A/N: Told you I'd hurry it up. Haha! Enjoy! (P.S. For some reason I kept referring to Angel as a 'he/him' so when I noticed it, I just changed it all to a 'she/her' since they accept her that way anyway. Hope you guys don't mind that.
VI.
February 13th, 1991
He walked around in the loft, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans to warm them. Mark and Mimi had gone to work, leaving him alone to listen to the cold February wind whistling in and out of the holes in the walls and windows. Roger didn't mind the solitude. He loved to be alone. It was when he worked best. Hell, it was when all artists worked best. Sometimes Mark even locked them out of the loft for days on end just so he could edit one of his stupid films.
Roger shivered as another draft blew in and brushed his neck like the end of an icy finger. He wanted to get warm, but there weren't enough blankets. Sighing, he got his guitar out of the room and went over to the sofa. He sat down and attempted to play, but his fingers were too cold so everything he could come up with turned up nasty. He felt frustrated. Usually, playing his guitar warmed him up because he could stop thinking about how cold he was for a while just by losing himself in the music. Now his only escape had turned him down.
He set the instrument down on the floor and lay on the couch, feeling exhaustion creeping into his bones again. He was so tired and wished sleep would finally claim him after evading him the whole night the night before. There wasn't anything else he could do today anyway. His fingers weren't in the mood for playing and he was too beat to get out of the loft. Sleep was the only option.
Surprisingly, it didn't take long for him to get knocked out, but not long after he'd closed his eyes did Roger feel someone covering him with a warm, thick blanket.
"Mimi…" he mumbled, forcing his eyes open. He shivered as he felt the warmth he'd craved to have in the longest while for the first time. He squinted his eyes at the person standing over him, realizing it wasn't Mimi.
What the hell…Angel smiled at him as she stood there, smoothing the blanket out. Roger almost jumped out of his skin. He didn't know what to say but he was definitely scared shitless. Angel looked fine and he wouldn't have been so scared, if only he didn't know as well as everybody did that Angel had already died.
"You're…you're…" he stammered, almost punching himself for not being able to talk straight. He was talking like an idiot. He fought to sit up but Angel put a delicate finger to her lips and placed a cool hand on his forehead, calming him. Her hand smelled of lotion and it was so comforting that it made his eyelids feel heavy.
"Go back to sleep, honey," she told him gently as if he were a kid. "You need it,"
"A-A-Angel," he managed to choke out before sleep claimed him again.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"Baby…babe, wake up,"
Roger groaned as he felt someone lightly shake him awake. He felt cold again and, upon placing his hand to his chest, discovered that the blanket Angel had placed on him was gone. He opened his eyes and blearily stared at Mimi, who stood worriedly over him.
"Meems…?" he said, wondering if he should consider her as a dream. Where was he? He was in his bedroom…wasn't he just in the living room? With Angel? He groaned. His head felt heavy and he felt hot and sore all over.
"Where's Angel?" he asked, feeling confused. Mimi's expression fell as she stroked his face.
"Rog…what are you talking about?" she said, and helped him sit up. Roger ran a hand through his hair, feeling more bewildered by the second. Where was Angel? Why was Mimi there and why was he in his bed and not on the sofa?
"I was on the sofa…I fell asleep there," he told her. "How'd I get here?"
"Babe, when I left you, you were already sleeping here. You were never asleep on the sofa. I've only been gone for about an hour…I only came back to check on you 'cause I was worried…you had a temperature when I left," she placed a hand on his forehead and he noticed for the first time that he was shaking. Fuck. Not again.
"You still have a fever. C'mon, get back to sleep. I'll give Mark a call so he can pick up some aspirin on the way home…" she told him, rubbing his shoulders. "Do you need more blankets?"
No. He already felt like he was in an oven. He wiped sweat off of his forehead and shook his head at Mimi.
"I'll be fine…" he said, coming to his senses. How could he think that Angel had been there? Angel was gone and he was never coming back…maybe it had all been a dream. But it had seemed so fucking real that Roger got goose bumps the more he thought about it. "I just need sleep, that's all."
"You don't want me to stay with you?"
He gave her a kiss on the forehead. "I'm fine, babe. I'll just stay here and rest. I promise,"
Mimi looked hesitant about leaving him but Roger was persistent. He felt ridiculous that she felt she had to stand guard over him just because he was a little warm. He'd been through it before and it was nothing he couldn't handle by himself.
"Okay, but you just lie there and don't move, okay?" Mimi made him lie back down. "Mark will be home before you know it and if you need anything you just give any of us a call."
She signaled towards the phone he had in his bedroom, set on a stool near his bed for easy access.
"If I can't reach any of you guys I know how to dial 911," Roger joked.
"Don't talk like that, Roger!"
"I'm kidding, Meems," he smiled at her. Mimi was looking at him strangely. "What?"
"I woke you up because you were moaning in your sleep. Were you dreaming of Angel? You were saying her name…and you asked where she was when I woke you up," she asked, tucking a tuft of her hair behind her ear. Roger shrugged.
"It was nothing. I…I just saw her here…in the loft, I mean. That's it. It must've been a dream," he told her, not wanting her to worry any longer. He didn't want her to think he was crazy. Mimi nodded.
"Maybe you just miss her, babe," she said softly, stroking his hair.
"Yeah…I do," Roger admitted, though some years ago he wouldn't have. It was so surreal at times how he was one person during one part of his life and a different one the next. The Roger Davis he knew ten years ago wouldn't even come near any person who he thought was homosexual. Knowing himself, he'd have probably even joined in persecuting one at that age, if he'd come across any of those groups that bashed gays. But now, after meeting people like Collins and Angel, and Maureen and Joanne, even the very idea of calling them names made him sick to his stomach.
"We'll talk about her later, if you like. If you feel better by that time, that is," Mimi offered. She'd always been the firm believer of expressing emotions. Roger believed it too, but in the sense that he expressed them through music. Mimi loved doing so just by saying everything she felt out in the open, which wasn't really his thing. But since he was so tired and generally not feeling very well, he agreed.
"Okay,"
"Okay. I'll stay here 'til you fall asleep,"
Normally he wouldn't want her to since he didn't want her boss at the Life getting mad at her or something, but he just agreed, feeling his eyelids start to droop again. Somehow, he felt better whenever Mimi or one of his friends was there. His throat tickled, but he managed to suppress the cough that was already on its way up. Thankfully it came out as something pathetic, so Mimi didn't really regard it as something worth worrying about.
"Poor baby," he heard Mimi say and felt a light kiss brush his nose.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Mark woke him up the next time, holding two white pills in one hand and a glass of water in another.
"Hey, Rog, sorry I have to wake you…but you gotta take your AZTs, man. Mimi called me up and said you weren't so hot so I figured you would be having a hard time waking up to your beeper to take your meds…"
Roger groaned and covered his head with the blanket Mimi had draped over him. He still wasn't feeling so well, but he felt better than he had had when Mimi had been there.
"Go away, Mark," he said. His head was throbbing. The dream he'd had of Angel was quickly fading from his mind since his last nap had been devoid of any dreams. "I'm okay,"
"Don't be such an ass, Rog. C'mon, you know you need them…" Mark nudged his shoulder.
"No."
"Roger…" Mark sighed. "C'mon…lighten the guilt trip for me,"
"What the hell are you talking about, Cohen?" Roger peeked out from under the blanket.
"I feel like I made you sick since we had that one-on-one game. You should've told me you weren't up to it, you jerk,"
"Shut up, Mark, I was up to it. This isn't your fault,"
He knew the filmmaker wouldn't be able to forgive himself should anything happen, so Roger quickly took the AZTs from Mark and popped them into his mouth as if he were popping Tic-Tacs.
"See? I'm okay, Stop beating yourself up,"
Honestly, he knew Mark had been beating himself up since Day One after he was diagnosed with AIDS. Roger had literally gone out and punched him when he didn't quit blaming himself for "not knowing" that he (Roger) and April had been doing crack. It was the stupidest yet most selfless thing Roger had ever heard. He'd guessed it came with the long friendship, feeling guilty for the consequences each one had to go through from every stupid mistake they made as individuals. Mark had never given him anything major to worry over and it pissed Roger to hell that Mark felt so responsible about him getting AIDS. He wanted to bash his own head in sometimes, realizing just how much shit he'd put them both in.
"Have you gone to the doctor's yet?"
"No,"
"Roger!"
"Well, I can't now, can I? Even if I wanted to neither of you guys would let me get past my own bedroom door."
"Well…yeah, you have a point…but seriously, see one, okay? We had a deal, remember?"
"Yeah yeah…" Roger waved him off.
Mark sat quietly beside the bed for a while as if he was thinking if he was going to say what was on his mind out loud.
"What are you thinking about?" Roger asked, sitting up. Mark looked almost embarrassed.
"How'd you know I was thinking of something?"
Roger rolled his eyes. For such a smart person, Mark could be such a dork sometimes.
"You were getting that look on your face that's a mix between your I'm-constipated look and your Fuck-I-think-Roger's-really-gone-over-his-head expression. That, my friends, is what's called the Mark-Cohen-is-thinking look,"
"Shut up," Mark told him, though Roger could tell he was trying hard not to laugh. Good. There was enough misery as it was and they all needed a few smiles now and then.
"Mimi told me that…you were talking about Angel?" Mark said carefully. Roger sighed. He knew Mimi really couldn't keep something like that to herself. They probably thought he was nuts now.
"It's nothing, man. I just dreamt about her…that's all," he shrugged. It really was nothing. Everyone got dreams once in a while. He suddenly remembered what Angel had looked like in the dream. He'd looked…natural. There was no wig or makeup and he'd been wearing a blue coat over a gray shirt, but he'd been, without a doubt, still the Angel they'd all known.
"Yeah but she said you were so convinced that…she was there…"
"It's nothing, Mark. Some dreams just seem real, that's all. C'mon, man, you dream. It's just a figment of my imagination," Roger waved the subject off. It was stupid, talking about such an irrelevant thing. It was a dream, for fuck's sake. It didn't mean anything.
They heard the front door slide open and Mark looked over his shoulder. Maureen's voice echoed throughout the loft.
"Hello? Anyone home? Baby boys, you here? I brought over some dinner, if you want some,"
"In here, Maureen," Mark called out. Roger heard Maureen's footsteps walk from the living room towards his bedroom and, in a few seconds, she stood in his doorway, dressed in an overcoat, slacks, boots and a tight-fitting blouse. She had a brown paper bag in her hands.
"Aaaw, what's the matter with Roger?" Maureen cooed as she saw him. She immediately approached the bed and Roger sat up quickly. He hated to be fussed over, especially by Maureen and Joanne. It made him feel like a baby. All of them treated him and Mimi, and Angel too when he was still alive, like ones since they were the youngest in the group. It annoyed him to hell whenever Maureen went through her motherly act. It reminded him too much of his own mother, who in turn, reminded him of his father, whom he really didn't want to remember.
"I'm fine," he growled. Maureen placed a hand on his forehead and clucked. "Mark, help,"
"You're pretty warm, honey," she said. "Don't worry, I brought you babies some nice chicken cordon bleu to fill your tummies. Pooky here loves chicken cordon bleu, don't you Marky?"
Roger couldn't help but grin as Maureen turned to Mark and made her cutesy face. Mark looked a little constipated but managed a smile.
"I'll warm it up on the stove," Maureen stood up and waltzed out of the room and in seconds they heard pots and pans and things being moved around. "It's freezing in here, Mark! You should fix the heating!"
"I would if I knew how to!" Mark yelled back. "And I'd have someone fix it if only it didn't cost so much!"
"Collins knows how to do stuff like that, doesn't he?" Roger asked, lying back down. The room was starting to spin again.
"Yeah but he already took a look at it and told me it's hopeless. I'd have to pay Benny a lot of money just to get a new one installed. If he knows it's broken though he'll insist on paying for the new one himself and I don't really want to accept anything from that guy…not for a long time," Mark explained. "You need anything? Aside from Mimi, that is."
"That cordon bleu sounds a little tasty…" Roger raised his eyebrows to heckle Mark. The latter snorted.
"Don't let her hear that or she'll be cooking it for us for the rest of our lives,"
"Yeah? Well good thing I'm not gonna last much longer then," Roger joked.
"Not funny, Rog," Mark said, glaring a little.
Roger forced himself to grin, though he knew very well that there was probably more truth in what he'd said than in what they, even himself, all wished for.
"Kidding, man."