Hello everyone, it's been a while since I've written rentfic, and now I'm back with this. It's been sitting in my documents for a while now, so I thought I'd finish it. Basically, it is an excuse to write massive amounts of fluff, so take that for what it's worth - it's just intended to be cute and funny. Also, it's technically a Scrubs crossover, but really I just didn't want to make up my own hopsital, so don't worry if you don't watch Scrubs, and enjoy the random Scrubs appearance if you do. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy this!
Mark looked up from his dreary contemplation of his leg to see Roger charge into the room and slam the door. "Roger—" he began, surprised to see him there again.
"Hide me!" Roger yelped, looking around the room. He ran around Mark's bed and dove onto the floor behind it just as the door swung back open to reveal Carla, the nurse on duty.
"Where is he?" she asked, scanning the room. "I told him he can't be in here now unless he's family!" She pulled the door out and looked behind it as she spoke. Mark knew Carla was extremely nice, as she had spent an hour playing cards with him in between dashing to check on people, but now she looked exasperated. He could understand it if she had been dealing with Roger.
"Hello Carla," he said as innocently as he could. He liked Carla, but he wasn't going to give away his best friend if he could help it. Maybe she'd give up if he acted confused. "Who are you talking about?"
She paused and smiled at him. "Good evening, Mr. Cohen," she said. She came around to the foot of the bed and her smile vanished. "Mr. Davis! I can see you, so get up right now! You're not allowed to be here," she said, eyes narrowed.
Roger picked himself off the floor and gave Mark a sheepish smile. Mark smiled back and shook his head, wondering what exactly Roger had tried to get in before apparently just making a run for it.
"Family only," Carla insisted, tapping her fingers on the chart she was carrying.
Mark put on his best pathetic look. "Please?" he asked. Roger had been here earlier with Collins and Benny, but they hadn't been able to stay long, and he had been left to contemplate the hospital sheets and long for his camera the rest of the day. He hadn't expected Roger to come back, but he didn't want him to leave now that he was here. "He basically is my family. They're certainly not going to come all the way to the city for a just a broken leg," he said bitterly. It wasn't like he had messed up his knee also and had had to stay at the hospital for observation or anything. It wasn't like he was going to be hobbling around on crutches for a long time and could use some cheering up. It was a long drive when Mark was going to be out of the hospital in a day or two. Besides, people broke legs all the time…
Roger put his hand on Mark's shoulder, his thumb kneading some of the tension away. He knew Mark's family were a sore point with him. Carla caught his tone too, and her stern expression softened a little, but she didn't back down. "It's the rules," she persisted.
Roger continued to massage Mark's shoulder. Most of his attention, however, remained on Carla; Mark could practically hear the charm turn on. "I'm his brother?" he said with a grin. Mark could see Carla soften a bit more under the force of that grin, but she still shook her head. "Cousin?" Roger offered, "Step-brother? Brother-in-law? Uncle?" Carla's head shakes were getting slower with each word. Then Roger put on his patented stage-brightening, fan-melting, head-turning, drool-worthy rock-star grin, the one he had worked to perfect during his concerts, and Mark was surprised Carla just didn't fall over from the force of it. "I promise I'll be good," Roger said, "No one will even know I'm here."
"Wellllllll," Carla said, and Mark made his pathetic face even more pathetic. "Okay, but don't give me any more trouble. I'll be back in to check later. And don't let anyone else see you!" She left the room, still looking over her shoulder at Roger. She shut the door behind her.
Mark looked up at Roger to find him still doing the rock star look. "You can turn it off, idiot," he said, "There's no one left for you to impress."
Roger fake-pouted. "You mean you don't fall for it every time you see it?" he asked teasingly, letting go of Mark's shoulder and grabbing a plastic chair with one hand and dragging it beside the bed.
Mark wasn't about to answer that one. "I didn't expect you back today," he said instead, shifting as much as he could with his leg all trussed up in casts and bandages to face Roger. He kind of wished Roger had kept standing and rubbing his shoulder.
"The loft was too quiet with only me there," Roger explained, "Collins said they wouldn't let me in, but I figured I'd try. And I brought you something."
"My camera?" Mark said eagerly. Being a whole day without it had been tortuous.
Roger laughed. "I can't believe you want it so badly, when it's the reason you're here," he said.
Mark blushed. "It's the first time that's happened!" he protested.
Roger smirked. "Maybe next time you should get your eyes out of the camera and on the stairs," he teased, "and I can't believe that thing was the first thing you asked about when you hit the bottom." Mark scowled, and he laughed. "I figured you'd want that, but I couldn't fit it under my jacket. So you'll have to settle with me." He batted his eyelids at Mark flirtatiously.
"Gifts are supposed to make you feel better, not worse," Mark teased as Roger mock scowled.
"And you're supposed to be nice to visitors," he retorted.
Mark laughed, and then sobered. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks for coming, man. I really do appreciate it," he said seriously. It meant a lot that Roger would go through the trouble of sneaking back when he'd already visited once, and Mark was sure that Roger would rather be working with his band or something, anything other than sitting in a boring hospital. He knew they were friends, pretty good friends, but that was a ways from spending hours beside someone's hospital bed.
Roger looked surprised. "You're my best friend, man. Of course I'm going to visit you," he said, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"
"Well you already visited," Mark pointed out, his mind hooked on "best friend." Did Roger really consider him his best friend? When he spent so much time with his band, who had a lot more in common with him than Mark did?
Mark could feel himself turning red. "So I didn't think you'd come again," he mumbled, feeling like an ass. "Since I'm getting out in a day or two." Why should he expect it, when his own family hadn't come to see him even once? Roger's face as he leaned back was inscrutable, and Mark hoped he hadn't made him mad so he'd leave.
Luckily Roger decided to let him off the hook on that remark, because he grinned, and Mark relaxed a little. "How am I supposed to make fun of you for falling down the stairs because you were filming if I don't visit?" Roger asked.
Mark blushed some more. "Shut up," he mumbled. That was like Roger. Break any serious moment with teasing.
Silence fell between them at that, and just before it got awkward, Roger spoke up. "Did they tell you anything new…about it?" he asked, making a vague motion towards Mark's leg.
Mark made a face. "Well, besides breaking my leg, I also fucked up my knee when I fell. I didn't break it, but I twisted it or something like that, which is why they're making me stay for a couple of days. They wanted to make sure I didn't do anything serious to it."
He noticed Roger was a shade paler than he'd been before. "But you'll be able to walk and shit, right?" Roger asked, looking back up at Mark's face.
"Yeah, yeah," Mark assured him. "I have to completely keep off my feet for a week, and then it's crutches for a long time though," he said glumly. He thought for a second about how exactly that was going to work out, and how he was going to keep from going insane.
"I'll make up your shifts for you until you can get up again, man," Roger assured him, referring to the small record store where they both worked. Usually it was Mark covering Roger's shifts when Roger's band called a last minute practice session or the like. Mark was touched that Roger would cover for him for a whole week. Damn, sitting in this stupid, white hospital room was making him sentimental. Oh well, at least he wouldn't lose his job over this too.
"Thanks," he said, and then had no idea what else to say.
He was about to say something else thanking Roger, when Roger once again broke the serious mood. "I actually did bring you something, besides my wonderful self," he announced, bending and searching under the bed. He came up with a notebook and a handful of pens from where he must have thrown them while hiding from Carla.
Mark brightened. "My notebook!" he said, reaching for it.
Roger handed them over quickly. "I figured you could use some entertainment," he said. "And this was the best I could do without lugging your camera in, which I'm pretty sure that nurse would have taken exception to."
Mark thumbed through the pages just because he could, feeling the sight of his own work begin to rejuvenate his spirits. It's amazing, how a small thing like this could make him feel better. Now tomorrow he could feel productive, instead of helpless and lump-like. He looked back up at Roger, a smile stretching shyly across his face. "Thank you," he said, before ducking his face again, embarrassed a little to have such a big reaction to such a small thing.
"Hey, it's no problem," Roger said, leaning forward and dropping the pens on Mark's lap. His hand drifted up to rest on Mark's shoulder for a brief moment before he sat back. Mark looked back up at him, suddenly hyper aware of that small touch. Roger had touched him on the shoulder before of course. They were really good friends, past the stage when either of them thought anything about most physical contact, but this was a lot more deliberate, and it was a lot gentler than the Roger that he was used to. It was the Roger that he saw when Roger didn't know anyone was watching, or when Roger was so lost in writing songs or playing that he forgot where he was. It was definitely the Roger that first led his feelings from best friend over that invisible line to crush.
Now it was Roger's turn to look down, and Mark began to wonder if he wasn't reading too much into that touch after all, and that maybe there was a chance that Roger felt the same… But then Roger settled back into the chair, and his easy smile reappeared. "So, are you going to tell me what you were filming so intently that you tried to kill yourself?"
So he'd been imagining it. They were good friends and that was it. Why would Roger feel anything physical towards him anyway? He was the one that endless amounts of people had crushes on. Just because he didn't have a girl or boy friend currently and hadn't for a while didn't mean anything.
So Mark sat back himself, notebook on his lap, and tried to think of what he could say besides the truth, which was that he'd been filming Roger's ass. A serious slip in judgment that he was paying for now. "Well, umm—"
"Just admit you were filming my ass," Roger joked, giving a broad wink. Mark nearly choked, wondering if Roger could read minds, but he managed to get himself under control.
"Yeah, because you're worth falling down a flight of stairs for." Which he was, but at least the banter was distracting Roger from really finding out that it was true. Now if he could just keep this up…