Disclaimer: Sadly for me, I do not own Rent.
"Are you still holding my hand?" Angel asked, her voice barely a whisper. Collins could scarcely speak, himself. He was a realist, he knew that these would probably be some of the last moments he'd spend with his beloved Angel. Once so filled with energy and happiness, Angel was now withering away in a cold, grey hospital bed. Angel had once literally covered Collins with a thousand sweet kisses – now she couldn't even tell whether or not Collins was holding her hand, which he was. He refused to let go. Collins hoped that he could somehow surreptitiously trick the hands of fate into giving Angel more time – but it was a far-fetched and impossible hope. Angel wasn't going to be around much longer, and each time Collins remembered this, his heart sunk a little lower.The countless weeks and sleepless nights that Collins had spent caring for his love now led to this – Angel's shard of a life; only a small fraction of Angel's personality remained, in his blue fingernails. Angel hadn't even been able to paint her nails – Mimi had visited a weak Angel, and had thoughtfully brought blue nail-polish along. She had meant well, but Collins desperately wished that Angel could've painted her own nails. Collins longed for better days, better times, when Angel would dance around their apartment, hitting every available surface with her drumsticks. He wished that they were back to that apartment that they could barely afford, where Angel would sometimes dance around in nothing but a colorful mini-skirt and a wig. Collins would have savored those times even more, had he known that it would end so abruptly. Collins grasped Angel's hand tightly, lacing his fingers in between Angel's. "Yes," he rasped, holding Angel's hand as if it were Angel's last, fleeting moments of life, and he had to hold onto it, or else that shard of life would escape. Throughout this saddening experience, Collins had set his atheist beliefs aside and had turned toward prayer to beg for Angel's life. Just a few more months, he had prayed for, just a few more kisses. Now, he cursed himself for believing that such nonsense would do any good in this type of situation. There was no such thing as miracles, no matter how much you begged for them.Angel looked as though she wanted to say something. Collins' big, poignant brown eyes met Angel's. "Promise you'll never let go," she whispered. Collins nodded briefly, as he was at a loss for words. At that moment, Angel's eyes closed, and the light within the formerly cheerful lover of life fled out forever. At first, it did not register in Collins' mind; he did not comprehend the situation. Angel had been drifting in and out of consciousness for days, now, and Collins would just have to wait until Angel's eyes opened again and Angel would say something else, something sentimental. Collins forgot all about his realist beliefs, his promise to himself that he was ready for this. Angel was going to wake up. The steady beep of the flat-lining medical machinery around him brought in the doctors and nurses, but Collins blocked out all the noise. He still grasped Angel's limp hand, firmly, ignoring everything around him – the flurry of nurses attempting to usher him out of the door, the machinery being unplugged, the sympathetic look on the faces of the silent people around him, and the tears rolling down Collins' tired face.