I'm so sorry I just don't update this fic sometimes... I'm a horrible person... I'm sorry... I get easily... distracted.

Oh, and I've pretty much given up on the "he" pronoun for Angel... I seriously just don't care anymore XD She's a girl as far as I can tell... so... yeah. I'm sorry.

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.

Pos/Neg

By Donna

Chapter Eleven: Positive

August came in warm. Mark's Life Support membership became permanent, Angel and his relationship healed nicely, and they were working on rather strange, and downright random, videos. These included Angel mocking the voicemails of a certain Alexi Darling, who continued to bager Mark into joining Buzzline. Mark pretty much put his foot down. No way was he going to sell out. Angel, on the other hand, thought it'd be nice to be able to have the money. Who cared about selling out?

As long as it didn't cut into their videos, of course. The one they were currently working on was slightly serious. Angel was strutting down the street in a tailored pinstriped suit and pumps. She held a pen and writing tablet, pulling Mark around. They were doing a poll.

Angel found an older woman to ask. "Hello, ma'am! Where are you from?"

"I'm from Jersey. I'm visiting my buddies from Manhattan."

Mark was rather shocked at the way the woman warmed up to Angel so quickly.

"Fabulous. Would you like to answer a question for our poll?" Angel asked.

"Of course I would."

"Great! Uhm... you know of the whole AIDS thing, right?" Angel asked, moving her hands around in circles.

"Yes. I'm very well aware."

"Well, would you go out with someone who had AIDS?"

The woman stood there for a moment, trying to find a proper answer. "Well... I think I would. If you love someone, it really shouldn't matter, right?"

Angel and Mark grinned. "Good answer, honey!" Angel said, hugging her. "Thank you! See ya!"

They ran off to the next group of people. Mark whispered, "I think as a reporter, you're supposed to keep a rather neutral approach."

"Oh, whatever," Angel mumbled, finding a group of people.

"Hi! Would you like to talk a poll?"

"Yes."

"Sure."

"Okay."

"No... yes."

"Okay! Would you got out with someone that has AIDS?"

"What! No!"

"Why not?"

"No!"

"What difference does it make?"

Mark kept score in his head, even though Angel continuously wrote it down. By the time they were done they had thirty yes, twenty-four nos, and four maybes.

Angel and he went to the subway, slightly dejected. Angel held her head in her hand, wincing. "Ow... God."

"You okay?" Mark asked.

"I'm just hurtin' a little," Angel mumbled, "My feet kill me."

"Oh. Okay. Then why are you holding your head?"

She looked up at me. "I really don't know."

They staggered out of the subway station and straight to the loft. Mark put her to bed and began to worry. Should he call a doctor? He wasn't ready for this. He'd never be ready for this. Wait a second, she wasn't dying. She was just sick. But no matter. Whenever Angel got sick Mark worried. It just came natural for him. He checked up on Angel. Angel started at him and said, "You didn't have to throw me into bed like this. I'm fine. I swear."

Mark shook his head. "I know... I know, but it's only to be safe. The sooner we get you better, the sooner we can do more weird polls."

Angel smirked, leaning ack. "Tomorrow will be, 'Is the president evil or incompetent?' Just for you political nuts."

Mark shook his head once more. "You need anything?"

Angel shrugged. "A water. Food. You got any ice cream?" He curled up under the sheets.

Mark laughed. "You're crazy." He kissed her forehead and tried to hide his evident frown. Angel had a fever. He pulled back slowly and knew who he had to call.

His mother.

Evidently concerned, she told Mark to be careful, do the rag-on-forehead thing, and if the fever was still there tomorrow, call a doctor.

So that night, Mark and Angel laid in bed together, eating crustless sandwiches. Roger joined them and sat on the bed with them. He talked about the things they missed on their day doing God know's what (if only he knew!), and just listen to their babble between bites of food.

"Pruh buis 'er dah bes!" Angel tried to say with food n her mouth.

"That's not very lady-like," Mark teased.

Angel gulped. "You guys are the best ever."

Mark checked her forehead. "We may just be. I think your fever is breaking."

Angel smiled, finishing her sandwich, and laying against Mark's chest. She went to sleep quickly.

"Mark," Roger whispered.

"What?" Mark asked.

"I've been thinking about this... have you gotten tested since you started going out with Angel?"

"No."

Roger nodded. "You should, just in case."

"Yeah... I should."

The next morning, Angel felt much better. She jumped around a little, even attempting to make breakfast. Roger pinned her onto the couch and said that if she even tried, he was going to rip her penis off. She wasn't exactly scared of him, or cared if he did it, seeing as though she really wasn't using it much, but she sat down obediently, watching Roger attempt. She got dressed and wore nothing too elaborate, and still sounded sick. Mark took notice, and he hoped that if he left randomly to get a bloodtest, Angel wouldn't take notice. He didn't want to scare her.

"Where're you going?" Angel asked, playing with one of the loose threads on the couch.

"Out. I'll be back."

"Oh... if you're going to get food or something, I need some more mascara..."

"Okay. Bye."

Mark left, not even kissing Angel. Angel looked at Roger. "What is he really doing?"

"I told him to get a bloodtest."

Angel sighed. "He could have told me."

Roger shrugged. "He's weird like that."

Angel stole the coffee Roger had just made a took a sip. "He couldn't even wait for my doctor's appointment on Thursday..."

"Nope."

"He can be so stupid."

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Your t-cells have dropped significantly since the last appointment," the doctor announced to Angel.

Angel nodded, her legs moving back and forth in suspension from the bed she sat on. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's not your fault!" the doctor giggled, "You couldn't have prevented this. Is... is your caretaker here?"

Angel nodded. This wasn't good.

Mark came in, sitting next to Angel. He held her close.

"Well..." the doctor said, "...Mr. Schunard, it appears that you are in what some people may call the 'final stage' of the disease." She put her hand on Angel's shoulder. "You should get your priorities in order, in case you haven't already."

Mark rubbed his eyes. "So... will there be any new medication necessary?"

"Yes. I must warn you, the side effects will be quite terrible, I'm afraid. There isn't much we can do aside make sure you get proper sleep and diet, and make sure you don't push yourself."

Angel nodded. "Okay... uhm... yeah..." She rubbed her neck nervously. "Thank you so much doctor." She shook her hand.

The doctor nodded, admiring Angel's confidence. "You're welcome."

Angel jumped off the bed and helped Mark off. Mark was still trying to take it in. "Angel..."

"Are you okay, baby?" Angel asked, grabbing some pamphlets a nurse handed her. "Oh... here's one." She handed him one titled, "Accepting a love one has AIDS."

Mark grabbed the teal-colored paper and stared at it in disbelief. "Angel... aren't you scared at all?"

Angel shrugged. "I guess I am. I mean, there's no joking now. But hey, I got you, Mark, as far as I'm concerned, I'm fine."

Mark bit his lip and sniffed. "Right."

"Mark!" Angel exclaimed, "Don't start crying on me."

Mark rubbed his eyes, his glasses nearly falling off his face.

"Mark! Please!" Angel begged, "Don't cry! If you start crying, I'm going to start crying!"

Mark fell into her, sobbing.

Angel shook her head and held him close. She allowed one or two tears to slide down her cheeks. She figured she had to let it all out now, and not later.

Mark tried to catch his breath. As far as he was concerned, his bloodtest might as well be positive. He honestly felt dead at the moment.