Fun fact: this bit with Roger was the first thing I ever wrote after deciding to try a Rent fanfiction. I just had to find a place to make it work. :)

Soft, white moonlight fell over the bed like wax paper, or maybe cellophane. Roger turned over on his side, muffling his coughs in a fist-full of blanket. Mimi was an extremely heavy sleeper- Roger had, through lengthy experimentation, discovered that the most effective way to wake her up was by running his lips over her collarbone while tickling her side. She'd spring up almost immediately, laughing and swatting him playfully. But he still wanted to be cautious. Roger's coughing fits were getting worse; awful, racking coughs that shook his thinning frame and made his insides shudder. He didn't want to worry Mimi. Not now, with her finally taking a turn for the better. She had so much hope. Roger didn't want to be the one to shatter it.

Sometimes, late at night, when his desperate gasping for air pulled him from sleep, Roger wondered how much time he had left. A month of constant worry? Four months? A year? One of the only things keeping him from ending the unwanted suspense was the girl lying next to him on the bed, breathing quietly and occasionally murmuring in her sleep. And maybe, though he would seldom admit it, the clumsy kid currently fumbling at the front door's lock.

Roger sat up slowly, unconsciously scratching his arm. What was Mark doing, coming in so late? It was unusual, to say the least. If it hadn't been for the clang of keys hitting the floor and that muffled curse, Roger would have suspected Collins making a late visit. He slowly crawled out of bed, shivering in only his pajama bottoms. Not the shivers of a junkie- those were long gone. Roger was simply cold. He seemed to always be cold lately, even though it was only early fall and a grey chill hadn't yet settled over the city. Roger shrugged on his leather jacket and padded into the living room. Mark jumped at the noise.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

Roger shook his head. "I can't sleep."

"The coughs?"

"Yeah."

Mark nodded and carefully set down his video camera on the counter. "I'll make you some tea. It'll help your throat."

Roger sat down on the threadbare couch and watched Mark fumble his way through the motions of putting water to boil in the kitchen. He seemed more twitchy than usual.

"Are you okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine," he said unconvincingly.

"You were out pretty late."

Mark's grunted noncommittally. His movements were jerky; his hands seemed to be trembling. He looked like a little kid who'd done something wrong, and was nervous about getting caught. Roger's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Mark? What were you doing?"

He shrugged. "Oh…" Mark's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "You know. Stuff. The usual stuff."

"What usual stuff? You don't have a job."

Mark sighed and turned to face Roger, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed. He pouted. "You're going to laugh."

This was probably true. Roger carefully arranged his features into a serious stare. "No I won't. You know me better than that."

"I do know you. And that's exactly why I'm not telling."
Roger smiled. "Come on, Mark. I won't have many more opportunities to hear some good stories. Indulge me."

Mark frowned. It made him obviously uncomfortable whenever Roger casually alluded to his possible death. Sometimes Roger felt bad about needlessly upsetting his best friend, but it was easier to deal with something terrible if you joked. Made it less terrible, commonplace.

"Alright. I'll tell you." Mark took a deep breath. "I was with a girl."

The kettle went off with a shrill whistle, making Mark jump. Roger laughed.

Mark glared. "I knew you were going to laugh."

"No, no…this is great. Great that you're finally getting some action!"

Mark stared at his feet. "That's not even the funny part." He sighed. "We weren't

having sex."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing?"

"I was…babysitting."

Mark glared as a Roger guffawed, the look softening as the laughs turned to coughs.

"How old was this girl?"

"Seven- but almost eight."

"Weird, even for you."

Mark shoved Roger away as he passed into the kitchen.

"I mean, there was a woman, obviously. I met her in a park, and babysat her daughter. I know it's weird…it's a long story. How was the party?"

Roger shrugged. "Just what you'd expect. There's food in the fridge."

Mark yawned widely and handed Roger the tea.

"Actually, I ate. What time is it, four? I'm going to sleep."

He patted Roger's shoulder and retreated into his bedroom. Even though it was almost morning and god only knows how long he'd been awake, Mark couldn't sleep. Sarah's face swam over his eyelids, watery and blue like an ocean reflection.

Joanne sat on the small sofa in her boss's office. She'd been waiting for nearly an hour, and thought there was a chance that her face would permanently stay in its current scowl. After a few more minutes of annoyed fidgeting, the door finally opened.

"Sorry about the wait, Jo," her boss said. Bill look anxious about something, and Joanne sat up a little straighter. "We have a new addition to the firm."

"Well…what's the problem?"

"He's brought a very interesting case with him. Not a problem, exactly, but his last firm is closing, and it's been a pain in the ass trying to get all the files."

Joanne still didn't understand why her presence was necessary. Bill obviously read this in her face. "Look Jo, you're the best we've got. I…well, to be honest, I wanted to make a good impression."

"Why? Is this lawyer some big shot I should be worried about?"

"Philip Hernandez."

Joanne remembered the last issue of Details magazine, the pretentious smirk plastered on the cover, the high-profile case feature.

"You're kidding."

"I'm afraid not."

It wasn't Bill that answered her, but the same pretentious smirk that made her earlier scowl deepen. Philip Hernandez was taller in person, and darker. Joanne stood up, and he held out his hand. She shook it firmly.

"Joanne Jefferson.

"Philip Hernandez."

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of smiling and saying the expected, I know. Instead she briefly inclined her head and glanced at Bill. He knew his favorite employee well, and was therefore smiling in a strained, nervous kind of way.

"You two will be working together on the case."

"I'm sure this will be the start of a beautiful partnership," Philip said lightly, obviously not trying to hide his smug grin. Joanne didn't respond; only grinned sarcastically at Bill. I'm sure.

Roger set down the phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Thank god Mimi was in class. He had been trying to call up old friends, old band mates. It seemed that they were all dead, had moved on and gotten a real life, or were just plain uninterested. One didn't even remember his name. Finally, absolutely dreading it, he dialed Maureen's number. It rang and rang, until a groggy voice mumbled a hello.

"It's Roger. I need a favor."

"Looking for someone to off Mark?"

"Not really. I need some contacts. People who might be willing to play some music with me. I'm…trying to start another band."

There was a moment of silence, and Roger thought that maybe Maureen was going to laugh. Instead, he heard a rustle that was probably bed sheets, and she said, "Let me call you back- I'll ask around."

Not even an hour later Roger was standing in front of a decrepit brownstone, double checking the address written on a paper towel clutched firmly in his hand. He took a deep breath, knocked...waited. Knocked again. He was just about to turn and leave in disappointment when the door opened. An older man stood there, features mostly indiscernible under his lion's mane of hair and long, scraggly beard. He wore a faded green shirt, ripped jeans, and no shoes.

"May I help you?"

The man's voice was surprisingly deep, and earthy. Roger glanced again at the now sweat-soggy paper towel.

"Um. Yes. I'm looking for Lennon O'Neil?"

"This is him. Who the hell are you?"