"Hey bitch, you want some of this?" A hard voice, tinged with confrontation jolts Angel from her self-pity. She looks up through the fog of her tears to see a man holding his crotch suggestively. He's at least 6 inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier than she. His head is shorn and his clothes are standard skinhead issue; olive button-down work shirt with dark grey Sta-Press trousers and red suspenders. His navy work coat is decorated with patches and he wears black combat boots. On his right hand he wears a huge ring which covers three of his fingers. To her left, a young woman with impossibly tangled hair looks up and takes notice of the trouble in which Angel has found herself. With a sigh, the small drag queen wipes her tears, unfolds her legs, and stands to face the man. In her 19 years, she's learned many things, the most important being that most bullies are really cowards. She hates to fight, but hopes that if she stands up to him, she won't have to. She draws herself up to her full height, almost 6'2" in 5 inch heels, and looks the man in the eyes. In those eyes, she sees that he thinks she is an easy target. He is wrong. Her own eyes harden, become black steel, and she brings her hands in front of her body, curling them into fists.

"You wanna fight, bitch?" Ring Man sneers. "Don't make me laugh. I will mop the fuckin' floor with your ugly ass." Two other guys, just as mean looking, and just as big, step up behind Ring Man. One of them has a swastika tattooed on his neck. The other is wearing oxblood Doc Martens.

"No. I don't want to fight, but you seem to. Look boys, I am more of a man than you will everbe, and more of a woman than you'll ever get. Step back or you'll wish you had." Something in her tone causes a shadow of doubt to flicker across Ring Man's face. He steps back for an instant, but is shoved forward by Red Boots. This steels his resolve and he swings for Angel's face. She sidesteps him neatly at the last possible instant and his fist lands on nothing but air. She repositions herself, praying he's as stupid as he looks. Maybe he is, because he tries exactly the same thing again. This time, his fist hits the grab pole right behind her, which thrums loudly as it vibrates with the force of his blow. Angel takes this opportunity, his shock and pain, to bring her heavy blocky heel with her full weight behind it down on the instep of his foot. There is a collective gasp as everyone on the train hears the sickening sound of the big man's bones crunching. He howls in pain and doubles over, clutching his rapidly swelling foot. Swastika Tattoo helps him to a seat, while Red Boots seems to think that he can settle things himself. He steps over the injured man to challenge her. She is expecting this and whirls on him, fists up, feet apart, standing on the balls of her feet, ready. Red Boots looks into her eyes and sees her resolve. He almost turns away, but he isn't about to be bested by a drag queen half his size. He goes for her throat and she ducks off to her right, jabbing her right fist hard into his mouth, while her left goes straight for a hook to his temple. His head reeling, he stumbles backward, nearly going out cold, a trickle of blood starting from the corner of his mouth. She spins and looks at Swastika Tattoo, but he clearly is the smartest of the three and holds his hands up in a show of peace.

"Look lady, I don't want any trouble. Just let me get my friends off at the next stop, ok?"

"Fine. You three can't go fast enough to suit me." She backs down, but her eyes don't lose their flinty look until the three skinheads get off the train. As soon as they're off, the car erupts in applause. The thirteen or so people present had been holding their collective breath from the moment it had appeared that the situation might get physical. Angel smiles, adjusts her black bob wig, smoothes her short skirt, and does a little pirouette in celebration. She looks down and sees a girl of about eight nearby looking at her with brown eyes the size of saucers from behind wire-framed glasses.

"Whoa! That was so cool! How did you do that?"

Angel bends down to get on the child's level and takes her hand. "Fighting doesn't solve anything honey. You remember that. But also remember that a lady's gotta look out for herself sometimes." She winks, smiles, and squeezes the child's hand before letting go. The girl's mother catches Angel's eye and smiles gratefully at her, a smile which she returns.

With a sigh, she goes back to her seat and collapses, the stress of the day finally folding in on her. Once the adrenaline of the fight has started to wear off, she realizes that her right hand is starting to swell. She holds her injured hand out gingerly as she bends down, rummages in her bag for something to use to wrap it, and finds an old t-shirt. She decides that it won't really help to wrap it, what she needs is something cold. Someone gently nudges her shoulder. It's the child's mother, offering her the blue ice pack from the little girl's lunchbox. Angel smiles at the woman in gratitude and accepts the ice. She carefully wraps the hand and hisses in a breath as the cold touches it. A moment later, she's aware that there's someone looking down at her. She looks up and sees smiling brown eyes and long tangled dark curls.

"Hi."
"Hi."
"They call me Mimi. Can I sit?"

"Angel. Please, feel free."

"That was pretty great what you just did."

"Thanks."

"Where are you going?"

Angel shakes her head wearily. "I don't know."

"You don't know? Why are you on the subway if you don't know where you're going?"

"My father kicked me out. For good this time, I think. It was a bad scene. Let's just say that was the second fist fight I've had today."

Mimi wordlessly reaches over and takes Angel's uninjured hand. She understands bad family situations. Several minutes pass in silence, neither looking at the other. Finally Mimi glances at Angel, who is watching the blank concrete walls flash past out the window.

"What are you going to do?"

Angel shakes her head again. Mimi can see tears glistening in her eyes. As she watches, one falls and rolls down Angel's cheek, leaving a thin black trail of eyeliner in its wake. When she speaks, her voice is choked with unshed tears. "I don't know. I don't have anywhere to go. The last time he kicked me out, I moved in with my boyfriend, but that's over. I don't have any other friends, really, so I just don't know what I'm going to do."

"I know what you're going to do. You're going to pick up your bag and you're going to come home with me."

Angel turns and searches Mimi's brown eyes. She's smiling again. "Mimi, I don't know what to say. You don't even know me."
"I know enough. I know my apartment is too quiet since Jay moved out. I know that I could use a new friend and so could you. And I really need someone tough like you to look after me. My neighborhood's a little rough." Mimi grips Angel's hand tighter, causing her to wince. "Will you please stay with me?"

"Honey, I would love to."

Mimi smiles and gently wipes away Angel's tears, managing only to smear her eyeliner a little more.

-----

The two new friends get off at Mimi's stop and walk the few blocks from the station to Mimi's apartment. It is a rough neighborhood. There are tough-looking kids everywhere, and Angel sees at least one drug deal before they get to the building. Mimi tries her key in the front door, which swings open before she even turns the key in the lock. She sighs and holds the door open for Angel.

"Security door's broken again. I gotta call the super. Sorry this place sucks so much. I'm looking for something better. Maybe if you decide to stay we can find something together." As she enters the building, Angel can hear sounds of poor urban living. A baby cries from somewhere upstairs, the television in the apartment to her right is on too loud, playing a Spanish soap opera, loud voices raised in an argument come from down the hall. Angel sighs. It's not much, but it's more than she had an hour ago. Mimi leads her to the elevator. A door opens as they pass.

"Heeeeey Mimi . . ." The owner of the voice is an oily-looking middle aged guy wearing a stocking cap over greasy curls. "This another of your boyfriends? Not nearly as cute as the last one."
"Fuck off, Ramón." He smirks and reaches out to touch Mimi's shoulder.

"Maybe you and I can . . . Owwww!" Ramón cries out in pain as Angel grabs his hand and twists the wrist almost to the breaking point with her uninjured left hand.

"I think you heard her, sugar. Fuck off." She releases his hand and Ramón slinks back into his apartment. Mimi grins at Angel and takes her hand.

"See? I do need you as much as you need me. Let's go."

They take the rickety elevator to the fourth floor. Mimi's apartment is the last one on the left. She opens the door and lets Angel in, flipping on the light as they enter.

"Welcome. Sorry it's so bare. My ex took most of the furniture."

Angel looks around the tiny living room space. It is furnished with only an old overstuffed chair and a milk crate. The room's best features are the big bay windows with a window seat on the South end. On the other end is a tiny kitchen, too small for the refrigerator. It sits in the living room, with a calendar taped on the front and a dying potted plant sitting on top.

"I hope you have a bathroom in this charming place," Angel says with a smile.

"Oh, yeah, of course. We're lucky; this is one of the apartments with a private bathroom. It's back here." Angel goes to put the ice pack into the freezer then takes her bag with her to the bathroom.

"Do you mind if I have a shower?"

"Of course not, make yourself at home. There are clean towels in the cabinet."

-----

Once she's out, it's Mimi's turn. Angel sits on the window seat, wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, drying her own hair, ice pack back on her bruised hand. She hears the water shut off and a moment or two later, Mimi comes out, wearing a short cheetah print satin bathrobe and has a towel wrapped around her head. She takes off the towel and sits down next to Angel. Mimi pulls a hairbrush out of her pocket and goes to work on her wet tangled curls, attacking them with vengeance.

"Wait, wait. Stop." Angel stops her with a gentle touch. "No wonder your hair's such a disaster, honey. You're going about this all wrong. My cousin Connie has hair just like yours. Let me." Mimi hands her the hairbrush and sits down cross legged on the floor in front of her. Angel picks up a lock of Mimi's hair and starts carefully brushing it. "You gotta start at the ends, not the top, sweetie. The way you were doing it, it'll either split or tear out entirely." Mimi leans her head comfortably on Angel's knee as she continues to brush.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Mimi asks, suppressing a yawn.

"Honey, when you're like I am, you learn to do one of two things; fight or get beat up. I got tired of the one, so I learned the other, that's all."

"Someone must've taught you, you took on three guys all twice your size."

"My fighting style is mostly not getting hit. If you can manage that, you're in good shape. You should let me trim this hair once my hand gets better. It's nothing but split ends."

"Ok, but just a trim. It's got to stay long for work."

"What do you do darlin'?"

"I dance. At this crummy little bar called the Hot Box. I've been trying to get hired at the Cat Scratch. I hear they even have dressing rooms."

Angel smiles and continues brushing out Mimi's tangles. "I dance too. And sing sometimes."

"Where?" Mimi asks curiously.

"Escuelita. Ever hear of it?"
"Yeah. That's in Manhattan." She turns to look at Angel. "How'd you get to dance there? You must be good."

Angel shrugs, picking up another lock to start on. "I'm pretty good. And I can make costumes. Half the girls there wear stuff I made for them."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen. How old are you?"

"Nine . . ." Angel gives her a hard look and she recants "Ok, sixteen," she mumbles. "But I'm old for my age."

"Me too." Angel replies with a smile. Mimi covers her mouth and yawns widely. Finally finished, Angel lays down the last lock of hair. "There. Once we trim this up, it'll be much nicer." Out of habit, she pulls all the hair out of the brush and looks for a trash can to throw it in. Mimi takes it from her and goes to throw it in the trash in the kitchen. When she returns she stretches and yawns again.

"Ready for bed, Mimi-chica?"
"I am. You?"

"Yeah. Where will I sleep?" Mimi looks a little embarrassed.

"Sorry, I don't have anyplace else for you to sleep. I guess it's either the floor out here or with me. Are you ok with that?" Angel laughs a little at Mimi's embarrassment.

"Honey, I've slept with far worse than you." Mimi smiles.

"Ok, then shall we?"

"Let's." Mimi turns off the lights and leads the way into her bedroom, jumps into bed and pulls the covers back for Angel, who turns off the light and climbs in after her. Mimi snuggles in next to Angel, each relishing the other's warmth. Angel puts her arm around Mimi's waist, settling her cheek in Mimi's slightly damp curls.

"Hey Angel?"
"Hmm?"

"What's your last name?"
"Dumott-Schunard."

"Dumott-Schunard? What kind of Latin name is that?"
"Long story. What's yours?"
"Marquez."

"Good night, Mimi Marquez."

"Good night, Angel Dumott-Schunard."