Title: Even Angels Get the Blues
Author: Sarah
Feedback: Love it, please leave it. . .positive or negative
Pairing: Angel and Mimi, though not really Angel/Mimi, unless you really really want it to be.
Word Count: 2,155
Rating: PG-13 for drug use and overdose
Genre: Drama . . .
Summary: Angel gets some bad news. Mimi lets her down and she can't cope.
Notes:

Special Thanks:

Spoilers:
Warnings: Drug use and massive depression within.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

P lj-cut text"Blues" /P

"Mr. Schunard?" At first, Angel doesn't look up from her magazine. Mr. Schunard is her father, after all. "Mr. Schunard?" Angel shakes her head, remembering where she is. She puts down the magazine and stands up, no longer lost in the world of gaunt supermodels and heroin-chic.

"I . . . I'm Mr. Schunard."

"Right this way, please." The clinic's attendant, barely older than she herself leads her to yet another dull grey and white, stainless-steel and concrete, wash-the-walls-down-with-a-hose, impersonal room and drops her folder in the wall pocket outside the door. "The doctor will be with you in a minute. Wait here, please."

Never having been one to wait patiently; as soon as the girl is out of the room, Angel moves quickly to where her file has been dropped. 'Dumott-Schunard, A' the tab reads. Her hands shake, picking it up, and twice she drops it back into the plastic wall pocket, but on the third attempt, she manages to pick it up, and, feeling like she did when she snuck her sister's clothes as a kid, moves quickly and decisively back into the sterile and comfortless room. A page, folded triple, falls to the floor. She stops and stares at it. After a moment, she bends and picks it up, closes her eyes, and opens it. Opening her eyes, she sees the words 'HIV antigen test: POSITIVE.' With a cry, she drops the piece of paper like it's hot. Almost as soon as it hits the floor, Angel hears someone out in the hallway.

"Chloe, his file's not here. Are you sure you put it in the-" The young doctor looks into the consultation room and sees the stricken look on Angel's face, the file in her hand "Never mind, it's here." He moves with a friendly professionalism towards Angel, his hand outstretched "Hello, Mr. Schunard. I'm Dr. Riggs. It's nice to meet-"
Angel pushes past him, dropping the file and all its contents on the floor. The doctor doesn't bother to pick it up, just follows the fleeing Angel down the hall.

"Mr. Schunard, please stop. We need to talk. Mr. Schunard . . . Angel, please." Hearing her first name, Angel does stop. She's impressed that he's remembered. Dr Riggs waits a minute for Angel to turn toward him. When she doesn't, he approaches her himself, lays a hand on her arm, and speaks in a low, soft voice. "Look, I haven't had a chance to read your test results yet, but I think I can guess what they said from the look on your face. Let's go back to the consult room and talk more about this. This isn't a death sentence, Angel. People are living for many years with HIV, ok? Good years. Come back and let's talk." Tears flowing down her cheeks, Angel shakes his hand off and continues her flight from the building. To his credit, Dr Riggs gives chase again; calling out her name, but this time, Angel won't stop for him. She runs down the four flights of stairs to street level, and doesn't slow down for three blocks, when she's sure that she has been completely swallowed up by the city. Only then does she stop to figure out where she is; get her bearings, and try to find a subway station. The last time she felt this bad, she spent hours riding around on the subway, and ultimately met Mimi, the love of her life. She didn't think enough to believe that the subway would be the answer again, but with no idea what else to do or where else to go, she hops the turnstile in the subway station at 42nd and gets on the F-Line, not really thinking that it would take her to the new, slightly less run-down neighborhood where she and Mimi now share a one-bedroom apartment. Out of habit, Angel gets off at her stop and realizes she had been going home, going to Mimi after all. She runs the last five blocks to their apartment. It feels good to run. Angel has always been a physical creature, her body obeying her every wish(save one, of course), and it's good to know that even though the rest of her life has changed in the past couple of hours, that her muscles, bones, and tendons will still obey her commands. Taking the last flight of stairs two at a time, Angel breathlessly pulls out her keys to open the door to the apartment, eagerly anticipating seeing Mimi's brown eyes; to draw comfort from them. But when she throws open the door the apartment is dark and empty, comfortless.

-----

For the next couple of hours, Angel tries desperately to get her mind off the only thing it wants to think about. When nothing else works, she finally pulls out her pickle tub and heads out into the street. She goes to her favorite spot on Avenue A, sits down, and listens to this little part of the city. Before long, a beat suggests itself to her and she begins to play, softly at first, then louder and louder. At last, the stress of the day begins to melt away with the comfort of her drumbeats complementing the natural sounds of the city. But this comfort too, is fleeting. As soon as she stops playing, reality sets back in, and she is forced to face her mortality again. Finally, she gathers her drum and takes it back home. Mimi still isn't there and Angel is forced to spend the first night of her new and terrifying life alone.

-----

Mimi doesn't come back the next day, or the next, or the next, for that matter, and Angel's dark mood only deteriorates in the absence of her best friend. On the second day, her thoughts start to turn to the little package of powder which she knows Mimi has hidden in the back of the cupboard. Her "emergency rations," she calls it. Mimi knows that Angel does not approve of her drug taking, so she thinks she's clever, hiding her stash in the high cupboard behind the coffee mugs, where Angel isn't tall enough to see. However, two weeks ago, Angel chased a cockroach up the wall and into that very cupboard. Standing on the counter holding a shoe in her hand, Angel forgot all about the roach when she saw the needle, tourniquet, and bag of powder. She had better sense than to mention it to Mimi, or to throw it away. She had planned to bide her time, mention it when she thought it would actually be beneficial, but the time had not yet come. Now she is beginning to be glad she waited. She doesn't know how much is there, but she does know that since she has no tolerance to the drug, that a fairly small dose can be fatal.

-----

By the third day of Mimi's absence, Angel has lost the strength to get out of bed. She spends the entire day, wrapped in her blankets, staring at the wall, crying softly or sleeping, sometimes praying to the God of her parents, asking Him why she is forced to live with this death sentence, wondering why she wasn't hit by a bus on the way home from the clinic the other day, wishing there were some way out of this. Late that evening, Mimi's "emergency rations" come into her head again. Finally, sometime long past midnight, Angel climbs up onto the counter and takes down the all of the paraphernalia. Laying it on the coffee table, made from a spool Con-Ed left behind, Angel curls up on the beat-up sofa under her blankets and stares at the powder and syringe. A few hours later, she decides it's too cold in the apartment and goes to light a candle and get a glass of water. She doesn't even bother to justify to herself why she needs the spoon.

-----

When Mimi finally stumbles in at around 10 am on the fourth day, she finds Angel sprawled out on the sofa, her tourniquet on her arm, the needle and burnt spoon nearby, the candle burnt down to a puddle of wax, still dripping onto the floor. Shaking off the last vestiges of her own high, Mimi drops her purse on the floor, and nearly breaks her ankle tripping over its strap to get to her abnormally pale friend. Quickly and with expert fingers, she unties the tourniquet from Angel's bicep, cursing herself for leaving drugs where Angel might find them, though she had no fear that she would ever attempt to use them. The worst she'd expected was a lecture if Angel ever found them. She slaps Angel's cold clammy cheeks lightly, trying to bring her around.

"Angel? Angel-baby, talk to me. It's Mimi, sweetie. Wake up."

Angel's eyes open slightly, trying to focus on Mimi's face. "Mimi-chica," she manages weakly, her lips alarmingly blue. "You're here."

Tears burn in Mimi's eyes. "I'm here, sweetness. What did you do? Why?"

"Don't touch that needle, Meems. Get rid of it." Angel whispers. "I'm sick, honey. I want this . . . want to die."

"Angel, no! I'm calling 911. Right now. Hold on, I'll be right back!"

Mimi kisses Angel, and then sprints the two blocks to the nearest payphone, wishing again that they'd had a regular phone installed. She calls 911, informing the operator of Angel's overdose and urging them to please hurry. Out of breath, Mimi returns to find Angel still conscious. She breathes a sigh of relief and sits down next to her, taking Angel's head in her lap, occasionally helping her breathe and whispering comfort and encouragement to her, trying not to think about the last few days in her own life. Finally, the paramedics arrive, put Angel on oxygen, and whisk her off in the ambulance, allowing Mimi to ride along once she's convinced them that she's Angel's sister.

----

Two days later, Angel awakens; feeling like her head has been bashed against a concrete wall. The lights are far too bright, but once her eyes finally adjust, she sees Mimi, sleeping half in an uncomfortable chair, half draped over Angel's wrist and hand on the bed. When Angel moves, Mimi's eyes open groggily.

"Hey, Mimi-chica." Her voice feels and sounds gravelly.

"Angel!" Mimi's usually beautiful eyes are bloodshot and swollen. She grabs Angel's nearby hand and presses it against her lips, then holds it tightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a bus."

Mimi laughs. "I'm so glad you're still here, sweetie."
"Me too. That was stupid of me."

"I'm sorry I was gone so long. I . . . I had a bad couple of days."
"Yeah. Me too." They sit in a tense silence, each thinking about how to tell the other her news.

"Angel, I think I know why you did this."
"No, you don't."

"I know what you meant when you said you were sick."

"I said that?"

"Yeah, and when they tested your blood, the doctor assumed I knew about your HIV status, 'cause I told them I was your sister."

"Shit, Meems. I didn't know how to tell you."

"Is that why you did it?"

"Yes . . . No . . . I don't know why I did it."

"Don't ever do anything like that again, ok? You scared the shit out of me. I love you. What would I ever do without you?" Mimi starts to cry, takes Angel's hand and presses it against her cheek. Angel looks at it and notices that her nails are painted a brilliant metallic blue.

"I won't, I promise. What's with this color? Did you do this?"

Mimi laughs through her tears. Leave it to Angel to notice something ridiculous and frivolous at an important moment.

"Yeah, umm" Mimi sniffles and wipes her nose in an unladylike manner on her own hand, "your nails were this awful purple-blue color when we came in 'cause of the overdose. I had this color in my purse, so I decided that I should dress them up, make them look a little better. I thought you might like that."

"I love it, sweetie. Thank you." The two smile and sit quietly together, the silence a little more comfortable this time.

"Angel?"
"Yes, honey?"

"I . . . umm . . . I ran into an old boyfriend on the street a few days ago. He told me I should get tested too. I went in on Monday. I have two more weeks to wait 'til I get the results."

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry." Angel opens her arms and Mimi crawls into the bed with her and curls into them, sobbing. At that moment Angel knows that whatever happens neither she nor Mimi will ever let the other down again. They are sisters now in more ways than ever before.