I wanted to write Collins and Angel...and this came out instead. It's one of the pieces I'm more proud of than most, because shows the before and after of theirrelationship (andwe all know how I love flashbacks). Italics are flashbacks, normal font is the present. Please enjoy.
Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson owns these characters, not me. (I also used a little piece of the musical in the second flashback as well.)
Collins smiled softly, a flower in his hand, tears in his eyes.
"Hello, baby." Angel's tombstone was at his feet, still looking pretty nice despite the weathering it hand endured. He took a seat on the grass, laying the rose in front of the grave marker. Slowly, Collins leaned over and traced Angel's name lightly with his finger. "How are you?" His voice was soft, low, heart-breaking. The day was overcast, the sun peeking out of the clouds occasionally. Collins came here whenever the mood hit him, and today it had hit him hard. He had escaped his friends, bought a single white rose, and walked over to the graveyard. "I miss you, my Angel," he whispered gently, "I miss you so much." It still stung to come here, to talk to the grave as if she were still alive...but it would hurt more not to come at all.
"Collins, promise me you'll visit me," she said as he ran a hand over her hair, her real hair, not a wig.
Collins smiled. "I visit you every day."
"I mean when I die," Angel added, and Collins grew quiet. He hated to hear Angel talk about her death. "Please," she said softly, earnestly, almost pleadingly. "I want to see your beautiful face everyday. At least come visit me a few times." Oh god. This was so hard. Both could see the tears in the other's eyes, both could see the unadulterated pain inside.
"Baby, I'll come everyday," he said, lightly pressing his forehead to hers. "And on Sundays, I'll bring a rose." Angel smiled, closing her eyes, and Collins closed his, and they sat there for a few minutes, forehead resting on forehead, just two scared boys in a hospital trying not to cry.
"I'd like that," Angel whispered after the long pause. "Make it a white rose, honey. White like a wedding dress." She giggled, coughing a bit. "I always wanted to wear one." And both laughed at the image of Angel and Collins at a wedding, a homemade wedding dress on one and scruffy black pants and a tie on the other.
When Collins was finally able to visit the grave, he brought a white rose. And he had done so ever since. A tradition of sorts. "You should see them, Angel," Collins said, and a grin slipped onto his face. "Maureen and Joanne are having another fight again. Mimi and Roger are doing good; Mark told me he accidentally walked in on Mimi handcuffing Roger to the bed." He laughed. "The boy's a little disturbed, but no mental harm done. We're all doing okay, we're pulling through." The wind whipped around him, cold and harsh. Winter was coming. "I wish you were here, though," he added. "Sometimes, when I'm alone, I think of what it'd be like if you were still alive." Collins paused, and fumbled with the grass, taking a deep breath. Still hard to say these things, always hard to say these things.
"Alone at last." Angel smiled at Collins, who was still watching as Mark left.
"He'll be back, I guarantee," the professor said, looking back to the drag queen.
"I've been hearing violins all night!" Angel exclaimed, and Collins looked at her nervously. He decided to come out with it.
"Anything to do with me? Are we a thing?" God, was he relieved to see the comforting smile widen on Angel's face when he said that.
She wrapped her arms around him. "Darling...we're everything!" And as they embraced, both knew that this was something, something beyond any of the relationships they had before, oh, this, this was love
"You always brought a smile to my face, my Angel, no matter how I was feeling. I...I think I'm lost without you," Collins confessed, and leaned forward, starting to sob. "God, it's so hard without you. You don't know how many times I wished I could hold you in my arms. I've tried to date around, tried to move on...but it's not the same. They aren't you, Angel." His tears dripped on the rose, splashed on the headstone. "They aren't you."
And then the thunder rumbled and it began to rain.
Collins let the rain fall on him, let it soak his clothing and his skin. Angel, my sweet baby girl with enough energy to last a lifetime. You shouldn't have died. Collins imaged this must have looked a little strange, a man without an umbrella crying over a tombstone in the rain, but he couldn't have cared less. Oh, Angel, my Angel, my queen with the heart of gold.
"Collins."
And for a second, Collins looked up, surprised. Memory playing tricks on him, again. Cruel mind tricks. Collins looked back to the grave, and traced Angel's name again. "I love you, Angel," he said. "I'll always love you." He picked up the rose, and kissed it lightly, laying it down above Angel's name on the stone marker. "Always."
"Collins, honey, c'mon!"
"What, my Angel?"
"It's raining!"
"What about it?"
"We have to dance! Dance in the rain! I've always done it, since I was a little kid."
"Didn't you get sick?"
"Yeah, loads of times. But I always did it by myself. Collins, come dance in the rain with me. I want to dance with you, share it with you! And we can get sick together!"
"Alright! I'd only get sick for you, baby."
"And that, Collins, is why I'll always love you. Always." And then they went outside and danced and kissed in the rain. A sweet kiss that will always last in both their minds, something that will last forever etched in loving memory. This, honey, this is love. This is something everlasting, something eternal, something that will always live on.
Always.
-fin.