Author's note: This story takes place during Angel's last days in the hospital. It is in canon.
Angel slowly opened her eyes. It was taking more and more effort to wake up lately. She felt a little naked without her usual wig and makeup, but seeing her lover curled up in the tiny chair next to the bed soothed the unease at once. He had stopped sleeping beside her now, for fear of smothering her- she'd become so fragile. Collins had been here with her ever since that first collapse on the subway, refusing to leave, even to sleep.
Everything had changed so abruptly, like someone had suddenly snipped the last tether she had to normalcy. She'd been feeling a little weaker than usual at the time, but she'd ignored it.
She and Collins had been talking, her carefully manicured hand resting on Collins' knee when a coughing fit had suddenly erupted, cutting off the joke she'd been about to tell. The next thing she knew, he was holding her as she doubled over, trying to breathe, each inhalation choking her more than the last; wig sliding to the dirty floor of the car and vanishing beneath their seat. By the time it subsided, she was trembling violently from head to foot and sweating hard, struggling for each ragged breath. She couldn't even sit upright anymore. He had held her to his chest the rest of the way in silence. She was in too much of a daze then to notice the stifled tears that he'd choked back as he carried her to the cab that would rush them to the hospital as soon as their car's doors opened.
She saw the faint tracks now whenever he came back from the restroom, or left the room at all. He didn't want Angel to see, but she knew. She'd been a prisoner in this hospital bed for 3 weeks now, too weak to get out of bed or even to feed herself without help. She had little to do but watch him and try to enjoy what she knew would be their last days together. It hurt her to see him cry. She wanted him to be happy - to show her that radiant smile. She knew he was trying. They were both trying.
She forced her lethargic face muscles to smile as he stirred in his chair, stretching hard to pop loose the stiffness left from his tiny sleep space.
"Morning Baby." She managed, with effort. God, when had it suddenly gotten so hard to talk? She glanced down at her now spindly fingers, so carefully painted in her favorite shade by Mimi the evening before. Her smile spread weakly. She was so lucky. Wonderful friends, a devoted lover, this was such a tiny price to pay for all that.
Collins smiled back, trying to subtly choke back the start of tears. He sat gingerly beside her on the bed, nestling Angel against his shoulder to kiss the top of her head.
"How's my girl?"
"I feel fine, you don't need to worry so much." She lied. She felt worse than she had all month- and tired… so tired-, but he didn't need to know that.
She reached out and took his hand in hers and gently rubbed it. A soft sniffle came from above her head and her smile faded a little. She felt him shift to rub away the tears before giving her a gentle squeeze.
"M-Maureen's coming later today." He managed after a moment, voice thick with emotion despite his efforts to hide it. "And Mark and Roger said they'd come too." She looked up at him, pushing the smile back on, with some effort.
"I'm the luckiest drag queen in New York." She laughed faintly, smothering a cough. He smiled at that. Mission accomplished.
They sat in silence, for some time watching the sun filter through the old yellowed blinds. Angel tried hard to fight off the overwhelming sleepiness that dragged at her, but it proved to be too strong, and she was soon asleep again, sunken cheek resting against his solid shoulder. She didn't even feel the droplets that trickled down onto her scalp as he finally succumbed to his tears, clutching her gingerly; afraid to hold on too tight, but so afraid to let go.
Roger and Mark arrived at 6 that afternoon, just as they'd said, bringing a preview of Mark's unfinished documentary and the few snippets of a song Roger was straggling together for her entertainment.
Maureen was, in typical fashion, late. She and Joann sat icily on either side of the bed studiously ignoring one another, leaving Angel as the only link they still shared. Secretly, Angel just knew they still loved each other. Sooner or later, she hoped, they'd realize it too. Maybe she'd even live to see it.
The six of them reminisced for some time about all the fun they'd had over the past year, all the things they'd done and seen. About the time she'd broken a padlock with the dirty old trashcan outside their flat, or the time she'd performed a sample of her drum routine on their pipes. Everyone laughed a little at the mention of their last new year together, how crazy they'd behaved – how drunk they had been.
Before anyone realized it, visiting hours were over and everyone but Collins was ushered out of the room, waving cheerful goodbyes and promising to come back again tomorrow.
Angel was smiling, but she felt weaker than ever now. Her skin had gotten paler and she felt a little shakier than usual.
She reached out for Collins' hand, and finding it, tugged it towards her. Something was wrong. She didn't want to worry him, but somehow she sensed it coming, and soon.
"Baby…" she said softly.
One look at her face confirmed his worst fears.
"I'll get the doctor."
She shook her head and weakly flipped aside the blanket next to her. He sat down, drawing his legs up onto the bed to make a nest for her and pulled her to him, unable to stifle the sobs that were now freely wracking his body.
"Just hold me for a while?" she whispered.
He sat with her, gently rocking her in his arms, tears flowing down his face, fearing every second was the last.
"I love you." He whispered into her ear.
"I love you too." It was so faint, he could barely hear her.
For several moments he couldn't find his voice behind the tears. Before he could choke out a good-bye, one fragile, withered hand slid limply to rest in his lap and he knew that she was gone.
He held her the rest of the night, sobbing against the worn-out hospital gown.
At her funeral, he stood at the front of the church, staring at the photo of Angel that stood on top of the coffin. It was all that he had left of her.
"I love you." He whispered, kissing the tips of his fingers and touching them gently to the glass. Then, before he could lose control, he turned and followed the others to the graveyard, to finally say goodbye.
I cry every time I watch this scene, and I've seen it at least 30 times. Every. Single. Time.