A/N: Voila! Three new chapters! This chapter will be the end of Part One. I'll be uploading Part Two shortly.

VII.

February 14th, 1991

"MARK!" Joanne shrieked. "Get out of the kitchen! Out out! You're in our way!"

Roger had to laugh as he watched the three women practically lift Mark and throw him out of the kitchen area and into the living room where he and Collins sat on the worn armchairs. The little dork kept filming though, even after the girls had already waved several spatulas in his direction.

"And that, my friends, is why you should never mess with women, queer or not," Mark narrated before turning his camera off.

"Siddown here, Marky, and have some Valentine's Stoli," Collins invited, holding a styrofoam cup up. "I've got a tub with your name on it,"

Collins had arrived for their traditional get-together (one of many) at around 3 that afternoon, carrying with him a large bag of groceries. Roger had been awakened by the sound of the heavy footsteps and their door sliding open while he was dozing on the sofa under a blanket. At first what he'd seen was a blur since his eyes were still adjusting, but it didn't take long for him to recognize the big guy that lumbered toward him from the front door.

"Hey, hey, Rog the man," Collins had greeted; his deep gravelly voice a comforting sound to Roger's frayed nerves. He'd smiled at the philosopher as the latter approached. He'd been happy about the big guy's arrival, since Collins had always been a figure he'd looked up to, though he'd never told anyone. The big guy was like the big brother he'd never had and it was always comforting to him to have the philosopher around. It had been a long time since they'd last seen him. Joanne had come in at about an hour after Collins had, also with bags of groceries in her arms, declaring she'd gotten pissed at the people in the office and had decided to bunk off early to piss them off, though Roger knew she'd been looking forward to the get-together all day and just couldn't wait. Maureen had come in last, as usual, but had proceeded to help Mimi and Joanne in the kitchen right away without bitching for once, which was a relief.

That was what Roger liked about any sort of holiday or birthday that passed: their little family unit came together, no matter where they'd be working or what they were supposed to be doing. Since their group was formed, it had been a tradition that for every holiday and birthday that took place, they'd all meet up at one of their pads and eat dinner and spend some time together like, as a real family would, which he'd never really experienced. He didn't exactly know who suggested it, but Roger was glad he or she had come up with it because it was just pure genius. He loved the fact that they'd all just meet up, no questions asked, and spend half a day with each other just laughing and talking or fooling around. When Angel had died, those gatherings were what had kept them sane and together, talking about her, celebrating who she'd been, crying for her. It was almost like they'd formed their own Life Support actually. He could swear that, if they hadn't had things like it, he'd have gone over his head a long time ago.

For that year's Valentine's (joint with Angel's birthday), it was agreed upon that they'd hold the get-together at the loft since neither Mimi nor Mark thought it a good idea for him to be exposed to the cold, which of course he, as Roger, had objected to. When he'd first woken up the room had still spun and his chest had still felt tight, but other than that, Roger believed he was as healthy as the next guy. His fever had gone down the night before anyway, so what was there to worry about?

"All right, kids, chow's on," Joanne announced in a while. Roger blinked. Their dining room looked different now that the table had a tablecloth and actually had plates and glasses and real silverware, not just the plastic utensils he and Mark always insisted on buying because they'd never have to clean them. Where did the real spoons and forks come from? Had they been there all along?

"Does this all belong to us?" Mark asked, looking as bewildered as Roger felt. Roger had just been about to ask the same thing.

"Hope you guys didn't have to steal them or anything 'coz you know I've got nothing on me for bail money," he said instead, staring at the shiny silverware as he took his place at the table.

"Baby, it was in the kitchen," Mimi said. Roger looked up.

"It was?"

"Since when?" That was Mark.

"We found it in a pile in the cupboards. There're also some hotplates there and a lot of other stuff," Joanne said. Roger snorted. They'd found the Mrs. Cohen pile, where, Mark put all the gifts they deemed useless or that they could live without that his mother gave. Roger had already forgotten about the stash. Yeah, he could remember one year where Mark had received silverware since Mrs. Cohen somehow got wind that they didn't have any real house stuff, and Roger had taunted him to no end about tea parties and dolls. Mark had almost hurled the box at him.

"Ahh. The Mrs. Cohen pile," Collins nodded. The girls looked at him and he shrugged. "Long story."

They sat down to dinner

"Wow, is that actual food?" Roger could hardly believe his eyes. After about two months of junk, seeing an actual roast chicken with greens and things at the side almost made him want to cry.

"Poor baby," Joanne laughed. "Mark, you've been starving yourselves! How can Mimi cook without rations?"

"Mimi can actually cook?" Mark pretended to look horrified.

"Shut up, blondie," Mimi smiled. She moved closer to Roger and whispered, "I love you," into his ear. She always did that, like she was always afraid he was going to die the next second not knowing it.

Roger smiled and kissed her in return.

Collins raised his glass. "For today's Day of Love and us who celebrate it, and to an Angel who came to Earth some years ago and entered each of our lives, and who we all know is probably blowing all 24 of his candles in Heaven."

Roger saw as tears glistened in Collins' eyes, tears he knew would never disappear until the day he and Angel would be reunited. The philosopher looked up, as if expecting some sort of sign that Angel had heard, like some sort of those freaky holy lights or a shower of flowers or something, but nothing happened. Roger winced, feeling the pain in his chest again, but he ignored it and kept his eyes on Collins.

"Here's to you, babe. And here's to all of us who are still here," Collins finished, a small smile on his lips. They all raised their glasses almost automatically and kept them there for a moment. Roger could almost hear Angel's voice in his ears: "Aww, honey, y'all are so sweet!". His dream brushed his mind again and he could see Angel clearly for a second, smiling, looking like she'd never been sick and had always been there….

The glasses were set down again and Collins sat down.

"Baby, don't cry," Roger said softly and wiped Mimi's tears with his fingers after seeing them cascade down her face. Mimi gave him a broken smile and ran her fingers through his hair, then holding the back of his neck tenderly, pulling him closer to her. "It's okay,"

"Yeah, I know…I just wish she were here with us…." Mimi said, wiping her tears herself and giving him a more convincing smile. "Don't worry, babe,"

Roger kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes lovingly as Mark shouted "Dinner's on, lovebirds, c'mon!" and knocked them out of their trance. Roger wanted to fling the roast chicken at his best friend, but decided it wasn't a good enough reason for him to miss out on his first real meal in months. Both he and Mimi then straightened up quickly (though he wished he could stuff something down Mark's throat so he wouldn't go and interrupt them again next time) and joined the festivities.

"Here, Rog, you like mashed potatoes, don't you?"

"Collins, here, you take the breast part of the chicken since I know you're gonna be fighting with me about it for the rest of the year if I take it away from you again,"

"Well, you did swipe it off of my plate, Mo…"

"Are these string beans? Meems, I like vegetables but did you havta get these?"

"Shut up, Mark. It's food. Just eat it. Baby, what part of the chicken do you want?"

Roger had to smile as he watched their little group, with Maureen handing Collins a big-ass piece of the chicken breast, Joanne scooping up mashed potatoes for him and asking if that were enough ("That's cool, thanks Joanne,"), Mark pushing all the string beans to the side of his plate with a disgusted look on his face while his stupid camera was set down for once (though it was on the table and still running) and Mimi licking her thumb free of gravy, all their faces illuminated with the soft firelight from the candles set in the center. Roger froze the image in his mind, wishing for once that he too had a camera so he could replay the scene over and over again. This was bliss for him. This was one of the times he was just glad he was still alive and hadn't gotten rid of himself like he'd planned on doing years before.

Fuck, I wish this could last forever, he thought, no longer feeling the cold draft in the loft or the pain in his chest.