Author: Stephanie (gildedmuse)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and the occational adult themes
Pairings: Mark/Roger, mention of most canon couples as well
Genre: Fluff, Romance
Summary/Note: Mark and Roger work through their lives, blessed with a few spot of happiness every now and then. This fanfic is meant to be fluff, not a serious work. It's the counteract all the more serious, depressing work I write. The plot is thin, but the story is mostly uplifting and enjoyable.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When We Are Happy
Chapter One: Feline Jealousy

"Come on, Roger."

Roger turns the thing around in his hands, looking at it at a few different angles before he spoke up. "You have to be fucking insane."

From the look Mimi gives him, Roger's guessing she hadn't been joking at all. "It's one fucking month," She growls, crossing her arms over her chest and setting a serious look on her face. Roger stands there, staring at his ex-girlfriend and waiting for her to take the thing out of her hands and march back down to her apartment. She just keeps tapping her foot and watching Roger with a raised eyebrow. "You're telling me you can't do me one little favor."

"This is not a little favor," Roger counters, holding the kitten at arms length as if afraid the little ball of fluff would jump him. Roger doesn't have to take care of some stupid little kitten after Mimi broke up with him last month. Part of him wants to hope this is an elaborate plan to apologize for leaving him. First it's "take care of my cat" then it's "come over for dinner" then Mimi will say how she regrets leaving him and wants him back in her life and that whole thing about she just needed some space to sort out her life.

The small fluff of a cat in his hands meows, paws reaching out for Mimi's shirt. She coos at the little thing, ignoring Roger for a few beats to amuse her pet. Roger watches, feeling his heart twist slightly at the sight. He knows Mimi needs to get herself off drugs and healthy before they can try at the relationship thing, but that doesn't mean he likes being left out of her life. "I can't keep this thing for you," he says, holding the thing out and all but pressing it back into Mimi's hands.

"You can," Mimi replies with a bit more bite in her voice as she straightens herself out and pushes the cat back towards Roger. "You just won't." Then she returns to staring him down and waiting for him to break. "Roger, I have to do this. It's the only way..." She trails off as she chews over her lower lip until tears start spring into her eyes. Roger almost drops the kitten and scoops her into his arms, but she's already reaching out to take the kitten and walking away. "You know, I'll just-"

"Fine," he growls, at least trying to keep up with the act of being put out even while pulling the fluff ball of a cat back and tucking under his arm. "I'll keep it."

Mimi pauses, fixing Roger with a suspicious look that turns into a brilliant smile. Roger can feel his cheeks start to burn, something he tries to hide with a glowering expression and pulling back when Mimi presses a kiss to his forehead. Why does he turn into a teenage boy with a crush every time she flashes that smile? "When mommy comes back, she's going to be able to take care of you like she should."

"What?" He yelps, loud enough for the floors downstairs to hear, his eyes going wide at the suggestion. Okay, there was that one time with the leather and handcuffs, but that had been back when they were a couple and not standing in the middle of the hallway.

Mimi glares up at him, bending over again and scratching the kitten behind the ear. "Not you, idiot," she says around a smile as she makes some odd sounding baby noises for the cat. "I'm talking to Mimosos."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Roger snaps, pouting a bit at all the attention Mimi dots on the cat. He is the one sacrificing his time to take care of it, and she can't even acknowledge him before she leaves? He shakes his head to get that thought out of his mind as he waves Mimi off after taking the bag of cat related things that she shoves in his arms. He might still be upset over the break up, but that's no reason to be jealous of some puny hairball.

"What's so great about you anyway?" Roger asks after Mimi had gone back down to get her suitcase and head off. He holds the cat up by the scruff of its neck, looking at its big face with wide, light blue eyes. It looks back at him, ears drooping a bit and a small meow escaping as Roger hoists it up to inspect the little thing. "You're not even that cute."

With a mix between a sigh and a groan, he stuffs the small kitten in one of the large pockets of his leather jacket before walking back into the loft and closing the door behind him. He tosses the bag of things towards the side and heads back towards his room. He throws his jacket and the kitten onto his bed, plopping down beside it and picking his guitar back up.

He can't believe Mimi would do this to him. How dare she just show up at his door and ask for this favor after a month of not speaking with him? He knows she needs to get clean and her life in order, but it stills hurts, just being dumped like that. Why couldn't Roger be there to help her through this? She's managed to bruise his pride enough by ignoring his phone calls and notes taped to her door, now the only reason she wants to talk with him is to make him baby-sit her cat. Maybe he'd get lucky, and the thing would just run away.

"What are you doing?" Roger asks, playing some random melody as the kitten crawls out from under his jacket. He watches the little thing bounce across the bed, rubbing up against his leg before climbing up his jeans. Roger jerks back the guitar just before it can chip the paint with its claws. "Don't think writing her a song is going to make her come back and remember you," Roger chastised, holding the fender up high when the cat bats for it. "Even if she does, she'll just leave you again."

The cat stares up at Roger with wide blue eyes, reaching out for the guitar again before tumbling backwards off Roger's lap and onto the bed. Roger smiles, chuckling a bit as it pounces the covers that bounce under its small weight before he catches himself. He grabs the kitten in one hand, scooping it off the bed and holding it up to his face. "Don't do that!"

The kitten stares back, blinking a few times before it meows and bats at Roger's nose. Roger makes a face, dropping the ball of white fluff into his lap. "Okay, kid, what did Mimi call you? Misoso?" He pauses, waiting for some kind of conformation. The kitten just reaches up, staring to climb up his shirt and purring as it rubbed its head against his chest. Roger smiles, gently ruffling its fur. "Alright, no need to get frisky," he says, pushing it back until it's tumbled back to the bed. He laughs, leaning closer to the small thing. "It was a bad name, anyway. Let's see. You're pale, blue eyed, and kind of a dork." He pokes the kitten in the forehead and it goes cross-eyed trying to paw his finger before falling back again. "Let's call you Cohen." Roger chuckles at his own joke, but then the kitten stops its playing around and looks up at him with wide eyes.

"Cohen, it is," Roger says, scratching behind the cat's ear before it's trying to jump back up into Roger's lap.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Mark slides the loft door open with a groan. He's cold, tired, and all his muscles still feel like they were burning. Stupid police having nothing better to do than chase around innocent filmmakers who are not used to sprinting several city blocks in the middle of March. Stupid upper class business yuppies, too, who thought that just because they live in a building means Mark can't film in front of it. What were they hiding so desperately anyway?

Right now, Mark just wants to fall into a hot bath. As if they have hot water, or a bathtub. So instead he places his camera down on the counter and starts rubbing his hands up and down his arms, trying to get some heat going. He should have taken his scarf and jacket with him, but this morning hadn't seemed too bad.

Just as he's thinking it, Roger pads out of his room with his old plaid coat bundled in his arms. He's not really sure what Roger's doing with his jacket, but he's thankful all the same. "I was just thinking about that," he says, trying to smile as he falls back into the couch. God, his shoulders hurt so much.

Rocking the coat gentle in his arms, Roger looks up as if surprised to see Mark there. "Mmm?"

Mark points to the coat. "It got freezing out there after dark," he says, curling back up and trying to get some of the blood to flow through his ice-cold fingers. "I went to film at this one spot up on-"

"Oh," Roger cuts off Mark, looking back at the coat bundled in his arms. "Yeah, I guess it got kinda chilly pretty quickly."

Ignoring the pain and cold for a few seconds, Mark leans forward and fixes Roger with a worried look. His best friend has been sort of out of it since Mimi had left him but up until now he'd spent all his time in his room with his guitar. "Rog?" Mark asks, trying to sound as patient as possible. "Something wrong?"

"No," Roger answers, and he honestly sounds as if nothing is wrong. "Co- The cat was just getting cold, so I thought I'd make him a bed. He really likes your coat."

Mark doesn't really process this before Roger tips the bundled-up jacket in his arms just enough so that Mark can see through a small hole of wool and plaid a small, white face peeking up at him. "Roger!" He squeaks, jumping off the couch and wincing when his muscles scream at him for it. "Where did you get that?"

Roger frowns, and if Mark isn't just hallucinating this whole thing it looks like he blushes too as he clutches the cat close to his chest. "It's Mimi's," he explains. "She asked me to take care of it while she's away."

"It..." Mark stutters a bit, pointing an accusing finger at his coat, which is now being used as a pet bed. "It's a cat!"

Roger snorts a bit, giving Mark a look that says it all. "Good call."

Mark ignores his roommate's snarky comment and just keeps staring wide eyed at the little blue eyes peeking up at him. "You can't keep that thing here!" He says, voice still a little too high. "Roger, I'm allergic to cats, and you have one wrapped up in my fucking jacket! I need that jacket."

With a roll of his eyes, Roger says, "Mark, this thing looks like it could have been rejected from the Salvation Army. No one needs this jacket."

"I do!" Mark replies. He still can't believe Roger has a cat in their loft. He remembers when Cindy got a kitten for Christmas, and Mark spent the next three years with a constant dry throat and tears in his eyes. It had never even crossed his mind that Roger would bring one home with him. He just isn't the type to keep something around that requires him taking care of it. "Have you even thought about this? You have to... to feed it, to change its litter box."

"It's a cat, not a baby," Roger counters. "Besides, it's only why Mimi's gone. Then you'll get your coat back."

He is already pouting and this close to stomping his foot on the floor. "Roger, it's freezing out. I can't go jacket-less in the middle of March."

"You did today," Roger answers, holding the coat even closer until the kitten's head pops out of the folds of fabric.

Flushed from running from the cops and obvious losing battle he's fighting with his roommate, Mark makes a sound that is almost a whine. "I was stupid today. Now give me back my coat."

"Fine," Roger mutters, pulling the cat free of the jacket and tossing it at Mark, who holds it out at arm length. "I can't believe you're being such a baby about something like a cat."

Narrowing his eyes, Mark lays his jacket out on the table. "I told you, I'm allergic. Can't you make Maureen or Collins or someone keep it?"

Roger doesn't answer, already walking back to his room with the kitten on his shoulder. Mark looks from the white hairs all over his coat to Roger's retreating back, glowering at the small ball of fluff he's holding up and petting. For a split second, Mark swears the little thing actually smirks at him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Eight days down, and Mark is already feeling some pent-up resentment towards the little cat Roger seems so fond of. He doesn't see what the big deal is with cats, anyway. Especially this one. It seems bratty, and kind of spoiled. Also, it leaves Mark's nose running and eyes watering up with all the fur it scatters around the loft. Mark never says anything, but he's pretty sure it's on purpose.

"I don't see why you're being such a fucking jerk," Roger said one morning as he watched the thing finish off the last of their milk. "You're out filming most of the time, anyway. How is he disturbing you?"

"Roger, it's been like I have an endless cold for almost a week now," Mark answers and promptly sniffles and coughs.

The kitten finishes their milk and Roger picks it up and holds it to his chest. "Stop being such a baby," he tells Mark as he whisks the little thing back into his room.

That's the worst part of this whole arrangement. Roger spends all his time with the cat and none of it with Mark. He'd even heard the musician playing one of his new songs for the thing. What happened to letting Mark be the first one to hear his new music? That's how it's been since Mark moved into the loft and suddenly he is being replaced by a fluff ball with four legs? It just isn't fair.

Of course, he had to go and tell Collins about this, and the other man had just laughed at him. "You're jealous," he accused, smiling the whole time.

Mark had, of course, flushed and stuttered for a while before he managed a weak sounding, "Am not."

"You are," Collins said, leaning back in his chair and toasting Mark a bit. "You're jealous that Roger is giving the cat is getting more attention than you." Sometimes, Mark hates when Collins is right. Not that it matters. It has to be somewhat normal to be jealous of watching your best friend ignore you for some new fascination.

Today, sniffing a bit as he stumbles out into the main loft, Mark plans to stay out for as long as possible. Clear his head, let Roger bore himself out with just having some cat for company. So he grabs his camera and an extra sweater (he still needs to get his jacket cleaned) and starts pulling on his shoes to head out the door.

He starts to pull on his shoes, but then realizes that something's wrong. Still half asleep and with his head clogged up, Mark squints his eyes and tries figuring out why this isn't working like it normally did when he put his shoe on. "Roger?" He calls, turning the worn down shoe this way and that. "Roger, where is my shoelace?"

Standing up, limping a bit with only one shoe on and the other in his hand, Mark heads towards Roger's room. He pushes open the door, and there is Roger lying across his bed with the shoelace dangling from his fingertips and that damn cat clawing at the end.

"Roger!" Both Roger and the cat look up at Mark standing in the doorway, standing unevenly and with a runny nose and slight cough. Not his best angry look. "Roger, what the hell are you doing?"

His roommate doesn't even try and look guilty. "He was bored," Roger says, waving the shoelace a few times. The kitten jumps for it again, biting and clawing at the poor innocent lace. "I thought he could use something other than cockroaches to chase."

Mark's face goes bright red, narrowing his eyes and he storms into Roger's room and yanks the abused lace away from him. "This is my shoelace!" He says, dangling it in front of an unconcerned Roger. "It is not a chew toy for your cat!"

"Calm down," Roger says, leaning down to pull the kitten up into his lap. "It's not a big deal, Mark."

In a huff, Mark sits down on the floor and starts trying to lace up his shoe. "It's a big deal to me," he growls, concentrating all his energy into getting the lace into the small, metal hole. Not that easy to do when his eyes felt like they were burning and he had to rub at them every few seconds. "I'm sick of my stuff smelling like cat! First my jacket and now my shoes!"

He's so absorbed in his shoe, Mark doesn't realize Roger has gotten up until something is being draped over his shoulders. He pauses and looks back, and there is Roger standing over him and holding the leather jacket to his shoulders. Mark just stares up into those green eyes that for once this week aren't annoyed with or laughing at him. "What?"

Roger shrugs. "It's cold out there, and you obviously can't wear your jacket so I figured I'd at least keep you warm.

Dropping his shoe, Mark slips the jacket on. It's warm and smells like leather and Roger. It's also huge on him and is probably covered in as much cat hair as his, but that doesn't really click with Mark. He just accepts it and pulls on his half laced up shoe before standing. "Uh, thanks," he mutters, pulling the jacket closer to him.

Roger smiles and pats Mark on the shoulder. "No problem," he says before walking past him and falling back onto his bed with the little cat jumping around. "Have fun filming."

"I will," Mark answers, walking out to get his camera and still not sure why he let himself be appeased so easily.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Mark really is jealous of that cat.

It becomes more and more clear to him every day. On the thirteenth day of sharing his apartment and Roger with the little thing, that's when it really hits him how serious this jealousy thing is.

A full day of filming useless things down, Mark wonders back into the loft at around nine. "Hey Rog," he calls out the second he's got the door open and bouncing inside, trying to shake the slight chill that's settled over him. Roger is sprawled out on the couch, and at first Mark thinks he's asleep. He looks it, anyway, with his eyes closed and head tipped back. The only thing that gives it away is the cat curled up against his bare chest, pushing into the hand that's petting him.

Mark stares for a few seconds at Roger laying there half naked, not a totally rare sight even if it's still kind of chilly outside. He watches the hand work through the cat's fur and the slow rise and fall of his chest as the kitten snuggles up to him. The first thought he manages to have about all this is, 'That should be me.'

Mark yelps, eyes going wide as his mind comes up with a picture of himself cuddled up against Roger, with the musician's hand stroking across his skin. Where the hell had that come from?

It's the girlish scream that really gets Roger's attention. "Hey," he says, opening his eyes and smiling at Mark. "You're home."

"I..." Mark must be so obvious. He can feel his cheeks burning and can't seem to stop them. "I thought you were asleep."

Roger chuckles a little, his body rumbling with the low sound and Mark's eyes flee to the floor. Don't stare, he tells himself. Staring will not help. "Nope, just cat napping."

"I'm kind of tired myself," Mark says, almost all in one breath and he is already dashing for his room. "Going to get some sleep, I think!"

His door slams shut and he collapses back against the bed.

What the hell is wrong with him? Mark tries to run through the scenario again to figure out what had happened to him back there. It's not that he never thought about guys like that before. He has even tried a few things, but he likes girls so he figured the whole guy thing had just been something he'd experiment with. He knows Roger is good looking, of course. He can tell when a guy is cute without it meaning anything, though. It's all aesthetics. Maybe this is what happens to guys who don't have sex in too long. They start imaging weird things. Sure. Between not having been with anyone since Maureen, the guy phase he'd gone through, Roger's good looks, and the whole jealousy issue with the cat, his mind is just playing tricks on him. Trying to work things out. It made so much sense.

Glad he had that figured out, Mark curls up to his side and closes his eyes tight. He really could use some sleep, and maybe a break from the rest of his life and his own twisted imagination. He snuggles up against his bed and the jacket he's still wearing, taking in the scent of the leather. Even after this week, it still smells like Roger, almost like his roommate is in here instead of out there with Mimi's cat. Mark pulls the jacket tighter around his small frame, and it could have so easily been Roger's arms slipping around him, and his hand sliding between Mark's legs, just as warm and strong as the leather.

Mark's eyes flew open, tearing the jacket off and tossing it across the room like it been on fire. Panting hard, he stares at the leather sitting over in the corner mocking him and his already confused mental state. Being jealous of losing your best friend to a pet is one thing. Mark's sure touching yourself while smelling your best friend's jacket falls into a scary stalker category all its own. It had been a slip up, Mark tells himself and he lays back and tries to relax. He's cold without the jacket and his heart is still racing, but he's willing to ignore it all. It's all the delusions of his low self-esteem over Roger not paying him any attention and his sleep and sinus addled mind. It would probably have happened, jacket or not, and whatever had caused it wouldn't happen again.

The next day, Mark gives Roger his jacket back and takes his own to the wash. Better safe than sorry.