Tarnished Halo

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.

Chapter Two: Goodbye Love

The first thing Collins noticed when he woke was how hot he was. He glanced across the room at the window. It was open. It had been unusually cool for July the last few days. But there was something hot touching him, lying across his chest -

"Angel," he breathed, fully awake at once. He reached down and touched her head. She was running a fever. He quickly sat up, dislodging his sleeping lover.

"What time is it?" she mumbled, coming partially to wakefulness.

"It's only about three."

"I don't feel good," she moaned.

"I don't doubt it. You're burning up."

"I'm freezing," she protested.

In seconds, Collins had pulled her sweats out of the closet and was helping her dress. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Just let me sleep?"

"Okay, baby." He hugged her close. "Sleep."

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By the end of the week, it was clear to both of them that something was very wrong. Angel had been feeling too miserable to do anything but rest, but she wasn't getting better. She was getting sicker. Collins had finally put his foot down and insisted she see a doctor.

"What is it?" A horrible dread filled Collins when he saw her face as she emerged into the waiting room.

"I-" she choked. "I have the flu."

Collins was too stunned to reply. He finally got over his shock enough to open his arms to her. She tumbled into them.

"I'm going to keep fighting, baby. You know that."

"I know it," he reassured her. "Let's get you home."

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"Where are they?" Maureen whined impatiently. "I want to eat!"

"Shut up," Joanne answered irritably. They might have kept hanging out with the same crowd, but that didn't mean the former couple actually got along.

"I'm sure they're coming soon," Mark answered, trying to defuse the argument. "It's Collins and Angel, after all. God knows what's keeping them."

Joanne's phone rang, and she grabbed it. "Hey - Collins? Where are you? What? Why not? Oh, I see. What's wrong?" Her eyes went wide with shock. "Oh, my God. I'm so - No, don't worry about them. I'll tell them. I'll talk to you soon."

"What's keeping them?" Mimi asked as the lawyer hung up.

"It's Angel," she said soberly. "She's sick."

The word "sick" could have meant a million things, but the way Joanne said it, coupled with what they'd heard of the phone conversation, told them it was big.

"How sick?" Mimi finally asked.

"She has the flu."

The bohemians' eyes grew wide. They were too familiar with AIDS to be ignorant of the implications. She was dying.

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"What's the date?" Angel asked weakly, forcing herself to speak. She spent so much time sleeping that it was easy to lose track of time.

"October 27th," he answered. "How do you feel?"

"I'm tired."

"Go back to sleep. We can talk when you wake up."

She'd never needed convincing before, but this time she shook her head. "No. I can't. I won't."

"You won't what?"

"If I go to sleep, I won't wake up."

"Don't talk like that."

"It's true. Collins, I'm scared," she admitted.

"Come here." He pulled her into his arms. "I'm here, baby. I won't leave you."

"You're the most wonderful man I've ever known."

"And you're the most wonderful, most beautiful, most perfect woman on the face of the planet," he replied. And in that moment, she believed him. She believed what she had never been able to. She was perfect.

"I love you," she whispered.

"And I love you, baby. I always will."

"Go to sleep, Angel." It was the hardest thing he'd ever said, but he could tell how much pain she was in.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Let go, baby. Just let go."

"One more thing?"

"Anything."

"Kiss me."

Collins bent down and pressed his lips to hers. He feasted on her mouth, knowing he'd never get this chance again. She clung to him as tightly as he did to her.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much. I'm so sorry, honey."

"Don't be. Angel, you are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. Never doubt that for a second, baby. Not for a second."

She smiled weakly and closed her eyes, no longer able to keep them open. She drew a slow, labored breath, and then another. For five minutes, she breathed. Then she let out one breath and did not draw another. Collins pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling the last few beats of her heart before it too gave out.

He let out a long, agonized wail and pulled her close. He rocked her in his arms until the nurses came to take the body to the morgue. Then, shaking, he put a coin into the phone and dialed the only number he could remember - the number for the loft that had once been his.

"SPEAK!" The machine intoned.

"Roger - Mark - someone, please, pick up the phone."

"Collins?" The filmmaker's voice came through the receiver. "What's up?"

Collins tried and failed several times to say the words. Finally, he managed to force just two words through his lips. "It's over."

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Collins hadn't listened much to the priest's speech. It was clear the man had never known Angel and was just making a rote speech. But his friends' memories were different.

"I knew we'd hit it off the moment we met," Mimi related. "That skinhead was bothering her... and she said she was more of a man than he'd ever be - and more of a woman than he'd ever get."

Silently, Collins applauded her bravery. Mimi would have had no way to know how much that incident would have terrified Angel.

Mark related another story through tears, but it was Maureen that really got to him. "You always said how lucky you were that we were all friends. But it was us, baby, who were the lucky ones."

But Angel would have disagreed. Thrown onto the street at seventeen, abused for years - he knew the unconditional friendship of the people around him had seemed like nothing short of a miracle for her.

But now it was his turn, and he had no idea what to say. And when he finally opened his mouth, it was not speech that came out, but a song they had used to sing to each other.

"Live in my house - I'll be your shelter. Just pay me back with one thousand kisses..."

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"Merry Christmas, baby," Collins whispered. There wasn't much there to talk to; the grave was still too new to have a headstone.

"I got your message," he added. For Mimi had taken him aside the previous night and conveyed an additional message.

"Angel said to tell you she loves you," she had said. "And she'll be waiting for you."

"I love you," he said softly. "And I miss you so much." But with the previous nights events, his pain had dulled from a stabbing agony to a deep, longing ache. Angel was safe and happy, and Collins knew he could go on living knowing that. And he knew that when it was his time, he would go willingly, because she would be waiting.

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