Summary: By the luck of Christmas Spirit, Angel and Collins are brought together on a most glorious Christmas Eve. Through the best and worst of times, they will find a way to stay happy and together, no matter what the cost.

A/N: Welcome to my first story since I've come back to this website. It's been a long, long while and I'm happy to be here. This story poofed itself into my brain on Christmas eve and wouldn't go away until I wrote it out. It's basically a RENT deleted scenes. I wanted to explore the relationship between Angel and Collins by showing you what we don't see on-screen. I chose to go by way of the movie, but your interpretation and mine are up to whoever. I hope you enjoy and would greatly appreciate your feedback. :)

Resting his chin on his hand, he took a deep breath and sang to himself: "Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Make the yuletide gay…" He stopped and took a drink of his wine and cast a gaze at his puny little Christmas tree. It was akin to a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, and it seemed to mirror his feelings: sad and lonesome. It had very few ornaments upon its tiny bows. He hadn't come into much money since moving out on his own, not that he thought he would. What happened this morning was just a fluke. Regardless of the amount of money he'd just fallen into, he wasn't going to waste it on some silly tree. He also didn't think that being alone on Christmas Eve would be so lonely, but it was. He was heartbrokenly lonely. He thought that at least his best friend would have carved some time out of her busy schedule of stripping and getting high, but no. Not likely this Christmas.

With a reluctant sigh, Angel grabbed his pickle tub, his sticks, and headed out the door. Maybe people in the neighborhood would be more inclined to give him tips since it was Christmas Eve?

Feeling better now that the cool, crisp winter air was dancing on his cheeks, there was a skip in his step and a premeditated beat in his heart. He didn't know what was bound to ease out of his sticks, but whatever happened, happened. Angel was never one to question inspiration and gut feelings, especially since his diagnosis. Fate and whatever God that was up there looking down on him would show him the way.

He found a quaint little spot right on the corner of Avenue B. He didn't know what all of the ruckus was about, but the more people out the better: more money for Angel. He twirled his sticks in his hands once or twice, waiting for a soothing beat to start in his head. One came like a bolt of lightning, and wham: he was drumming away on that lucky pickle tub.

Angel picked up the drumming habit in school, and also at home in Tijuana. His parents didn't have a large home back in Mexico, so most of their pots and pans were laid out like a wondrous playground, especially for a child Angel's age. He was thee when he first banged his hand on one of those pots. After that, his parents moved to a house with cabinets, but that didn't stop little Anjie from pulling out every single pot. In grade school when they moved to America, he was the only boy to pick the drum set. You could say it was a natural talent that Angel possessed, but whatever it was, he was damn good at it.

Once in a while, some people would drop their spare change or some dollars, but after a while he stopped playing for the money, and THAT'S when it got exciting. The rhythms of the city blended with his drumming in the most beautiful of ways. It was almost as if Angel were the background music to a big, beautiful scene in a movie. His beats were matching to people walking, people talking, people laughing and singing. It was Christmas in New York: Where else would you rather be?

"Merry Christmas," he said joyfully as he paused to greet the lovely middle-aged couple that dropped a quarter on his tub.

He whispered to himself: "Christmas in New York." He flipped the quarter in the air, stashed it in his pocket, and resumed drumming.

A small, quiet cough jolted him out of his concentration. Confused, he looked around, but saw no one but himself and the couple that had just passed him. He checked his watch: it was hardly 8:30. Anyone who was out was probably out for a cigarette and that's it. Whatever the reason, Angel shrugged and continued to play, until he heard the cough once again. He picked up his backpack and his tub, and headed down the alley where he heard the noise, his hand gently stoking the knife in his pocket just in case. Angel was from Tijuana, he wasn't no idiot…

A black man was hunched over at the very end, in a pool of his own blood and ripped pieces of clothing. Angel dropped his things and ran over to him.

"Oh, my God! Are you okay, honey?"

The man waved him off. "I'm afraid so." Angel couldn't help but notice that he was the most beautiful black man Angel had ever seen. He had a striking jaw line, and his features were deliciously symmetrical. He had eyes so brown they were almost black.

"Did they get anything?" he asked timidly.

He shook his head. "I didn't have any money. They just took my coat." Angel took a cloth out of his backpack and raised it to the man's head, but he waved him off again. "No, I'm fine. I'm fine."

Something inside of the man burst into a million tiny flames of light in his eyes as Angel opened his mouth and said, "I'm Angel."

"Angel? My friends call me Collins. Tom, Tom Collins." From that moment on, neither lost eye contact with the other. It would have been a sin to do so.

"Come on," Angel whispered. "Let's get you cleaned up." He gently placed a hand under Tom's and lifted him up into a standing position. "I kind of have to hurry, though. I have a life support meeting to go to."

"Life support?"

"It's for people with AIDS; people like me."

"Me, too."