A/N: I know, I know, I haven't updated any chapter stories in AGES!!! I'll do the best I can to get something going, though I have reheasals for my school show going so strong that I'll be lucky to keep my brain from falling out of my head. Still, I'll try! In the meantime, enjoy this. I just figured that Collins and Mimi were bound to have some big emotinal scene eventually. Welp, here it is.

Mimi stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her. It seemed to be taunting her, teasingly dangling its unblemished purity in front of her nose. Mimi, you idiot, you can't even write a few stupid words about someone who you loved more than anything. You failure, you loser, you stupid, stupid girl, it sneered at her. Mimi ground her teeth together and grasped her stubby pencil in a vice-like grip.

"C'mon, Mimi, you can do this," she said out loud, feeling like even more of a dork. Her voice fell pathetically flat in the emptiness of her apartment. Mimi growled and kneaded the soft skin of her temples with her knuckles. Her mind felt beige-colored and cloudy and thoroughly uninspired. It would have seemed ridiculous to the Mimi of fifteen minutes ago that writing a simple eulogy could take so much effort. Now it was an intimidating and frustrating task that she knew would haunt her quite a while. Mimi had never been a genius when it came to writing, but she couldn't remember ever being this helpless, even in fifth-period English in high school.

A walk; yeah, that'll help. I'll clear my head and get something to eat, then I'll come back and write this damn thing, she decided. Feeling suddenly enthusiastic about her new agenda, Mimi got up and went to fetch her coat from where she'd thrown in on the bed the last time she came in. Pulling it on, she heard a soft sound from above. Mimi paused in her motions to listen to the sound, and within seconds she recognized it. Roger's hurried, erratic pacing, his footsteps echoing down through the floor and into her flat as a series of muffled taps. She rolled her eyes and finished putting on her coat. She used to sit on the window seat down in her flat and listen to that sound for ages, her mouth curving into a smile as she imagined him walking back and forth, his face intent and his hands fluttering through the air as if he were playing chords on an invisible guitar. Now that tapping just annoyed her. And maybe, deep inside, it twanged a little note of pain in her heart. But Mimi was too used to smothering notes like this to let it get to her.

The October air hit her as soon as she stepped out into the open; fresh and raw, so crisp that it seemed to crackle around her like firecrackers. Mimi started down the street, her worn combat boots clomping on the grainy cement. The scarf she had looped around her neck snagged on a needling gust of wind and struggled to break free, tugging gently towards the sky. Mimi brought it down and stuck her hands in her armpits. She never remembered to keep one of her few pairs of good gloves with her coat. Angel had always teased her about that; said she'd finally remember when a couple fingers froze off and she'd be so embarrassed to be short of fingers that she'd wear gloves all day to hide her hands.

It was like hearing a snatch of a song on someone's radio and then automatically running the next few notes through your brain before shutting off the sudden music. Once she had that one thought about Angel teasing her, Mimi's brain splashed images of Angel all over the inside of her mind. Mimi lost the feeling in her knees and nearly stumbled as she tried to push those thoughts away. But they were loud and bright and much too strong for her, and she was forced to stop walking and sink into a crouch as these unbidden pictures sent bolts of heartache through her.

"No…no, I won't," she muttered through clenched teeth. The few people walking by gave her a very wide birth; even in New York City, you were inclined to steer clear of people that were crouching in the middle of the sidewalk and talking to themselves.

Look at me, Mimi, Angel whispered to her from within her mind. You've been running away and now I've caught up, so stop hiding your damn face and look at me, look at me, LOOK AT ME.

"Okay, okay," Mimi half-gasped, half-sobbed. She began to rock back and forth on the balls of her feet, and now people started stepping off into the gutters to avoid her. "Okay, okay, I'll look at you…"

Look at me, look at me because I'm gone now and this is your last chance to see me. You've wasted too many days to waste this, and even now you're scared, you're scared shitless that it'll hurt to look at me. Well, here's a newsflash, I know pain too, I know it a thousand times better than you, so don't you dare protect yourself while I'm dead, look at me and cry, Mimi, cry until you have no more tears and even when you have nothing left to cry, I'll be whispering in your ear and you'll never escape, never forever…

Mimi was indeed crying now, great ugly cries that shook her thin frame like a rag doll. Her face was screwed up and contorted, and she pressed her hands to it. Strangers stopped to stare at her, and whispers of, "What's wrong with her?" and "Should someone get help?" drifted among them. And then someone who was also walking down the street pushed through the group of observers, knelt before Mimi, and grabbed her wrists.

"Get off of me!" she screamed, flailing and trying to claw those anonymous hands away. But as her own hands left her face and she saw who had approached her, the attack suddenly ceased while Mimi stared at the person who had intruded upon her grief.

It was Collins, achingly familiar knit cap and all. His body was tensed against her assault and his hands were still tight on her wrists, but he was kneeling before her with the wonderfully comforting air of someone who knew her and cared about her and could chase away the pain.

"Mimi…Mimi, calm down, it's okay," he whispered to her, and Mimi was sharply aware now of the people who were watching her, and of the tears on her face and the raw feeling in her throat, and maybe most of all she was aware of the absence of Angel's whispers in her ear. And all of this together combined to drain the anger from her; to change her from a grief-stricken, desperate, wild girl into a grief-stricken, weary, peaceful one. Mimi let herself fall forward against Collins' chest, and now she cried again, but with calm, slow tears. These were soft tears and silent cries, and in truth only two people could really hear the sobs and feel the teardrops. One of them was Mimi, and the other was someone who existed only in her mind now.

"Shhh, shhh, let it go…that's it, you're okay," Collins murmured into her hair, and she felt him put his thick, strong arms around her. Mimi clung to him, her fingers hooked into the fabric of his coat and her thin frame supported by his sturdy one. The bystanders around them, realizing that the crazy lady was now under control, drifted away, leaving Mimi and Collins kneeling on the sidewalk together. For the next few minutes, they stayed put, Mimi quietly crying into his chest and Collins gently comforting her by stroking her hair and whispering hushed reassurances.

"I'm sorry…I'm a spaz, such a spaz, I can't fucking believe it," she finally managed to say, her voice muffled by his clothes and body. Collins smiled slightly and sat back on his heels, holding her away from him by her forearms as she wiped the tears and wet hair off of her face.

"Well, I bet that was purging," he said jokingly when she looked reasonably presentable. Mimi let out a small laugh before she could stop herself, and then felt infinitely better for it. Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she gave him a weak smile.

"Thanks for showing up when you did; I think I was scaring people."

"No problem," Collins told her, shrugging. "I was coming to check in with Rog. He was supposed to tell me what song he wanted to play tomorrow…guess he forgot."

The mention of Angel's impending funeral was sobering, and Mimi bit the inside of her bottom lip as she watched Collins' face close from the inside-out. It was as though a light that had momentarily sputtered to life in his eyes had been snuffed out just as quickly. When Angel had been alive, that light had shone day and night.

"Well…yeah, he must have," she said after a minute. Then she took a deep breath and rubbed her reddening eyes. Collins watched her do this, his hands still holding tight to her forearms.

"Mimi?" His voice was tentative and unsure. She looked up to see him cock his head to the side, almost inquisitively.

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to answer this…but why the hell were you having a breakdown in the middle of the sidewalk?" She frowned.

"You mean as opposed to the roof of the Chrysler Building?" He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"No, I mean what was wrong? What made you fly off the handle like that?" Mimi saw in his eyes that he already knew. She felt her back shudder reflexively as that horrible, torturous whispering threatened from the depths of her brain. Instinctively, she moved towards him again and laid her head on his shoulder. Collins' arms went around her and she felt him push his face into her hair. Had it been anyone else, Mimi would have felt uncomfortable; after all, they were kneeling on a sidewalk together, embracing and pressed up against each other so closely that she could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed. But with Collins the closeness was reassuring, not suggestive. It felt just right. And now, for the first time, Mimi really understood how close she and Collins were in their friendship. More than a month spent watching over a sick Angel almost 24/7 in each other's company had established a link between them, one that would not easily break. She felt his heart beat beside hers and knew that if one person in the world could really understand how it felt to lose her Angel…

It was him.

"I miss her so much." Mimi couldn't be sure who said it at first, but then she realized that the words had come from her own throat. Collins hugged her a little tighter and nodded into her hair.

"Me too." And there was no more talking. There didn't need to be.

That night, Mimi sat at the table again, her eyes focused on the still-blank piece of paper. At least, they did on the outside. On the inside they were focused on those pictures of Angel that had caused her fall apart earlier. She had hated them then, those taunting, terrifying images of the person who she had lost so painfully. But now she scrutinized them, trying to find the cores of their meaning. Angel, Angel, so much Angel…who was Angel in the end? How had she mattered?

Mimi swallowed and forced herself to stay calm. There was really no way to express what Angel had really meant to her or to the world. There was no way to bring her back to life for those short minutes of Mimi's eulogy.

But maybe there was something to be said to make her memory come back to life.

Mimi set her pencil to the paper and began to write.

Angel was one of my closest friends. And it's right that today's Halloween…

And you know the rest. Review please! I know I don't ask that often, but because I haven't updated in a while, I'm a little starved for reviews. And we all know how wonderful reviews are for boosting self-esteem! Thanks a lot!

---The Panda