SUMMARY: December 24, 1999 – how can ten years have passed? It's a new millennia and the group of seven has disbanded and are no longer together in the East Village...but only one thing can bring them together. Mark once again finds himself the witness.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Jonathan Larson's characters, but I did throw in several of my own original characters, including Calvin Davis, Stephanie Cohen and Luc Thibodeaux, as well as Maureen and Joanne's children. Pretty much everyone except the obvious are MINE. Also, I claim no rights to any of the songs quoted at the beginning of each chapter.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic basically takes place between December 1999 and December 2000, but it will jump back and forth between then and the past. Enjoy.

Our days were numbered by nights on too many rooftops
They said we're wasting our lives
But oh, at least we know
That if we die
We lived with passion
They said we'd burn so bright
We burn this city and go.
Cartel, "Burn This City"


"Maureen, give it back!"

"Hi, Mark! Happy New Year, Mark!"

"You're going to break it! This is not my bar mitzvah!"

Stephanie shuffled into the chilled living room of the SoHo loft, in her flannel pajamas and robe, finding her husband in front of the television…again. "Mark, it's two in the morning," she yawned. Outside, snow was softly falling, covering New York City in a silky white blanket of fluff.

"I know."

"Are you watching your home movies again?" she asked, coming to stand behind the couch where Mark was seated in lounge pants and a plain white undershirt.

"They're not just home movies," Mark gave Stephanie a playful little glare.

Stephanie sighed. "Sorry, I know. Your documentary. Why do you keep watching that? You're on to bigger and better things." She sat next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I know," Mark gave a small sigh. He was a freelance video editor, editing news segments for ABC, NBC, CBS, etc. Occasionally he would branch out to their sister corporations like MSNBC and CNN. Since he was freelance, he only got paid when he received work. Sometimes, his hours in his production room seemed endless; on the other hand, the room could sit cold and empty for days. "It's so hard to believe…this all happened ten years ago. Feels like yesterday."

Stephanie tickled his chest lightly. "Our wedding feels like yesterday."

He gave a small chuckle and put his hand on top of hers. He kissed her cheek gently.

They had met through Collins five years ago. Mark had asked Collins if he would help him put together a dozen of his NYU students to be his crew for a film project. They would gain extra credit for the class and be on their professor's good graces for the remainder of the semester. Stephanie had been one of the volunteers, not because she was looking for extra credit, but because she had simply never been part of a film crew before. Stephanie was quiet and sweet, less abrasive than Beth and Tara, the other two girls that had joined the crew. She had an aura about her that Mark couldn't pull himself away from. He would pretend to adjust his lends or clean his camera, but he would really be zooming in on her…her porcelain skin stretched over her heart-shaped face; her eyes the luminescent golden brown of tiger's eye stones; her dark red hair like Sangria; her bee-stung lips. She was fascinating to him.

A little over a week into the project, as Mark dutifully initialed each student's extra credit slip at the end of the day, he finally plucked up the courage to ask Stephanie out for coffee. It got the ball rolling on their relationship, especially when Stephanie later revealed that she'd had a long-running crush on Mark, but was too shy to say anything beforehand.

They were married, and Mark moved into Stephanie's place in SoHo. Roger had left town within the year following Mimi's death without so much as a good-bye to Mark. He received a phone call from his friend two weeks later. Roger said he was staying with his brother Calvin in Las Vegas for a few weeks, but then was going to move on.

"Where are you going to go?" Mark asked.

"Does it matter?" Roger asked bitterly. "I'll call you." He hung up, leaving Mark stunned.

Since then, Mark had only heard from Roger once or twice a year if he was lucky. He hadn't seen him in three years. Roger didn't even attend Mark and Stephanie's wedding—he had been unreachable. Unreachable meaning, not even his brother knew where he had gone. It had become Mark's habit to call Calvin before anyone else when he needed to get in touch with Roger. More often than not, Calvin was unable to speak for the whereabouts of his brother.

Thinking about Roger made Mark think of the rest of their little family—Maureen and Joanne, who now lived on the Upper West Side with their children; and Collins, who had taken a position as the head of the philosophy department at UCLA. Thinking about them made Mark restless. When he was restless, he couldn't sleep. It wasn't the first time Stephanie had found him in front of the television at the wee hours in the morning, staring at his old films, which he had been able to transfer onto VHS tapes.

"Come to bed," Stephanie begged in a small whisper, laying her head on her husband's chest. "Please?"

"In a few minutes," Mark said as he hit rewind on the VCR remote. Stephanie hit the power button, making the screen go black, and crept her hand under Mark's undershirt, tickling his chest lightly, leaving little kisses.

"Steph," he protested.

"Please, Mark," was her response, taking his hand and placing it on her breast, moving her lips to the nape of his neck. Mark swallowed hard and closed his eyes as she continued to nuzzle and kiss. He kept the one hand on her breast while the other traveled to the small of her back.

She started to climb on top of him, continuing her kisses, and Mark tried to focus, tried to put himself in the mood and be intimate with his wife, but for some reason, the going wasn't good this time around. After a few moments, he gently pushed her off.

"I'm sorry, Steph," he said, fixing his glasses. "I…not tonight, okay?" He scrambled off the couch.

Stephanie looked hurt. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, nothing," Mark insisted. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry. I'm just…a lot on my mind and…things going on…shit I can't deal with…"

"You can't deal with making love to your wife?"

"Not tonight, Steph, alright?"

She gave him a strange gaze before huffily gathering herself up and marching back to the bedroom. Mark winced as he heard the bedroom door slam. He sat back down on the couch, took his glasses off and tried hard not to cry. Truth was, there was nothing going on that he couldn't deal with. He just was beginning to tire of his marriage. He thought Stephanie sensed it too. She was trying way too hard these days and he just wasn't trying hard enough. He wasn't sure if he wanted to try anymore.