Title: The One Of Us To Survive
Feedback: Mark, Roger, Mimi, Collins, Paul (from Life Support)
Rating: PG13-R (for character death, drug use.)
Genre: Angst, Drama
Summary: Collins gives Roger a suggestion of dealing with grief
Special Thanks: To all of the fantastic writers and artists who are participating at rent100 and speedrent at livejournal.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Major Character death, drug use.
Disclaimer: I do not own RENT. Wish I did, but I don't. I just like to take the characters out every once in a while and play with them:):)

Roger sat silently beside the hospital bed, fingers running gently through Mimi's dark hair. She had become very weak over the past few days. Her skin was darkened by scattered lesions. She opened her eyes slowly, managing to smile at Roger.

"You're here," she spoke softly.

"Of course I am," Roger smiled. Where else would I be?"

"At home..." she said. "With your guitar?"

"Not a chance," Roger kissed her forehead. "I want to be here when they say you can go home."

Mimi took a deep breath. "Not this time, baby." she was practically inaudible. "I'm not going home this time."

"Don't say that, Meems. Don't say that."

Mimi relaxed back. "Can you sing for me, Roger? My song. Please?"

"I don't have my guitar, baby" Roger choked.

Mimi smiled and closed her eyes. "That's OK. I can hear it. I want to listen to your voice. Please, Roger."

Roger swallowed, pain wrenching his gut as he began to sing softly. (song ommitted for ff net policy)

"In my... eyes..." he choked out the final words. He gently ran his fingers through her hair. "Mimi?" the girl was still. "Mimi..." Roger's voice shook as he fought back tears. His head fell against her chest and he let out a sob.

She was gone.

They didn't think that Roger would even show up for the funeral. Life and love had not been good to him.

Mark tried his hardest to pry Roger from the depths of their loft, but Roger was not swayed. His guitar sat in the corner, collecting dust and the binding on his black marble notebook hadn't been cracked since Mimi died.

They all stood now at the cemetery at a ploy paid for by Angel's honorarium, listening to the stories that each of the five friends had to tell.

"I remember one time," Collins spoke after the girls and Benny. "Mimi was thinking of a wayto get all of us onto the subway to see Angel, when my girl was in the hospital. We didn't have enough for all of us. She managed to get us on for free." Collins laughed. "Promised this guy a free dance... on a night that she wouldn't be working."

"She went through a lot of shit..." Mark looked at the priest presiding. "Sorry... stuff. She gave up on drugs, she... single handedly brightened Roger's world. She was..."

"She was beautiful and she was perfect and now she's dead." Roger stood behind the group, eyes bloodshot, speech slurred. "She's dead."

Mark stepped back. "Roger, don't do this."

"Do what, Marky!" Roger said. "Say what you all already know?"

"You're high" Mark whispered.

"And drunk." Roger laughed, leaning on Mark.

"Roger... let me take you home. Come on."

"And leave without saying goodbye? Leave like she did? Without saying goodbye?"

"You're falling apart, Rog," Mark was gentle.

"Fuck you!" Roger spit. "Fuck all of you." Roger stumbled towards the coffin. "You too, sweetheart. Fuck you too."

"Let's get you home, Roger." Collins joined him. "Get you some coffee and some sleep."

"He's completely shit faced." Mark said softly as Collins led Roger away. Roger leaned all his weight against his friend

"It's OK," Collins said, audible to both. Mark wasn't sure who he was actually speaking to however as they slowly walked him back towards the apartment.

Days turned into weeks and Roger didn't get any better. Mark occasionally saw him out in the alley with his old dealer, buying smack. It was hopeless. Mimi's death had sent him spiraling into oblivion.

Other than that, Roger never left the loft. He shot up in the bathroom, away from the criticism of his roommates and lay in bed the rest of the day. He never picked up his guitar anymore, not even once. The silence was heartbreaking to Mark.

"I'm off," Collins said one day, buttoning up his jacket. Roger sat in the window. "You know, you should come with me."

"To a little piece of shit support group?" Roger spit. "I'll pass."

"Collins stood by the window, looking at Roger. "Life Support really helped me out when Angel died." Collins explained. "You should give it a try."

"And sit around talking about my problems?" Roger scoffed. "No thanks. I already have you and Mark around to bug the shit out of me about everything. I don't need a bunch of strangers doing it too."

"I'll tell you what" Collins said. "Come with me today and if you don't go home feeling any better at all... I won't bother you with it anymore."

"Not another word?"

"Not a letter."

Roger sighed and got to his feet. "What the hell are we still doing here? Let's get this over with."

"I'm Paul, let's begin," The circle was missing a few members, wither sick or dying and to start, as usual, the mood was somber. "We have a new member tonight. Roger..." Roger raised his hand in a way of greeting. "Would you like to start?"

"And say what?"

"Whatever is on your mind." Paul explained.

"Collins, who was sitting beside Roger, spoke up. "I'll start." He paused. "A few weeks ago, Mimi died. Everyone here knew her, she was... an amazing girl."

"She was a good kid," Paul agreed.

Roger swallowed. "No... she was perfect. She was perfect and I loved her more than anything in this world." Paul could see him beginning to open up. "Mimi was... stronger than anybody I know. She... used to dance and I remember one time she said...she was saving all her extra money. And that... by the time she was 24, she would have enough money to buy a plane ticket for me and her to go to Disney World for the first time. She wanted to see Mickey Mouse."

Collins watched Roger's eyes water. He placed a comforting hand on the musician's shoulder.

"She never lived her life like she was sick." Roger continued. "She never complained, not even in the end. She wasn't even scared." Roger let a few tears spill over. "She wanted me to sing for her." His tears turned to sobs. "I fought so hard... to help her. To help her get clean and she helped me survive. But now I've gone and fucked it all up."

"You can fix it Roger," Paul explained to him. "You did it once, right?" Roger nodded, wiping his tears away. "You survive and you live your life the best you can."

"And we'll help you." Collins said gently. "Me and Mark. All of us. We'll help you live again. If not for you, Roger... for Mimi."

Roger wiped his eyes, but it was pointless, the tears were pouring out in streams now as he used Collins shoulder to cling to. He had to be the man Mimi loved. He had to be the man he was when he was off smack. He had to do that for himself and he had to do it for Mimi.

Six more months went by and Mark walked into the apartment with Collins, each carrying a bag of groceries. The soft sound of a muted guitar filled the air. "Roger?" Mark called, placing the bag down. Roger put his guitar away and popped his head out.

"You two are here." he said. Detox had been good to him. He was once again off the drugs.

"We live here, remember?" Collins said.

"How could I forget." Roger teased.

"That a new song?" Mark asked, beginning to put the groceries away.

"Something I've been working on, yeah" He went over to the doorway and picked up a red duffel bag.

"You're going somewhere?" Mark asked curiously.

"I'll be back at the end of the week." Roger said. "Hold my calls." He laughed, sliding the door open.

"Roger..." Mark said. "Where are you going?"

"Disney World." Roger said. "I... have to say hello to Mickey for someone."

Collins smiled. "Have a good trip." he said as Roger left the loft. Collins turned back to Mark who looked confused. "Go turn on the hot plate and make some coffee." Collins said. "I'll explain it to you."

THE END