A/N: I've been agonizing over what to do for this chapter for ever, and I finally just decided to attack it head-on and see where it takes me! So I hope you guys enjoy this and I love you all for reading and being such good people and your reviews! You are all sent straight down from the heavens! :D

Song of the week: See You Again, Miley Cyrus. Yeah, I know. I know. Oh, and something that amused me this week:

I'm surfing YouTube, watching I'll Cover You for the fifteen hundredth time (My aunt had my copy of the DVD this week. I almost died of RENT deprivation.) And someone on YouTube is like: "Wait…so that Angel girl is a he?!" and everyone's like… "Hehe…yeah…hehe…" and you can just tell they're thinking: "Who's the newbie? Have we made him see the light? Will he join our numbers?" I mean, at least I was but I'm severely disturbed so maybe not!

Disclaimer: I own absoloutly nothing! Jonathon Larson (May he rest in peace) owns the whole thing and is responsible for bringing this whole thing to life! The characters will be restored to their original conditions and put back in the toy box when I'm done playing. I might keep Roger for a while, though… ("No molesting Roger, Lynn!") Fine, fine, fine! Roger goes back too! I OWN THE SONG, THOUGH! I wrote it special for this story! It sucks.

Chapter 9: Thanksgiving Nightmares

Diiiiiiiing…Doooooong…

It took a few seconds for Roger to realize that the chiming that was echoing around the garage wasn't coming from one of the instruments. When this revelation struck him, he stopped belting out the lyrics to the song they were currently playing and ceased the strumming of his guitar, which in turn had Jared and Tony both whining at him for messing them up while Angel's drumsticks clattered out of his hands and he let out that famous Angel Enraged-Guinea-Pig-Squeak-of-Complete-Agitation. The doorbell rang again, twice in quick succession this time and Roger felt safe in thinking that the person on the other side of the door was getting impatient with him.

He told the others to go on without him, which made them all give him strange looks – you weren't much of a band without your lead vocalist – as he walked out of the garage, through the mudroom, and down he entrance hall. He flung the door open and blinked when Mark hit him in the chest with a fist raised for a knock. Mark, after three or four taps, realized that his impatient pounding wasn't sounding against wood and pulled his hand back. "Hi. Mind if I spend the afternoon here?"

This was common; Mark would either be incredibly bored durring the day or Roger would have another one of his I'm-so-lonely episodes and they would end up spending the day together at one of their houses. Mark had brought his camera with him – duh – and already had it out. He smiled, obviously trying to make his offer of company more appealing.

"Uh…you know I wouldn't any other day but the band is over today," Roger said, frowning. In the past, Mark had not liked sitting in on the practices his band would have. The first incarnation of the band (Self-titled Roger Davis) had included only himself and Jared. Along with them had been a boy from the next town over they met at Sylvia's Pizza Parlor one day, and April, who doubled as the keyboardist and drummer. Seth, the previous bassist, had decided (or rather his mother had, as she was the one who drove him into Scarsdale every Saturday) around March of the past year that the thirty-mile commute was just too long and quite. Then April had left and Roger and Jared had attempted to continue on. Jared took up keyboard and turned out quite talented at it, but again you weren't much of a band with a vocalist, two guitarists, and a keyboardist. In any case, Mark had always made the practices miserable for all involved, with whines about his head beginning to hurt and complaints about the rawness of the music almost as loud in the air as the vocals. Their style had changed a bit, thanks to the induction of Tony and Angel, but it would still probably bother Mark, whom got a headache from listening to even the Beatles for too long.

"That's okay," Mark insisted, pushing past him and into the house. "I don't mind."

"You had another fight with your mom, didn't you?" Roger asked, giving up without much fight and shutting the door behind them, tailing Mark into the garage. Though Mark knew two out of the three people congregated in the room, he still made the introduction: "Mark, the band; the band, Mark."

Angel waved with a drumstick, Jared whooped, "Mark, my main man! What's up?!" and Tony just gave a nod of acknowledgment, and stayed to the far side of the room, feeling like the outsider of the group for once.

"So, fight?" Roger asked, draping himself over the couch with his new guitar, named Charlotte soon after being received. "How bad was it? One-to-ten scale, how much destruction, any casualties?"

"Pretty bad," sighed Mark, plopping down on an ancient-looking cardboard box, which proceeded to give way under his weight and pitch him into what must have been a two-foot pile of dust. Everyone laughed but Tony, who didn't really think he had a right to laugh at this stranger he'd known for all of two minutes. But he did hide an amused grin behind his hand until his facial expressions were under control. Angel got up and tugged him out of the box, suggesting he sit on something that wasn't about twenty years old. He perched on the arm of Roger's plaid sofa. "Ten on the Hannah-scale. She totally freaked out at me because I told Cindy where to go, then I just told her I'd get out, and she literally threw my camera at me and told me to get the fuck out…so I got the fuck out. Don't worry, she'll be calling back in two hours begging forgiveness." He rolled his eyes and took to examining his finger nails as if they were the most interesting things he'd ever laid his eyes on.

"Ah, the enjoyment of parental rebellion," sighed Jared, clapping Mark on the shoulder. "Too bad my mom doesn't give a fuck."

"My mom gives too much of a fuck," Mark grumbled, placing his new camera in front of his face. Jared, always ready for a candid, grinned and hopped into the view of the camera, but Mark didn't turn it on, glancing at Tony. "Do you mind?"

Tony shook his head, making his face indifferent, "Nope."

There was a beep as Mark turned his camera on and he announced, "November twentieth, 1989. Roger's garage. This is just a band practice. You'll recognize Angel, the drummer, and maybe even Jared, the backup guitarist and keyboardist. Tony, however, is a new addition. Tell us about yourself if you wouldn't mind, Tony."

Tony looked up, blinked. "Uh…I'm Tony DeComilio and I'm Italian and I play bass and…uh…I like the color mint green…?"

"Oh, that's a nice color," Mark chirped, then immediately wondered at his reaction. He cleared his throat while the rest regarded him with a strange look and said, "Okay, thanks Tony. Uh…So, guys…what are we doing?"

"Practice," Angel said, holding up his sticks. "Or have we stopped that for the Albino Pumpkin Head?"

Mark rolled his eyes; Angel had taken up his boyfriend's annoying nickname for him. "Collins is a bad influence on you, Angel."

"Prove it," Angel replied, pointing a drumstick at him. "I happen to think it's a very positive effect." He stared into a far off corner of the garage and proceeded to zone out. Groans rang around the garage, obviously reactions to Angel's dreamy face, and Tony grumbled, "He's at it again!"

Jared struck a sour note on his guitar and screamed, "ANGEL! WAKE UP! NAP TIME IS LATER, DUDE!"

Angel jerked out of his reverie and blushed at the glares from three-fourths of the rest of the room, before distracting himself by tapping his drumstick against a snare drum. It was obvious he would like everyone to forget the last two minutes ever happened, and they did, but not before Jared declared Angel a bio-hazard, claiming he was, "Too mushy, gooshy, and down-right pathetic to be within close range of normal humans."

"You're hilarious," Angel told him, throwing a drumstick. It went wide and caught Roger's ear.

"Are we playing, or not?!" Roger grumbled, stepping back in front of the microphone. Everyone situated themselves and Roger directed, "Colorless in four."

"One, two, one-two-three-four," Angel said, knocking his drumsticks together. The guitars started the song off, and soon added to the addition of the lower tones of the bass. Angel started off a steady beat and the instruments all quieted when Roger stepped up to the mic and began to sing;

"You were my sun, my moon, my light
You centered me
My anchor, my earth…
Now there's nothing left but spinning circles
Confusing spirals,
Patterns control my mind,
No meaning, no morals…Colorless."

Mark sighed, falling back into the couch much to the protest of the springs, and focused in on the ceiling, mumbling, "Yet more Roger-angst about April…in song form, this time. And he's dragged his band into it now, too. It's poetic. Almost enough to override the pathetical."

"It's actually about being high," Jared mumbled to him out of the corner of his mouth, "after April. That first time after she left."

"Oh, well," Mark said, sighing at the camera. He spun the thing around, zooming in on all the faces. First Jared, alternating between keyboard and guitar, his braces shining in the lighting and swinging his main of blond hair back and forth. Then Roger, nearly screaming into the microphone. Tony, furiously strumming his guitar. Angel, banging energetically on the drums.

Five songs later, Mark's head began to bang almost as ferociously as Angel's drums and he figured out why; the throbbing in his head was perfectly in tune with every hit to the bass drum. Durring a water break – playing music apparently broke out a sweat? – Tony tossed him a bottle of Aspirin and a pack of twelve pairs of disposable earplugs. He pointed to his own, shoved deep in his ears, and smiled suggesting, "If you ever plan on hanging out with Roger's band ever again, those are a necessary piece of equipment. You can keep those, I don't need them back. I'll need the painkillers back, though. I can feel a headache coming on, too."

Mark nodded dumbly, opening the earplugs and managing to send them flying everywhere. The majority flew in his face and one even landed in his mouth when he let out a surprised gasp. He spit it out quickly and it rolled across the floor, gathering dust as it went.

"Wouldn't use that one," Tony asserted, nudging it hard with his toe and sending it flying across the room. He grinned at Mark, holding up his water bottle. "Want some to take that with?"

Mark shrugged and held out his hand for the bottle, which Tony slapped into his hand before plopping onto the couch beside him. Mark scooted away from him a bit – their thighs were touching and that was a bit uncomfortable for him – and chugged the water and pills before shoving the bottle back in his hand and literally clinging to the arm of the couch. He suddenly felt a bit too warm and he wondered if asking Roger if there was a window he could open was a bad idea.

There were only about twenty minutes of playing left before everyone packed up and Jared hightailed out of the garage, apparently expecting his mother to exhibit homicidal rage upon him if he wasn't home within the half hour. Angel stuck around for a few minutes, listening to the customary post-practice review Roger gave them, until it was obvious he'd rather be somewhere other than the hot garage and Roger released him, yelling after the retreating Latino that he'd better show up at Tony's the following Saturday. After that, it was only Mark, Tony, and Roger.

"Hey, Mark," Tony said slowly, poking his shoulder. Mark looked up at the Italian. "Could I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Mark replied, waving his hand at him.

"Would you mind…going someplace?" Tony asked, nervously. "You know? With me? On a date?"

Mark furrowed his brows and took a second to comprehend what Tony was saying, then his eyes widened and he waved his hands quickly around. "Oh, Tony…I'm not gay. I'm sorry."

"Oh…that's okay," Tony said, not looking extremely disappointed. "I mean…I'm not either…I'm bi. But…I just thought…"

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Don't worry. I'm not gonna go off in some homophobic tangent on you. I'm friends with Angel, remember? Now that's flamboyant if I ever saw it."

Chuckling, Tony slapped Mark's shoulder and sat back. "Alright, dude."

"Yeah…" mumbled the filmmaker, examining Tony's face. Suddenly, he didn't feel so sure of himself…

Thanksgiving at the Schunard residence never failed to be a production (Despite the absence of any American bloodlines) and this year was no different. Angel stood in the kitchen, helping her mother prepare the stuffing for the Turkey that was currently baking away in the oven. Delicious smells wafted throughout the room; that of sweet mixed with savory and tangy. Two pies (Pumpkin and apple) sat, long ago cooled, on the rack, homemade cranberry sauce chilled in a large bowl in the refrigerator, and Pillsbury crescent rolls baked in the toaster oven.

The potatoes were the only responsibility their guests would have. They were expecting a minimum of six guests; the entire Collins clan, plus Mimi and maybe her mother. But Lynda Marquez wasn't Marcella's favorite person in the world and the two women usually kept a wide birth of each other. That decision would be left up to Mimi.

First to arrive was Mimi, toting a large dish of yams, courtesy of the can and the microwave. She hurried them into the cooler, which had had its purpose reversed and was being used to keep completed dishes warm. It joined the green bean casserole atop the heated towels and Mimi hoped back into the kitchen and washed her hands so she could help Angel kneed the sausage and bread for the stuffing into one.

Once this was done, both Schunards rushed off to get ready; sweaty and dirty from cooking all day wasn't exactly the greatest way to greet guests. Mimi wandered around the living room she knew just as well as her own and put on a holiday album. Soft music from violins and clarinets traveled gently through the house, mixing with the smells and creating a truly festive air.

Angel hopped down the stairs in a white, V-neck tee-shirt with purple flower patterns going across her color bone, the black skirt she'd worn on her first date with Collins, and a pair of black nylons. Her shoes weren't as high as normal; maybe only three inches, but it still made her tower. She was going au naturale this evening (wearing an excess of make-up was uncomfortable and Angel was the first to admit it) and only put on a bit of sparkling lip-gloss. Mimi clapped for her outfit and sat in the family room with her, at the ready to greet the guests.

There was the sound of car doors slamming closed and Angel hopped up, opening the door to see Jessica hopping up the walk, way in front of her mother and father who weren't even out of the car yet. The seven-year-old was in what she could only guess was her Sunday best. It was a cute white halter top dress with an empire waist and lavender print embroidered into it. Her tights were white and her shoes a powdery violet. She looked completely adorable and flashed a smile complete with dimples when she laid eyes on Angel.

"Hi! Are you Angel's sister?!"

The little girl didn't seem to be able to grasp the idea of 'drag queen' and Angel didn't know whether to be more worried or relieved about this. The Collinses had known for a while about Angel, thanks to a little wooing Collins on Angel's part, but Jessica was still in the dark.

Angel knelt down before the girl and smiled, patting her arm. "No, hun. It's me; Angel."

Jessica blinked, rearing her head back in childish confusion. "Huh?"

"It's me," Angel sighed, pulling off her wig. "See? I'm just dressed up."

Jessica reached out and roughly ran a hand over Angel's natural hair, as though trying to make sure it was really there, then tugged her hand back and giggled. "But Tommy and Daddy don't dress up like that! Why're you in a dress?"

Angel giggled along with the little girl and responded, "This is the way I like to dress up. I think dresses are very pretty, so that's why I wear them. And personally," she leaned in closer "I think all the other boys are missing out. Skirts are a lot more comfortable than pants, aren't they, sweetie?"

Jessica giggled and bounced up and down as Angel stood and lead her into the house. Clayton and Suzan had entered around them as they were congregating on the porch, and Collins stood close by, amusedly watching his sister and boyfriend interact. Jessica quickly ran and jumped into his arms, and after assuring her that she was getting much too big to do that to her old, decrepit brother, he balanced her on his hip and carried her into the family room behind Angel.

Seeing little hors d'oeuvres on the table, Jessica struggled right back down from Collins' arms and picked up a mini quiche, popping it in her mouth.

"Well, I know who's going to be the entertainment value tonight," sighed Angel, plopping down and crossing her legs. She glanced at Collins and grinned, pecking his cheek. Mimi sat next to her and grinned like a maniac, mumbling, "¡Ay, chica…mira eso! Él es azotado!" Angel crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue and her Abuela grumbled, "Angel, that's ugly." *

Collins laughed and Angel dug her fist into his side a little too hard to be just a love-tap, though being subtle about it so neither of their parents saw. Collins replied to this by flicking her ear and she pinched his arm. He poked her and she poked him back, hissing, "Oh, it's on, boy…"

This resulted in the two getting into a not-so-subtle tickle fight in the middle of the family room. Mimi and Jessica both joined in on the action and Abuela must have flashed twenty pictures. Angel kicked her legs out wildly as both Collins siblings attacked her, with Mimi trying to tug Collins towards her so she could torture him. Jessica gave Angel one last tickle before launched herself at Mimi, who caught her and fell back herself, laughing wildly.

"Okay, time to get off me," Angel sighed, bringing a knee up and nudging Collins in the ass. She kissed him before rolling out from under him and standing up.

Jessica frowned and stuck out her tongue. "Ew! Kissing! Angel, don't you know boys have cooties?!"

Angel shrugged. "Maybe your brother doesn't."

"EVERY BOY HAS COOTIES!" Jessica cried as though her every belief and hope had just been brought into question.

"Then I guess I have cooties, too," Angel finalized. "So it's okay because if I already have cooties, I can't catch them again."

"But…" Jessica screwed up her face. "You don't act like a boy. I don't think you have cooties."

"How about we just say no one has cooties, Jess?" Collins suggested around a mouthful of mini quiche. "Girls don't, guys don't, dogs don't…"

"Why would someone wanna kiss a dog, Tommy?"

"You'd be surprised, Jess…some people are sick…"

"Tom!" Suzan cried, covering her daughter's ears. "We're in mixed company, young man." She glanced about the room to see everyone in various states of hysteria.

"Oh, Mrs. Collins, we're very used to your son's antics around here," laughed Marcella, leaning towards Suzan from the armchair next to her and rubbing her shoulder. "I swear I see him just as much as I do my own son, now."

Suzan chuckled. "Oh, your son's been seen at our house a lot, too. He's a very good boy. And please, call me Suzan."

"And you call me Marcella," Marcella replied. "But just between you and me, you don't have to live with her! She has all the messy habits of a teenaged boy and the whininess of a teenaged girl! It's insane sometimes!"

"Mamá, me estás avergonzando!" Angel hissed. Marcella sighed at her son and replied, "¿Qué, Angel, no estoy autorizado a socializar en su empresa?"

"Usted puede si usted no habla sobre mí!"

"Se le olvida, la miel. Yo soy la mamá, y yo para hablar de lo que quiero."

Angel let out a groan worthy of every preteen girl who ever lived and mumbled, "Collins, por favor, no juzgar sobre lo que me dice mi madre…ella se entusiasma cuando está en estrecha qauters con personas que no están conmigo y la abuela." **

"Tengo un gato en mis pantalones," Collins replied. Angel stared at him strangely.

"Excuse me?"

"That's all the Spanish I know," Collins said, grinning. "So please, speakid de English."

"You just told me you have a cat in your pants," Angel informed.

"I know."

A beeper went off somewhere and Suzan looked up. "I think your Turkey's done, Marcella."

"Not the Turkey," mumbled Angel, slipping out of the room. She walked back in a few seconds later and handed her mother her pill tin and a glass of water. "It's your's, Mama."

Marcella thanked her son and tipped one of the familiar white capsules into her hand and gulped it down with some water. Suzan crossed her arms and glanced at Angel, before glancing back at Marcella. It was obvious she had several questions she desperately wanted answered, but her husband beat her to the punch, asking, "Angel never told us you have HIV, Marcella." He'd recognized the pills as something an HIV-positive coworker took at various times of the day.

"Well, it's not really something that comes up in regular conversation, is it?" Angel grumbled darkly. Collins patted her thigh and she leaned into him.

Marcella nodded. "I do. Angel does too."

Angel gasped and stared at her mother, shooting up off the sofa. "MAMA! No puedo creer que usted! ¿Cómo puedes decir eso? Es personal!"

Marcella regarded her son solemnly, with someone akin to reprimand in her stare. "Alguien tenía que decirles. Debería haber sido usted."

"Yo no estaba a punto de decirle que podía infectar a su hijo con una enfermedad mortal!" Angel cried vehemently. Mimi and Collins both stood and Mimi whispered something to Angel, who nodded and sat down.***

"You should have been more responsible, Angel," Marcella murmured. "They should know these things. You know that. I shouldn't have been the one that had to tell them this." Angel's eyes glowed with fire and she shot up again.

"RESPONSIBLE?! RESPONSIBLE?!" she shrieked, bordering on hysteria. "You should have been more responsible, Mama, you! I'm not the one who got herself pregnant AND infected with HIV at age seventeen! Don't even talk to me about responsible!"

"Angel!" Abuela cried, holding her hands out. "Stop yelling!"

Angel shook her head, backing up slowly and quickly turned and ran out of the room. Marcella winced, ready for the slam of her bedroom door. The slam came, but from a much heavier door and Marcella realized a moment too late that her son had ran out the front door.

Suzan bit her lip, realizing she'd probably just witnessed a family blow-up the likes of which hadn't yet been observed in this house. "Uh…Clay. I think me, you, and Tom need to talk about some things."

Clayton stood and nodded, looking at Marcella. "Is there somewhere where we can talk, Marcella?"

"My den," Marcella murmured, biting her lip as she continued to stare at the spot where she'd last seen her son. "You're welcome to it."

The Collins family, minus Jessica, whom had hopped into Mimi's lap and was questioning her on various things, made their way down the hall to Marcella's den and congregated there in a loose circle, Alberta in a chair. Clayton looked at Collins and with one glance in his father's eyes and it was obvious what would have to go down this night.

"No," he refused, flatly.

"Tom…" Suzan murmured. "He's so nice and I wish it was different…I wouldn't wish that on anyone in the world. And least of all my own son! It's just…not safe for you to consciously be in a relationship with someone who has what Angel does. It's…"

"Oh, so it would be better if Angel's hadn't told me?" Collins asked.

"What I want to know is why he didn't tell you before you stared dating," Clayton growled, and it was obvious Angel had just taken a complete nose-dive on his favorite people meter.

"That's because she didn't know!" Collins practically growled at his father. "God, if you would listen for five minutes!"

"Tom, see it our way, please baby," Suzan murmured. "I don't think I could handle it if you…"

"Yeah, and neither could Angel," Collins said, crossing his arms. "She would beat herself up so bad over it. We're being safe. I've already told dad that we're not doing anything right now. We're waiting. And when the time comes for that, we'll be safe. We're not completely stupid like your stereotype of a teenager, Mom. And there's nothing you can say that can get me away from her. I… I love her."

"Tom, you don't know that," Suzan assessed. "You're at an age where you think you're in love, but it's really just infatuation! He may say he loves you and you might think you love him because he says he does…But the truth is neither of you really know what love is yet! And you can't throw your life away for that!"

"Who's throwing their life away?" Collins asked. "I told you, Mom, Dad. If there isn't a way to be safe, then we just won't do anything! But that won't keep me away from her! I really do love her and you're gonna have to accept that."

"You're seventeen, Tom. You don't know the first thing about love," Suzan insisted.

"What does age have to do with it?" asked Collins. "Why can't two teenagers be in love without people telling them it won't last and it's just puppy love? Why can't I want to spend my life with her?"

"I know how you must feel," Suzan whispered, coming forward and laying a hand on her son's cheek. "He's the first person you've ever felt this strongly for and you think it's love. But someday, when you look back on all this, you're going to realize that what you felt for him isn't anything close to real love."

"We are your parents, Tom," Clayton growled. "And what we say goes. You're not to see him again, do you understand me? If you do…" the threat in his eyes spoke more than words could and Collins cringed.

"I don't see why Angel having HIV triggered all this," Collins cried. "It's not like she had any control over it; she was born with it after all! And…she's so careful it's almost annoying. She won't let me help her out when she's cut and bleeding. She wouldn't kiss me until a cold sore I had last week cleared up… She would never do that to me. And I would never do that to her. There are ways to be careful."

"We don't want you infected," Suzan said once again.

"For God's sake mom! For the last time, Angel's so careful she's practically a saint!"

Suzan sighed, stepping back and looking reflective for a few minutes. "Okay, I think I can see if from your point of view a bit, Tom. And…I think that if you continue to be careful…"

"…Which we will…"

"…Then I don't have a problem with you two continuing to see each other," she finished.

"Condoms," was all Grams said, making the whole room jump – they'd almost forgotten about the matriarch being present – and Collins blushed a bit.

"Yes," Suzan giggled in agreement, blushing as well and not able to say it herself.

"Suzan…" Clayton said slowly. Collins soured right back up.

"Oh, stop it Dad! You've been just hunting for something to use against Angel and I since the second you found out I was gay!"

"You know that's not true, Tom," Clayton sighed, a bit of shame starting to taint his, up until that point, demanding voice. "I just can't help but worry about you and wonder if I can trust him."

"You can, I promise," Collins whispered. "She's the most amazing, wonderful, absoloutly selfless person in the world." He glanced towards the door, figuring Mimi had begun conducting a manhunt by now and he should probably help – he didn't want either of them out there alone at this hour. "I should go – help find Angel."

Suzan nodded and watched as her son stepped out of the room, before looking over at her husband. "Oh, Clay…I think he means it! My baby's all grown up and in love!"

Clayton nodded, embracing his wife gently, no doubt remembering their own meeting when they were sixteen in high school. "I really think he does, Suzie. I really do."

She just ran. She didn't know where she was going, what she was going to do; she just needed to get away from them all. The sun was setting in the far west and she knew that soon there wouldn't be anything for her to use to guide her through the rapidly darkening streets but she could manage.

Finally she came to the park and ran to the nearest bench she could find. She brought her knees to her chest and curled the rest of her body around them. She placed her head on her knees and simply sobbed into her skirt, mouthing words into the fabric and staining it with the raspberry color of her lip-gloss.

The streetlights flicked on around her and she must have sat there half an hour, because the next thing she knew the stars were shining brightly overhead and she had absoloutly no tears left to cry. What would happen now? Would Collins be made to see the light and leave her? Would Collins' parents make him stay away from her? Were Clayton and Suzan setting up arrangements to have him sent off to some brainwashing boarding school far away as she sat there?

She heard a noise on the wind. It sounded a lot like her name but she ignored it. Then again, closer this time and she finally looked up.

"ANGEL?!"

"ANGELCHICA! COME ON, YOUR MOM'S WORRIED SICK! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"ANGEL! YOU OUT HERE?!"

She sat up at the realization that Collins and Mimi were somewhere close, calling for her. Her tears began anew and she called, "Mimi? Tom? I'm over here!"

The thin, slight form of Mimi came barreling down the sidewalk and threw herself at Angel, squeezing her tightly. "Oh, God! I was so worried, Chica! You've been gone three hours!"

Angel frowned. Three hours? It sure hadn't seemed that long. She patted Mimi's back and pulled her down to sit beside her, burying her face in her shoulder. Collins sat on her other side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She sighed, sniffing and wiping her eyes in an attempt at hiding the fact that she was crying, and glanced between her two favorite people; her best friend and boyfriend. "Okay, just tell me straight. Am I gonna get dumped?"

Collins shook his head vehemently and tugged Angel to him, wrapping her securely in a warm embrace. "No. They weren't happy at first but…I think everything's been pretty much worked out. My dad will take a bit more convincing but after that…we're out of the woods. But now would be good time to tell me anymore secrets…just while they're open to new ideas."

Laughing a bit, Angel assured, "Nope, no more…unless they've happened to somehow miss the drag. Then I'd clue them in." Thinking back to what started the whole thing, she blushed at the memory of the scene she'd created and murmured, "I'm sorry to go completely insane on you guys. I just…can't believe she'd tell them that."

"You're gonna hate me, Chica, but I really think they should have known before," Mimi murmured. "I think the blowup may not have been so bad if they'd known outright."

"I don't see why," Angel growled. "As far as I'm concerned, nothing's ever gonna happen to Collins that would result in them having to know. And it's not like they're ever gonna be provided with infected grandchildren, seeing as it's kinda impossible for me to give birth…"

Mimi sighed. "You know as well as I do that it would beat you up inside, Angel."

"I know," she admitted. She shivered as the wind picked up and burrowed closer to the warmth of her friends, letting out a shuddering breath as she finally registered her practically icicle-like state. Collins pulled off his top layer – a wool coat – and slung it around her shoulders. She thanked him in a murmur with a gentle kiss and stood, holding her hands out. He wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around Mimi's shoulders and walked with them out of the park.

"Does my mom like totally hate me now?" Angel murmured, cringing in preparation for the answer.

"I actually think she's just about as sorry as you are," Mimi assured. "She's worried sick; probably just about to call your disappearance into Missing Persons or something. So don't worry, Chica."

"I love you guys," Angel sighed, squeezing Collins and brushing her fingers over Mimi's shoulder.

"We love ya too, Ang," Collins whispered. Mimi beamed at him and rose a brow. He made the same face in return and she flashed her teeth in a wide grin.

They arrived back at the Schunard residence in time to see Clayton come out the door, Jessica asleep on his hip, followed by Suzan and Alberta. They appeared to have tired of waiting for their son to reappear and figured he could find his way home. The Collinses took in the group of teens and Clayton sighed, raising his brows at Angel in defeat.

"I'm sorry about the scene I created earlier, Mr. and Mrs. Collins," Angel murmured, respectfully stepping away from their son to stand on her own two feet. "It was uncalled for and I overreacted."

Suzan shook her head, taking Angel by surprise when she hugged her. "Oh, it's okay sweetie. I'm so sorry that you had to go through finding this out at your age. And I'm sure Clay is just as sorry as I am about pushing the subject and revealing things that weren't meant to be revealed."

"No, you have the right to know and I should have told you," Angel insisted, pulling back and smiling at her boyfriend's mother. "Thank you so much for accepting this. And thank you too, Mr. Collins. It means so much to me."

Clayton nodded and shook Angel's hand. "No problem, Angel. Personally, you'd have to be blind to not see that you and Tom are very good together. And I think my wife would agree that you can call us Clayton and Suzan."

Angel nodded, grinning at the honor, and retook her position next to Mimi. She looked towards the porch to see her mother leaning in the doorway, smiling just a bit.

Collins wrapped Mimi in a hug and kissed Angel goodbye before following his family to the car, waving at Marcella and Marcia as he left. Angel and Mimi glanced at each other and walked up the steps, Angel mumbling, "Mimi's staying the night…" and stepped into her mother's arms, hugging her tightly.

"I want you to eat something, Mijo," Marcella whispered, smiling. "There are leftovers in the fridge."

Angel nodded and slunk away, into the house, followed by the rest of her family and walked into the kitchen, warming up some turkey, green bean casserole, and mashed potatoes (courtesy of Suzan) and went upstairs to change, coming back down in pair of shorts and a black tee-shirt. He sat at the kitchen counter and slowly picked at his meal, not eating a whole lot.

They had gotten through this ordeal, but Angel couldn't help but think there would be something they couldn't get through. No one person was allowed to be this happy and lucky in one lifetime; all within the span of three months, no less. Something had to give; he was sure of it.

Now, to him, all that was left was time; when, and why, would the blowup come about?

End chapter; TBC

A/N: Oh, eh...I didn't really like this. Maybe you did, I dunno. Anyway, next chapter will probably be Angel's birthday/Christmas/New Year's because I feel like it (And no one ever does the holidays in high school fics; what's up with that?!) and I hope you will enjoy that too! :D

La Translations: (There's a boatload of 'em so prepare)
* Ay, chica…mira eso! Él es azotado!" translates into: "Oh girl…look at that! He's whipped!"
**"Mamá, me estás avergonzando!" Angel hissed. Marcella sighed at her son and replied, "¿Qué, Angel, no estoy autorizado a socializar en su empresa?"
"Usted puede si usted no habla sobre mí!"
"Se le olvida, la miel. Yo soy la mamá, y yo para hablar de lo que quiero."
Angel let out a groan worthy of every preteen girl who ever lived and mumbled, "Collins, por favor, no juzgar sobre lo que me dice mi madre…ella se entusiasma cuando está en estrecha qauters con personas que no están conmigo y la abuela." Translates to: (Just the translations) One: "Mama, you're embarrassing me!" Two: "What, Angel? Am I not allowed to socialize in your presence?" Three: "You can, just don't talk about me!" Four: "You forget, honey. I'm the mommy, and I get to talk about what I want." Five: Please, Collins…don't judge me on what my mother might say…she gets talkative when she's in the company of people other than me or Abuela."
***Angel gasped and stared at her mother, shooting up off the sofa. "MAMA! No puedo creer que usted! ¿Cómo puedes decir eso? Es personal!"
Marcella regarded her son solemnly, with someone akin to reprimand in her stare. "Alguien tenía que decirles. Debería haber sido usted."
"Yo no estaba a punto de decirle que podía infectar a su hijo con una enfermedad mortal!" Angel cried vehemently. Mimi and Collins both stood and Mimi whispered something to Angel, who nodded and sat down. Translates to: one: "MAMA! I can't believe you! How could you tell them that?! It's personal!" Two: "They should know. I shouldn't have had to tell them." Three: "I was not about to tell them that I could infect their child with a deadly disease!"
Wow. That's a whole helluva lot, isn't it? Anyway, uh…the "There's a cat in my pants" Thing is dedicated to David, who made me squirt water out my nose by telling me that in English.

Thanks to Marky's Scarfy for being so completely awesome and enduring through the mistakes I make! And being my moral support, which is always a good quality in a beta!

Reviews are the Sadism to my Masochism! REVIEW, BITCH! (Please?)

-Lynn