A/N: Angel and Mimi are great. But it has come to my attention that they don't make it into enough fics. There are too many post-Rents for Angel to exist, and so many Mark/Rogers or Anyone Else/Rogers in which Mimi has been killed off to make room for the other lover. And too many pre-Rents starring Mark and Roger for them to have met Angel or Mimi. So, touché, I am so mad about all the M/R fics that I have put Mimi and Angel into my little story. (They're much younger than the others. Putting that out there so it doesn't come as a shock.) And it'll be shorter.

Part 3—Below 14th Street

Mimi clutched her bag to her as they swung the creaky door open. She shivered; it was so cold in the little room that stood before her.

She looked around. It was bare of anything, of course; that would change when the things they had came in. The dirty window was cracked in more than one place and covered in duct tape. Cardboard was taped over a corner of the floor; upon closer inspection it proved to cover a missing bit of the floorboard. The room in general gave off an air of exhaustion, as though it just wanted to be bulldozed and put out of its misery.

Mimi dropped her patchwork backpack, which she'd made last year and which held everything it could, beside her as she sank into a corner. She put her head back against the wall.

"Chica…" Her mother came to stand by her. "It won't be so bad. When our things are here, it'll be better. And there'll be heat and everything before it is truly cold."

"It's cold now, Mama." Mimi replied stonily.

"Mimi. This…" she gestured around her, "is only temporary, you know that. Once my paycheck comes in we'll have better things, and then when your father gets his papers in…"

"That's just it, Mama. We're Americans. Why did Papi have to go to Mexico?"

"Chica, you know he came here illegally. My father is American and I already had citizenship, and you were born here. We don't have Mexican citizenship and we couldn't go with Papi when la migra told him he had to leave."

"Well, it isn't fair."

"I know, Mimi chica. Pero eres americana."

"Mama, we're American. We speak English, don't we?"

"Mimi!"

"I need to go."

"Adonde vas?"

"I'm going to go think."

Mimi snatched up her bag again, swallowed tears and ran out of the little apartment building.

By the time she'd gotten far enough away to stop running, she took a good look around her. People sat out on the streets, all their possessions around them, only pigeons for company. She put a strand of brown curls into her mouth, an old habit; she chewed her hair when nervous. She wondered where her father was now. He'd had a reasonablygood job—it paid the bills, at least—until U.S. Immigration had sniffed him out. Unable to get proof of how hard he'd worked since coming to New York so long ago, he'd had to go back until he could try and get papers through, leaving his wife and thirteen-year-old daughter behind. That had been five months ago. Mimi's mother had been unable to pay their old bills with her job waiting tables. She'd be taking on extra shifts, and now the lease on their apartment was up. They now lived in this dismal one in the East Village. Temporarily, Mimi kept telling herself.

"Hey, look, it's a little girl." Mimi looked up to see two men. Both were leering at her. Instinctively she backed away.

"Where you goin', little girl?" asked the second man. They began to move toward her, backing her against the wall of a dingy building. Mimi's eyes darted about, looking for a way to get out, but she was cornered.

"We're not gonna hurt ya," said the man who'd spoken first. "If you turn out to be sweet as you look."

"Where you off to in such a hurry?"

Terrified, Mimi struggled to choke out a lie."Meeting my boyfriend."

"Oh…ho! Now we're scared!" The two made faces at each other, then turned back to leer at her. "Is he a big, strong boy?" He reached toward an area that shouldn't be touched by strange men. Mimi tried to swerve away, tried to struggle…

"Excuse me, sirs, is there a problem?"

The men turned to look at the source of the new voice. Mimi looked too, and saw a boy, about her age or a little older. He appeared to be of Latino descent. Slightly built and clad in slightly oversized clothes, he stood only an inch or two taller than Mimi herself. He held what appeared to be a tube of lip gloss tightly in his hand, almost as though he were hiding it, and spoke to the men with no apparent qualms.

"This the boyfriend, girly?" the men asked. Mimi was too scared to speak, but didn't need to.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am," said the boy.

The men laughed uproariously. The one not securing Mimi to the wall rounded on the boy, shoving his bony shoulders roughly and causing him to stumble. "Don't screw with me, boy."

Calm expression still on his face, the boy regained himself and responded, looking the man straight in the eye, "Then don't you go and screw with her."

Mimi blinked and missed it, but next thing she knew there was a terrible bellow of pain. The man who'd confronted this strange boy was writhing in the street, and Mimi's captor had released her to shout "Wha'd he do?"

"Kicked my balls!" gasped the other man. Mimi stared, awed, at the boy, now smiling.

"Oh no you fucking did not!" shouted the unharmed man, rounding on the boy. He was greeted with that smile.

"Oh, but I did. And if you don't want any trouble, you really ought to leave her alone."

The man looked derisively at the boy, as though he might hit him anyway. Instead he helped his friend up and said "C'mon. Even those tits ain't worth it."

Only when they were long out of sight was Mimi able to pull herself off the wall and run up to her rescuer, who stood staring in the direction they'd left, still smiling slightly.

"Thanks," she said shakily.

"Oh, honey, of course. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"No, thanks to you."

"I'm telling you, it wasn't a problem. I'm Angel."

"Angel? Your parents named you Angel?"

"Well, it's not my real name. My real name's Dumott. Dumott Schunard." He made a face; Mimi could see why. "But please call me Angel."

"I'm Mimi. Mimi Marquez. I just moved here."

"Here, to East Village?" Mimi nodded. "From where?"

Mimi told him about her father being deported and her mother not being able to pay for their old apartment as the two began to walk together.

"Oh, I see. Well, I've lived in the East Village all my life. And it's really not as bad as those gentlemen made it seem. Just don't walk alone anymore, okay?" He stopped to look at her. "My, you are a young little thing, aren't you? How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Really?"

"Well…thirteen, but fourteen in a couple of months."

"Ah. I'll be fifteen next month."

"Happy early birthday."

"Thanks. Go to school?"

"Yeah, my mom's gonna try and keep me where I went before, but it'll be some walk. Where do you go?" They were walking again.

"I had to drop out, take care of my mama. She's sick." Angel stopped suddenly. "What time is it?"

"It's about four…"

"Oh! I need to go, she needs her medicine…Mimi, dear, it was lovely to meet you. We'll see each other again, soon." He kissed her forehead and sprinted away.

Mimi watched him go. She had the distinct impression she'd made a friend. Despite the scare she'd had, life here might not be so bad if there were more like Angel around.

Just don't walk alone again, she resolved, as she reached the front door of her new apartment building. Never walk alone. It was time to apologize to her mother, and start a new chapter of her life here.

I meant it when I said short. Angel's will hopefully be longer. More on the way; next will be either Maureen or Collins. Reviewand let me know which one you want.