Disclaimer:

Disclaimer:

Don't own RENT. -tear-

Oh, by the way, it's told through Mimi's POV. … Moving on.

she's a rainbow

I respected Angel a great deal.

I had always considered him… her a friend, right from the very start of things, when we had just met. Angel was… different: a gay man, a cross dresser. That wasn't the part that mattered. What did matter was that she was loud, friendly, and understanding. She also accepted the fact that she was going to die soon, from AIDS, and didn't hesitate to live life to its fullest. I considered her a role model, a sister, and a best friend all at once. She was a rainbow of things to me.

She walked with an air about her that said, "Look out, world, it's Angel Dumott Schunard coming your way!" - it was one that could rival Maureen's in confidence. But Angel wasn't conceited. She was modest, always putting others before herself. Her friends and family were her top priority, and I was lucky to have been among them. So was everyone else. She always said how lucky she was to be so close with us but really, it was always the other way around.

And then there was this one time, Angel was in my apartment, and we were painting our nails. Angel had chosen her usual metallic blue color and I had taken a bright scarlet. We were chatting idly and somehow it got to the point where I asked, "Out of curiosity, Angel, why did you start dressing in drag?"

It was a sensitive subject to touch, but still I felt there was enough friendship in our relationship to ask. However, I soon felt different about it. Had I delved too deep, too early?

"For the same reasons you don't," Angel said simply, without looking at me, "it just seems the right thing to do. By the time I started I was used to having people call me a… a fag."

I didn't go any further with my questions, but that kept me thinking. Had my queries upset Angel? Was it hard for Angel to say 'fag'? Was it difficult for her to even answer me? We were silent, absolutely silent for a few minutes before Angel put a gentle hand on my arm.

"It's alright that you asked, Mimi," she said.

I always admired her for that.

I also admired her for how much she loved Collins. She loved him unconditionally, even though that, every moment of their lives, their disease was eating away at them both (and Roger and I), slowly taking away time they had together. But they loved each other still, and they never fought like Roger and I did, never. They were always…. happy, it seemed. Just when I was content with Roger, Angel and Collins would walk by and I would be envious of their relationship, wondering why Roger and I couldn't be like that.

But Angel, like everyone else, had her flaws. No one is perfect and Angel wasn't an exception. Despite the fact that she seemed impervious to the fact she was dying, us, her friends, we knew that she was afraid, horribly afraid, of death, and of leaving Collins behind. And so we tried to be delicate with her in our words, and we never brought up our problems as though it would make them go away. That was what it seemed like, anyway. Angel seemed happy that way, Collins did, Roger did, even I did. And so we let it be.

But, as much as it promised to do so, it didn't go away, and eventually Angel was getting weaker. Progressively, over the days, she started getting sicklier. Sometimes, while walking, she would stumble, and she would complain occasionally of headaches and dizziness. According to her, everything was blurry and she saw spots everywhere. Eventually, we had to rush her to the hospital.

And then… Angel died. Just like that, she died, when everyone needed her most. She was sleeping in the hospital, Collins right by her side and everyone in the room sitting on chairs around her bed. I suppose it might not have been the most ideal way to go, but Angel would've said how grateful she was that she was surrounded by her friends. Her family.

And so now here I am at Angel's funeral, standing awkwardly in front of my friends and searching for words somewhere in my mind to say about Angel. But I couldn't think of anything, there was nothing to really represent Angel, my best friend, my sister, my role model, there was nothing to sum her up. She was a rainbow, a rainbow of things to not only me, but everyone around her.

--

Well, crap, that was 770 words of angst. … I need some chocolate.

Review, please? I'll love you forever and ever. And unlike my last fic, I worked hard on this so I might go emo if you don't. Dx … Or, well, forget about the emoness. Constructive criticism is love because it helps me improve, and flames are welcome, I use them to burn… uh… calories? God, that sucked.

You may now return to your scheduled program.