Chapter Text
When Roger was going through withdrawal, Mark wished that he could understand what was going on in his head, that he could empathize instead of just offering attention and sympathy. It's not like Roger even noticed the difference, he was too busy trying to restrain his full body tremors and his racing heart, in between bouts of sobbing on his bed over his evaporated future, but back then, Mark wanted desperately to understand, and now that he truly did, he wanted to take all of it back.
It began as a moment of weakness, when he was grinding through soul crushing day after soul crushing day at Buzzline- being ordered to write scripts about junkies and crackheads by his bosses who were doing the powdered form of the same drug in their skyline offices.
He sat at his desk, bouncing his leg and staring off into space, worrying about Roger off on his own, without a persistent nuisance of a friend to remind him to take his medication, to stay clean. He thought about Angel and the feeling her calming manicured nails carding through his hair as she listened to him lament, how he looked at the end of it all-
"Marky, you seem distracted." His head popped up to stare up blankly at Alexi, mindlessly taking in the dark maroon of her power suit and the pang in his heart when he compared it to the color of Roger's winter scarf. Just familiar enough to hurt, but too different to be comforting. "Mark-" she snapped in front of his face. "I think I have just the thing for this, come to my office." She got up and sauntered away, turning around quickly to make sure he was following her, and after a reluctant sigh, he did.
Her office was.. certainly colorful. Mark considered it a bit stuck in the 80s, full of neon purples and pinks with turquoise accents. It didn't quite match the new colors she was wearing to stay on trend, the more muted, dark jewel tones that were settling in with the new decade. God, since when did Mark notice or care about fashion trends? His soul was truly being sucked away by this place. His brain was now filled with useless shit like new club locations, celebrity gossip, Broadway revivals and dead style trends. With every new vapid tidbit, he was scared that important things, like the sound of Angel's laugh or Roger's singing, would fade away.
"I have just the cure for you." She turned around with a glass of scotch, handing it over.
"I really shouldn't-"
"Marky I'm literally your boss." She handed the drink over, waiting until he grabbed it.
In retrospect, he should've questioned the extra bitter taste, the granules on his tongue, or the film above the drink, but to be honest, a drink had sounded good, and he threw it back without question. "Better?" She asked with a nice boss smile, one that read as "I'm genuinely asking but the answer better be yes and you better be back to work."
He nodded and quickly turned to leave the room.
After about thirty minutes, he blinked, and realized he hadn't looked away from his computer screen in that entire time, his fingers hadn't stopped moving across the keyboard either. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he looked around, he felt.. odd, wired, like he'd drunk a dozen cups of coffee. He wanted to call it high, but he had never experienced a high like this. His vision wasn't delayed and lazy, but sharp and panicked. His movement felt precise, but like he was being electrocuted. No glass of scotch had ever done this to him. In a panic he stormed back to Alexi's office, hands twisting, fidgeting and jittering in his hands.
Was this coke? Was he on coke? It felt an awful lot like coke. Or how school fear-mongering classes made coke sound. Could you get high from coke by ingesting it? Well they put it in Coca-Cola, so probably. When did they stop putting coke in Coke? Coke in Coke that sounded weird. Was that what "New Coke" had been about? No, that was so people wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the old and new formula when they eventually switched back to the "old" recipe, now with the benefit of cheap corn syrup. Where had he learned that? Oh right Collins had been bitching about it, recalling when they went back to the "old" formula- rebranded as "Classic Coke" only 3 months after the stunt. How did Roger describe the feeling of coke again? All he could remember was that he didn't like it. Safe to say, Mark didn't like this, but maybe he did? He was getting his work done faster, and it went by in a blur, maybe that was why all the business people took it. Was it addictive? Probably, most good things were- wait no this isn't a good thing, he feels bad- what was he doing? Oh going to Alexi's office.
At that moment he realized he had just been standing in the hallway outside of the executive offices, looking like he had been put on pause. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he felt like he leaped a foot in the air, yelping and spinning around. "First time huh?" Some 50 something salt and pepper exec asked him, and Mark shook his head in a panic.
"No! I-I don't know, I don't know what she gave me-" he could feel himself blinking wrong, how do you blink wrong? Too fast? Too slow?
"Oh, Alexi gave it to you? Ah, she probably just gave you Ritalin, nothing fun."
Mark nodded absently, his mind somewhere else. Ritalin, he'd heard about that before, it was prescription, that meant it was safe right? Even if his heart was hammering in his chest so loud he could hear it in his ears.
"What's it for?" He heard himself asking, blinking feverishly and looking up at the exec.
"Ah, it's just for kids who can't focus well in class, like yourself." He replied with a laugh, harshly patting him on the shoulder and walking away to return to his office. Mark nodded, okay, he was okay, right? This was for kids, he wouldn't die from this. He took a deep breath and made his way back to his cubicle, putting a pin in yelling at Alexi for literally drugging him.
He returned to the loft that night, still wired, and finally he had the energy to start editing his film, and the drug made him detached enough to watch the footage without crying for once. This.. was actually kind of nice. It wasn't illegal so he wasn't as paranoid as when he smoked weed, he was alone so he didn't have to worry about Roger or Benny or Collins or Maureen interrogating him, and for once, he was thankful for the loneliness, the freedom from distractions.
And then he crashed, hard, passing out on the table, bowl of cereal left abandoned. He woke up in the morning with a splitting headache that not even grainy shitty coffee could cure, and then the emptiness, the echoing loneliness of the loft settled in his bones.
When he got to work, he walked into Alexi's office, having prepped on the train ride over to tell her off for drugging him. "Alexi-"
"Morning Mark-"
"What the fuck did you put in that drink?"
She chuckled and opened her desk drawer, taking out an orange pill bottle and shaking it. "Ritalin, it helps you focus. Why, come back for more?"
"No I- you have more?"
She nodded and smiled, "Times are shitty," Mark felt himself shiver at the memory of those words coming out of a much kinder mouth. "And I know it can be hard to focus on work, you're free to have another."
He couldn't, shouldn't, he didn't need it, but he was getting so much work done, and he was finally able to work on his own film. Mark from two days ago would've hemmed and hawed over the decision for hours, days, but that's the Mark that everyone left, that everyone got sick of for being a stick in the mud, so for once he swallowed his anxiety and nodded, "Sure- yes, I'd like another."
She smiled, handing over the whole bottle. His eyes widened. "What? I make 400k plus bonus, I can get doctors to write me whatever prescription I want." She let out a cocky laugh and shrugged. "Don't take them all at once now."
Mark shook his head, staring down at the mostly full bottle in awe. "Thanks." He mumbled, returning to his desk and shaking out one pill, taking it with his coffee.
After a week of being on the medication, it started to feel normal, he didn't feel quite as wired, but it was waning off quicker, and the crashes were becoming harder. It used to be that one pill would last him throughout the whole day and a good deal of the night, but at the end of the week he found himself taking another one as he was leaving work, so he could stay up and finish his film.
It was 3 in the morning according to the crooked analog clock on the wall, and Mark heard a rumbling at the door. He jumped, grabbing a knife from their makeshift kitchen; the second pill had more than settled in and he was once again feeling that wired hyperfocus that he had been missing. The loft door slid open, and there stood Roger, shoulders slumped in defeat, with a confused expression, probably questioning what Mark was still doing up with a knife in his hand. Mark blinked feverishly, convinced he must be hallucinating since he didn't sleep last night. "What the fuck are you doing up?" He wasn't.
Mark grinned, set the knife down and ran over to give his friend a bone crushing hug, "Roger, I didn't think you'd be back so soon, how's Santa Fe, how's the new apartment, why come back so soon?" He bit his tongue to hold in all of his questions, not wanting to betray how clearly wired and electrified he was.
"I couldn't stay there, all I could think about was here, everyone here, Mimi.." he mumbled in defeat, tone much less happy than Mark's.
Mark did his best to adjust his mood for his friend, "Well I'm sorry it didn't work out, but I am glad you're back." He grabbed Roger's bags for him and took them into his room. "Have you been taking your medication? Regularly? I couldn't help but worry, not that you're not a capable adult, I obviously trust you to take care of yourself but-"
As he spun around to return to the living room he jumped as Roger stood right in front of him, finger tips pressing into his chest to stop him. "I'm fine, I took all my AZT, and I think the sunshine did me some good, but how are you?" His hand came up to Mark's face, thumb dragging down the dark circles and his lower lid, eyes searching for something. "When was the last time you slept?"
"Saturday night I think?"
"Mark it's-"
"Yes Roger I know it's Monday night- Tuesday morning? I've been so enthralled with my film that I can't sleep. That and dozens of cups of coffee." Okay, so it was a white lie, but it hurt no one, hence the moniker of "white"- wait, did that have racist origins-? From what he knew of history and current affairs- Mark shook his head of his thoughts, walking back to the "living room" table where reels of film were laid out along with an exacto knife, adhesive, and a well placed lamp.
"Uh huh." Roger followed him out, subtly checking out the tub of coffee grinds that they used. It was still the same canister from when he left, and the resource in question didn't seem depleted enough for dozens of cups, but maybe he was getting them from cafés with his new cushy paycheck. "How's the job going?"
"Awful." Mark grunted, back in his place at the table, hunched over and unable to peel his eyes away from the cut up film reels. "I feel like I'm some Republican's talking point puppet, I should quit."
"Well I won't argue with you on that one. You look... not great."
"Gee thanks,"
Roger rolled his eyes, "I'm saying you shouldn't be pulling all nighters just to work on something you're actually passionate about. I've known you for years and I think the only time you didn't go to bed at 11 pm was... Christmas Eve." He looked down and frowned, "Sorry- I didn't mean to be a downer-"
"Well maybe I'm finally learning to be an adult and not a teenager with a bedtime. I was such a stick in the mud, that's why everyone left," he pinned his mouth shut before anymore weird, sad thoughts could come spilling out. "Sorry I didn't mean to-"
"You think that's why I left?"
Mark finally looked up at him, shaking his head in a panic, "No, I'm not that self centered, but I'm sure that part of it was that I was stifling you, nagging you like a mother hen, keeping you from life. That's why Maureen left me. I'm.. trying not to be that person anymore, I promise." He didn't mean for everything to get this earnest and sad, but his brain was a horrific train crash with 3 different letter lines slamming into each other with at least 45 casualties, and he found himself unable to filter the thoughts between his brain and his mouth.
Roger sighed, pulling up the other chair at the table. "Look.. Mark-" "Don't talk to me like you're my mom's new boyfriend trying to break some weird news." Mark commented, nose buried back in his film. The tension seemed to snap, and Roger couldn't help but snicker, eventually working his way up to a full laugh, Mark slowly joining in. "Look, I left because this city felt like it was suffocating me, I was being selfish, and I couldn't stand to be around so much death, knowing that either it was going to be me.. or Mimi.. who was going to be next. H-have you seen her? By the way?"
Mark shook his head. "Benny agreed to pay for her rehab, but when we went to pick her up the next morning she was gone. I'm sorry. It wouldn't hurt to look though." He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for making your escape about myself, I guess I get so hypercritical that I end up being self centered and selfish."
Roger clapped his shoulder, "you're the least selfish person I know, and you don't need to change. Your so-called mother hen behavior is what kept me alive, it's what I needed and.. it's what I need now."
Mark furrowed his brows, looking over at him, "You.. you didn't.."
"No, but I got dangerously close. Being alone, without you there to tell me "stop, don't", it was scary, I wasn't sure if I had the self control, or if I just didn't know any dealers in the area." He let out a long shaky breath and Mark pulled him into a hug.
"Rest assured, if that's what you want, I'll mother hen the shit out of you."
The weird part about being the rock, the concerned parent of the group, was that no one was there to tell him to stop. The next week at work, Alexi offered him a new pill, with the same basic functions, but new and improved for future 21st century computer age attention problems. "It's called Adderall. I got some fresh from a new drug trial. Care to try?" Mark from a few weeks ago wouldn't have been fond of being a drug guinea pig, but Mark from today, who was almost out of the previous bottle, which wasn't hitting as good anymore, simply nodded and held out his hand.
When Roger got home from wandering around the city, searching for Mimi, he found Mark on his hands and knees, scrubbing the baseboards of the loft walls. "..whatcha doin' there buddy?" He asked, trying to be polite without revealing as much concern as he felt. "I figured it needed tidying, and I have the energy." Mark replied, propping himself up on his knees. Roger squinted, and noticed the slight shivering of his shoulders, and the shaking of his hands.
"What are you on?"
"Well-"
"And don't say coffee cuz I'm not a fucking idiot."
"Alexi asked me to try a new trial drug for an article." He lied, giving away the partial truth would always be accepted more readily and more calmly than the whole truth or an outright lie.
"And so you just took it?!"
"I didn't see the harm."
"It's 11pm and you're scrubbing the walls like Cinderella because you can't stop shaking and you don't see the harm?!"
"It's helping me with my film, before you got in I was working on it!"
Roger took a deep breath, staring down at him, trying out a new stern dad voice. "Until your hands started shaking so bad you couldn't, right?" Mark hated how well Roger knew him. "What did I say the drugs did for my album?"
"What?"
"When I was on heroin, what did I say it would do for my album?"
"… that it would help you."
"And did it?"
"No.. but this is different, this isn't some street drug, it's specifically designed to help people stay focused on their work, and like I said, I'm actually finishing my film!"
Roger let out an exhausted sigh, he really couldn't deal with this right now. "Fine, whatever you say, but you aren't taking that shit again." He stormed off into his bedroom.
The next morning, as he stumbled out to get his coffee, he found Mark face down on the floor. In a panic, he grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around so he was sitting up, shaking him. "Mark!" Jesus was this what Mark went through every day with him? He's never felt more guilty. The man in question blinked his eyes open and then immediately shielded them from the sun coming in from the skylight. "Oh thank god.." Roger let out a breath.
"What's the matter?"
"You were passed out on the fucking floor that's what's the matter, dumbass, god, fucking Christ you are never to do that shit ever again. You scared the shit out of me."
Mark frowned, looking around himself, "I'm sorry." For what? He didn't know. Too many things. For passing out, for worrying him, or for the fact that this certainly wouldn't be the last time.