Author's Note: I've already said I don't like writing these, but I felt this situation required it. I don't know if anyone else has seen this, but there is a story up now called visions of radiant beauty by theLOSTCSIfreak. Parts of the story, mainly in chapter 2, seem really similar to stuff from my own story, and I think they might have stolen it from me. If anyone else has noticed this, I'd really appreciate some feedback on what I should do. I might just be imagining things. Anyway, if you read it and think I might be right, please let me know.

Disclaimer: Jonathon Larson created RENT, not me. The only things I can really claim are Paige and her family.

December 31, 1990, 3:51 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:

Paige hears the muffled sound of a knock on the apartment door. It creaks open, and Mark's voice echoes through the empty living room. "Paige?" he calls.

"I'll be out in a minute," she answers. Her experienced fingers wind the film onto the reel in her hands despite the complete darkness, and she places it into a tank to be developed. She opens the closet-turned-dark-room door and grabs a bottle of developer on the way out.

"Hey there," she kisses him on the way to the kitchen sink. She pulls out an old measuring cup and begins pouring developer into it while letting the faucet run into the tank. "Aren't you supposed to be filming something today?" she calls over her shoulder. She shuts off the water and empties the tank.

Mark wraps an arm around her waist and places his chin on her shoulder. "The Life Support meeting was canceled, so I've come to film you." He wrinkles his nose at the smell of the chemical she is pouring. "What exactly is that stuff?"

"I'm developing a roll of film."

"It smells like rotten eggs." He sits on the counter next to her and pulls his camera out of his bag.

"I'll take that to mean you don't want to help." She sets a timer for eight minutes and inverts the now closed tank. She leaves it on the counter and looks under the sink for more chemicals and funnels.

"I'm better as a cameraman," he says. "I don't want to ruin your pictures."

"Suit yourself," she smiles.

Every few minutes she swirls the tank in her hands. When the timer sounds she empties it into the sink, replacing the developer with acid stop bath. Thirty seconds later she pours the chemical back into the bottle.

"Why did you pour that back in?" Mark asks, confused.

"This stuff doesn't get diluted after the first use like the developer, so it's cheaper to use it again."

Next she pours in something from the bottle labeled "fixer" and sets the timer for another eight minutes. The timer sounds again, and she empties the tank into the bottle and lets the water run into it and rinse it again. Another chemical called perma wash is added and then poured back into the bottle. She rinses the film again, but doesn't empty the water. To it she adds a few drops of photo-flo, lets the soak for a few seconds, and then pours the liquid into the sink.

She removes the reel and gently pulls off the dripping film. She wets a sponge and squeezes out the water, and slowly runs it along the film.

She holds the film up to the light to look at the pictures.

Mark films her as she checks the film and pins it on a clothesline to dry. He catches her complete concentration. Paige glances at Mark to see the same concentration as he winds his camera. She smiles.

"What happens now?" Mark asks.

"We wait until the film dries." She plops onto the couch.

Mark puts his camera back into his bag and sits down next to her. "How long will that take?"

"Half an hour."

They sit in comfortable silence. Paige leans her head against the back of the couch and closes her eyes. Mark takes her hand and squeezes her cold fingers. He glances at her sideways and asks, "How do you remember it all?"

"How do I remember what?" she asks without opening her eyes.

"All those different chemicals and times. How do you keep it all straight?"

She smiles, eyes still closes. "Lots of practice. I've been developing film since high school. After a while it's easy to remember."

The silence resumes. Mark lays his head next to hers. She can feel the warmth radiating off him. She opens her eyes slowly. Her green eyes stare into his blue ones. "Want to see something?" she asks timidly.

He nods. She stands, hand still clasped in his, and leads him into her bedroom. Under the disheveled bed is a faded shoebox.

She opens the box to reveal hundreds of black and white photographs. "You took all these?" he asks, somewhat amazed. She nods and pulls out a stack.

"I have a lot more, but these are my favorites," she says.

Mark looks through the ones she hands him. He sees faces filled with all kinds of emotion, from excited to distraught.

Paige points to one. It is a picture of a woman standing behind a man seated on a stool. Both are looking away from the camera; they don't seem to notice they are being photographed. Neither is smiling. They look as though they are concentrating on something in the distance.

"This is my mother and my step-father," she says quietly. "I took it a few weeks before she died."

She points to another. A young man stands at the top of a set of stairs, carrying a duffel bag and smiling. "That's my step-brother, Reuben. He left for Chicago that day. I haven't seen him since."

"How long ago was that?"

"Four months ago," she murmurs. Tears fill her eyes. "After he left and Mom died I had no reason to stay in Syracuse. All my real family was gone."

Mark puts the photographs back into the box and holds her tight.

Paige realizes again that her mother is gone. It feels like the wound in her heart has been re-opened.

But with Mark there, stoking her back and whispering into her ear, it doesn't hurt as badly.