Warning: Mention of self harm 

A few days passed and Mark couldn't really care about anything other than the thoughts in his head. John had tried to commit suicide? Damn, Mark had thought that the days of self-harm were long gone. But he was apparently wrong. And John didn't want to talk about it. In fact, he had even gotten quite angry when Mark had asked him about it.

*Flashback, a few evenings before*

Mark had driven his car to John's apartment, left it in front of his apartment block and visited him. John had prepared drinks and was very happy about the visit. Both friends were sitting on the sofa, there was silence between them.

"John?" Mark asked quietly.

"Mh." The bassist hummed.

"John, I... I want to talk to you about something." The guitarist wrung his hands in his lap.

"Are you not feeling well?" John asked worriedly. Mark took a deep breath and reached out his hand before placing it on John's forearm. The bassist looked at him questioningly. Knopfler pushed back John's sleeve, exposing a scarred wrist. He gently ran his fingers over the white scars. The older man tensed and bit his lower lip.

"John, I...I want you to talk to me about how you feel and..."

"Stop." John said angrily, pulling his arm away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"John, please." Mark pleaded. "You took care of me. For months. When I was dying and no one knew if I would survive, you sat next to me and held my hand. Shit, you washed me and helped me go to the bathroom. You watched me pee. Hell, I even puked on you. You were the only person in my life who ever saw me so helpless and weak. I cried in pain in front of you. I swore at you. But you still didn't leave my side." John felt tears in his eyes as he heard Mark's words. "I can never thank you for all of this. I could never have done it without you, John. You told me that you only did all of this because I'm your friend." Mark put his hand on John's knee. "You're my best friend too, you know that? And knowing that you...that you almost killed yourself and...I couldn't be there for you..." Mark's voice broke. "Shit, if anyone should have taken you to the hospital, it should have been me. Not Pick." Tears began to run from Mark's blue eyes. "I would never have let it get to this point. Shit, John. I couldn't be by your side when you were almost dying. Now let me at least try to help your psyche." John felt his heart clench. Seeing Mark crying in front of him hurt him. He felt even more guilty than when Mark almost died. This was his doing. And since John could never really deal with guilt and grief, these two feelings turned into anger.

"What do you know!?" He shouted angrily. "You have no idea what it's like to hate yourself so much that you want to kill yourself!" Mark's eyes widened. "You have absolutely no idea how I feel! You can't help me and I don't want your help either!"

"John, please. Calm down. Don't be angry with me. I didn't mean to make you angry. I'm just so worried about you and I..."

"Go away!" John shouted angrily and pushed Mark towards his apartment door. The guitarist looked at him sadly and helplessly.

"John. Please, let me help you. You're right. I have no idea how you feel. But I want to help you, I..."

"Go away!" John shouted and pushed him out of his apartment. "And don't come back if you just want to give me pity!" With that, he slammed the door. Mark stood motionless on the shoe mat in front of the front door. His hands were shaking, his eyes watering. Shit, what was he supposed to do? He was losing his best friend, right in front of his eyes.

*End of flashback*

Mark sat in his apartment, desperately pulling at his hair. Damn, what was he going to do!? John didn't want help and he didn't want to talk to him either. Mark decided to call a friend. He went to his phone and heard it ring a few times before a voice said:

"Clapton."

"Hey! It's Mark!" Mark called, smiling. There was silence on the line for a while.

"Mark Knopfler?"

"Mhm." The guitarist hummed.

"I think...you want to talk to Eric, right?" The voice asked. Mark flinched.

"Yeah? Eh...isn't he there?"

"Yes he is." Mark swallowed.

"Who am I talking to?"

"Pattie...I'm his wife." Mark bit his lower lip.

"How rude of me, Mám...I..." He heard two people talking on the other side of the line until a male voice answered:

"Knopfler?"

"Hey, Eric." Mark grinned and wrapped the telephone cord around his hand.

"How are you?"

"Much better. I can speak again without stuttering." The younger man said excitedly.

"I'm very happy for you."

"Has something...has something happened?" Mark asked worriedly. "You don't sound very happy." A loud sigh came through the phone.

"Things aren't going so well for me personally at the moment." Mark nodded silently.

"I'm sorry, mate. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Thanks. But...why did you call?"

"I...did you know that John tried to kill himself?"

"Yes." Sighed the older guitarist. "Is he okay?"

"That's just it!" Mark exclaimed. "He's not okay at all! But I don't know what the hell to do! He doesn't want to talk to me about it and gets angry when I ask questions." There was silence on the line for a while. "He's a stubborn ass and I..."

"Doesn't that sound familiar?" Clapton interrupted.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Mark asked, baffled.

"John's behaviour. Doesn't that sound familiar to you?"

"No?" Mark didn't sound very convincing when he said the one word.

"You behaved the same way." The older man explained matter-of-factly. "He was desperate and had absolutely no idea what to do." Mark groaned in annoyance.

"And what should I do now?"

"I have no idea, Mark. But you're a smart boy. You'll think of something." Mark put his hand over his face.

"Are you serious, Eric?" Eric laughed.

"I don't know much about John, you know? When you weren't feeling well, I could think of a few things to help you. But I have no idea about John. I've only met him a few times and most of the time we've only talked about you." Mark felt his face warm with shame. "You're not stupid, Knopfler. Think of something." Mark sighed.

"Okay. Thanks anyway."

"It's nothing."

"Bye, Eric."

"Bye." With that, both men hung up the phone. Mark sighed in frustration. The call hadn't helped much. What now? The guitarist fetched a chair from his kitchen and sat down on it. He crossed his arms over the backrest, sitting the other way 'round on the chair, like a cowboy. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed before his index finger started turning a number on the dial again. He held the receiver to his ear and waited...and waited...and...

"Knopfler."

"Hey!" Mark called excitedly.

"Mark?"

"Yep, it's me! Your favourite brother! How are you?" Mark exclaimed.

"You're pulling my leg, aren't ya?"

"Oh come on, Ruth. I just wanted to know how you are." Mark teased his older sister. The woman sighed in annoyance.

"What do you want, Mark?"

"Do I always have to want something when I call my beloved sister?"

"Mark, you literally only call me when you need something. Last time it was help with moving. The time before last it was help with shopping for Christmas and the time before that, I had to sew up the holes in your jeans." Mark bit his lower lip and couldn't help but grin. His sister knew him too well. "But I'm proud of you. You haven't needed help in a long time."

"I was in the hospital." Mark sighed. The playful teasing between the two siblings ended abruptly.

"I know." Ruth said worriedly. "I saw it on TV. I was really worried about you. Mom told me that you weren't feeling well at all. I didn't want to stress you out any more, so I didn't come. David called me a few times."

"I'm fine now. I had a cardiac arrest and was stuttering badly. But the stuttering is gone now. The accident was damn painful and I almost died, Ruth...but...here I am. Still standing." Ruth grinned and felt a few tears in her eyes.

"That's my little brother. You're laughing in the face of danger."

"Well...I don't think I was exactly laughing." Mark giggled. "It was more like crying."

"You know what I mean!" Ruth exclaimed, also giggling. " So...why are you calling?"

"It's about John." Mark sighed.

"John? What's wrong with him?" Ruth knew John very well. She had been in love with him for a while, but since the bassist hadn't responded, she had dropped the idea and never spoke to him about it again.

"John tried to kill himself." Ruth gasped and put a hand over her mouth. "While I was in the hospital. I hardly noticed anything because I was on morphine." Mark rubbed his face and sighed. "He's my best friend and he's done a hell of a lot for me in the last few months. Without him, I would never have survived this whole thing. Now he needs help. But he won't let himself be helped. And I don't know what to do. So I thought...maybe you have an idea."

"Mark, I..." Ruth sighed. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Yes." The younger of the siblings nodded. "But he got angry and threw me out of his apartment."

"People who...who are at the point where they want to end their lives...don't want to talk about it anymore." Ruth sighed.

"But what should I do!?" Mark exclaimed in frustration and kicked his dresser angrily.

"Maybe you should invite him to your house? Cook something nice and then..."

"Ruth, I can't cook." Mark sighed and pressed his nose in annoyance. Ruth laughed at him.

"Oh come on. John must have cooked for you when you were sick, too."

"Yes." Mark laughed. "Frozen fried fish and frozen vegetables. He heated both up and then put them on a plate." Both siblings laughed.

"But he made an effort and that's what counts." Ruth giggled. "You don't have to do more than that either."

"It should be a little better than that." Mark murmured.

"I'll come over to your place tomorrow. Tell him that you want to meet him at your apartment tomorrow evening at 6 p.m. We'll discuss the rest tomorrow."