I was watching TV with my brother a few days ago and The Imagination Movers came on (he only watches Playhouse Disney or Discovery Kids) and Rich looks exactly like I imagine John to be. Only Rich is older and kind of insane looking....

Anyway~ thanks for the reviews and alerts!

Chapter edited by Lain : )

Underlying
Chapter 08

Yes, Rogers’ face annoyed him. His hair annoyed him, his clothes, the green jacket that hid the sling and the band aids on his chin that changed color every day. The way he sat still in the car, next to him on the passenger’s seat every morning and every afternoon.

Still Mark drove him, everyday, and didn’t say a word. Kind of.

“To the front,” he said the day after he had punched him on the mouth. “I’m not your driver.”

Rogers got down from the back and opened the passenger’s door, “Yeah, you kind of are.”

“Shut up and get in.” Mark was this close of slamming the door; he stopped himself in the last second and drove in silence. Not even the radio was on. He cursed John, the traitor, again for abandoning him.

Still, after a few hours of ignoring John at school, he decided to forgive him and they were back to normal instantly. Except for the fact that John made a point of not mentioning Rogers to him in any context and Mark, for the first time in who knew how many years, managed not to end up tangled in a painful knot with Rogers for three days in a row.

To say that their classmates were shocked and incredulous was an understatement.

The week went by, oh so slowly, and yet Mark thought he was doing an excellent job on keeping control.

“Friday, finally,” he muttered in the car that afternoon, wanting Rogers to hear him.

“Yes, two days without having to see your ugly mug. Fantastic,” Rogers said dryly. Mark bit his lip and forced himself to shut up. Ten more minutes and he would be Rogers-free.

On the last couple of days, Rogers had been in a crappy mood. It was almost as if their roles had been reversed ever since the car accident. Rogers was the one picking fights now, scowling all the time, even when Mark was on the other side of the room at school and he had his friends with him. He kept clutching at the sleeve of his jacket and glaring off into space.

Mark was kind of proud about being able to make Rogers look like that without having to touch him. But he still had a hard time restraining himself. His head had been hurting him non-stop, and the bruise on his temple didn’t seem to be fading even though Rogers hadn’t even touched him there in almost a week.

“Maybe if you stopped pocking it all the time.” John helpfully advised at lunch one day. Mark lowered his hand.

“I’m not.”

Now it was Friday (God, yes) and he was about to be free for the weekend.

“You’re lucky I’m not planning to do anything this weekend, though,” Rogers said after a few seconds of silence.

“Why do I care what you’re doing on the weekend?” Mark scoffed.

“Well, you are my driver, you see. Since you destroyed my bike and all, I don’t know if you remember.”

“I’m not. And that’s only for school.”

Rogers only looked smug and didn’t say anything. Mark fidgeted and clenched the wheel harder.

“It is,” he repeated and tried not to let Rogers get to him.

Mark parked the car in his driveway; Rogers’ legs worked just fine, and he could cross the street on his own. They didn’t move. Mark was waiting for Rogers to leave. Rogers was staring ahead, back to looking glum, and didn’t seem to have any intention of getting the hell out.

A couple of days back, Rogers and his parents had come over for dinner. It had been horrible all together. The first thing Mark didn’t like about having people over for dinner was having to eat in the dinning room. With the stupid dim lights and soft music his mother insisted on to “create a mood.” Then was the loud talking, every conversation overlapping the next, the clinking of silverware against plates and glasses against the table. They had taken the kiddy table away a few years ago, but the big table was still separated by an invisible line right at the middle, parents on one side and everyone else on the other.

The seating arrangement went like this: Mark’s father at the head of the table. Mark’s mother to his right and Hannah Rogers to his left. Next to her Frank and next to Mom Jessica. Then Mark, across the table from Rogers and finally Dan at the other end.

Rogers always, always across from Mark.

Everyone was talking while Rogers stabbed his food with his fork and Mark downed his at an impressive speed, in order to get out of there as soon as possible. No one mentioned the car or Rogers’ arm. No one except Frank; just when Mark was on his last mouthful he spoke up, making the other conversations halt.

“No one never actually explained to me what happened to my kid,” he said, loud enough so everyone would hear him. There was a moment of silence and then Rogers dropped his fork with a clatter.

“I already told you-”

“You didn’t tell me the truth,” Frank cut in.

“I did-”

“According to you it’s never anyone’s fault.” Frank was looking around the table, but his eyes stopped on Mark when he reached him. Mark hackles were up in a second.

“What-” He began but Hannah Rogers beat him to it.

“Frank, this is not the time.” She said softly and Mark hated her tone and the way she spoke to him, as if she was weak.

Mark’s eyes fell on Rogers; he was glaring at his father as if he could set him on fire with his stare. Mark kinda wished he could. Next to him, Dan was looking at everybody with that half amused half wary expression he always wore on these situations. Jessica was leaning back on her chair and Mark heard her huff, he was sure she was rolling her eyes too.

Mark was glad he wasn’t the only one that disliked Frank. Unlike Rogers, Frank didn’t try to fool everyone acting like a saint one minute and like an asshole the next, when they were alone. He was an asshole 24/7.

“Well, when’s the time? Because I’ve been asking for two days and I still haven’t gotten a proper answer.”

“I already told you what happened,” Rogers muttered. It still sounded loud in the silent dinning room. Even the stupid music seemed to have drifted away.

“It’s a very unbelievable story.”

“So?”

“Guys…” Hanna Rogers tried again.

“So, you told me you didn’t see the car.”

“So?”

“So you are telling me you didn’t see the giant piece of junk sitting out there-”

“Hey!” Mark slammed his hands on the table and jumped up.

“-until it was practically on top of you?”

“I think this is not the place to-” Now Mark’s father was trying to stop him and Frank apparently had turned conveniently deaf.

“What are you trying to say?!” Rogers snapped. Everyone but Mark looked surprised and Mark would have yelled “See?!” if he hadn’t been so busy hating Frank.

“You tell me.”

“Frank, come on. It was an accident. Everyone’s okay. Let’s drop it.” Dad started getting up from his chair. Frank glanced at him and raised his eyebrows.

“Everyone’s not okay. I have a boy with a useless arm and messed up face and the responsible for it only got a slap on the wrist for it.”

“We all agreed on how to deal with it, Frank you-”

“I didn’t agree to anything.”

“You weren’t even here!” Rogers snapped.

“I still have a say on this. I’m still you father.” Mark hated that Frank was able to stay calm, seem almost amused, even when everyone around him was seething because of him. He didn’t even need to raise his voice.

Rogers scoffed, “Right.” His voice sounded odd and squeaky.

There was a long, awkward silence. Then Rogers slowly got up.

“I’m going home.” Then to Mark’s mother, “Thanks for dinner.”

Mark didn’t watch him leave; he was already making his way up the stairs when he heard the front door click shut. He didn’t hear anyone start talking downstairs until Dan was back in their room and Jessica had slammed her door across the hall. Then the voices downstairs started rising gradually, until they sounded angry and not holding back anymore and it was Frank against everyone else.

Frank, whom Mark had thought was only going to stay for two days tops, was still at home and now Sandy Rogers wouldn’t get out of the car.

“Are you leaving anytime soon or should I set up a camp?” Mark mumbled into his hand as he leaned against his window and looked out. Rogers said nothing. Mark could feel the anger rising, making his fingers curl and his throat itch. He wheeled around on Rogers ready to drag him out by his hair if he had to.

Rogers was looking at the dashboard as if in thought. He looked up at Mark and then his eyes fell past Mark’s ear. The band-aid on his chin was orange today. It moved down when Rogers opened his mouth to say something and jerked back up when Rogers snapped his mouth closed.

“What?” Mark barked.

“Can I-” Rogers’ face flushed. “I want to come in.”

“What?” Mark repeated.

“I want to come in.” Rogers looked him in the eye this time, talking slowly as if Mark was retarded or something. “Your mom’s in, right? Or Danny? He has to be getting back by now.”

Mark’s mouth worked but he couldn’t find the words in himself. Finally his brain caught up with him and he frowned and spat:

“Why?”

It was Friday. He was supposed to be Rogers-free by now.

Rogers shrugged and looked away. Mark glared at his profile.

“You can’t.” And then, “Get out.”

He saw Rogers’ fist close around the sleeve of his jacket and his flush darken.

“I’m going in,” he said and was out of the car before Mark could process it. It took a second for Mark to react and dash out of the car and after him. He ran in long strides and, in his outrage, was about to tackle him before he saw a flash of green and thought of the cast and the sling and Rogers’ arm lying limply on his side in the middle of the road. Instead, he reached out and tried to get a hold of the sleeve flying behind Rogers like a flag.

Rogers sped up and Mark’s fingers barely brushed the fabric. And then, through the sound of their footsteps on the grass he heard Rogers was actually laughing. A puffy laugh that could be mistaken as harsh breathing, except Mark was disgustingly familiar with both Rogers’ breathing during a chase and his mocking laughter to tell them apart and he knew Rogers was enjoying making Mark look like an idiot right now.

He still didn’t stop running.

They rushed around the house and through the back door that was always unlocked during the day. It banged against the wall as Rogers burst inside and Mark was at his heels, grabbing at his good arm as soon as he stopped.

“I said you can’t,” he panted and doubled over a bit.

“My-” Mark’s head snapped up and he met his mother’s wide eyes staring at them. “You scared me to death. Mark! I expect the same care you put in that car of yours inside the house, too.”

“I didn’t-”

“There are enough dents on that wall already. Sandy, honey, came over for tea?”

“Y-yeah.” Rogers was out of breath, but he still managed to sound triumphant.

“Mark, let go of him and come sit down.”

Mark jerked his hand away (he hadn’t realized he was still touching him) and pushed past Rogers towards the kitchen table. Rogers followed him and sat on the chair opposite him, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Mark glared.

“How was school?” Mom asked as she rummaged through one of the cupboards for tall glasses. Mark kept his mouth shut as Rogers answered his mother’s question, sounding cheered up. He was telling her about something that had happened during one of his classes and Mom was smiling and setting the table.

Mark downed his cocoa in two gulps and reached for the muffins.

“Easy on that, Mark. You’re not skipping dinner.”

Mark scowled as he munched his second helping; Rogers hid a smirk behind his glass.

“Is your father still at home?” Mom asked. Rogers face fell and he set the glass down with a clink.

“Yeah.” He grabbed a muffin and started picking the chocolate chips out and making a small pile in front of him. “Says he’s staying for a week or two this time.”

He was almost pouting; the side of his mouth was still a little swollen. Mark looked away.

“Oh, that’s…nice,” Mom said, unsure. Then she patted his arm, “You can come stay here any time you want, hon.”

Mark almost choked on his muffin.

“I said go easy on those,” his mother reprimanded and took the plate out of the table. Rogers was eating the chocolate chips he had picked out, one by one.

“You don’t want to fall off the wagon, after all this time,” he muttered, so only Mark heard. “I still have nightmares about that time you fell on me.”

Mark felt his face start to burn. “Fuck you,” he snapped and bit a chunk off the muffin in his hand.

“Mark!” Mom exclaimed. “How many times-”

“He started-”

“I don’t ca-”

“Hey.” Dan was coming through the door, cheerful as always. “Oh! Hi, Sandy!”

“Hey, Danny.”

“Um, what are you doing here?” Dan asked and laughed.

“Don’t be rude,” Mom said mildly. She seemed to have forgotten about the argument as she turned back to the counter.

“I thought you could show me that new game you mentioned the other day.” Dan’s smile widened. He turned to their mother. “Can we?” he asked, pleading.

“Alright, go ahead.” Dan beckoned Rogers into the sitting room, all excited and jumpy. “Only for an hour and then you’re doing your homework!” Mom called after them. She shook her head in good humor while Mark sulked, hunched over on his seat. “Maybe I should invite him to dinner,” she said.

“Not if you want me to keep my food down,” Mark muttered.

“Oh, stop it.” She turned to the stove. “He needs some time out of his house.”

It was true that, back before the car thing, Rogers was always on his bike when Frank was in town, riding back and forth, and only came home when it was already dark. And Mark only knew that because Hannah Rogers had told him, once. Rogers didn’t have a bike anymore and Mark doubted he could even ride one now and risk falling on his arm. There wasn’t anywhere close by to walk to around there, either.

Still, he hated that Rogers’ only option was his home. He had his own friends. But, obviously, he would do anything to piss off Mark.

“Out of his house doesn’t mean here.”

“Well, you are not the only one living here, so stop complaining.” She paused and the added more softly, “You could go play that game with them.”

“No.”

She sighed, “Fine, Mark. Do whatever you want just…get out of the kitchen; I have to start on dinner.”

Mark went up to his room and lay on his bed for the rest of the afternoon, listening to the explosions and screeching tires of Dan’s game right below him.

--

Mark woke up the next morning with a grunt and a full bladder. He had forgotten to turn off the alarm the day before and it was blaring next to his ear. He slapped it off and sat up.

Sunlight pooled at the foot of his bed: he had forgotten to shut the blinds of the windows too. He had fallen asleep wearing his clothes, on top of the covers. One of his socks was missing while the other dangled from his toes. Someone must have come to get him for dinner last night and taken his shoes off. He kicked his leg until the remaining sock flew off and lowered his feet to the ground, running his hands from his hair to his eyes.

He pushed his way past the Pokemon blanket and started when Dan gave a loud snort and rolled over. Half of him was hanging off the bed. Mark dragged himself to the bathroom, bumping his shoulder against the threshold and cursing out loud.

He was brushing his teeth when he realized. At first he froze, toothpaste dripping from his chin onto his hand. Then he spat on the sink and smiled at his reflection, his mouth still smudged in minty white.

It was Saturday.