Disclaimer: RENT isn't mine.

February 23, 1991, 1:47 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:

The phone rings. Mark is within arm's reach of it, but he makes no move to answer it. He and Roger have a common philosophy: if people really want to talk to them, then they'll leave a message. If they don't leave a message, it isn't important.

Mark is sitting with Paige's head on his thigh. He is running his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. She is trying very hard not to think about the bowl of Captain Crunch she's just eaten. She believes that if she doesn't think about it she won't feel like throwing up.

The answering machine clicks on. "Hey Mark and Roger, this is Reuben. Um, I've been trying to call Paige and I was wondering if maybe she was with you-"

Reuben is interrupted when Mark picks up the phone. "Hey Reuben. Paige is right here; hold on a second." He hands the phone to her.

"Hi," she croaks.

"You sound awful," Reuben says.

She coughs a little to clear her throat. "I'm sick."

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"Well, first Mark was sick and I was here making sure he was ok, and then I got sick and he won't let me leave."

"That sucks."

"I know."

Reuben chuckles a little. "Well I was calling to see if you guys wanted to go to lunch, but I guess that's out of the question."

"Roger's at Mimi's, you could go with them," she suggests.

"I'll give them a call. I hope you feel better soon," he says sincerely. "Maybe I'll stop by later and visit."

"Ok," she says. "I'll see you."

"Bye."

She hands the phone to Mark, who hangs it up. "I hate being sick," she moans.

He kisses her temple. "I know the feeling."

The phone rings again. For once Mark answers it before the machine. "Hello?…Oh hi Joanne…No, I'm fine, but now Paige is sick…Sure, I'll tell her…I haven't seen her…If she ends up over here I'll call you…Ok…See you later." He hangs up the phone and sighs.

"Did Maureen go out without telling her again?" Paige asks.

"Of course she did." He sighs a second time. "Joanne says she hopes you feel better." She groans in reply. "Why don't you go take a nap?"

"I'm afraid that I'll throw up if I move too much."

"You're just trying to get out of walking across the cold floor, aren't you?"

"Maybe," she smirks cheekily. He gives in and picks her up.

"You know, I'm only doing this because you're sick. You're going to have to walk on your own when you get better."

"That's what you think," she coughs.

He places her lightly on the bed and sits on the edge. She shivers slightly. The bed is cold. She pulls him down by the hand and crawls into his warmth. They lie there silently for several moments. Mark rubs her arm. Paige closes her eyes although she's not ready to sleep yet.

He pokes her side lovingly. "You are really small," he says.

She pokes him back. "You aren't very big either."

"I make up for it with personality."

They pause, listening to each other's breathing. Paige is beginning to feel drowsy. He snuggles closer to Mark and lets her eyes flutter closed again.

6:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:

Paige wakes to find Mark missing and the sheets wrapped around her strangely. She must have moved around a lot in her sleep.

She glances at the window. The light streaming through it is a soft pink and orange color. It dances on the walls. The sun must be setting. What time is it? she wonders. She picks Mark's watch off the crate and stares at it. I must have been more tired than I thought.

She sits up, and is instantly hit by a wave of nausea. Her stomach drops. She slaps a hand over her mouth and sprints to the bathroom, barely making it before she heaves up anything and everything she's eaten.

Two sets of hurried footsteps shuffle across the floorboards. Mark and Reuben appear in the bathroom doorway with concerned looks on their faces. Paige lies on the cold floor and looks up at them pitifully.

Mark crouches down next to her. He rubs her arm. "Hey baby," he says softly.

"Hi," she croaks.

"Can you stand up?"

"Maybe." He offers her a hand and pulls her up. She stands shakily before the sink and glances at herself in the mirror. "I look terrible," she says. Her eyes are red. He skin is pale and blotchy.

Mark scoops her up into his arms. He kisses her forehead. "You're beautiful," he whispers. He carries her into his room and covers her with his blankets. Reuben stands in the doorway, watching.

"Hey big brother," she says, her voice gravelly.

"Hey little sister," Reuben answers. He steps up to the bed. "I bought you some tea. Maybe if you're nice Mark will make some for you later."

She smiles, going along with his joke. "What are you talking about? I'm always nice to Mark. I'm only mean to you."

Reuben laughs quietly. He leans down and kisses her cheek. "Feel better, ok?" She nods, and he leaves the room.

Mark kisses her forehead. "I'll be right back," he says, and he follows Reuben out. Paige hears them talking for a minute, and then the door sliding open and closed. Mark reenters the room, kicks off his shoes and crawls under the blankets with her.


February 25, 1991, 9:50 a.m. Eastern Standard Time:

"Close on Paige, who doesn't have a fever for the first time in four days," Mark narrates, filming Paige as she drinks tea in the kitchen. She looks up at him and smiles widely before returning her attention to her mug. "…drinking tea which was bought by her brother and made by me," he continues, smirking.

She frowns at the camera which is obscuring Mark's face. "I didn't ask you to, you offered."

"I know, but it's fun to make you feel guilty."

"I bet you get that from your mother," she says.

"Bite your tongue," he retorts playfully. He turns off the camera and puts it on the table. "I don't want anything from that woman, let alone her talent at giving guilt trips."

She laughs, then finishes the last of the tea in her mug and places it in the sink with the other dirty dishes. She saunters into the living room and begins picking up her things from their various places around the apartment.

"What are you doing?" Mark asks.

"Getting my things together so Roger can live in his apartment again."

He steps up behind her and slips his arms around her waist. "Don't leave," he pleads.

She turns around so she's facing him, holding him close and resting her forehead on his. "Mark, I live downstairs. I'm not going that far away."

"Doesn't matter," he protests. "I like it better when you're here."

She kisses him. "You're sweet," she whispers.