Take, take your time
Smell the roses, but steal the vines
Don't wait for the hands of time
To second guess and change your mind

"Hey, watch it, buddy," Mimi snarled, thin hands flying up into the air in raised fists, partially to re-balance herself as she nearly stepped off the sidewalk, partially to shove the guy if he got too close again. It happened frequently enough in their neighborhood; they recognized the Latina from The Catscratch, thought they could cop a feel while she was off the job. She was in too good of a mood to let this asshole bother her too much though; all she wanted to do was hurry up and get home to the apartment she and her best friend, Angel, shared, tell her about what had happened at work that day. Josef had moved her on up to a better slot, had taken her off the shift no girl wanted. She was rising in popularity, and apparently, that meant she'd be given better hours as well. It wasn't Broadway, what she'd come to New York City in search of, not even close to it...but it still felt good. She felt accomplished, even if the job itself was degrading. She was getting used to it, though, and really? She liked holding power over the men that came into that club.

And shine
Here's your moment to shine
Shine

The guy, with his shaggy, messy blonde hair, was still staring at her, leaning against an overflowing trash can with an amused smirk on his face. Mimi rolled her eyes and snapped, "Yeah, I work at the Catscratch, scram."

"Mimi Marquez," was all he said, the smirk fading, folding his arms over his chest while he studied the girl intently. "You don't remember me?"

Mimi furrowed her brow, leaning her head to one side, examining the man before her. Was she supposed to? Her eyes found their way to his, and suddenly, it clicked. "Shit, Chris? Chris Harrison? What did you do to your ihair/i?" she mused, reaching one hand up to touch the ends. "You've lost too much weight," she added needlessly, dropping her hand to gesture to the way the man's clothes were all but hanging off his body.

"I dyed it," Chris said simply. "A lot changes in a year, Mimi." His expression was softer, guilty almost, and the dark-haired dancer wondered why he was wearing it.

"It does," she agreed, raking her fingers through her tangled mess of curls, brown eyes searching his grey ones. "Chris, what the hell is wrong? You're looking at me like you killed me. The break up was mutual, remember? There were no tears. On my end, anyway, can't speak for you," she snorted, though her words were light, one hand coming to rest on the edge of the trash bin Chris was still pressing his weight against.

He visibly paled at Mimi's words, and she tilted her head again in confusion at the way he was reacting to her. He'd always been much shyer than she; she was always attracted to the shy types, wasn't sure why. But he'd never been this awkward with conversation, even when they'd first met at The Life her first week in the city. Before she could open her mouth to ask what his problem was, however, he spoke up.

"We need to talk, Meems," he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck, looking at her for a long minute, that guilt still naked in his eyes.

Mimi Marquez didn't scare easily; not much bothered the Latina, but that expression he was carrying chilled her to the bone. "Yeah, sure, okay," she said casually, eyes darting around the darkening sky above them. If she didn't catch Angel before she left for work, she'd tell her all about her 'promotion' tomorrow. It wasn't that important. Chris looked like he could use a friend, anyway.

Lay down, my friend
Close your eyes, breathe in
And I'll take you there and back again

It wasn't until they were sitting in The Life across the table from one another, untouched coffee in front of them both, that Chris finally began speaking again. "I'm sick, Mimi," he said bluntly, shame crossing his eyes.

She wondered why he looked so ashamed, as a wave of concern crashed over her. He was sick? "I'm, I'm sorry," she said softly, reaching across the table for his hand. He pulled his own back, and Mimi frowned. He knew she was overly physically affectionate with her friends, with those she cared about; why did he withdraw? "What is it?" she asked just as bluntly, wanting to understand why that look kept crossing his face.

Chris sighed, running the hand he'd pulled back over his face, eyes closing with the motion. He didn't open them as he came right out and said, "HIV, Meems. I'm HIV-positive."

"Oh, God," Mimi whispered, reaching her arm across the table once more, trying to grab for his hand. No wonder he looked the way he did; shell shocked, tired. She wondered if maybe he'd just found out. "When did you find out? Are you okay?" Of course he wasn't okay; Chris was going to die. She'd been living in the city long enough to understand how HIV and AIDS worked. At home, in Miami, none of it was ever discussed, but here, it was like a form of greeting: 'Hi, I'm Ralph, and I'm HIV-positive.'

He moved his hand farther away, though, and shook his head once his eyes had drifted open again, and said softly, "Meems, don't. I--"

"You what, Chris? Let me fucking help you," Mimi demanded, face twisted in both frustration and concern. Why was he telling her if he was going to keep backing away? "What--"

"You need to get tested, Mimi," Chris interrupted her, both hands slamming palm-down on the table with his own rising temper. "You could have it, too, don't you see that?"

No more questions why
I'm not so surprised
Why you have
Been there and back again

It wasn't until the just-turned eighteen year old was sitting on Chris' fire escape, smoking cigarette after cigarette after cigarette in the cool, late night/early morning air, that Mimi remembered Angel. She'd be wondering where she was. Her roommate knew by now, though, that she stayed out overnight often enough; hopefully she wouldn't be concerned. She couldn't go there right now, anyway, couldn't face her friend with the knowledge that was slowly sinking into her brain. She might be sick; she'd shared needles with Chris, had slept with him more times than she could remember in their six months of being together. Chris was dying...maybe she was, too.

Angel had saved Mimi around every turn, every corner, but this wasn't something her best friend could rescue her from. Not this time. Mimi'd made her mistakes, and now she was going to have to find out what the cost of them was. There was no running from this one; it was too big.

Replace, replace that line
That spoke to you
And showed no signs to be alive
So are you livin' or dead?

The bruising in the crook of Mimi's arm held an insignificant amount of pain in comparison to the heaviness in her heart as she climbed the stairs slowly, wearily, to the tiny apartment she and Angel shared three days later. She hadn't meant to stay away that long, but the idea of telling her friend what she'd done, the possibility of her status, had been too much for her to consider. Now that she'd gotten tested, though, now that she and Chris had caught up, there was no more hiding. She needed the comforting embrace of her dear friend; the one who'd saved her life more times than she could ever remember.

"Ang, honey, I--"

The sight on the couch before her made Mimi collapse to her knees in pure horror and fear; her drug paraphanelia spread out across the coffee table only added to it. Angel was so pale, so lifeless; was she dead?

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God," she whispered, both hands covering her mouth, frozen for what seemed like hours when it was really only five seconds. She didn't remember getting up, running to the couch, but suddenly there she was in front of her best friend, on her knees before the couch, hands moving to Angel's shoulders, shaking her lightly. "Jesus, Angel!" she cried, voice frantic through her sobbing, shaking her again with more force this time.

Angel's eyes just barely opened, but they were closed again before Mimi had the chance to react to that sight. Oh God, Oh God, she can't die, she can't die, no. No, God, please, no. Angel wasn't moving, hadn't spoken at all since she'd arrived home. "Oh God, Ang," she wept, "C'mon, honey, please!" She was smacking her best friend's cheeks in unison before she realized what she was doing, willing her to wake up, to be okay. She didn't know what to do; should she perform CPR? Did she even remember CPR? Angel was going to die and it was all her fault. If she hadn't kept that stash in the cupboard, if she'd just come home...

"Hi Meems," came Angel's usually soft voice even more breathy in the condition she was in, her big brown eyes just barely cracked open as she said something Mimi couldn't identify; it was too quiet.

"Oh God, Angel," she sobbed, shaking her shoulders again, interrupted by her friend's slightly louder plea of, "Don't touch it."

"Don't touch what? Angel, what? Oh God," she wailed, as Angel's eyelids closed once more. "C'mon, Ang, don't do that! Look at me!" she commanded, voice thick with unshed tears, the lump in her throat making it difficult for her to breathe. Her friend wasn't opening her eyes, though, and she demanded, "Stay with me!" Oh God, she couldn't die, she couldn't die, she couldn't die.

Angel was struggling, that much was obvious. Her friend could barely breathe, let alone keep her eyes open, and that only panicked Mimi even more. "Angel!" she cried, "Oh God, please don't, honey, oh God!" Don't die on me, don't die on me, don't die on me. She did the only thing she could think of to do, and swiftly rolled her friend over onto her back, standing, leaning over the armrest, covering her best friend's mouth with her own, praying she was doing this correctly. It had been too long since she'd been taught this, what if she did it incorrectly? What if Angel died because she couldn't remember how to bring her back?

You have made a choice to hear your voice
Or hold on to what they said

She kept breathing her own life into her dear friend, shoving back the sobs that kept threatening, until it became fairly obvious it wasn't helping. She stood again and whispered, "Oh God." In a louder voice, she promised, "I'll be right back, I'm gonna have Jimmy and Caroline call nine-one-one, sweetie. Stay with us." She bent down, giving Angel one last breath of her own, before she took off out of the apartment, down the hallway to their neighbor's, banging on the door frantically.

"Jimmy, Caroline, please, somebody! Anybody!" she wept, continuing to pound her fists into the door, unaware of the sheer force she was hitting it with. "Please, open up, someone, help us! Angel's dying!"

A coldness spread throughout Mimi's entire body as she said it, the realization being said aloud only making the situation even more grave to her. When Caroline's startled face appeared from behind the open door, all the young Latina cried was, "Call nine-one-one!" and took off running again, sprinting back to her own apartment, positive she'd find her friend lifeless, that she was too late.

She wasn't, though, not yet. Angel's breathy plea for help shattered Mimi's heart, and she nodded, sinking to her knees beside the couch again, taking Angel's freezing cold hand in her own trembling one. "Okay honey," she whispered, tears spilling freely, returning to what she'd been doing before she'd taken off to call for help, breathing for her friend every chance she could. It seemed as if it went on for hours, the pattern of Angel begging her to assist and Mimi complying, but it couldn't have been more than five minutes at the most, until the ambulance finally arrived.

She couldn't watch as the paramedics moved her dear friend to the gurney, covered her with oxygen, could barely concentrate on the questions one of them, a tall, dark-haired man was asking her. "How much did he take?" he questioned, nodding to the equipment laying on their coffee table.

"I don't know," Mimi admitted faintly, the guilt crashing over her. "I wasn't here."

"How much was in there to start?"

"I, I don't know, I can't remember." It was highly unusual for the younger girl to not know how much heroin she had in the apartment at any given time, but she couldn't think; her mind was on Angel, wondering if her friend would make it. If she didn't, it would be her fault. She'd killed Angel.

"Was he depressed, angry? Did he have a fight with someone?" he asked, following the other two paramedics out of the apartment, down the flight of stairs, Mimi trailing along behind him. She wasn't going to leave her friend's side, there was no way. They'd have to render her unconscious for that to happen.

"N-No, she wasn't, Angel's a happy person, she's not..." Had her friend been depressed? Had Mimi missed the signs entirely? Why would her normally upbeat friend do something like this? None of it made any sense to her. This was something Mimi would pull; this wasn't typical Angel behavior. In fact, it seemed downright creepy, when she thought about it. What had happened to her friend in those three days she'd been gone?

The man only nodded as they boarded Angel onto the ambulance, and gave Mimi the directions to the hospital they were taking her roommate to. "Oh no, I'm going with you," she snapped, shaking her head, moving to climb on board directly behind him.

"Immediate family only," came the reply of Gerald, according to his name badge, placing his hand on one of Mimi's shoulders. "You'll have to meet us there."

"I'm her sister!" Mimi cried, blurting it out without hesitation, if only because she believed it. "I'm her sister, ichico/i, please," she begged, eyes pleading with him. She had to make sure they took care of Angel; she wouldn't let anyone hurt her. "Please."

Gerald stared at her for a long minute, then finally nodded. "Hurry up, climb in."

Lay down, my friend
Close your eyes, breathe in
And I'll take you there and back again

Mimi wasn't sure how many days had passed since they'd arrived at the hospital with Angel, only that she hadn't left her friend's side for a single minute of it. All of the doctors and nurses who were treating her dear friend knew she was Angel's little sister; nobody had bothered her since she'd argued her way onto the ambulance earlier in the week.

The doctor's words echoed in her mind, over and over again. Your sister's positive status. He'd assumed, with good reason, that Mimi knew Angel was sick. It had taken all of her effort to nod and pretend that she had known, that it hadn't come as a shock, that it hadn't caused her legs to weaken at hearing it. It had only taken a few moments beyond that for the Latina to put two and two together, to figure out why her friend had done what she had. The thought of doing it herself, if the test came back positive, had been in her own mind since Chris' news. Not anymore, though, she mused, staring at Angel's sleeping form, praying she'd wake up. For real. She'd moaned and mumbled unintelligible things over the past few days, but nothing that made any sense. She wanted to see her best friend's eyes again, wanted to see her smile. Wanted to hear her voice. She wanted her to be okay.

She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep in the uncomfortable plastic chair again, upper body leaned forward, forehead pressed into the end of Angel's hospital bed, until she felt her friend's hand in hers tighten ever so slightly. She'd done that before, though, and didn't think much of it until Angel whispered, "M'sorry, Meems." Her voice was still so weak, so trembly, but it was more than she'd said in days and it caused Mimi to lift her head, tears forming all over again. She'd cried enough in that one week to last her a whole lifetime.

"Ang," she said softly, smiling, raising her free hand to wipe at her face. She was exhausted, but just the sight of Angel awake was enough to send her heart leaping in joy. "How're you feeling?"

"Terrible," was Angel's answer, her own voice still soft, wispy, "Like I got run over by a bus."

Heroin overdoses will do that to you, Mimi thought to herself, but didn't say that aloud. She understood why Angel had done what she did. "Don't do that again, honey," she commanded, though her voice was still slightly thick, "You scared the living shit out of me, girl." She lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of her friend's, just to prove she wasn't really angry with her.

"I won't," Angel confirmed with a nod, "Was dumb."

"No shit, you're damned right it was," Mimi responded dryly, squeezing Angel's hand again. When her friend didn't respond, Mimi let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Angel was alive. She'd made it.

She was so lost in those thoughts, that she didn't react right away when her friend waved her hand lightly and said, "I like this color. You do it?"

Mimi stared at Angel's nails for a long moment, then chuckled sheepishly, shaking her head at how quickly she'd noticed such a small thing in the grand scheme of things. That was her Angel-girl. "Yeah," she admitted, turning her friend's hand to get a better look at her handiwork, inspecting the painted nails, shimmering blue in color. "Your nails were looking pretty ugly, 'cause of...well," she paused, sighing, "'cause of no oxygen. I had this color in my purse, and I decided it was prettier." She'd had that nailpolish since before she'd left home, and had never once used it until she'd done Angel's nails either, she then realized.

"It is," Angel agreed, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Much prettier."

They were dancing around the more serious subject at hand, and Mimi couldn't stand it anymore. "Ang," she said slowly, thinking, then finally just came right out with it. "The doctor told me you're sick, sweetheart." She sighed again, and asked, "Is that why you didn't want me to touch the needle?" Angel's request, the one she hadn't understood, couldn't hear when she'd first found her dying friend days earlier, had finally clicked once the doctor had shared that information with her. Angel's small smile had disappeared at Mimi's question, and her friend waited a moment after the nod of confirmation before she asked, "Is that why you did this?"

"Yes," Angel responded, then frowned. "No," she changed her mind, then shook her head. "I don't know why I did it."

Mimi understood, so she smiled, hesitantly, and said, "Yeah, well, I need you, so you can't be doing it again, got it?" Her tone was chiding, joking, but the words were real. She did need Angel, more than she could say.

"Won't," her friend repeating, and Mimi's smile grew at the sight of Angel's grin, as small as it was.

"Promise?" Mimi asked, her own slight grin forming now.

"Promise."

"Good," Mimi replied, still smiling, but it quickly began disappearing as her own up-in-the-air status came to mind again. She frowned. "Ang, I..."

"What, honey?" Angel looked concerned, her voice matching the expression, and Mimi sighed. She bit her lip, taking their joined hands, and lowered her forehead against them, her own story spilling forth from her lips.

Back again, back again
Back again, back again