Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or other things you recognize in this story.
A/N: This is my first fic about anything other than ER. I just saw RENT on Broadway and I saw the movie, and this popped into my head while I was eating Thanksgiving dinner. It's kind of weird at first, but it explains itself as it goes. I also don't know what day Thanksgiving was on in 1991, so I guessed.
I hope you like it!
Roger laid his head against Mimi on the couch, clearly exhausted. She reached down to tuck the blanket around his legs tighter. The Thanksgiving turkey stood forgotten on the counter, slowly getting colder and colder, a testament to the sudden change the holiday had taken.
"How do you feel?" she asked, brushing his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes.
"Like shit," Roger coughed, putting a hand to his chest in pain.
Mark, Maureen, Joanne and Collins sat off to the side, watching sadly.
"Can I get you anything?"
Roger shook his head. "I've got all I need here," he whispered, coughing again.
Maureen was sobbing into Joanne's shoulder while Collins bit back his own sobs. Mark was staring into space, tears glistening in his eyes.
Mimi leaned forward to kiss his lips gently. "I love you," she whispered, her own tears falling onto Roger's cheeks.
"Love you, too."
"Are you sure you don't want to call a doctor?" Joanne asked, brushing Maureen's hair from her face.
"No," Roger whispered, his face creasing in pain.
FLASHBACK
"Where the hell is Roger?" Mark asked, watching as Joanne checked on the turkey in the oven.
"He went for a walk," Mimi said, looking up from the book she was reading on the couch. Collins was sitting near her, watching Maureen and Joanne's attempts to cook a Thanksgiving dinner. Mark was sitting at the counter, camera in his hands, attempting to throw off the chill that filled the loft.
Turning on the camera, he focused on Joanne's face as she checked on the turkey. "November 24, 3 P.M. Close on Joanne, checking on the turkey, which is going on its sixth hour in the oven," he said, ducking when she flung a dishtowel in his direction.
Collins laughed from the couch as Maureen walked over to help Joanne. "Are you sure you're doing it right?" she asked, a laugh in her voice.
"Yes, I'm sure," Joanne snapped, glaring at Maureen.
"Sorry," she giggled, poking Joanne in the ribs.
"Should someone go look for Roger?" Mark asked, changing the subject before a fight broke out.
"He'll be back soon enough," Collins said, looking at Mimi.
"Do you know where he went?" she asked, closing her book.
"No," Collins answered, too quickly for her liking.
"You do know," she complained, flinging a pillow at him.
"It's a secret. Roger'll tell you himself when he gets back."
Mimi reached to adjust the blood-soaked bandage covering Roger's chest. "It wasn't supposed to end like this," she replied, taking the towel Collins offered her to press to the wound.
"I'm-sorry," Roger coughed out, blood flying from his mouth.
Maureen let out a cry of anguish.
"It's not your fault," Mimi sobbed, kissing his forehead. "God, Roger, this isn't your fault."
"Hurts," he whispered, clutching at her hand.
FLASHBACK
The five friends looked around when the door slid open, relieved that Roger had finally come home. They were startled when he nearly fell through the door, clutching convulsively at his chest.
"Roger!" Mimi cried, running to her boyfriend, catching his body as he fell.
"Mimi," he whispered, glazed eyes looking into hers.
"Roger, oh, God, what happened?" she asked, looking up at Mark and Collins, who had run over.
"So cold," he murmured, shivering.
"Bring him to the couch," Mark said, his voice shaking.
He helped Collins and Mimi carry Roger to the couch, where they lay him down, covering him with blankets. Maureen and Joanne ran over, worry in their faces.
"He's bleeding," Mimi cried, holding up her hand for the others to see.
She pulled open his jacket, crying out when she saw the blood staining his shirt.
"Oh, God, Roger, what happened?" she asked, tears running down her cheeks.
"Attacked-knife," he gasped out, teeth chattering.
"Call 911!" Joanne shouted, running to the bathroom to get towels.
Roger shook his head. "Too-late," he breathed, clearly struggling to get air.
"You can't do this to me," Mimi cried, as Mark took the towel Joanne handed him to press to the wound.
"Roger, let us call a doctor," he said, hands shaking.
Maureen flung herself into Joanne's arms. Collins took the towel from Mark, his hands steadier.
"No," Roger whispered, closing his eyes
"I'll say hi to Angel," Roger breathed, closing his eyes.
"No!" Maureen cried out, clutching at Joanne's jacket.
Roger's hand slipped limply from Mimi's, his face falling into an expression of peace. Mimi screamed, pulling his body into her arms. Mark's tears fell freely now, while Collins held a shaking hand over his mouth.
"God, Roger, you bastard!" Mimi shouted, hitting his limp arm. "It wasn't supposed to be like this!"
"Mimi, it's over," Collins whispered, rubbing a hand over her shoulders.
"No," she breathed, clutching at Roger's body. "He's not-it's not the-"
Collins pulled her arms from Roger, wrapping his own around her. "Shhh," he said quietly, running his hand over her back. Mark was crying into his hands, his camera lying forgotten at his side. Maureen had buried her face against Joanne, whose own tears were streaming silently down her face.
As Roger fell back onto the couch, a small velvet box fell from his pants pocket, opening as it clattered to the floor. Startled, Mimi picked her head up from Collins's shoulder. A small diamond ring caught the dying light of the sun, sending rays of light around the room.
A collective gasp broke the tense silence as Mimi picked it up. Her tears falling harder, she read the inscription on the back:
No Day But Today
Mimi & Roger-11/24/91
That was fairly depressing. Please review, I want to know if people liked it. I don't think I'm going to continue it, though.