Title: Promises
Author: Jen
Feedback: I love it so much you have no idea!
Pairing:mentions of Angel/Collins, Roger/Mimi, and very briefly Joanne/Maureen, mostly Roger Mark Collins friends
Word Count:1510
Rating: PG-13 for language
Genre: Angsty
Summary: Mark pulls Collins out of a bar again, and Roger has some words for his friend
Notes: Collins is drunk when he talks about Angel, hence the pronoun jumping. It's intential and not in error.
Special Thanks: electrakitty74 for looking it over.
Spoilers: Not if you've seen rent
Warnings: Talks of suicide, and dying
Disclaimer: Rents not mine

Collins shivered when the door opened and a cold breeze filled the small bar. He rubbed his arms swiftly before finishing off his beer, and asked for another without looking at who had entered.

A hand rested on his arm before he could down his eighth beer in an hour and his, well, he'd lost count on how many beers he had. "Collins, come back to loft." Another pushed the beer away. "You've had enough."

Collins looked up and through his drunken haze, saw Mark standing beside him, digging money out of his wallet. "Nah...nah, Markie," he slurred, somehow managing to stand up. "Me...I got it. The code, 'member?" He pulled out his own wallet and opened it, sending papers, cards, and pictures falling to the ground. "Whoops!"

Mark sighed and shoved Collins back into the barstool. "Sit. I'll get the money out." He knelt on the ground, gathering up everything Collins had dropped and placed it on the counter. He dug through Collins' wallet and paid the bartender. "Thanks for calling me."

The bartender took the money and nodded before heading off to help another customer.

"Let's get you home." Mark grabbed Collins' jacket and started to help his friend get it on.

Collins picked up the picture on top of the pile, running his fingers lightly over the top. "I miss 'im," he whispered, clutching it tightly in his hands.

"Shit," Mark muttered under his breath, mad at himself for not seeing what picture rested on top; one of Angel taken just weeks before she died. "I know you do, man. We all do."

"Why him? Why did she have to die?"

Mark managed to get Collins into his coat before sitting beside his friend. "I don't know, Collins." He stared down at the counter top trying to think of the best words to tell his heartbroken friend but nothing seemed to be coming to mind. "Let's go home. You need to eat."

Collins was too tired and too drunk to put up much of a fight but he refused to let Angel's picture go, the small object held tightly in his hand as he leaned against Mark. "I'm...I'm not hungry," he whispered over and over again.

Mark knew better but chose not to say anything. He'd dragged Collins home drunk enough times to know that the man had lost more weight the one person should in a short period of time. Ever since Angel had died and his plans to head down to Santa Fe had fallen through, Collins spent more and more time at the bar. It had gotten to the point that the bartenders all knew Mark's number and would call him when they felt Collins had had too much and needed someone to drag him out.

"I should just...just jump in front of a car!" Collins yelled, tripping slightly, saved from hitting the pavement by Mark's quick reflexes. "Join him. Join my baby." His lower lip trembled slightly, the alcohol preventing him from holding back despite the fact that the combination of the cool air and seeing Angel's picture seemed to be sobering up the former college professor. "Better than...than dying like...like she did. No one should go like that...no one. No one."

Silently, Mark agreed. He hadn't enjoyed watching Angel die at all and he really didn't look forward to watching Roger, Mimi, and Collins go either. He helped Collins up the stairs, stopping him from tripping at least three times before they finally made it into the loft.

Collins collapsed on the couch, Angel's picture pressed to his chest. "Oh, Angel. Angel. Angelangelangelangel," he muttered over and over again.

Mark went into his room and retrieved a blanket, draping it over Collins. "Try and sleep ok?"

"No. Can't sleep. I need him. I need her so much," he cried, tears flowing down his cheeks. "I need 'im in my arms again."

Mark ran his fingers through his hair, unsure of what to do. Collins had cried when Angel had died. He had cried at the funeral. He had cried when Mimi said she'd seen Angel in her mind. But Mark had never seen Collins cry like this. His face was scrunched up almost like he was in pain, the tears were falling down his cheeks in small streams, the sobs were escaping his throat harshly as he lay on the couch, curled up in as small of a ball as he could make his long, lean body. "Collins, man..." Mark started to say but stopped himself. What could he really say that hadn't been said already? What could he say that would help?

Roger came shuffling into the room, his hair sticking up in all directions as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Mark, what the hell?" he whispered.

"I..." Mark sighed and walked to Roger's side. "I picked him up at the bar again. He dropped his wallet and a picture of Angel fell out. He saw it and...and this is what happened." He surveyed Roger closely. "You should be in bed," he whispered, his eyes darting quickly to the small lesions dotting Roger's arms and face.

"You should start worrying about yourself once and a while. Before you make yourself sick."

"Can we worry about me later? What should we do about Collins?"

Roger shrugged. "What can we do? Let him cry. Might help him, make him feel better. You can only do so much, Mark. Give yourself a break."

Mark sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I know, I know. Are you hungry? Was going to throw something on the stove for Collins."

"Might as well. I doubt I'll fall back asleep. Let me cook though. You sit and rest." Roger pointed at a chair and forced Mark to sit down. "You've pulled him out of a bar nearly every night for a month now. Relax."

Mark rolled his eyes but let Roger have his way. He knew better then to fight with his best friend. He glanced over at the couch where Collins lay. "Let me just check on him."

Roger nodded as he started opening drawers, looking for something to make.

Mark leaned over the edge of the couch and managed a small smile when he saw Collins was fast asleep, Angel's picture resting under his cheek. He pulled the blanket up over his friend's body before heading back toward Roger. "He's sleeping."

"You know, we have to do something," Roger said as he tossed a piece of bread onto a frying pan. "He can't do this to himself. He's going to..."

"Kill himself? I think he wants that to be honest."

Roger was silent as he finished making some French toast. He put a few pieces on a plate and placed it in front of Mark. "Eat." He grabbed his own plate before sitting on the counter. "All we can do, Mark, is be there. Give him some time. He's Collins." He took a quick drink of water. "He'll find some way of getting through. We just have to work on keeping him out of that bar."

Mark nodded as he picked at his food. "And we have to get him to eat. He's worse then you sometimes."

"Hey, there's no one worse than me." Roger smiled and gave Mark's plate a soft push. "Eat."

"When did you start taking over my job?"

"Angel asked me to keep an eye on you." Roger shoved a fork full of food into his mouth.

"What?"

Roger chuckled when he finished swallowing. "Before he...she died. I went to see her and she asked me to keep my eye on you. Actually she said 'Make sure my Markie is ok. Make sure he finishes that movie of his.' I know I took off right after, but...I promised her I would. And I won't go back on that promise."

"She asked me to keep an eye on Collins. Not doing a very good job if you ask me."

"Hey, come on, you go out there into the cold every night to drag him out of wherever he's ended up. It hasn't even been six months. He just needs time. Look, Mimi's working late tomorrow, Joanne and Maureen have to go kill each other or something, why don't the three of us go out? Like we used to?"

"And not to a bar?" Mark asked, smiling softly.

"Not to a bar." Roger put his plate down and held out his hand. "Deal?"

"Deal." They shook on it, both chuckling softly.

Mark looked over at the couch where Collins slept before glancing back at Roger, seeing the effects of AIDS on both of them, emotionally and physically. He knew neither of his friends would make it very much longer, but Mark promised himself and Angel at that moment that he would do everything he could to make what time they had left worth it and make sure Collins was never alone in a bar again. He owed it to them, to Angel, and to himself.