"Make it up to me some other way."

Make it up some other way, Angel tells him, like that's so easy. But hey, Collins likes a challenge.

New Year's Eve

Collins chuckles to himself, pulling on his stocking cap and buttoning up his coat. He leans against Mark and Roger's building, one foot flat against the wall. His shoe rubber is worn through and he can poke his toe at the brick.

"Hey, handsome," says a gorgeous girl, winking at him and pulling up the collar of her fake fur. "Come here often?"

Collins grins and raises his eyebrows. "Depends on your definition of the word."

Angel laughs, voice prettier than the bells the fake Santas ring for the Salvation Army, and punches Collins in the arm. "Remind me to remember that later."

"I'd never let you forget!" He grabs Angel's hand and presses a kiss to the top, making Angel grin even wider.

"So, handsome, where are we headed?"

Collins threads his fingers of one hand with Angel's and holds his index finger to his lips with the other. "Secret."

Angel bites his lower lip, and it's just about the best thing Collins has seen all day-- no, all year, and it's New Year's Eve, so that's really saying something. "Tom Collins, have I ever told you I'm very fond of you?"

"Not enough," Collins says, squeezing Angel's hand. "Not ever enough."

They walk through the streets of Manhattan, and Collins is floating with the flush of new love, so much so that the hole in his shoe and the dirty look they get from the preacher guy at the corner of B and 6th don't even bother him.

He takes Angel to a café neither of them can afford, exchanging a word and a high-five with one of the waiters.

Angel purses his lips and gives Collins a look, one that clearly says Tell me what that was all about if you want to keep your balls. Collins laughs, deep and throaty.

"New Year's brunch," Collins explains. "It's payback for Christmas."

Angel tucks his hair behind one ear. "And have you been knocking over convenience stores?"

Collins winks and throws his leather coat over the chair. "Not today. Jake owes me one...or twelve...from this ordeal with his ex-boyfriend. I told him I'd ruin his credit if we couldn't get a free meal." Angel is already shaking his head when Collins adds, "When he said his credit was already ruined, I told him I'd cancel his credit cards so he couldn't use them to all pay each other." He raises his menu to cover his grin, not that Angel doesn't know he's doing it.

Angel lets out an adorably exasperated sigh and raises his menu, too. "I know I'm going to regret telling you to make it up to me."

"You haven't seen anything yet, baby."

Valentine's Day

"M'lady," Collins says, whipping off his coat and flapping it dangerously over the puddle near the curb.

Angel puts his hands on his hips. "Honey, I ain't no damsel in distress," he says, leaping over the stagnate water easily. He spins around and winks. "And don't go ruining that coat, either. That was paid for with blood money."

Collins crosses himself. "Rest in pieces, Rita."

"Evita."

"Whatever."

They trudge up the six flights to the shoebox-sized apartment that Collins can't even afford, and Collins holds open the door, waiting a beat for Angel's reaction.

Angel's jaw is dangling. Collins reaches out to close it for him, but Angel bites his hand. "Was this paid for in blood money, too?"

"More like advance paycheck money," Collins replies, "but considering some of my students, it's all the same."

Spring flowers are crammed into every space of the living room; lilies are stuck into mason jars, daisies are poked into empty beer cans, and rose petals -- pink and red and white -- are all over Collins's beat up old couch and his orange and green throw rug (ca. 1963).

Angel wraps his arms around Collins's waist, tilting his head up. He's smiling, teeth a dazzling white surrounded by the candy-red lipstick frame of his mouth. It's beautiful, but then again, everything about Angel is.

"You like it?" Collins asks, a strange note of worry to his voice.

"How could I not?" Angel asks. "Dunno what little old me did to deserve it, but I love it."

"I love you," Collins says. He holds on tight. "It's Valentine's Day, and I still owe you."

Angel rolls his eyes. "You can't possibly still owe me for that beat up old coat."

"Hey, if not for that coat, I wouldn't have you. So I doubt I'll ever get the interest paid up on it."

"God, honey, I'm about to ruin my makeup for you. You'd think a smart boy like you would know I considered you paid-in-full long ago."

Collins laughs and slides his hand under Angel's chin, leaning down to kiss him, long and slow.

Memorial Day

The air is chilly for May. Collins pulls his ratty sweater tightly around him; his coat is draped over Angel's shoulders, and if Collins really believed in metaphor, that image alone could have kept him warm.

"En el Nombre del Padre y del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo, amen," Angel murmurs, crossing himself. Collins echoes the amen.

With a sigh, Angel stands and brushes dirt from the knees of his white stockings.

"So many," he says, kissing his fingertips and pressing them to the headstone.

"Too many," Collins agrees. He raises his fist and nods at the grave, his own way of saying goodbye, and pulls his hat back on.

"Do you think he was in much pain?" Angel asks. There's a strange, small fear eating at the edges of his voice. "At the end."

Leukemia. Thrush. Bedsores. Yeast Infections. Kidney failure. AIDS.

Collins faces Angel and adjusts the leather lapels of his coat, then slips his fingers to Angel's sternum, pressing his large palm to the middle of his chest. Angel's body is warm and his heartbeat thrums strong and sure against his hand.

"I think Gordon got the best care out there," he says finally, side-stepping the question.

"Thank you for taking me here," Angel says, covering Collins's hand with his own. "It's important to remember."

"It's important to remember to live."

Angel looks down. "While we can." He raises up on his toes and presses their mouths together, open and inviting. Angel's arms are so tight around Collins's ribcage that he can barely breathe, but somehow that's all right. It feels like Angel can sustain him on kisses alone.

"While we can," Collins agrees breathlessly once they part.

Independence Day

The view of the East River is actually better from New Jersey, even if Collins does have to put up with Angel's mild complaints on the PATH ride over. "Did you know acid wash is the official state fabric, and there's an ozone breach right over Hoboken?" Angel asks, legs and arms crossed as he watches Collins beat tunelessly on the plastic tub Angel wanted to bring along.

"Because of all the hairspray?" Collins replies mildly. "Your jokes need an update, baby." He grins and giggles and Angel quickly follows suit.

"Fireworks, though, right?" Angel says. Collins likes the note of hope in Angel's voice.

"Better than watching them on that smeary television in that fire hazard bar you always want to go to."

Angel leans down and snatches the tub back from Collins, beginning to drum softly, but rhythmically enough that the other passengers begin to stare. "Hap-py Fourth. To-day, we go forth--"

"This song is horrible," Collins interrupts.

"And li-i-i-i-i-i-ve," Angel concludes with an adorable drum roll that Collins doubts anyone could duplicate to his satisfaction.

When they surface in Jersey, Collins buys Angel a hot dog, which Angel gives to two fighting pigeons, and they watch the sky turn red and white and blue, exploding in a shower of sparks. They make room as people of all races, genders, religions, creeds, and state affiliation surround them, care of Macy's first free show of the year.

"I love summer," Angel sighs, contented.

"Winter's better," Collins says. He misses his c--

"You can't wear that coat all year, you freak," Angel says, reading his thoughts. He slaps Collins's ass. "I'm in love with a freak."

"And a freak's in love with you!" Collins leans in to rub their noses together.

"Best year ever," Angel shouts at him and leaps off the ground, more sparkle and crack in every bounce than all the fireworks in the world put together. "Stop worrying about that ragged old thing now. You're paid in full!"

"Never!" Collins shouts back, lifting Angel off the ground and twirling around and around with him.

Best year ever.

Labor Day

"There won't be anyone else, ever," Collins says in the ambulance. He is clutching Angel's hand and trying not to let his voice shatter into a million pieces. His coat lies across Angel's legs, lending warmth the thin blanket can't give.

"Don't be stupid, Collins. What's the point of living if you don't ever do it?"

"But--"

Coughs rack Angel's thin frame, and Collins panics until the paramedic riding in the back hands him a bottle of water. He holds it to Angel's lips until Angel drinks.

"No buts," Angel says sternly once the attack has passed. He manages a smile, and it's as brilliant and beautiful as the first one he ever gave Collins. The most beautiful thing Collins has ever seen.

Will ever see.

"I love you always," Collins says. He can't stop his voice from cracking anymore.

"Damn right, baby," replies Angel, still smiling. He squeezes Collins's hand. Collins squeezes back and tries to remember how to live.

He owes Angel at least that much.

END.