Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did.
A/N: I am extremely tired, so this is utterly un-beta-ed and quite disorganized. Character death.

Angel once told me that I was a tough cookie. Such a typical Angel thing to say. I remember it so clearly. It was Valentine's Day. Collins and Angel had stopped by the loft before going out to dinner together. I had been in my room trying to work on my film, with absolutely no intention of joining in on the festivities. After all, I had no one to celebrate with. But they all dragged me out and threw heart-shaped confetti over me. In the process of this, Mimi started shrieking about confetti in her shirt.

"Ahhh! Get it out! It itches!" Mimi was wiggling all over, trying to dislodge sprinkles of confetti everywhere.

Roger wrapped his arms around her waist. "I can help you with that." He was grinning devilishly as he grabbed Mimi's hand and led her downstairs to her apartment. Before she was out the door, she turned back to the group in the middle of the loft and winked. That was her plan all along, I realized. And for some reason, that bugged me.

I shrugged and went to sit on the couch, grabbing a random deck of cards on the table. I began playing a game of Solitare, finding the game fit all too well.

I remember Angel whispering something in Collins' ear before sending him out the door and coming to sit next to me.

"Marky, honey, are you going to be okay?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" I was throwing cards on the table with increasing force.

She brushed my hair out of my eyes. "Don't blame Mimi. It's not her fault." I must have looked confused, because she smiled, one of her all-knowing smiles, like when you became a drag queen the mysteries of the world were revealed to you. "You'll figure it out. And you'll get through it. You're one tough cookie, Mark. When all of us are gone, you'll still be here, and you'll keep going on. You'll do just fine." She kissed me on the cheek, then walked to the door and left.

It took me about a month more to figure it out. Roger and Mimi had had yet another fight. He came upstairs and after his usual initial anger, he burst into tears. I was prepared for the anger. This new emotion coming from Roger was entirely alien to me. Roger never cried.

"Roger, what happened?"

"Benny. That stupid sick cheating yuppie fuck!"

I moved over to Roger, slightly unsure of how to act. I tentatively reached out and touched his shoulder. When he didn't snap, I pulled him into my arms and just held him, trying to make the tremors subside. The only time he had ever let me do this before was during his withdrawal, and he doesn't even remember that. It felt good. As his breathing slowly became more regular, I leaned down to kiss his forehead.

About an inch away, I froze, lips puckered. What the hell was I doing? I was about to kiss my best friend. Belatedly, I realized that this is what I had wanted all along. This is why I felt such unrest when Mimi was around. This is why, on Christmas Eve, I had started dancing on tables and singing. I desperately wanted attention, wanted to be the one who had brought Roger out of his depression.

I jumped up, pulling away from a very confused Roger. Was that disappointment in his eyes? No, I thought to myself, he's just sad that he doesn't have anyone to hold him. Thats all. I ran to my room, not emerging until I heard Roger's own door close.

It's been torture since then. Pure, unadulterated torture. Every time I saw Mimi, I hated her. I knew, deep down, I shouldn't blame her, but I did. Every moment near her was agony.

I never showed it. I put on a little happy Mark face, filming things as usual and trying to forget my hatred, my jealousy, my guilt. I put up with every bit of it, because I refused to leave my friends. I refused to stop living.

Until now. It's Christmas Eve again. Mimi is still alive, just barely hanging on, and Roger is sitting next to her. He refuses to leave. The love he has, the pedestal he placed her on, is evident in his eyes. Just like his song says. The goddamn song I wish he hadn't found, because then he wouldn't be with Mimi today.

Everyone is so relieved that Mimi's still alive that they don't notice I've disappeared. I'm locked in the bathroom with my camera set up neatly on the sink, recording my every move, the emotions flickering through my eyes. The camera is recording my utter defeat. I can't take it anymore. I have no real place in this group of loving, vibrant people. I'm just the witness. I never participate, and I'm not worth anything because of it.

I glance at my watch as I remove it and set it beside the camera. 11:59. Its almost Christmas. Oh well, what do I care, I'm Jewish. I slowly pick up the blade I've removed from Roger's razor. It glints in the light. I laugh at how I never needed to use one. I was frozen in time, getting no older, nor any younger. I was Mark, the dependable one, never changing. Not really living, because change is life.

Slowly, I bring the blade and press it down on my arm, barely feeling the pain. I know from April that you cannot kill yourself by slitting across. You have to slide up the vein. I do so, watching the blood seep out of the wound with increasing speed. It's thick and dark, dripping onto the floor. I barely have enough strength left to slit the other arm.

There are spots in front of my eyes, in every color. I see myself sliding to the floor, knocking my watch off the sink in the process. My head is spinning and my vision is slowly getting darker. Before I shut my eyes, I catch a glimpse of my watch again. 12:01. Merry Christmas, I think bitterly as the world fades to black. I have only one conscious thought before I fall under.

I guess even tough cookies can be broken.