let my pain show through. I'm supposed to be strong and brave. I'm *not* supposed to let this get me down. I'm the pillar, the one everyone else must lean on. I need to support them through this. I need to be StoicMan, when all I really want to be is a nameless frightened boy.

He turns back to me slowly, his eyes still bright and happy. I flash to a time when I asked him why he remained so joyful. 'I'm happy that you're here,' he had told me with a blush. 'I'm happy that you come and sit with me.'

"I want to go outside today," he says firmly, looking me straight in the eye. "It's so pretty, and the nurse says I won't be able to for much longer. Will you take me outside?" His beautiful eyes are begging me to agree. How can I refuse him? How can I tell him he has to stay cooped up in a room that gives *me* nightmares without even living in it?

"Of course I will," I assure him, stroking his cheek and almost shuddering at how cold it is. He gives me a curious look, cocking his head to one side and biting his lip in a near frown. I take his hands, trying to warm his ice cold skin by enveloping them in mine.

"What is it, angel?" I ask him. He grins slightly.

"I like it when you call me that," he murmurs. "But...may I ask you something?" I can't resist those eyes. He could ask me to jump out a window with those eyes and I would readily agree.

"Anything," I say resolutely, kissing his fingertips. He blushes, flustered, and gives me a shy, boyish grin.

"It's silly," he warns with another innocent, sheepish look. "But...why don't you smile anymore?" I freeze. Why don't I..... "It's just that I don't really understand it," he rushes. "You're perfectly healthy and I'm sick and I can smile and you just don't seem the same without it, and you have such a pretty smile....I miss it." My mouth slips open and my hands start to shake again. Oh Lord...he wants me to....he only wants.... "I'm sorry!" he exclaims at my speechlessness, his face falling. "I told you it was stupid, but I had to go and ask it anyway. I didn't mean to upset you or..." He stops as I raise my finger to his lips. He looks vaguely frightened, as if scared that he's lost me with that simple inquiry.

"I....how can I smile when you're hurting?" I finally whisper. "How can I smile when I know that you're....I know you're going to...to...to...." I trail off, cradling his delicate face.

"But...I know that too...and I smile." The pleading look returns and I know that I'll have to give in. "Smile for me...please?" he begs. And I do give in. Not just to his demands, to everything; all the emotion building up inside of me since his diagnosis. I feel StoicMan crumble and embrace the frightened boy, just as I embrace my sickly angel, sobbing to him about the unfairness...the cruelty of this. And as I cry, I smile. I give him a full, warm, loving grin as I break down completely. I feel as if I should be broken, but, in truth, for the first time ever I'm whole.

I pull away, still smiling sadly, and look at him through wet eyes. Tears are on his face as well as he squeezes my hands.

"I knew you could do it," he whispers proudly. "I knew you could."

"Anything for you, angel," I reply, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. And it's true. I would do anything for him. Anything at all. I would go to the ends of the earth if it meant saving him from the demise we both know is coming.

"Will you take me outside?" he asks with a mischievous grin, taking off his glasses to wipe his own eyes. I laugh softly, standing up and reaching for the wheelchair beside his bed, handing him my jacket in an effort to keep him warm.

"Of course," I tell him, helping him down into the chair and covering him with ample blankets.

The smile he requested never leaves my tear-stained face.
.end.

Comments to kait@frowl.org.