Author's Note: I like Paul. He seems so unassuming, calm, assured and assuring. Paul is cool… I'm intrigued by the character. So why not delve into the realms of angst and write a little sum'in-sum'in about him?!
Disclaimer: I (sniff sniff) don't own RENT! Thank you, Jonathan Larson.
Life Goes On"Excuse me for a minute, guys. I'll be right back."
They all nod, and smile dejectedly after him as he exits.
He barely makes it into the bathroom stall before tears rise. He leans back against the door and grips his hair hard enough to tear it out. He can't breath from the strain of his silent sobs. The phone call he received mere hours ago replays in his mind, and it's like he's listening in on someone else's conversation…
"Paul? Paul Krazinsky?"
The woman's tone is clipped, efficient. He can usually guess who's calling him the second he hears them breath. He doesn't know her.
"Speaking?"
"This is Eileen Truman…Allison Truman's sister?"
He takes in a sharp, anxious breath, but when he speaks his tone is calm, vaguely pleasant.
"Afternoon, Eileen. How is Ali? We haven't heard from her in a few-"
"Allison passed away this morning." A short, quiet sniff. "She uh…she asked me to call you first, if anything ever…happened."
He closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair wearily.
"Eileen, I am so sorry. Ali was-"
"Yes, well…thank you. Thank you for everything. Goodbye."
He covers his face with his hands and exhales. He has mastered the art of crying without shedding sufficient tears.
He has gotten many calls like this. His job involves a pattern. He meets people, he tries to make a family for them, he begins to love them. He loves them for their heart, he loves them for their fear, he loves them simply because they need to be loved. He helps as best he can. And then they die. And he has to tell the others. There are always tears, never his own. He can't bring himself to weep with them.
Yet if he were counseling himself he would say, "It's nothing to be ashamed of. You're allowed to be sad, too."
Still, he feels like an idiot and leaves the stall hastily, trying to outrun his hurt. He washes and dries his face, and tries to fill his lungs with air. He breathes, but still feels hollow inside.
He re-enters the hall, the ghost of a smile on his face. His remaining family sit quietly. Tom reflects his smile and there's a peace about him, above the sorrow. Roger stares at the floor, Mimi at Roger, Steve's hands are in his jacket pockets…
There are empty chairs. When Angel was with them, she had defiantly proclaimed that they wouldn't make the circle any smaller.
They all look to him as he sits. They always look to him. They need him, and he knows a part of him thrives on that.
Paul has never been cut out for missionary work. Something in him aches when he sees those kids, all over the world, sick and alone and afraid. But there will always be good people, willing to go out there and save lives. Paul wants to save lives, too. In his own meager way. There are a lot of people that need to be helped, right here in New York.
They die. People have to die. And there's life after that. Life goes on.
But it's still so hard not to cry.
A/N: I hope this isn't too short. I didn't want to write more just for the sake of it! Only review if you're moved to do so. If you're not, then I haven't done a very good job! But even then it's okay. I shall improve with the aid of my constructively critical reviewers!