A very rough chapter three. I'm kind of compulsive about revising so I'll probably change this later, but I wanted to go ahead and put it up. Also, just to clarify, this is pre-RENT but it's not going to lead to what happens in the musical. I don't know exactly what it *is* going to lead to yet, but that's another issue. :) I've basically just taken the characters as they were before the musical and am now messing with them in my own story. All feedback is greatly appreciated!


***


Mark's brow was furrowed in concentration when he vaguely heard the door close behind him. He was trying to work a small screwdriver into his camera. One of the mechanisms had broken somehow, and he couldn't do much until he fixed it. He glanced up to see Roger headed for the refrigerator, looking for food that they didn't have. Collins had moved out permanently a few weeks ago and with that their steady supply of food had evaporated.

"What are you working on?" Roger asked, screwing the cap off of a bottle of water.

"This damn piece broke," Mark replied, his frustration evident. "I can't shoot anything until I get it fixed."

"I bet that's driving you crazy," Roger said, plopping down casually in a chair near the table Mark was working at.

Mark looked up at him and managed a half smile. "Yeah."

"Can I see?" Mark heard a voice ask. He looked up to find Roger's new girlfriend standing near him. She was pretty with a warm, encompassing smile and a friendly nature. Mark hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words with her yet, but she seemed nice.

"Um.. sure," he said hesitantly. He was looking at pictures he had developed recently, trying to figure out what was wrong with them. He didn't like to share his work when it wasn't a finished product, especially with strangers, but he didn't know how to politely refuse. He handed the prints over reluctantly.

She sat down beside him on the couch and thumbed through them slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. Roger was changing in the other room; they were about to go out. Mark supposed she was just looking for a distraction and was surprised when she began to speak.

"The texture's really good on this one, but you've missed out on some of the contrast. You might try exposing the paper a little longer," she said.

He looked at the picture and realized she was right. He had become so familiar with the developing process that he usually just proceeded from instinct instead of making a test strip like he should. Exposing the paper five or ten seconds longer would probably improve the contrast of the picture quite noticeably though.

"You're a photographer?" he asked.

She laughed. "Not really, just an old hobby of mine."

"You certainly seem to know what you're talking about."

"These are good," she replied, looking down at another completely uninspired picture he had taken of an old couple sitting together on a park bench.

He laughed. "No they're not. You really don't have to say that. I'm fully aware that they are total crap, not worth the paper they're printed on."

"They're not total --" She smiled. " Well okay, they're pretty bad."

They both laughed until she picked up an album of his older prints and began flipping through the pages. Her face grew serious.

"But these aren't," she said, her gaze shifting between the photographs and his face. "Mark, these are really good."

He began to shake his head but she lay a hand on his arm. "Really. These are wonderful."

She paused for a long time on a black and white he had taken of Roger years before. He was on stage, half sitting on a tall stool, his arms around his guitar and his eyes closed. The lights and the audience were all out of focus; the center of the picture was Roger's face as he sang.

April looked up at Mark, an evaluating look in her eyes. He felt vaguely uncomfortable under her scrutiny, but instead of fidgeting he looked straight back at her. She really was beautiful, and there was so much knowledge and depth to her eyes. He suddenly wanted more than anything to know her.

"This," she said, looking down briefly to touch the photograph with the tips of her fingers, "wow, this is incredible. It is Roger. You completely captured who he is and what he loves about himself. Has he seen this?"

"No," Mark replied, laughing slightly. "Roger hates it when I take his picture; I don't think he knows this one exists."

She smiled. "You should show him sometime. I think it's wonderful how close you two are. I wish I had a friend like that."

"Hey, I forgot to tell you. I got a gig for tonight," Roger said.

Mark looked up from his camera. "With the band?"

"No, it's just me. Some bar uptown needed a singer. Do you want to come?"

"Definitely," Mark replied. "Wouldn't miss it."

In truth, he hated bars and was impatient to get his camera fixed, but he could tell by the fire that Roger was trying to conceal in his eyes and voice that he was excited about this. If it meant spending hours in a dark, smoky bar surrounded by drunken idiots and forsaking his camera completely, Mark would be there for him. Besides, he really did love to see Roger sing.

"Where's Maureen?" Roger asked.

"I'm not sure. She said she had some errands to run. She's been gone for a while."

*


Maureen walked through the small grocery store slowly, pulling things off of the shelves and shoving them in her basket. The boys would never think to buy their own food. They had probably starved themselves half to death before Collins moved in with them, and they probably would again if she didn't continue to go shopping occasionally. Mark and Roger. Damnit, they were almost a matched set - you couldn't get one without the other. She was firmly and bitterly convinced that everything could have been fine if it weren't for Roger.

She was angry and hurt, and the groceries were feeling the effect of it as she threw them into the basket. She wasn't even sure exactly who or what she angry about. She was mad at Roger for just existing, that much she knew, for constantly snatching Mark away from her without even realizing that he had the power to do it. She was mad at Mark for his naiveté, for his almost innocent kind of deception and betrayal. Mostly she was mad at herself, though she didn't realize it.

How could it have taken me so long to see it! But she knew that wasn't entirely true. Part of her must have always been aware of what was going on beneath the surface. She wasn't blind, and she wasn't stupid; she just refused to pay attention. The beginning with Mark had been so wonderful. The shadow of Roger had always been there between them, but Mark's eyes had been hers alone. He adored her, and she loved being adored. She even began to believe that she might have truly loved Mark the way that he loved her.

But then she felt him slipping away from her, or she realized that he had never really been hers to begin with, and her eyes began to wander. That's why she was really here, shopping for them. She was trying to cover up some of the guilt she felt for what she had done, what she had been doing. Guilt was an unfamiliar emotion to her, and she hated it.

I have no reason to feel like this, she thought. I'm not doing anything different from what he is. If he can want someone else, so can I!

She could almost justify it to herself entirely. She didn't know what she was going to do. Maureen continued to think about that all the way back to the loft, unable to find an answer that satisfied her.

She opened the door to the apartment and found Mark silently working on his camera and Roger sitting on the table, fiddling with his guitar. Not an unusual sight. Mark looked up at the sound of the door, his eyes lighting up when they landed on her. Maybe she was overreacting. Mark still loved her; she could tell by the way he smiled at her as he took the grocery bags from her arms and kissed her almost timidly. She had always found a way to sabotage every remotely stable relationship she had ever had. That's what she must be doing now, grasping at straws that would allow her to give herself some distance from Mark's affections.

She turned and began to put the groceries away when she felt Mark's arms come around her waist. He always held her like that, so gently, as if he feared she would break. She smiled as he kissed her shoulder.

"Thanks for shopping," he said.

"My pleasure," she replied. "I knew you guys would never do it. Coffee?"

She held up a new can and turned to look at Mark. He let his arms stay around her waist and pulled her closer.

"You," he said, kissing her, "are a domestic goddess."

"Well it's been, what? Two hours since your last cup?"

He laughed. "Something like that."

She turned toward the coffee maker, immediately squelching the twinge of guilt that she felt. Mark was such an innocent, so unsuspecting. He returned to his camera, completely unaware.

"Oh hey," he said, looking up at her. "Do you have plans for tonight?"

"Nope. What's going on?"

"Roger's playing a gig uptown. Want to go with me?"

Maureen's eyes flew to Roger, sitting on the table fiddling with his guitar, seemingly unaware of what was going on around him. She tried not to tense visibly.

No, I don't want to go! Why would I want to spend an entire evening watching you watch him the way you do?

That's what she was thinking, but she heard herself agree. She was still trying to convince herself that she was overreacting, that there was nothing going on, and she would prove it by being completely casual about everything. She would go see Roger's gig, to support her roommate and fellow performer. She wasn't going just to see what would happen.