Pairing: Roger/Mimi, Mark.

Summary: Roger's mother is in the hospital. Roger's an ass, but so is her doctor. Rent/House crossover.

Disclaimer: Rent is not mine. I only own the DVD, but that DVD is all mine.

Notes: Written for Challenge 88 on speedrent. One-shot for now, as I already have one epic in the making :).


Roger hated where he grew up. Being from of an affluent part of New Jersey wasn't something he liked to admit - actually it wasn't something he'd ever admit. Mark was the one from yuppie-town USA, not him. Roger was supposed to have a wretched background with a broken family that led him to NYC, drugs, and AIDs.

Surprise, surprise. Roger's actual past couldn't be further from the truth. Expect, perhaps, for the broken part. His parents may have never divorced, but Roger's childhood wasn't happy in his eyes.

So when he heard the voice of someone from Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital on the answer machine, he ignored it. His mother had friends and a sister. She didn't need him and he certainly need to haul his ass down to see her.

They called back. Roger ignored it again. In the end, it was the fact that the third phone call happened in Mark's presence that he acknowledged it at all.

Mark was the one that picked up. Mark was the one that got the details. Mark was the one that promised they'd be there as soon as they could.

"You might be there, but I sure as hell ain't."

"Roger, they said it's serious. She asked for you. You should go."

"Would you go if it were your mother?" he countered.

"My mother might be annoying and overbearing, but I would see her if she was seriously ill," Mark shot back. "I don't hate my mother that much."

"Well, good for you then, because I do."

"You're going." Mark's words were firm, but Roger just shook his head.

"Make me."

Mark was a lot stronger than he looked. Mark also had the brains to enlist Mimi. Though their relationship was still getting over another rough patch, Roger couldn't say no to Mimi.

Two hours later, the three of them sat in Joanne's car. Roger had been hoping his friend wouldn't have been able to lend it out, but the second Mark explained why they needed it, the keys were in his hand.

Mark was also the one driving because he said Roger couldn't be trusted to get them to the right place. Mark was also the one person that had ever seen the "hell" Roger was from.

Mark understood. Mark was from a similar background. Mark disliked his parents.

But Mark had gone back to Scarsdale when it was absolutely necessary. Roger didn't think there was a reason on earth for him to go back to Princeton.

Until now.

The hospital was shiny, with glass walls and pristine floors. Very unlike any other hospital he'd ever been to and it screamed expensive. Right up his mother's alley. She craved expensive and nothing any less would ever do.

His father had come from money. Lots of it and ages old. His father had been a business man right up until the moment he keeled over from a heart attack at age fifty-three. Roger had been seventeen and bolted before the funeral was even over.

Children were something his parents should have never had, but it was expected, so they did. His sister came first and soaked up the luxuries they gave her, he came next and wasn't at all what they wanted.

He liked to act out. He wanted to be the black sheep. Loved that rock and roll grated on his father's news. Loved the look on his mother's face when he got kicked out of private school. In fact, he loved everything that his parents hated.

Naturally heroin was something they hated. Naturally he tried it.

A pretty brown-haired doctor met up with them in the hall outside his mother's room. Mimi had a firm grip on his arm and Mark's eyes were on him. Still, he pulled away and started down the hall, ignoring the words that followed and concentrating on keeping ahead of them.

He never saw something dart into his path and he was flat on his ass before he realized a man welding a cane was staring down at him.

"Oops," he said, but didn't sound at all sorry. "Come with me."

"You tripped me," Roger managed, but the man disappeared from sight. Mark and Mimi were now next to him and Mark offered a hand up. Roger saw the man walking down the hall, relying heavily on his cane.

"Asshole," he muttered.

"He usually is." Roger had almost forgotten about the brown-haired doctor until she spoke.

The man stopped. "You going to keep talking about me or are you going to follow me?"

"Why?" Roger countered. He saw Mark look at the brown-haired woman. She only looked confused.

The man doubled back, stopping a few feet shy of Roger. "Because your mommy is dying and you're a lot more useful with me that at her bedside crying. Not that I think you're itching to be there and I doubt you'd ever shed a tear."

Roger shook his head. "I'm out of here."

Both Mark and Mimi each grabbed an arm. "Roger," Mark hissed. Mimi just glared.

"My mother is a pretentious bitch," he said through clenched teeth. Pretentious was such a big word. Such a fancy word. Such a non-Roger word. But it was the only word that described her to a T. "There's no way in hell she would want me here."

"She doesn't," the man revealed. "I had Cameron here call you and say she did."

Mark's mouth dropped open. "You can't do that."

The man just shrugged. "It got you here, didn't it? You need to come with me."

"No." He pulled away from Mark and Mimi. "We're going back to New York."

"Roger, she's sick. What did she do that make you not care if she dies?" Mimi asked.

"Roger, don't be a prick. Then you'll be your father," Mark said quietly.

That stung. Damn Mark, hitting him where he knew it would hurt. "My father was a dick."

The man just rolled his eyes. "Do we need to wait until you've called all of your family members nasty names? Here, I'll contribute. Your aunt's a whore. Now can we move on?"

Mimi's eyes narrowed and Roger heard her mumble something in Spanish under her breath. This was shit. Complete and utter shit.

"I'm not seeing her. That doesn't change."

"You don't need to," the brown-haired woman - Cameron, apparently - said.

"Then what I need to do?"

Cameron gestured down the hall. "This way." The man with the cane headed in the opposite direction the moment she spoke.

"Wait. Where are you going?" Roger asked.

"General Hospital's on at three," he shot back without even breaking his stride.

"He's an ass," Roger muttered.

"So are you," Mark countered.

"He's House," Cameron responded. "He's a good doctor."

"He'd have to be," Roger agreed. In music biz, only those that were good could get away with such crap. Roger had tried and it bit him in the ass. Though he supposed this House was the perfect doctor to deal with his mother. She always had to have the best. "Let's get this over with."

--

End.