Note: This has been in my head for a great long while. Probably since I first started writing RENT fanfics…which may be why there has been such a slow submitting and writing of my stuff. The old stuff is fighting to be written…and this one won in this case. Review, and let me know what you think.
Mark stared down at the different threads in his scarf. An alternate of black and white. Although there was a hint of black there was still white…it wouldn't be appropriate. He placed it on the top of the couch and glanced over at Roger who was staring out of the window. Ever since they heard the news, Roger planted himself there…not able to move. But now they would have to. Mark looked down at his clothes. It was one of the few times that he wished that had a nicer collection. Just for today's events.
"Roger…you probably should get ready," Mark dared to say, his voice cracking halfway through. "I think they expect us to be there at eight-thirty…and it's eight. So we should probably get going."
His friend finally looked away from the window. "I keep expecting…I just thought he would come here. And it would all be a joke," Roger sniffed and rubbed away tears on his face with the back of his hand. Then after a moments pause, he nodded and headed towards his room.
8:05. A part of Mark wanted to get there as early as possible…just to help the others when they showed up. But at the same time, he didn't want to be there before anyone else. Being alone with a body…even if it was a person he knew and loved. "It?" Amazing how a person could become an "it" so quickly.
A weak knock came to the door. Mark's head perked up. They weren't expecting anyone…at least he didn't think they were. Mimi…well maybe. But they were supposed to meet her there, probably with Benny at her side. As much as Mark disliked Benny sometimes, he knew that Benny had a right to be there. Mark opened the door slowly to reveal someone he didn't know.
"Hi…can I…can I help you?" Mark asked the person.
The man looked up; the skin around his eyes was beat red from crying. Bags were covering his face, indicating that he got very little sleep, if any, for the past week. But his eyes, his warm brown eyes were slightly familiar. Usually there was a light in them a sparkle that was almost inhuman. Something supernatural, a gift from above. Now that light was out.
"Oh…An…Ang-gel," Mark stuttered in shock. "I'm sorry…come on in."
Angel was dressed in a black short sleeve T-shirt that was about three sizes too big for him and a pair of black slacks that were baggy around his waist. A thin brown belt held them up, a new hole had to be made to accommodate Angel's slight waist. "Thanks," He whispered in a deep voice that was almost as unrecognizable as Angel's looks. Even his ever present make up and wig was absent.
Roger came out of the bedroom buttoning his navy blue shirt. When he raised his head he paused. "Angel?" He asked in a whisper.
Angel nodded slowly looking down at his shoes. They were normal dress shoes that should have been thrown away years ago. The leather was wearing down on both the soles and the top of the shoe. Angel stared at them unable to look at his friends in the eye.
"Angel…did you want to come with us to the church?" Roger asked taking a few steps closer to him. Mark stood off to the side holding his hands at his chest. What could he say to Angel? There just weren't any words.
"That…yeah. Thanks," Angel said while inhaling a small bit of air, which seemed like an effort. "I…I came here…I don't have a nice black dress shirt. This…is his," He explained tugging at the shirt he had on. "Can…do you have one? Either of you?"
Roger nodded quickly. "I should. Hang tight," He jogged back into his room leaving Angel and Mark alone.
Angel commenced looking at his shoes. The filmmaker gulped and looked out the window for a moment. Maybe this was all just a bad dream…and he would wake up and everyone would be all right. Angel's face would be light and covered in brightly covered make-up. And she would be happy.
Mark knew he should say something. Something productive and helpful. Maybe hopeful. "Umm…did you…I have a black belt…I mean if you wanted to match. If not…that's cool."
"That's ok, Mark," Angel said still looking at the ground. "This is Mimi's…men belts don't fit me." Neither do women's it seems, Mark thought to himself.
"Here," Roger said coming out with a black shirt on a hanger. "The end could use some ironing…but you could probably just tuck that in," He slipped it off and passed it to Angel.
"Thank you, Roger," Angel mumbled brushing away a tear that Mark didn't notice. Then he carefully and slowly pulled the T-shirt over his head. Shadows of removed lesions covered his chest as a reminder of the time they almost lost him. In October. But now it was the end of November...and they were still in mourning.
Mark watched Angel's shaking fingers struggle to slip every button into the small holes. Could he offer help? Angel was a grown man after all…he could handle it…couldn't he? If he offered help, Angel would be annoyed. He could handle it.
"Need help?" Roger asked gently coming closer.
"Yeah…I'm…shaky," Angel explained saying the last word as if it carried a significant amount of weight with it. The rocker came over without a second thought and buttoned up the rest of Angel's shirt.
Roger took a step back. "Fits you ok," He said with a nod.
"Yeah…not as bad," Angel said slipping his hand along the shirt to tuck it into his pants. "I um…thank you." He took a deep breath and brushed down his clothes. "Is…is it time to go yet?"
"It's 8:12," Mark replied immediately. That was something he could do without emotion. Tell everyone the time. Remind them of the time and when they needed to go and where they needed to be. Just keep knowing and saying and telling. That way he could get through.
Roger nodded. "Then let's go," He said quietly. Mark saw the tears forming on his face again. And for a moment…he was jealous. Roger opened the door to the loft for Angel and Mark. As Mark passed, Roger took a hold of his sleeve and pulled him close to whisper. "Keep an eye on him, ok?"
"Yeah. We both will," Mark said quietly which Roger agreed with. The door was closed and they walked down the stairs both sets of eyes on Angel's form.
They reached the streets and the cold hit their bodies without any mercy. "Fuck," Roger muttered. "Angel, you need a coat."
Angel turned around and shook his head. "Short walk…"
"You need it," Roger reiterated.
"I'll go grab one," Mark volunteered backing towards the building again. Angel simply looked down at his shoes while Roger nodded. A few minutes later, Mark came back with a heavy coat and his scarf. After some thought, Mark decided that it was appropriate. Collins had bought it for him after all. "Here…" Mark helped Angel into the coat and then passed the scarf to Angel. "It'll keep you warm."
Angel looked up at Mark, tears in his eyes. "Ok. If you insist." He carefully wrapped the scarf around his neck as if it was a rite in a religious ceremony.
"It's 8:15…" Mark reminded them. "We should go…" He was satisfied with himself now as he made some type of contribution.
Roger put his hand on Angel's back and guided him through the streets. The three men fell into a deep silence, perhaps lost in memories or in simple grief. Mark remembered when he first received the scarf from him. It was just a random gift, no holiday or birthday. Just a gift.
"Cohen. Catch," He said throwing the scarf into Mark's face.
"Oh thanks," Mark grumbled pulling it down into his hands. "Wow…this…this is nice. Where did you get it?"
He shrugged. "The department store. I remembered you mentioned you needed one. So I got it."
Mark raised his brow. "And did you pay for it?"
"Yes, yes, Mr. Goody-two-shoes. I swear, Markie, you gotta go wild one day," He said with that wide sparkling smile. "Steal a pack of gum or something. Go against the system."
"I'll leave all that to you, Collins," Mark said with a chuckle. "I prefer to stay away from jail as much as possible." The two men laughed as they often did. And Mark never let the scarf go. Perhaps it was necessity or an emotional attachment when Collins went to Massachusetts. Either way, it was his favorite article of clothing. And it was only fair that Angel would wear it.
As they rounded the block, Mark raised his head to see the steeple of the church. So many times he saw that steeple and was just shocked at its height. Now he was weighed down by it. Instead of amazement it was a feeling of insignificance. A reminder that there was something much larger then themselves. Something larger that had the power to begin life so wonderfully and end it so cruelly.
Angel stopped suddenly. "I ca..can't," He stuttered while starting to turn around. "No…I can't."
Roger grabbed Angel's shoulders. "Yes you can Angel. If you don't go today you'll always regret it. You can do this."
Angel pushed Roger's hands away from him and shook his head. "You don't understand," He replied his chest heaving up and down. "I didn't just loose him. I didn't just…he…he's not just gone. He's dead. And it's my fault."
Mark and Roger shot either other a glance before turning to Angel again. "No…Angel how could it be your fault?" Roger asked him quietly.
"I was the one who was sick," He said his voice getting louder. "It was me that should have died. I…I was the one. I'm weaker and more frail than he is…" The facts dawned on him as he let out a sob. "He was. He should have lived so many years…but he caught it from me. When I got better he got worse. Sitting in the chair every night with me…not caring for himself so he could be with me 24/7. I killed him! He got sick because of me!" Angel started to scream as his whole body shook.
"No Angel-"
"Yes," He snapped back. Not caring who stopped to look at him as they walked past. "I did Roger. If I never got sick he wouldn't have gotten sick…you can't ignore that fact. You can't."
Roger looked away for a moment and then whispered, "Angel…he loved you so damn much. When you were sick…nothing could tear him away from you. Nothing. He loved you."
"Then he was sentenced to death for loving me?" Angel asked letting out a sob. "What…what kind of world is this when you are killed because you love. I wish he never knew me…then I could live knowing that-"
"No," Mark jumped in grabbing Angel's hands. "He would have rather have died then never met you, Angel. You didn't know him…when he was so damn hopeful. Said goodnight to the love of his life on a star because he didn't find you yet. But he knew that he would one day. No Angel…you were everything to him. I don't think he would have rather died any other way."
Angel's face was now covered with tears and he struggled to pull himself from Mark's hands. But the filmmaker refused to let him go. "You know that Angel. You know how much he loved you…he would have never given that up for anything," Roger said his voice hoarse.
"But he's gone! He's gone," Angel yelled his voice becoming shrill and broken. "He'll never smile again, he'll never dance again, he'll never smoke another joint, he'll never kiss me again. He'll never…say that he loves me again…he's dead!"
"What's his name Angel?" Roger whispered.
"No…no I won't," Angel said shaking his head furiously. "I can't…"
"What's his name?" Mark chimed in still holding onto Angel.
Angel found a new sense of strength and pulled herself away from Mark's hold. "His name is Tom Collins. And he's dead. Are you happy now?" Angel cried out.
Roger shook his head. "I miss him…and I know you do too…but we'll…be ok."
"Be ok?" Angel asked with a harsh laugh. "I don't know how to breathe anymore Roger. I don't know how to take another breath."
"Then you'll just have to learn how to breathe all over again, chica," Mimi's quiet and calm voice said. The dancer reached out to take Angel's delicate hand in her own. "You'll learn…"
Angel turned to Mimi and fell into her arms. As Angel sobbed, Mimi ran her hand along Angel's back. Benny stood off to the side, his face stonier than usual. Mark watched him knowing why…he never made up with Collins. He would never know if his old best friend forgave him for what he did. It couldn't have been easy…but at least he didn't have to watch Collins pass away. Watching Angel loose her strength was scary…watching his already slight form turn even slighter. But Collins…he was strong. Never had an outbreak, never had a rough patch since he was diagnosed. And that was three years ago. He was fine, he was healthy, but then November 15th hit. The next three days he deteriorated. Fevers, lost control of his bodily functions, he couldn't even manage to breathe on his own. It was fast and it was ugly. And as long as Mark lived, he knew that the dangerously thin form of one of his closest friends would haunt him. His face sunken in and his strong-arms so weak. Angel stood by his side, but she couldn't hide her fear like Collins had for her. There was no time for her to re-group… Mimi said that she found Angel curled up in Collins' arms hours after he passed away.
"Mark…" Maureen's sweet voice whispered as he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see her face was already covered in so-called waterproof make-up.
"Maureen…" They embraced, all of their history fading away as none of it mattered today. All that mattered was the friendship that they lost.
"Guys…it's 8:30.." Joanne said from the steps of the church. "We should probably go inside." Just then Mark realized that him and Joanne weren't so different after all. Benny filed in the church behind her only pausing for a moment to check on Mimi. She was holding onto Angel, helping him walk up the steps as if he was an elderly man going to the funeral of his lover of sixty years. Mark took Maureen's hand while she took Roger's. The three of them had been the start of it all. They all meet Collins at the same time, and fell for his charm, beauty, and gentleness. They were the start of it.
"We should go," Mark said whispering and nodding to his friends.
They walked into the church, the smell of the incense filling their noses right away. The flowers placed at the alter. The flowers that they couldn't afford. Benny donated a large bouquet of daises. Although it was not the most elegant flower, all who knew Collins knew that it was his favorite flower. Purely for its simpleness. There was another generic bouquet from the hospital. And a smaller bouquet from his students and colleagues at NYU. A few of younger people stood at the back of the church grasping on to one another. And the last bouquet was from the people at Life Support. Paul, Steve, and Ally were standing together, brushing tears from their eyes.
And the coffin…Mark couldn't bring himself to look for more than a moment.
The reverend spoke foreign words that Mark's ears couldn't comprehend. But he followed and repeated when necessary. He watched Angel's form being held up my Mimi and Roger. Standing was now too much of an activity for him to handle. Mark looked up at the stain glass window, the light shining in stung his eyes but he kept them still for a moment. He wasn't sure why or if there was a reason why. But he did.
"I would now like to ask friends and family to say a few words," The reverend said.
Family? Mark couldn't help but smirk. What family? The ones that disowned their son, not when they found out that he was gay, but when he was positive. They couldn't have someone with that disease in the family. No, they were his family.
Roger slowly walked up to the altar and cleared his throat. "I knew we'd hit it off the moment that we met. I was out with Mark and Maureen…just talking and eating dinner at Brown. Back when we thought we would graduate…or at least finish a semester. And he came over. Sat down with his colleagues at first. They were talking about some type of politics…I can't remember what…." Roger paused his eyes closing for a moment. "Then he stood up and just left. The other professors looked at him like he was insane…and then he asked if he could sit with us…cause we had to be smarter than those so called professors. He might have gained a few enemies that day…but he gained three friends for life…" He nodded and walked back down the steps to join Angel and Mimi. No doubt, playing with the key to his new car in his pocket.
Joanne made her way up and stared at the coffin for a few moments before saying, "There was this time…that Collins and I were just…walking in the street. And he saw from the corner of his eye…a young girl…she had to be about fifteen. She was…obviously in some kind of stress. And he stopped and went up to her asked her what was wrong. A complete stranger. And it was clear after taking to her that she was scared of someone. But she didn't want to explain it him. So, Collins brought her to his apartment. And she slept on the couch that night. Later…she left him a note saying that her boyfriend had threatened to kill her. And that she would be ok…thanks to him." Joanne pushed some strands of hair behind her ear and walked back down to the pews where she sat by herself. She didn't dare to look over at Maureen as they had yet to reconcile.
Maureen left Mark's side to take her place at the front of the congregation. "So much more passionate than any of us. You would read about this philosophical theory and spend weeks trying explain it to anyone who would listen. And even if we didn't understand we felt it. We felt your love. You would go dancing around the loft…for no apparent reason other than to make us laugh and smile. And you did. You were always there to protect us…and watch over us. You said you always wanted to be a big brother…but you were. To all of us." She looked down and slowly made her way to Angel. The two embraced quickly and then Angel found strength in him to stand next to the coffin.
He simply stared at the picture there. One of the few pictures where Collins wasn't smiling, but simply looking hopeful and into the distance. Angel shoulders shook but then he quickly regained composure.
Then in an angelic voice, deeper and richer than anyone else was used to, he sang. "Live in my house. I'll be your shelter. Just pay me back with one thousand kisses. Be my…" His voice gave out for a moment before he continued, "Lover…and I'll cover you" Angel balled up his right fist and then spread his hands onto the coffin. "I think they meant it when they said you can't buy love. Now I know you can rent it. A new lease you are my love…on life. All of my life. All of my life…" He repeated his voice fading into the high ceilings.
Mimi started to head up towards him but Angel shook his head slowly. He had one more thing to do. With a deep breath, he lowered his head to kiss the coffin.
Mark knew that it was wrong. That something should have been different. But he had to wonder if all deaths felt so out of place. So anachronistic in someway. The threat was there…and always visible. But Collins? Now?
"How did we get here?" Mark whispered under his breath as he finally started to cry.