Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or any of the characters in this story.

Musings

Roger lay in his bed, cold, shivering, coughing, aching. He had strength left for nothing but to think.

He wanted so desperately to give himself over to her. To be honest and open and willing to share in their love and passion which he kept reigned so tightly in. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to touch her, and tell her how much he loved her.

Every daydream was about her. Every single waking moment was Mimi, and he was content in that life. He wanted to live for her, and he did, although he would never let her know that.

During the day, it was Mimi.

But then night-time came, and he surrendered himself to sleep after losing one more day of his shortened life, and his dreams were assaulted by different images.

As soon as he drifted off to sleep all he could see was the blood, and the note on the mirror. He could see only her red hair drifting to the surface as she was mostly submerged in the blood-filled water, the note informing him of their mutual death sentence.

During the night, it was April.

Roger knew that had circumstances been different, had April not gone in the way that she did, he would be able to commit himself totally inside and out to Mimi. He knew he would have been able to move on. The shock of the day he and Mark found April dead in their bathtub haunted him. He couldn't bear to see another love go away.

Logically, he knew Mimi wouldn't kill herself. He knew she was living with her disease rather than dying from it. He knew she would never steal herself from him the way April had. She was stronger than that She wasn't afraid. She was alive.

The illogical part of his brain remained in constant fear. What if he came home to find her dead? What if she couldn't take the agony anymore? What if she overdosed?

This was his other fear. Overdosing. Drugs. He had worked so hard after April's death to rid his body of the addiction. Mark, too, had worked hard to help him out of his self-made hell. He would never forgive Roger if he slipped up. Never.

But it was hard. It was hard to be around someone knowing what they were experiencing when they were hitting up. He knew how great it felt. It was hard for him not to indulge in the drugs alongside Mimi.

He wasn't willing to lose all that he had gained with Mark's help.

It wasn't just the fear of falling into old habits that tormented Roger, though. It was that never-ending fear that she would someday take too much, or miss a vein, or any number of potential catastrophes associated with the dangerous nature of the act. He couldn't bear the thought of finding Mimi dead.

Roger knew that death was coming for her though, but he felt like her dying of AIDS was something he could handle. He would be there with her, until her last moment, just like Collins was for Angel. He would hold her, caress her, make her feel safe in her last moments. Knowing he was able to provide that for her would make it bearable, although immensely painful still.

His fears of her death were also partially eased by his knowledge of his own impending death. He didn't know how long either of them would have left, and felt that once Mimi was gone, he would have nothing left to fight for. Of course, he thought, that was assuming he outlived her, which had been seeming less likely in recent weeks.

Then he thought of Mark. Mark, whom had once said he was the one of their friends to survive, and that's why he hid in his work. Mark, whom had been by Rogers side for years, reminding him to take his AZT, providing him with a home, a best friend, a shoulder on the rare occasion he needed it. Mark, who would be left totally and utterly alone upon the death of his last few friends.

Roger wasn't sure what Mark would do when the last of the group died. He selfishly hoped he wouldn't be the last one, so he wouldn't have to be the one to leave Mark completely alone.

Collins had been doing well lately, he thought. Better than him at the very least. Roger thought he'd be the last one.

As for Roger, he was sick. Weakening. He had been attacked by random and savage coughing fits, and on more than one occasion had been so cold that not even a fire and blankets could heat his frigid bones. He could see in Mark's eyes the intense fear.

As Mark had given him a best friend, the same could be said for Roger. He was Mark's best friend. He was there through it all. They were more a family than any of their actual relatives. Roger couldn't bear leaving Mark, even if he wouldn't be alone afterwards.

Of course, Mimi was worried for Roger lately as well. She had taken to staying with him each day while she was off work, and then turning him over to Mark in the evenings. Roger was afraid that Mimi might catch whatever flu he was currently plagued with. He worried that she was weaker than he. That she wouldn't be able to fight it like he could.

But then he thought, he wasn't really fighting it at all. He couldn't. When his coughing fits began, it was all he could do to breathe through them. When he was cold and shivering, he felt powerless, as nothing could stop the incessant shaking.

Maybe he wasn't stronger than her after all.

When Mimi was sick she rebounded. When Mimi was tired, she'd rest, and in no time be back on her feet. When Mimi was hurting, she'd power through it and come out better than ever.

Mimi was strong. Stronger than Roger.

Roger lay in his bed, covering up to his chin with blankets, shaking uncontrollably. He could hear Mark out in the main room of the loft, tinkering with his video camera, every once in a while saying things to himself in a hushed tone.

Roger felt weak. He was tired and afraid.

"Mark?" he called out as best he could. His voice was hoarse and his chest heavy. It was barely a second before his friend showed up at the door.

"Hey buddy," he said, as though he was talking to a young child. Roger didn't mind.

"Where's Mimi?" he asked, finding his breaths coming shallower and more frequently. Mark crossed the room and sat on the side of the bed, facing Roger.

"She'll be here soon. Her shift just ended," he said calmly, although Roger could see more than a little fear in his eyes. Roger pulled his hand out from the sheets and grabbed Mark's hand as hard as he could, which barely mustered a squeeze. He gasped for air. Mark squeezed his hand tightly. "You've got to be strong. The worst is almost over," he lied.

"I'm so scared," Roger confided, losing the facade which he had worked so long and hard to build. He could barely speak. Hell, he could barely breathe. Mark's pained expression wasn't lost on Roger.

"I know. I know you are," he said, "I am too," knowing Roger wouldn't believe him if he tried to console him, or tell him it would all be okay. It wouldn't be okay. They had all watched Angel die. Mark knew what he was seeing.

After a few moments of silence, they heard the loft door open and shut, and it wasn't long before Mimi appeared in the doorway. She rushed to the other side of the bed, taking hold of Roger's other hand.

"Hey baby," she said softly. He could barely force a smile, but did his best. He watched as she and Mark shared knowing, pained glances. He laid their while Mimi laid down by his side, snuggling in close to him, making him feel slightly warmer, and comforted, while Mark held tightly to his hand.

His breathing quickened, then slowed, then quickened, then slowed again. His vision blurred. His shivers stopped. His coldness gave way to an overwhelming warmth. The darkness of the loft was overcome by an intense light. Angel was there.

"I didn't think you'd be next," she said. She took his hand and led him forward. He could feel no more pain, heartache, or fear. Just warmth, and love.

A/N: I know it's a bit of a cheesy death scene, but taking off from the show and movie, it seems appropriate. I'm not sure where I was going with this when I started it, but there you have it. Let me know what you think.