A/N: Anything you recognise is the late, great Jonathan Larson's. Just a little something showing how Mark might feel when he finally is left alone. My first attempt at a Rent fic/ one-shot. I'm not american, so please let me know if I've gotten any americanism's wrong. Constructive crit. welcome. Please Enjoy and review.
Without You
December 24th 1999
Mark Cohen stood in the graveyard, the bitter winter wind whipping at his hair, scarf and the edges of his coat. He couldn't believe he was here. 10 years had passed in the blink of an eye. He looked down at the four graves in front of him sadly. The four graves of some of his closest friends. They should be there with him, he thought. But they weren't, their lives having been snatched cruelly from them by AIDS. He bent down to replace the fresh flowers next to their headstones, and as he did so, reread the inscriptions for the 1000th time at least.
The first was a little over 9 years old, though the lettering was still as clear as it had ever been:
Angel Dumott Schunard
Born June 19th 1968
Died October 16th 1990
of HIV AIDS
A loving and loved son, friend and partner
You will be missed
Mark sighed, tears in his eyes. Angel's death had hit them all hard. Hers had been the first, and with it had been the loss of the peacemaker, the one always ready to show love and care. Their beautiful, amazing Angel. Poor Collins.
Mark placed the flower and, glanced at the next. He moved over towards it, and, if anyone had been watching they would have seen the tears in his eyes grow brighter. Mimi Marquez had lost her fateful battle just a few months after the Christmas of 1990, having just turned twenty-one. Poor Roger had been heartbroken. She had gone with a smile on her face at least, Roger by her side, her last words I love you. Roger had held her close for ages after she'd gone, whispering that he loved her over and over again into her hair. He'd cried for days, and the grief had slowly turned into depression again. Mark had seen it before with April, though it had taken him and the others – Collins, Maureen, Joanne, even Benny – months, maybe a year to make Roger believe that Mimi would have wanted him to go on living. After all, Mark thought sadly to himself now, there was no day but today. He passed a hand over Mimi's headstone, rested the flower against it, the tears bright in his eyes. He sighed, and made his way back towards where Angel's grave lay.
Collins had been buried next to Angel. His demise had been quicker than it had for the others, with in a matter of weeks during the summer of '96. Collins death had been a shock, although they had all known it was going to happen at some point, Collins had always been a rock in their 'family', the knowledgeable one, always with the brains and the schemes, the plans. A lump rose in Mark's throat, why had they all had to go? Why? Why had AIDS been such a monster, why had it come to snatch his friends away? How was it fair? He was filled once again with the loathing he'd carried for years at being the only one of them left. Sure, there was still Maureen and Joanne (Benny tried, but had become too distant to their old bohemia lifestyle); though they were both busy with their own lives now, now the group had fallen apart. He still saw them sometimes. They'd always have each other though. Mark? He didn't have anyone. He tried relationships, but they hadn't lasted long. He hadn't been able to cope. Especially the last few years.
Finally, he reached the last grave. It was a little way off from the others, the newest. Mark couldn't help it as finally a tear broke away and fell down his cheek. He stared down at the grave of his best friend. Roger had only died a few months before, and Mark still hadn't finished grieving properly. Roger, Roger, his best friend since Elementary school back in Scarsdale, who had been more than happy, ecstatic even, to move to New York with him. And so there they'd been – Roger with his music, Mark with his films, living as best they could on what little they had, their crazy bohemian life. And then their room mates, friends, enemies – Collins, Maureen, Benny and then Joanne and Angel not as room mates but as friends. Those two girls that had changed Roger's life – April, Mimi. That had made him in turn a worse person –due to AIDS and April's suicide - and a better person – Mimi had been the light of Roger's life, he had never dated anyone since, not in 8 years.
Mark put down the flower and stood there for a few minutes looking at the grave of his friend, and then looked out across the graveyard, towards where the others lay. He sighed again. It was almost Christmas, yet he could never think of today as Christmas Eve. Today he could only think of them, his lost, loved friends. Finally Mark turned and walked out of the graveyard, his heart aching. Old words of Roger's flitted through his head – Mark hides in his work. He sighed, knowing it was true, yet knowing the reasons why too, and trudged along the sidewalk, alone.