Title: The Feast of Saint Valentine
Author: London
Feedback: is nice
Pairing: All the pairings in the film/play
Word Count: 3762
Rating: R to be safe, but it's just for swearing
Genre: General/Romance/A tiny dab of angst, but only a dab
Summary: Angel and Mimi orchestrate a party in honor of Valentine's Day, but Mimi and Roger are reaching a rocky point, and to make matters worse, Roger doesn't believe in Valentine's Day.
Notes: This is set during RENT, BEFORE Valentine's Day, about a week before, in order to circumnavigate the fights. I'm sorry, I'm just so happy. Also, I hope everyone understands the Spanish and Yiddish. I tried to keep it pretty basic, but just in case there's a little list at the bottom of the words I used. And, once more, this is a winter story, but, well, suffice to say it's over 75 degrees out today.
Special Thanks: St Valentine
Spoilers: There's one in the Yiddish section for the film of RENT
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drug addiction, people drinking alcohol
Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson is the god of the RENTverse. He owns all.

For weeks, the girls had planned. It had been a sporadic thing, words exchanged in their brief moments alone together, making them feel like children playing at a fantasy too private, too humiliating for its privacy, to be shared. Nothing firm was decided until, at the start of the month, Angel called Maureen and Mark and invited them and their respective comrades to a little pre-Valentine's party. Then all the scrimped and saved bills were wadded together, the shopping undertaken, the pre-chosen recipes looked over again, until all that remained was the cooking.

Mimi and Angel stood together in the kitchen, mired in the oven's warmth while outside the February snow nipped at ears and noses. "You know they call it Singles' Awareness Day?" Angel asked, adding her breath to the heat of the room.

Mimi gasped. "No," she replied. "Who?"

"Singles, of course! I guess people who don't want relationships, or don't need it rubbed in their noses that they don't have them. So they go around saying 'Happy SAD!'" Angel pulled oven mittens onto her hands, opened the oven and peeped inside. "Fifteen more minutes," she decreed.

Mimi leaned against the counter in Angel and Collins' small kitchen and inhaled deeply. "Mm, this reminds me of my mother. Some of the smells are different, but…" She trailed off, unable to describe exactly her half-remembrance.

Angel stripped off one mitten and used her protected hand to lift the lid of their soup pot. "Cόmo?" she asked.

Indulging curiosity and memory, Mimi explained, "Cuando mi Mamí era cocinando, yo conocé nada pero Tango hambre!. Y mas, la sopa de tortilla era muy popular con mi y mis hermanos cuando estuvimos niños, y Mamí la hago muy caliente. Y, cuando yo era 13, 14, y cuando regresé al casa, había aromas deliciosas…"

"Donde estabas antes de eso?" Angel asked.

"No sé," Mimi admitted.

Satisfied that all was going well, Angel set both mittens on the counter, faced Mimi and said, "Cuando mi mamá cocinó, yo era con ella, cortando vegetales… muchos cebollas," she added, then pulled a face. "Honestly, I could've done with less. So, and I only as this because I'm worried about you, how are things with Roger?"

Mimi took a deep breath. "I think I need alcohol for this one."

Angel gave a knowing, disapproving sigh and offered an open bottle half-full of red wine. "You know, if it's that bad--"

"It's not that bad," Mimi interrupted. "But, you know, he's protective. He wants me to find a new job; he's always bringing up school. Just last week I found a class listing in his apartment--the pages with correspondence courses were earmarked."

"Did you confront him about it?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Mimi shrugged. "Same old, same old. I told him I couldn't get by on waitressing, especially not with class fees. He said get a fee waiver, move in with him--"

Angel's jaw dropped. "He asked you to move in with him?"

"It wasn't romantic," Mimi assured her. "We… might have raised our voices. Anyway, it wasn't pretty. Finally he said that he knew it wasn't just the class fees, because if I was doing fine off my Cat Scratch pay then why are things disappearing from my apartment?"

"Well, why are they?" Angel asked.

Mimi crossed her arms. "I'm trying to cut back," she said defensively. "It's hard. You've never been there."

Angel took a hit off the wine bottle, trying to ignore the taste of the stuff. Momentarily she weighed the risk of Mimi taking offense against the undeniable knowledge that it was the right thing to say. "Mimi, chica, you know I love you… maybe Roger's right. I know it's all too easy to say," she added hurriedly, "but maybe… well, baby steps. If you got off the drugs this year, next year the two of you can talk about school."

The way Angel said the words, next year, so casually, Mimi almost believed the concept sure. She almost believed Angel was truly checking the oven again, not hiding a pained face. She felt the stirrings within her of a constant memory, something done again and again as a tradition, as this might become a tradition.

Mimi took a quick swig of wine. With this group, there could be no traditions. There were no 'last-year's. There was only one today after another, and that was what needed to be.

TO BE CONTINUED

It's already finished, really. This was for speedrent, but I like it more in short chapters.

The Spanish means, essentially:

"How?"

"When my mom was cooking, all I knew was that I was hungry. Also, when my siblings and I were little we all really liked tortilla soup, which Mom made really spicy. When I was thirteen or fourteen, I'd come back to the house and there were tasty smells."

"Where were you before?"

"I don't know."

"When my mother cooked, I was with her, cutting vegetables. A lot of onions."