Depends On…

Disclaimer: I don't own. I don't even rent. Rent is the property of the late, great Jonathan Larson, may he rest in peace.

The following oneshots are based on a verse in "Happy New Year B," and are being written solely because there is not enough Roger/Mimi fanfiction on this website. Or anywhere, as far as I can tell. I am honestly terrified it, because despite how much of a scary, obsessed Renthead I am, this is my first fic.

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Trust

You fingered the packet of white powder, tossing it back and forth between your hands. It's funny, you thought. A year before, you would have done anything to be in this exact position, smack in front of you, no one around to stop you from using it. You wanted it, needed it, even.

Now you just wanted to throw it out the window, flush it down the toilet, anything to get rid of it. You knew it; oh God you knew that "giving up my vices" was total shit. Stopping isn't as easy as saying the words. You stared at the object in your hands, contemplating what you would do. Throwing it out would dispose of it for now, but she could always find more. She'd managed to get this without anyone knowing. And deep down, you knew that you wanted to confront her, wave it in her face and yell into your voice gave out, or she understood that you couldn't take this anymore. Whichever came first. However, your decision was made for you when the sound of a door opening came from the other room the other room.

"Roger?" The door closed. "Baby, please tell me that's you and not some misguided thief who actually thinks this place is worth robbing." You heard her heels click against the floor as she slipped them off, but made no effort to move. It was if you were paralyzed by the sound of her voice. "Roger? Hello…" She held the word out until she appeared in the doorway, smiling and still clad in her coat. "There you are! Oh my God, you will not believe the night I had. First I—" She stopped abruptly and stared at you quizzically. "Roger?"

All words had evacuated your brain. The only sufficient reply you could think of was to lift up your arm and dangle the bag of heroin for her. Her eyes widened as she opened her mouth to explain/apologize/make excuses, but you didn't give her the chance. "You said you were going to quit." It was calm, calmer than you had thought it would be. Not an accusation. You weren't accusing her of anything. You had the proof in your hand.

"You went through my stuff?" Mimi wasn't calm. She looked like she was going to strangle you with one of your guitar strings.

"I was looking for a spoon," you told her as you casually tossed the packet into your other hand. "Guess I know why I couldn't find one."

"I can't believe you, Roger."

"Oh? You can't believe me?" So much for calm. You didn't mean to yell, but it still came out that way. "Hmm… not being able to believe someone. That must suck."

"Shut up!" she shouted, stepping around you to go farther into her kitchen. She wouldn't look at you. You wouldn't look away.

"Excellent response! Really, that explains everything." You were being an ass. If you were her, you probably would have decked you. But were angry, damn it. How could she do this?

"Roger, I swear to God…" You waited patiently for her to go on, and stayed silent even when she didn't Her fingers drummed against her thigh and her leg shook, things that any other time could be mistake for impatience. When she spun and finally met your eyes, her voice had gone up at least an octave. "You don't know—"

You cut her off. "Don't you dare tell me I don't know how hard it is, Mimi! I know better than anyone."

"I'm not… I'm not as strong as you are, Roger!"

That brought back images of Mark practically sitting on you, swearing that if you moved, he would knock you out. Of you trying to get up and run out the door anyway. Strong… The word made you want to laugh. "As far as I can tell…" you gestured to the very thing that had started the argument, "You're not even trying."

She was trembling, and you had an overwhelming urge to get up and hug her, tell her it was all okay. But it wasn't. "I want to try," she choked out.

You stood. Then you tossed the bag of heroin once again, this time to Mimi. She didn't try to catch it, just stared at you with surprised eyes. "Come find me when you're ready to actually give it a shot." Then you walked away.

Only to be paralyzed by her voice for a second time. "Roger…"

You had to be choking. You seriously couldn't breathe.

You leaned your head against the doorframe. "How can this work if I can't trust you?"

Mimi didn't answer, and neither did you. Just as you were about to walk away again, you heard her weakly say, "Tell me what to do."

That took you by surprise. "What?" you asked, turning around.

Her eyes practically glowed with tears. "I want this—us—I want us to work. Tell me what I need to do."

Get rid of it, a desperate part of your mind roared. Throw it out the window! But she could go find it if she dropped it out the window, an even less logical side argued. You had a million irrational thoughts in a matter of seconds before you blurted out, "Flush it down the toilet."

She stared at you as if you had just told her to devour her left arm. That, oddly enough, was when you knew it was the right thing to do. Mimi shook her head. "I can't…"

"Yes you can!" you cried. "You don't need it, Mimi. I know if feels like you do, like you'll go insane or fall apart without it, but I promise you, you do not need heroin."

Mimi leaned over and picked up the bag resting against her foot. "You want me to…" She trailed off, as if the concept was too awful to speak of.

"Flush it down the toilet," you repeated, more confident in your words than the first time. You stepped forward gripped her free hand with both of yours. "I'm here. I'll help you." Hopefully she knew you didn't mean just that moment.

Her eyes drifted from you to the powder and back. It terrified you that she seemed to be having a hard time deciding which was more important. "Okay."

A smile slowly crossed your face. "Okay?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and gave a short nod. "Okay." But she didn't move.

"Mimi, you can't just stand there and will it to happen."

"You said you would help me," she whispered.

So you did. You led her to the bathroom, held her hand as she released her hold on the smack, watched as she kept her eyes firmly closed and her shoulders shook with sobs like she was burying her child. You guided the hand still wrapped in yours to the handle and pulled, and then you stared as the water swirled around the porcelain bowl. When the water stilled and the room grew silent, Mimi asked, "Do you trust me?"

You wanted to say yes. You were so proud of her, and more than anything you wanted to tell her yes. But trust went both ways, and lying wouldn't help. "No."

Her eyes popped open in hurt shock, and you gripped her hand tighter. "But I'm willing to try."

She threw her arms around your neck, whispering apologies and promises that you desperately hoped were true. Her tears stained your shirt and you rubbed her back while she cried. Silently, you finished the thought.

As long as you are.

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There's part one. As you know, next up is "True Devotion," which is about half way finished.

Thanks for reading! Reviewing will make you my new best friend!