To Leave Behind, 1/1
Title: To Leave Behind
Fandom: RENT
Characters: Roger, the gang
Pairing(s): Roger/Mimi, Maureen/Joanne, implied Collins/Angel
Rating: T
Warning: Character death
Disclaimer: Thank you, Jonathan Larson.
Summary: On the brink of death, Roger writes his final words in a letter.
The machines beeped unceasingly, each piercing sound a prick into the silence of the room. Like a clock in the middle of the night, ticking away the seconds when everyone wants time to stand still. But time doesn't stand still for anybody, especially not for the dying.
That was how the condemned man's life had always been, one great clock, always reminding him that his time was almost up…beeping his reminder to take his AZT at the most inopportune moments. Why don't you just let the entire fucking world know I'm dying?
He hated that beep, that incessant little beep, devious and cunning, speaking to him of taking his pills so that he could live, while reminding him that those medicines were temporary - that he would die anyway…and soon. Now that beep, higher and more annoying, was simply counting down the seconds until he died. Every heartbeat could be his last.
Death was inevitable. PCP, the doctor had told him. Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia. Those three words were his fucking death sentence. His immune system was too fucked up to help him, thanks to that goddamned virus. Fucking opportunistic infection…
It was in the late hours of the night, well after one o'clock, that Roger groggily stared at the monitors, watching as the waves peaked on the screen with every contraction of his heart. The high-pitched whine of the monitors prevented him from getting any sleep, so he watched them, watched their consistency (which he thanked every possible higher being for). He froze whenever there seemed to be too large a gap in between the waves, fearing that it was the end. But it never was, and eventually, he would drift off into a light doze the medicines gave him, dreaming about his friends or his life, always with that god damned beeping in the background.
Tonight, however, Roger was especially restless. After Mark, Mimi, Collins, Joanne, and Maureen had left for the night (visiting hours ended at eight), the doctor had come in and informed Roger that the scan of his lungs they had taken that morning showed that it was unlikely he would make it until morning.
Fuck.
He wished it was a lie; he asked for it to be a joke, for it was April Fool's Day, but the doctor had simply bowed his head and muttered his apologies, leaving Roger alone to deal with the fact that he would never see sunlight again.
Damn April. This was probably her doing. She loved irony more than she loved him or smack.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
The rest of the night was a blur to him. He couldn't think. All he could do was repeat those horrifying words over and over again in his mind, trying to piece together any conscious thought he derived from them, but his thoughts came out in broken sentences and random order.
He hated hospitals.
This was his last night.
Was there a heaven?
He would die alone.
Would it hurt?
He hadn't said goodbye.
Shit…
He couldn't leave this world without saying goodbye to his friends. There were so many things he needed to tell them…things he had thought he still had time to say. He couldn't die without telling them all how much he loved them. He couldn't leave yet. Not yet. Not without telling them how much they all meant to him…not without giving them his last words.
But how? They were all back in their apartments sleeping, though he knew Mark would be lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Mark had never been able to sleep when Roger was sick. Collins had joked that Roger's sickness harmed Mark more than it harmed Roger. He was probably right.
That was why Roger had to tell them goodbye, so he could tell them not to be depressed, like he had been after April. He needed to tell Mimi that it was okay for her to move on. He needed to tell Mark to stay strong and tell his story, so that he wouldn't be forgotten. Fuck. He had so much left to say. There had to be some way he could tell them…something he could leave behind. Like a letter. Yes. That would work. Now he just needed a paper, a pencil, and a nurse, for he was too weak to even write anymore. Fucking virus…
He pushed his call button repeatedly, like when someone wants the elevator to hurry up, so he or she keeps pushing the button. After what seemed like ages, the night shift nurse walked in and asked him what he needed.
He asked her if she would write a letter for him and give it to his friends when they came to see him tomorrow, or whenever the hospital called them to tell them of his…well…when he went. She agreed with a sad smile upon her face and left to hunt down some paper and a pen. She returned quickly and pulled a stool over to Roger's bed, so that Roger wouldn't have to speak very loudly, since he had trouble breathing.
"Dear Everybody," Roger dictated to her in a shaky voice. He couldn't believe he was doing this.
"This is it, I guess. After you left, the doctor told me I wouldn't live through tonight. Sorry about that." He broke off as wracking coughs engulfed his too-thin body. The nurse quickly got him some water, which he sipped through a straw. Once he had regained control, he continued.
"How do you write one of these? Actually, I'm not even writing it. I can't even hold a fucking pencil...so that's why the handwriting looks so good. God knows I can't write like that. Now I'm rambling. Fuck, I have got to be the worst letter-writer ever."
He sighed.
"I still can't handle the fact that I will never see all of you again. I didn't expect this to happen so soon. There's still so much I have to tell you, but I'm not sure how to say it.
"Oh, by the way, if you see Benny, tell him…tell him I'm sorry, and that I wish I had made peace with him. And I want you all to make peace with him because, well, because it sucks to know that someone hates you when you're dying.
"There. I said it. I'm dying. Hell, by the time you read this, I'll already be dead. I knew it would happen one day; I just didn'twant it to be so soon. Thanks everybody for trying to keep me alive…even when I didn't want to be. I - Fuck. I screwed up a lot in my life. I've made so many mistakes, some that you don't even know about, Mark…and it's - it's hard to look back on those. I wanted to right all my wrongs before I died. I guess that won't happen now."
The nurse sniffled quietly. Roger coughed again.
"The point is," he continued, "is that even though my life was as shitty as hell sometimes, you guys made it better. Wow…that sounds so cheesy, like from one of those sappy romantic movies that Mimi makes me watch. Oh god, Mimi… I - I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can say goodbye to you all. I don't want to leave you. You've been my family for as long as I can remember. And I love you all…so much. Fuck, I'm scared. I'm fucking scared. And if I'm scared, then I know you guys will be. But please don't be sad… When I look down on you guys - and you know I will - I want to see you smiling and laughing and living. Don't become what I did after April. Promise me you won't. Otherwise, I might have to ask God-or-Whoever-the-Hell-it-is to send some lightning your way.
"I'll always be watching you. I'm sure there's not much to do wherever I'm going anyway. I just better have a damn guitar…"
-----
"Joanne," Mark's throat croaked as he read the letter out loud to the tearstained group sitting silently on Mark and Roger's - now just Mark's - beat up old couches.
Before I met you, you were just a joke I used to tease Mark. After all, there's nothing funnier than teasing your best friend about his girlfriend leaving him for another girl. Anyway…as cliché as it sounds, I wish I had known you better. You got us out of some sticky situations, which I'm eternally grateful for. If you hadn't gone with Mark to Buzzline, we'd probably be freezing our asses off in the park right now.
They laughed painfully.
Try to stop breaking up with Maureen so much. There's enough drama in the loft without adding that to it. Try to keep it to at least every other month if you can, though I know it's not all your fault.
Which brings me to Maureen.
We've had some fun times, haven't we? Though your definition of fun varies from mine. God, you could be so annoying sometimes, especially when you were banging a pot and a ladle together in my ear at 7:30 in the morning. I'll never understand how you can get up so early.
Keep up the protests. One day you'll change the world - I know it. Promise me you'll wear the cat suit at least once a week.
"I promise," Maureen whispered as tears dripped from her eyes. Joanne wrapped her arms around her as she struggled to keep from crying herself.
Thomas. Collins…you've done so much for me over the years. You took me into the loft after I ran away. You gave us money so we could have heat. Hell, you were the one that made Mark and me become friends. Thank you for everything, and please take care of Mark. Make sure he eats enough and gets out of the house.
I'll tell Angel you love her, though I'm sure she already knows.
Collins raised his gaze to the sky and mumbled, "Take care of him for me, baby."
Mimi, my soul mate - I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I've loved you from the moment you asked me for a light on Christmas Eve. You made me live again, baby. I would've been dead long ago if you hadn't gotten my ass out of the loft. I'm sorry I never got around to asking you to marry me.
Mimi started sobbing.
I'll love you forever, Mimi; don't forget that. And I'll be sitting right next to Angel waiting for you. I may even let her paint my nails. But baby, don't try to come here too soon. Live each day. No day but today, remember? I want you to move on. I want you to find someone who will love you as much as I love you. Promise me, baby. I won't be able to sit up there watching you die slowly from grief. You've got to move on.
I love you.
Mark stopped reading as the tears trailed down his cheeks. He couldn't read the next part. He couldn't see what his best friend had written to him. It was too much. He couldn't…
Collins took the letter from him gently.
And finally, to Mark, my best friend since high school. My brother. Oh god. I'm so sorry for all the shit I've put you through, Mark. I'm sorry for all the arguments, for running away, for calling you a sellout when you went to Brown. And I'm especially sorry for the drugs, for April, for the long nights you spent waiting for me to get home while I was out getting high and drunk. I'm sorry for the depression, and the countless hours of Musetta's Waltz. I'm sorry for every bruise or concussion I gave you during withdrawal. I'm sorry for the numerous times I almost broke your camera…and the one time I did. And I'm sorry for what I said before I left for Santa Fe.
You didn't have to put up with all this shit, Mark, but you did. You've been helping me every single second of my life, and now it's too late to repay you.
Keep filming, Mark. Show the world the story of the Boho Boys - of Mark Cohen and Roger Davis. I want you to win an Oscar someday; I know you will. And don't worry if it's selling out. You deserve that gold statue…and if you decide that you don't want to keep it, you can sell it on the street to buy heat.
Live. Don't become depressed and anti-social. You're better than that. You're stronger. Learn to look at life without the camera. Feel. It's okay to have emotions. And whatever you do, don't think that my death is in any way your fault. I don't want you to feel guilty that you weren't there during my last moments. I asked the nurse not to call you until morning. You need sleep, Mark. You look like a wreck.
Thank you for everything you've done for me. Thank you for always being there. Thank you for reminding me to take my AZT. Thank you for pushing me towards Mimi.
Tell my mom I love her, will you? And, if it's not too much trouble, can you put "Your Eyes" on my tombstone?
I love you all so much, and I'll see you again someday.
Forget regret.
Roger Davis
Fandom: RENT
Characters: Roger, the gang
Pairing(s): Roger/Mimi, Maureen/Joanne, implied Collins/Angel
Rating: T
Warning: Character death
Disclaimer: Thank you, Jonathan Larson.
Summary: On the brink of death, Roger writes his final words in a letter.
The machines beeped unceasingly, each piercing sound a prick into the silence of the room. Like a clock in the middle of the night, ticking away the seconds when everyone wants time to stand still. But time doesn't stand still for anybody, especially not for the dying.
That was how the condemned man's life had always been, one great clock, always reminding him that his time was almost up…beeping his reminder to take his AZT at the most inopportune moments. Why don't you just let the entire fucking world know I'm dying?
He hated that beep, that incessant little beep, devious and cunning, speaking to him of taking his pills so that he could live, while reminding him that those medicines were temporary - that he would die anyway…and soon. Now that beep, higher and more annoying, was simply counting down the seconds until he died. Every heartbeat could be his last.
Death was inevitable. PCP, the doctor had told him. Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia. Those three words were his fucking death sentence. His immune system was too fucked up to help him, thanks to that goddamned virus. Fucking opportunistic infection…
It was in the late hours of the night, well after one o'clock, that Roger groggily stared at the monitors, watching as the waves peaked on the screen with every contraction of his heart. The high-pitched whine of the monitors prevented him from getting any sleep, so he watched them, watched their consistency (which he thanked every possible higher being for). He froze whenever there seemed to be too large a gap in between the waves, fearing that it was the end. But it never was, and eventually, he would drift off into a light doze the medicines gave him, dreaming about his friends or his life, always with that god damned beeping in the background.
Tonight, however, Roger was especially restless. After Mark, Mimi, Collins, Joanne, and Maureen had left for the night (visiting hours ended at eight), the doctor had come in and informed Roger that the scan of his lungs they had taken that morning showed that it was unlikely he would make it until morning.
Fuck.
He wished it was a lie; he asked for it to be a joke, for it was April Fool's Day, but the doctor had simply bowed his head and muttered his apologies, leaving Roger alone to deal with the fact that he would never see sunlight again.
Damn April. This was probably her doing. She loved irony more than she loved him or smack.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
The rest of the night was a blur to him. He couldn't think. All he could do was repeat those horrifying words over and over again in his mind, trying to piece together any conscious thought he derived from them, but his thoughts came out in broken sentences and random order.
He hated hospitals.
This was his last night.
Was there a heaven?
He would die alone.
Would it hurt?
He hadn't said goodbye.
Shit…
He couldn't leave this world without saying goodbye to his friends. There were so many things he needed to tell them…things he had thought he still had time to say. He couldn't die without telling them all how much he loved them. He couldn't leave yet. Not yet. Not without telling them how much they all meant to him…not without giving them his last words.
But how? They were all back in their apartments sleeping, though he knew Mark would be lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Mark had never been able to sleep when Roger was sick. Collins had joked that Roger's sickness harmed Mark more than it harmed Roger. He was probably right.
That was why Roger had to tell them goodbye, so he could tell them not to be depressed, like he had been after April. He needed to tell Mimi that it was okay for her to move on. He needed to tell Mark to stay strong and tell his story, so that he wouldn't be forgotten. Fuck. He had so much left to say. There had to be some way he could tell them…something he could leave behind. Like a letter. Yes. That would work. Now he just needed a paper, a pencil, and a nurse, for he was too weak to even write anymore. Fucking virus…
He pushed his call button repeatedly, like when someone wants the elevator to hurry up, so he or she keeps pushing the button. After what seemed like ages, the night shift nurse walked in and asked him what he needed.
He asked her if she would write a letter for him and give it to his friends when they came to see him tomorrow, or whenever the hospital called them to tell them of his…well…when he went. She agreed with a sad smile upon her face and left to hunt down some paper and a pen. She returned quickly and pulled a stool over to Roger's bed, so that Roger wouldn't have to speak very loudly, since he had trouble breathing.
"Dear Everybody," Roger dictated to her in a shaky voice. He couldn't believe he was doing this.
"This is it, I guess. After you left, the doctor told me I wouldn't live through tonight. Sorry about that." He broke off as wracking coughs engulfed his too-thin body. The nurse quickly got him some water, which he sipped through a straw. Once he had regained control, he continued.
"How do you write one of these? Actually, I'm not even writing it. I can't even hold a fucking pencil...so that's why the handwriting looks so good. God knows I can't write like that. Now I'm rambling. Fuck, I have got to be the worst letter-writer ever."
He sighed.
"I still can't handle the fact that I will never see all of you again. I didn't expect this to happen so soon. There's still so much I have to tell you, but I'm not sure how to say it.
"Oh, by the way, if you see Benny, tell him…tell him I'm sorry, and that I wish I had made peace with him. And I want you all to make peace with him because, well, because it sucks to know that someone hates you when you're dying.
"There. I said it. I'm dying. Hell, by the time you read this, I'll already be dead. I knew it would happen one day; I just didn'twant it to be so soon. Thanks everybody for trying to keep me alive…even when I didn't want to be. I - Fuck. I screwed up a lot in my life. I've made so many mistakes, some that you don't even know about, Mark…and it's - it's hard to look back on those. I wanted to right all my wrongs before I died. I guess that won't happen now."
The nurse sniffled quietly. Roger coughed again.
"The point is," he continued, "is that even though my life was as shitty as hell sometimes, you guys made it better. Wow…that sounds so cheesy, like from one of those sappy romantic movies that Mimi makes me watch. Oh god, Mimi… I - I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can say goodbye to you all. I don't want to leave you. You've been my family for as long as I can remember. And I love you all…so much. Fuck, I'm scared. I'm fucking scared. And if I'm scared, then I know you guys will be. But please don't be sad… When I look down on you guys - and you know I will - I want to see you smiling and laughing and living. Don't become what I did after April. Promise me you won't. Otherwise, I might have to ask God-or-Whoever-the-Hell-it-is to send some lightning your way.
"I'll always be watching you. I'm sure there's not much to do wherever I'm going anyway. I just better have a damn guitar…"
-----
"Joanne," Mark's throat croaked as he read the letter out loud to the tearstained group sitting silently on Mark and Roger's - now just Mark's - beat up old couches.
Before I met you, you were just a joke I used to tease Mark. After all, there's nothing funnier than teasing your best friend about his girlfriend leaving him for another girl. Anyway…as cliché as it sounds, I wish I had known you better. You got us out of some sticky situations, which I'm eternally grateful for. If you hadn't gone with Mark to Buzzline, we'd probably be freezing our asses off in the park right now.
They laughed painfully.
Try to stop breaking up with Maureen so much. There's enough drama in the loft without adding that to it. Try to keep it to at least every other month if you can, though I know it's not all your fault.
Which brings me to Maureen.
We've had some fun times, haven't we? Though your definition of fun varies from mine. God, you could be so annoying sometimes, especially when you were banging a pot and a ladle together in my ear at 7:30 in the morning. I'll never understand how you can get up so early.
Keep up the protests. One day you'll change the world - I know it. Promise me you'll wear the cat suit at least once a week.
"I promise," Maureen whispered as tears dripped from her eyes. Joanne wrapped her arms around her as she struggled to keep from crying herself.
Thomas. Collins…you've done so much for me over the years. You took me into the loft after I ran away. You gave us money so we could have heat. Hell, you were the one that made Mark and me become friends. Thank you for everything, and please take care of Mark. Make sure he eats enough and gets out of the house.
I'll tell Angel you love her, though I'm sure she already knows.
Collins raised his gaze to the sky and mumbled, "Take care of him for me, baby."
Mimi, my soul mate - I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I've loved you from the moment you asked me for a light on Christmas Eve. You made me live again, baby. I would've been dead long ago if you hadn't gotten my ass out of the loft. I'm sorry I never got around to asking you to marry me.
Mimi started sobbing.
I'll love you forever, Mimi; don't forget that. And I'll be sitting right next to Angel waiting for you. I may even let her paint my nails. But baby, don't try to come here too soon. Live each day. No day but today, remember? I want you to move on. I want you to find someone who will love you as much as I love you. Promise me, baby. I won't be able to sit up there watching you die slowly from grief. You've got to move on.
I love you.
Mark stopped reading as the tears trailed down his cheeks. He couldn't read the next part. He couldn't see what his best friend had written to him. It was too much. He couldn't…
Collins took the letter from him gently.
And finally, to Mark, my best friend since high school. My brother. Oh god. I'm so sorry for all the shit I've put you through, Mark. I'm sorry for all the arguments, for running away, for calling you a sellout when you went to Brown. And I'm especially sorry for the drugs, for April, for the long nights you spent waiting for me to get home while I was out getting high and drunk. I'm sorry for the depression, and the countless hours of Musetta's Waltz. I'm sorry for every bruise or concussion I gave you during withdrawal. I'm sorry for the numerous times I almost broke your camera…and the one time I did. And I'm sorry for what I said before I left for Santa Fe.
You didn't have to put up with all this shit, Mark, but you did. You've been helping me every single second of my life, and now it's too late to repay you.
Keep filming, Mark. Show the world the story of the Boho Boys - of Mark Cohen and Roger Davis. I want you to win an Oscar someday; I know you will. And don't worry if it's selling out. You deserve that gold statue…and if you decide that you don't want to keep it, you can sell it on the street to buy heat.
Live. Don't become depressed and anti-social. You're better than that. You're stronger. Learn to look at life without the camera. Feel. It's okay to have emotions. And whatever you do, don't think that my death is in any way your fault. I don't want you to feel guilty that you weren't there during my last moments. I asked the nurse not to call you until morning. You need sleep, Mark. You look like a wreck.
Thank you for everything you've done for me. Thank you for always being there. Thank you for reminding me to take my AZT. Thank you for pushing me towards Mimi.
Tell my mom I love her, will you? And, if it's not too much trouble, can you put "Your Eyes" on my tombstone?
I love you all so much, and I'll see you again someday.
Forget regret.
Roger Davis