1If You Could See Her
A/N: Well, once in a while, I hear a musical, then forget about it. Then one song starts to buzz around my head, and I become obsessed with the musical for a while. That would be Cabaret right now. I saw Adam's episode on Cold Case (THANK YOU, RAJAH! XD)and had Wilkommen stuck in my head for a WHILE.
So all I've been listening to is the soundtrack... and this song COMPLETELY reminded me of Collins, COMPLETELY. So I wrote CollinsAngel... my first time EVER writing this couple. Go easy!
— —
Just another normal day.
Mark decided he wanted to go on a tour of NYC, even though he fucking lives there. Of course, that meant that Roger and Mimi were going to come and have a make-out session. Maureen and Joanne tagged along, also to have a make-out session, and Mark and I were alone. As always.
Well, at least Mark had his camera.
It was days like this that weren't good for my health. When Mark would animatedly point out statues and things, it reminded me of her. When Mimi would smooth out her skirt, it reminded me of her. When Joanne would whisper things into Maureen's ear, it reminded me of her. When Roger hugged Mimi from behind, it reminded me of her.
Everything reminded me of her.
Maureen and Joanne held hands, and as we walked through crowds, many people pointed and scoffed, or made disgusted faces. This royally pissed me off. Why couldn't everyone accept different people? When would the world stop with prejudice?
"Why are you holding hands?" some punk teenager snickered at Maureen, and then ran into his buddies, still clucking.
"Hey!" I called after him. "Fuck you!"
Everybody stopped moving.
Well, now that I had everyone's attention...
I jumped on top of a bunch of benches around a statue of some guy with a gun, sending pigeons flying everywhere. "Collins, what are you doing?" Maureen hissed, grabbing my hand and trying to tug me down. "It's fine, it happens everywhere we go! Get down from the bench and stop making a scene!"
"No," I simply said back, cracking my knuckles. "This is for Angel."
Clearing my throat, I looked at the crowd and started singing. "I know what you're thinking. You wonder why I chose her out of all the ladies in the world. That's just a first impression, what good's a first impression? Huh?" I bent down and got in the face of someone walking by. "If you knew her like I do, it would change your point of view..." I held the note and hopped to a bench facing a different direction.
"If you could see her through my eyes, you wouldn't wonder at all. If you could see her through my eyes, I guarantee you would fall, like I did..." I hastily added. "When we're in public together, I hear society moan. But if they could see her through my eyes, maybe they'd leave us alone!"
"Collins," Maureen seethed, pulling on my hand again. "Collins, stop! You're making people stop and—"
"They're listening!" I mumbled through my teeth.
In front of me, Mark put down his camera case.
"How can I speak of her virtues? I don't know where to begin! She's clever, she's smart, she reads music—she doesn't smoke or drink gin! ... like I do," I added out of the side of my mouth, and people who'd stopped laughed. "Yet when we're walking together, they sneer if I'm holding her hand... but if they could see her through my eyes, maybe they'd all understand!"
Grabbing an old man sitting on the bench next to mine's cane, I did a dance, swaying to music that Mark was now making against the statue. Roger was on some sort of drums coming from somewhere. I stopped the dance and bowed to the man, mouthing thank-you before asking, "Why can't they leave us alone?"
A French couple walked slowly by me. "Meine damen und herren, mesdames and messieurs, ladies and gentlemen." The couple stopped walking. "Is it a crime to fall in love? Can we ever tell where the heart truly leads us? All we are asking is eine bisschen verstandnis. Why can't the world 'leben und leben lassen?' 'Live and let live...'"
I sighed and stood back up on top of the bench. "I understand your objection. I grant you the problem's not small..." I sat down on the bench, tears forming in my eyes. I eyed the now full crowd of people around me, pleading. "But if you could see her through my eyes..." my voice was now quiet, choked with sobs. "She wouldn't look..." I struggled for a word, and then spat it. "Manly... at all."
There was silence in the group, and then there was applause. People in front of me were clapping me on the back, though the punk kid still looked unaffected and walked away, probably laughing or something.
Then I saw my friends. Mimi and Roger, holding hands, looked sad, and Roger had a concerned glint in his eye. Mark's face was glum. Joanne was looking at her feet, her shoulders shaking. But where was—
Something collided with me, and then I was being hugged hard. I almost fell over the bench, and when I looked up, there was Maureen. "That was beautiful, Collins," her teary eyes were filled with joy and sadness and compassion.
I smiled sadly and eyed Roger. "I'll be okay."
He nodded and hugged me. "That was an awesome performance," he added. "She'd love it."
"Good," I grinned. "Because that was for her."
A/N: It was a bit of a debate whether to have Angel alive or not, but I figured that to have her dead made it that much more sentimental. He looked crazy and schizophrenic and nuts, singing about a nonexistent person he loved; but it made it that much more darling that he did it anyway.
Review?
–Steph.