Disclaimer/Author's Note: Sorry, it's been a while. I own nothing. And a million props to my beta, guru and friend Fritzi Rosier (Love ya babe!) for showing me the horrible injustice I was doing to Mark; I was making him sound far too girly and weak, which is not him at all. I'd also like to mention that she and one of my paragraphs have eloped. Now on with the chapter.

March 2, 1991, 1:12 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:

Paige doesn't really knock on the loft door anymore. She's over too often to bother with the hassle of pounding on the metal and waiting for a response. It's much easier to just open the door herself. Either Mark or Roger is always home anyway.

Roger doesn't even look up from the frets of his guitar when she slides the door open. "Hey Paige," he says. He plays a few chords and scribbles something in the notebook in front of him.

Paige plops down on the couch next to him. "New song?"

He nods and plucks a few more notes before he sets the guitar down. "It still needs some work." He sighs and checks the cheap digital clock on the other side of the room. He frowns. "Mark went to the clinic to pick up my AZT. He said he'd be back a while ago."

On cue the door slides open. In walks a harassed looking Mark. He drops the prescription into Roger's lap and collapses into the gap between his best friend and his girlfriend. He buries his face into Paige's neck and moans exhaustedly.

"Was the clinic packed again?" Roger asks.

"Of course it was," Mark answers. "The entire population of Alphabet City is sick, apparently."

"They really need to hire more people," Roger says. His pager goes off. He opens the cap of the pill bottle and pops one in his mouth.

Paige rubs Mark's shoulder gently. "I've got something to tell you guys," she buzzes excitedly. Both turn to her and wait patiently for her news. "I got a job today."

Mark's mouth splits into a grin. He kisses her softly, lightly scraping his teeth on her lower lip before pulling away. "Where?" he asks.

"The Life needed another waitress."

Roger snickers. "You working at the Life. Weird."

"I know," she says, grimacing. "My first shift is at eight tomorrow morning. I haven't gotten up that early since high school." Mark smirks and tries to hide his amusement behind his hand, but Paige isn't fooled. She shoves him playfully. "Stop giving me that look," she says, but he doesn't listen. She shoves him again. "No one else will hire me, and I'm sick of borrowing money from Collins and Reuben." Mark continues to grin into his hand.

The three turn at the sound of the window creaking open. Mimi enters, allowing a gust of cold wind in with her. She closes the window quickly. "I hate winter," she says as she jumps down and walks around the couch. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion when she sees the three; Mark still unable to keep a straight face, Paige sending him annoyed glances, and Roger rolling his eyes at them. "What'd I miss?"

"I was just telling the guys," Paige pauses to shove Mark again, "that I got a job today."

"Oh really?" Mimi asks. "Where?"

"The Life."

"Better than nothing. Did you send your pictures to the Village Voice? I think they might need a photographer," Mimi suggests.

"I did, but they haven't called."

"Well at least you're working. That's better than these slackers," Mimi says, gesturing to Mark and Roger. Mark finally stops smirking. He and Roger share an indignant look.

"We work," Roger protests. "We just don't get paid for it."

Mimi sits down in his lap and grins. "You're cute when you're angry." She kisses his nose. "I'm going out to lunch, wanna come?"

"Let me get my jacket." She stands so he can get up off the couch, smoothing out her skirt and pulling at a thread on her sleeve. The air seems a little tense between Mark and Paige, and Mimi does her best to distract herself.

"Do you guys wanna come too?" she asks them. They shake their heads. Paige gives Mark's shoulder another shove. Roger returns from his room with his leather jacket and scarf. "I guess we'll see you later then," Mimi says.

The sound of the door closing echoes a little through the room. Outside a taxi blares its horn angrily. The couch springs squeak softly as Paige shifts her weight backwards to lean on the arm.

"I'm sorry I laughed," Mark apologizes. "I just can't imagine you waiting tables at the Life."

She bites her lip and tries to hold back a smile, causing him to become confused. "The only reason I took the job was that the owner said I could hang my photos on the walls. Otherwise I wouldn't wait tables no matter how much they paid me."

"Hey," he says, poking her side. "That's not fair. You made me think you were really upset about it."

She grins and stretches out on the couch, dropping her legs on top of his. "Hey, you were making fun of me. I would have a right to be upset about that if I didn't like kissing you so much."

"You're so weird."

"You're one to talk, Pookie," she laughs.

"Oh no, you've been talking to Maureen." He pushes her legs off and leans down over her, propping himself up with his elbows. "I always hated that stupid nickname."

Paige resists the urge to use it again and instead enjoys the sensation of being pressed under Mark's weight. With anyone else this would be uncomfortable, she thinks, but with Mark this is exactly where I want to be.

Words get lost on her lips as Mark finally closes the gap between their bodies. He brushes his nose against hers, causing her skin to catch fire. Her eyes close languidly. She surrenders to his lips on hers; to his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth; to his hands, one in her hair and the other on her waist. She releases a moan from the back of her throat.

The door is thrown open. Roger enters, Mimi close behind. "Hey Mark?" he calls out. "I forgot my…." He trails off when he sees Mark and Paige's arrangement, half on and half off the couch. Roger smirks. "We leave you two alone for five minutes and you're already on top of each other."

March 13, 1991, 10:56 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:

"I can't believe how packed it was tonight," Paige says to Victoria, one of the other waitresses at the Life as they get ready to close. Victoria is clearing dishes off a table. Paige is erasing the chalkboards behind the bar and writing tomorrow's specials in multi-colored chalk. The cigarette-smoke-filled air is silent except for the occasional clinking of glass and words shared between the two. "I've never seen so many hungry people in the same room."

"I know. There was barely room to walk, let alone carry trays around," Victoria grumbles softly. "I almost spilled a tray of drinks on a little boy because the little jerk stuck his foot out when I walked by."

Paige laughs softly. "He would have deserved it."

"I know, but his parents looked like they would have killed me."

Paige jumps slightly at the sound of someone tapping on the glass at the front of the restaurant. She turns, the words "We're closed!" already forming on her lips, when she sees who is making the noise.

Winter decided to call it quits relatively early this year, taking away the snow flurries that usually last until nearly April and replacing them with rain. It has been raining for three days, with no visible end in sight. Outside the moisture has fogged up the windows, leaving an eerie glow from the street lights.

Mark is standing outside, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes flicking down the street and back to the window. He looks soaked, like he's been out too long.

"Hey Victoria, do you think you could finish closing up for me?" Paige asks.

Victoria looks up at the window and smiles knowingly. "Sure, don't worry about it."

Paige grabs her jacket from the counter and pulls it on as she unlocks the front door. "Thanks. I owe you one."

"You're soaked," she says to Mark over the noise of the rain hitting the pavement. He clothes are sticking to him oddly, and water is dripping off his nose and chin. "Why didn't you wait for me at home?"

Ignoring the fact that he's completely drenched, Mark closes the space between them, holding onto her as if the city were flooding. He kisses her mouth wetly, a little rougher than he normally would, and pulls away just enough to rest his chin on the top of her head.

The heavy rain that is still pouring from the sky is making Paige uncomfortable, as is the feeling of damp from Mark's clothes seeping into her own. But she realizes that whatever made Mark decide to wait for her is far more important than the dryness of her clothes. She clings to him just as tightly as he does to her. "Bad day?" she asks. He nods, still refusing to let her go.

By now Paige's clothes are just as soaked as Mark's. The rain shows no sign of letting up; in fact the storm seems to be worsening. A distant roar of thunder rumbles in the night sky. "Let's get out of the rain," Paige nearly shouts to be heard over the downpour. She feels Mark nod again and his hand slip into hers, slightly pulling her along for the two blocks toward home.

They leave behind a trail of wet footprints as they ascend the stairs. The storm continues to rage outside, the thunder much closer now. Paige pulls her keys out of her jacket pocket. They jingle noisily as she unlocks her door.

Lightning illuminates the street outside as Paige throws her keys on the counter inside her apartment. She peels off her wet jacket and walks to the bathroom, where she throws it into the bathtub. Mark stands in the doorway, still looking awkward and sullen.

"How long were you outside?" Paige asks.

"Maybe an hour."

She pulls him into the bathroom and tugs his jacket off, throwing it in the tub on top of her own. "What were you doing?"

"Mostly just walking around."

She sits on the edge of the tub and pulls off her wet shoes, throwing them into the corner. He sits next to her, and she begins picking at his laces until he pushes her hand away and pulls the shoes off himself.

"Do you want to tell me why today was a bad day?" she asks, and he shakes his head. "Ok," she says.

He gets up and walks to Paige's bedroom. She follows him and sits on the bed, watching as he pulls off his wet shirt. He picks up a dry shirt that's been left from another day and begins to pull it on, when Paige stops him.

She takes the shirt from his hands and drops it on the floor. She slides her hands up his arms to his chest, caressing his pale skin. He places his hands on her waist, pulling her close and capturing her lips with his own. His fingers find the hem of her shirt, and the two break apart just long enough for him to pull the damp fabric over her head.

Mark leads her backwards until her legs connect with the edge of the bed. They fall onto it, their lips never parting. More clothes are added to the pile on the floor. Sheets are twisted and smoothed away. Moans are coupled with sighs and heavy breathing and loving words. Bodies arc against each other in painful pleasure before relaxing into comforting embraces.

Paige stares into Mark's blue eyes as they lie back against the pillows. In them she sees the entire world's share of selflessness and hope. She sees what home and love are meant to be.

"I love you," she breathes. The words neither have yet said to each other, uttered by one but felt by both at once.

"I love you too," he answers.