Disclaimer: I don't own Rent or anything relating to it, including the various song references that run through here. Even though I sometimes forget to mention it, I never make money off of anything I write. That would include this. No copyright infringement intended.

Warnings: Strong language, strong themes. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Note: Well, this is my first Rent-fic, and as wonderful as the Wicked community is, it's nice to branch out. I did see the stage version of Rent last year, but this was more inspired by the movie (first showing Wednesday afternoon!). Which was pretty incredible, even if they did cut some of the most important songs. Please review, and don't be afraid to tell me about any mistakes I made - I'm new to this, after all, and I'm totally expecting something to pop up.

Last scene, in the loft. Not a happy scene.

It's cold outside and cold inside. It's dark outside and dark inside. Actually, it's darker inside the loft, since it doesn't have the bright lights from the dry cleaners, laundromats, delis and clubs across the street. Just the candles Mark and Roger must have put out before you rushed here with Mimi.

Would you light my candle?

God, could they have taken any longer, just staring? Yes, for God's sake, it's her, you wanted to scream at them. But you just stared when you found her huddled up against a brick wall, too.

Cold, cold…

You're all sitting on the very edge of the room, near enough to lend support but far enough away to give Roger and Mimi space. You sit there, head in hands, elbows on knees, shivering and restlessly rocking back and forth – wanting to do something. Scream, yell, kick something, it doesn't matter. Shrink away as close to the wall as possible, as far away from Mimi as possible. Go and hold Mimi's hand, stroke her sweat soaked hair off of her face. Stay where you are and let out everything you've been holding in since Angel died and Roger went away.

Because you know Mimi is about to die, and the fact that she's less than ten feet away and you'll never look at her living face again has you on edge.

Revolution, justice, screaming for solutions…

Roger didn't think you cared when he went away. He might have laughed at Mark when you dumped him for a woman, but he didn't like it. You're a Class A bitch, a self absorbed asshole. Why should you care?

You did. Without Angel there to hold everything together, you all fell apart. Roger left and made you all die just a little bit more, and you didn't think you could handle it so soon after Angel's death.

Ever since April died, you can't help it – you relate everything to death and life. Kind of morbid, yeah, but that's what happens when your friend kills herself in the shower.

You haven't gotten over that yet.

You wanted to slap Roger for being an ass, but you knew he didn't listen to demands to get his shit together. You're like that, too. You should know.

Last night, I had a dream…

Your head feels so heavy in your hands, now. You want to pick it up and look, but you can't – you're too afraid of what you'll see. You don't want a reality check, and you don't want to face how close Mimi is to dying. Roger's ragged, strangled breaths in the silence are enough of a reality check for you right now.

You feel like you sometimes do when you're about to go on stage, only with a much worse, sick, twisted feeling in your stomach and in your head. You want to go sleep it off and find out it was all a shitty dream, that Mimi didn't run away from rehab, that you didn't just find her barely alive in the park, that she's been taking her AZT and is perfectly fine.

Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?

But the huge adrenaline rush of finding her on the street after three weeks of looking, then seeing her shaking and coughing and barely able to talk to you… well, it convinces you. It's only made the sick feeling you've had for the last two months so much worse it's pushed you into a sort of numb place. It's the only reason you haven't broken down.

Joanne didn't think you gave a damn about her. She was so emotionally wound up the day of Angel's funeral that she came out yelling and crying at you, and she still didn't think you cared. What the hell did they all think you were, some sort of robot woman? No one, not even you, was their best that day. Talk about self absorbed… no one even saw you turn around before anyone saw how close you were to breaking down. Joanne kept on.

No tears from the almighty bitchy one, it spoils her reputation.

You want to hate Mimi for killing the family again, right after you'd all learned to go on without Angel and act like the frickin adults you are. You can't, not the way you hated April. You really would be the heartless bitch everyone thinks you are if you did, and you wouldn't blame them for hating you, because you'd hate yourself.

Sometimes Mimi's a little too much like April. The only difference between the two is Roger, trying to get sweet and rebellious Mimi away from those goddamn shitty April habits.

April's habits? April was a habit.

Carcinogens, hallucinogens, men, Pee Wee Herman…

Mimi knew you cared, even though you never said how you really felt about anything. She's younger than you, but she understands you for the most part – the part she doesn't understand, she accepts. And you loved Mimi for it. There's something about her no one can ever resist, and you couldn't either. You always worried about her, even before she went missing. And when you and Joanne frantically carried her back from the park – what the hell she was doing there, what the hell she was still doing alive – and she looked at you, you think she knew.

Truth like a blazing fire…

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know Mimi just died, because you just flinched when Roger screamed her name. You look up finally, and look at Roger holding Mimi's body.

Her fingers dangle down. Limp. Lifeless.

To people living with, living with, living with – not dying from disease…

You jerk your head away, breathing a little faster than normal. You want to run away from this room, filled with death. You're trapped with death. You can't get out. You don't want to get out, and that scares you. Next to you Joanne grips your hand tightly, keeping you anchored, her face a tight mask.

I gotta get out of here… it's like I'm being tied to the hood of a yellow rental truck…

Oh, God.

Mimi is dead.

There's only that silence, anything would be better than that – even the hysterical shouting and screaming when they'd found April and the bathroom slick with her blood. There's only the six of you in the loft, but you feel something more awful than you've ever felt right here with you.

It's not teasing you, it's torturing you. Angel's death was just one, she was the first. You're still devastated and angry. Somehow, you'd managed to fool yourself into thinking it was just a mistake.

Angel was one. Mimi makes two. Mimi scares you.

Leap of faith…

It's drawing out the wait you have until it's your turn. So what, you aren't HIV positive. That's not what April died from. You'll still die. You can't escape that. You can just watch everyone else die while you wait, until one day it's just you and Mark and Joanne.

You look up again, at everyone else with you. Like you, they're not moving either. Their expressions are so much like yours. Sick. Disbelieving. Numb. Grief crazed.

Terrified.

Who of us will be next?

Will it really be worse if it's me?

For the first time, none of you know. You stare straight ahead, looking at Roger, trying to shut out his still small sobs. Somewhere inside you, you go into hysterical retreat, shutting it all out.

Going insane, going mad...

You can't take this.