Author's Note: I have never seen Rent the play but I have seen Rent the movie about ten times. My favorite quote, about Angel, is the one where Mimi is talking about her at the funeral. I keep inivisioning that scene and decided to write it down. Here you go!

Warning: The skinheads use the "f-word" in this. It is not a reflection of me at all, I hate that word more so than the other "f-word." I just thought it'd be more in character to have them use it.

Honored

"Angel…you do not have to do this, you know that right?" Mimi insisted as Angel dragged her down the sidewalk.

"Shut your mouth," Angel scolded, "I want to do this."

"But I…"

"Don't you argue with me, chica," Angel smiled, "I saw this jacket when I was down here last week and I thought to myself, 'that'd be perfect for Mimi,' so here we are. Now then, I asked the vendor to hold it for you…"

"Angel, you are too nice to me. I don't deserve it."

"Nonsense! Everyone deserves someone being nice to them."

They headed down the sidewalk to the vendor's table. There were knock-off designer jackets, dresses, purses, and jewelry.

"Angah!" A large man with a ball cap popped up from behind the book, "Angah, darlin'! It's good ta see ya!"

"Always a pleasure! Now, this here is my friend Mimi. I believe I asked you to hold a jacket for her earlier."

"Ah, yes! Here ya go, Angah, dear."

Angel smiled, took the black leather jacket and put it around Mimi, "Perfect fit! Oooh, mamacita, you are sexy!" Angel snapped her fingers across her face, "We'll take it."

"Tha'll be thirty."

"Thirty! Now, I know you aren't hiking up your prices again, are you? I won't pay a cent over fifteen."

"Always bargainin' aren't ya?"

"I like my prices cheap. So what do you say, honey?"

"Fifteen fity."

"Thank you!" Angel handed the man her cash.

"We don't deserve you, Angel," Mimi told her friend as they headed down the sidewalk.

"You're out of your mind, honey. It's the other way around."

Mimi was about to say something as they rounded the corner and right into a group of skinheads. They had tattoos across their bald heads and arms. One looked at Angel and grinned.

"Look at that, fellas! Hey fag, get off our street!"

"Leave her alone," another one sneered, "she needs to pay to be here, if you know what I mean."

"Angel," Mimi's face paled.

"Sweetie, I am not new to this. I've heard it all my life."

"I can go talk to them…"

"No," Angel insisted, "I will."

She fixed her wig on her head, smoothed down her flowery skirt, and smacked her lips together, "How's the lipstick?"

"Perfect," Mimi answered. She watched as Angel marched over towards the skinheads – hot pink pumps clacking against the pavement – and got right into the obvious 'leader's' face.

"Hey mami," he grinned.

"I've just got one thing to say to you: I am more of a man than you are ever going to be, and more a woman than you are ever going to get."

She then turned on her heel and headed back towards Mimi, whose jaw hung lax.

"Come on, honey. I need a drink."

"Angel, that was…"

"Don't," Angel raised a hand, "Some things just need to be said."

"You are amazing."

Angel smiled, "Of course, chica."

"Angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Mimi smiled, thinking to herself: I am honored to know you.