Epilogue: Survival, Inquiry, and Sophistication
Posted 9.5.02


"The History of every major Galactic Civilization tends to pass through three distinct and recognizable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry, and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why, and Where phases.
"For instance, the first phase is characterized by the question How can we eat? the second by the question Why do we eat? and the third by the question Where shall we have lunch?"
--The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy


"I still can't believe she fainted," Mark murmured, his head resting on Roger's stomach as they lay on their couch watching pirated cable.

"I still can't believe you called yourself a sparkly fairy boy," Roger replied, snorting his laughter down as Mark turned to glare at him. "Not that it's not incredibly sexy and adorable. But..." He laughed aloud this time and Mark sat up, smacking him on the back of the head. It had been almost a full twenty four hours since their disastrous encounter with Mark's mother. The boys had made a quick exit once they were sure that Mrs. Cohen would be okay, grabbing their boxes of food and hightailing it to the train station before Cindy could object. Of course, considering she was laughing quite hard, they probably had little to worry about.

"I still can't believe that I agreed to sleep with you last night after that fiasco," Mark said curtly, giving Roger a sharp look. Roger shut up immediately.

Mrs. Cohen had called later, of course, but Mark gave her a thinly veiled excuse for leaving and she seemed to accept it before moving on to the onslaught of care and confessing and flailing that he had predicted on the train. Ever since they had been screening their calls even more rabidly than normal.

Mark sighed and sagged back against Roger again. "At least our lives can go back to normal now," he said with a sigh. "And we have food. Which is also good. We don't have to eat furniture and dead pigeons. I don't think I could have sex with you after you ate a dead pigeon." He prodded Roger playfully.

"I would have sex with you after you ate a dead pigeon, if you asked me to!" Roger insisted, grabbing Mark's hand and kissing the fingertips. Mark made a face.

"Roger, that's just gross." He shifted so that he was sitting securely on Roger's lap. "First of all... no. No, that doesn't even constitute a 'first of all'. It's just gross." Roger pouted. He thought it was noble and romantic. Even if it did involve stinky bird guts.

"Well, can we just do the sex part then?" he asked, sticking his lower lip out and cocking his head to the side.

"Of course," Mark replied, kissing Roger's forehead. "But I'm warning you - you still owe me big time for this whole thing with my mom. I'm not going to forget that anytime soon." Roger winced. That meant that he was on the bottom again. And that Mark had something kind of scary planned, probably. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing but he really hoped it didn't involve pigeons, alive or dead.

Still, scary sex was better than no sex at all and as long as it was with Mark, it really didn't matter. He kissed the filmmaker soundly, hoping to maybe make it up to Mark a little before he had a chance to do anything too rash.

*riiiiiiiiiing!*

"SPEEEEEAAAAAAK."

"Guys, it's Collins. Pick up."

Roger ignored the machine.

Mark ignored the machine.

*click.*

Good. It went away, Roger thought as he slid his hand under Mark's shirt.

*riiiiiiiiiing!*

"SPEEEEEAAAAAAK."

"I'm gonna keep calling until you stop having sex and pick up."

*click.*

*riiiiiiiiiing!*

"SPEEEEEAAAAAAK."

"So, you should just give up while you're ahead."

*click.*

*riiiiiiiiiing!*

"SPEEEEEAAAAAAK."

"Really."

*click.*

*riiiiiiiiiing!*

Finally, Mark pulled himself away from Roger and grabbed the phone.

"WHAT?!" he shouted into it.

"Roger?"

Shit.

It was not Collins. No. Because their lives couldn't be that easy. It was Roger's mother.

"Uh. No. This is Mark."

"Oh, Mark! It's nice to hear from either of you boys again! I was starting to think that something happened to you!"

"Nooo," Mark said, awkwardly rubbing his neck and trying to think of a more polite way to screech, 'go AWAY lady and let me screw your son in peace!' "Well, I was just wondering if you'd like to stop by later this week. It's been years since I've seen Roger face to face and even longer than that since I've seen you, Mark. Maybe lunch or something?" Mark was about to make up a doctor's appointment or a death in the family when an idea struck him.

Roger had been a big fan of the animated Christmas special, "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" when he was little. A big fan. He had a stuffed Grinch and he memorized the book and even made himself sit through that horrible Jim Carrey remake a few years back. That being said, he was quite sure that the Grinch was suddenly inhabiting Mark's body, based on the very large, very evil smile that was slipping over Mark's face at that very moment.

Oh no.

Oh. Oh no.

"That sounds great, Mrs. Davis. Oh, yes, next Thursday is fine. I love Thursdays. Always have. Noon-ish? Sounds great! We'll be there. Uh huh. I'll be sure to tell him that. Bye!"

Roger gaped.

"You did not," he whispered, eyes wide. Mark just smirked.

"I think I did." Roger smacked the couch in frustration.

"Dammit! I fucking hate Thursdays!"


The End.

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