Nick didn't turn on the light as he crept back into the dressing room, trying not to attract any notice. There were so many people around backstage, but half of them as famous as he was so he was counting on them to deflect attention from the fact that he definitely wasn't where he was supposed to be. At least they'd already performed -- no one was gonna be sending a search party out for him.

"Peter?" he whispered loudly into the darkness. "Are you in here? I'm sorry I couldn't get away sooner, but you know how Kevin is ... "

He heard a soft, distinctly female giggle, and then a voice he unfortunately recognized perfectly well.

"No Peter here," Chris said dryly, not at all bothering to whisper. "Try next door, man. And how 'bout locking the door? Thanks."

"Aw fuck," said Nick a little louder, banging his head against the door in frustration. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Sorry, man. Just. Um. Carry on, I guess."

The girl, whoever it was, started murmuring something, and Nick was taken aback with how quickly and almost harshly Chris hushed her.

"Carter?" he said, his voice a little higher. "Shit; are we in the wrong room, or is it you?"

Nick swung his head back into the corridor to look at the door, then back inside. "You, actually," he told him. "But whatever. If this is our room, then apparently I've been stood up anyway. I'll get outta here."

"Chris- " the girl started, and Nick squinted to try and see what she looked like, because that sounded sort of familiar too ...

"Shut *up*," Chris hissed again. "God, Br- god. Do you *want* to get caught? Put your fucking shirt on." Then he was right there, close enough for Nick to see his face, to see him trying to herd Nick back outside. "Man, sorry. We'll leave. There, there might have been a knock that we ignored earlier, so. Yeah. Just give us a minute?" He grinned.

Nick might've *felt* stupid about the whole thing, but he wasn't, actually. "Isn't she a little young for you?" he asked before he could stop himself, more judgmental than he probably should've been. Especially considering his own history. He quickly shook his head. "No, no, nevermind. Consenting adults and all that."

Chris's grin didn't even falter. "What're you talking about, dude? That girl in there, she's, she's 25. So, I mean, if by 'young for me' you mean plenty older than *you*, maybe." He bared teeth; just a little. "So yeah, a minute, huh? Then it's all yours. Just, um. Maybe turn around, she's ... shy."

"Yeah, right," said Nick, but he turned around obediently, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tell Brit I said hi."

"Fuck," he heard Chris mutter, even though he probably wasn't supposed to. Then louder, for his benefit, he was sure: "I'll catch up with you later, *BRianna*."

"Whatever, Chris," Britney said, brushing right past where they were standing, grabbing Nick's ass briefly before she was gone.

"Fuck," Chris muttered again, and then Nick was being unceremoniously shoved in the dressing room they'd just left.

"Hey, don't take it out on me," said Nick, raising his hands at him. "I was just minding my own business. I don't get my blowjob out of this whole thing either, remember." He wondered if Peter had even shown up.

"Just ... " Chris growled, then sighed. "Look. Can you just keep your mouth shut?" He flipped on the lightswitch and they both blinked. "I mean, are you capable?"

"Yeah, whatever," said Nick wtih a shrug. "I don't care who you do, Chris. I don't care who *she* does. Seriously none of my business. I'm not even sure I *wanted* to know, to be honest. That's a little weird."

Chris's eyes flashed a little, and it was weird to be on the receiving end of one of those looks from him. It was almost always Kevin. "Great, you don't care," he said tightly. "The thing is, there are people that *would*, care a *lot*, and you know that. So don't act like what you just saw is just ... nothing."

"Look, I'm not gonna say anything," Nick promised him impatiently. "And I'm hoping you're not gonna run around saying I was hooking up with some guy named Peter, either, so I think we're almost even. I'm not an idiot, Kirkpatrick, no matter what you've heard."

"Oh, you're a little bit an idiot," the fucker said; lightly, challengingly. "I'm kind of banking on the fact that you seem to barely be able to remember your own name sometimes for you to forget this, too."

Nick's eyes narrowed and he had to count to ten inside his head to control the impulse to just swing his fist . He could take him down, too, he was sure of that. He just wasn't sure he could *keep* him down. "If you're trying to get me to want to shut up about this," he said instead, finally, "you're doing a fucking lousy job of it."

"Well, I'm kind of an idiot too," Chris grinned nastily. "Takes one to know one and all that. Anyway ... no one would believe you if you did say something. I'd just rather not have to spend time denying it, is all."

"I wasn't planning to fucking say something in the first place," he muttered, looking away from Chris's eyes. "Why waste my time? I have better things to be doing than fueling your need for publicity."

The way Chris flinched, Nick was suddenly quite sure that wasn't whatit was about. Well, not publicity, in the public sense ...but it was damn sure about attention. In one way or another.

"Yeah, like sucking dick?" Chris retorted, a beat slow.

"Yeah, like sucking dick," said Nick, barely even reaction to him. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen that coming. "Sucking dick sounds like a lot more fun than going around making sure people still know you're alive and kicking."

"Which, again, you'd know plenty about," Chris snapped. "Look, fuck you, okay? All I wanted to do was make sure you can keep that shit to yourself. Do it, or I'll make it a goal in life to make you pretty miserable. And I can do that, so don't test me."

"I seriously doubt you can make me any more fucking miserable than I am right now, so don't waste your time," muttered Nick. "Fuck you, Chris. For the last time, I don't *care*. Do what you like, with whoever you like. I'm not gonna spread it around. I'm not an asshole."

"Poor baby," Chris sneered, looking like he wasn't about to go anywhere, and just *how* starved for attention *was* this guy? "If you just want a blowjob, I know JC's around here somewhere ... "

"Yeah, he'd probably be better than you anyway," said Nick, going on the defensive again. Chris knew exactly where to lay his blows; at least now Nick knew what came of a decade or two of bitterness. "I notice Britney didn't even stay for the main event."

"Which main event would that be?" Chris replied. "I already got my blowjob; that was event enough. Though you're right about JC. He's kinda picky about the guys he blows, though ... maybe we should just go find you a groupie somewhere ... " He grabbed Nick's elbow like he was actually about to escort him back backstage, to the rows of fans they both knew were there and willing.

Nick yanked his arm away without thinking and almost slugged Chris again; this time he was sure if was obvious that he was trying to control his temper. And his momentary panic. "I don't think that'll be necessarily," he said finally, his breathing a litlte harsher than it ought to have been. "I'm just gonna get myself a drink."

Chris just grinned. "Why don't I come with you? Just. You know. Live the life of a Backstreet Boy for an evening. See what you do, who you do ... who you talk about ... "

It was the most obvious thing Chris had said so far, probably a lot more revealing that he meant it to be. "Why do you care what I do?" he asked bitterly. "Why do you want to hang out with me? If you're running from the mob and you're hoping I'm gonna take a bullet for you, I think you're in for a nasty surprise ... "

That made Chris laugh for a long minute. "I wasn't worried you would," he said, wiping at his eyes. "The list of people that would is too short to include you." He sobered up. "Shorter than it was a year ago, too."

That made Nick shut up for a minute, wondering just what the hell *had* happened. "Well, I got nothing to better to do," he said, whipping out his pager and sending Brian a brief message, letting him know he wasn't coming back. Brian was less likely to throw a fit about it. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

"What?" Chris laughed again, a little hysterically. "I'm not leaving with you. I'm not *leaving*. I'll. Joey ... Lance. JC. *JC*'ll wonder where I went. Plus. What happened to your blowjob plan? I hope you're not suggesting that *I* ... "

Nick groaned and rolled his eyes. "Look. Whatever. Stay if you want. You can explain what you're doing here when the other guys come back for their shit. But unless you're *offering* that blowjob, I'm getting out of here, Chris. Coming?"

"You tricked me into this," Chris muttered, following obediently. "I'm not exactly sure how, but I know you did. Where are we going?"

"Nearest bar that isn't likely to give a shit," said Nick, looking only once over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed, by authorized persons or anyone. "Where I will proceed to get really hammered. You can watch. I'm sure it'll help you learn all about what the life of a Backstrreet Boy is like."

"Not if I get hammered first," Chris murmured, putting a surprisingly large hand on Nick's shoulderblade. "What's with you tonight anyway? Besides your case of blue balls, or whatever."

"Just tonight?" snorted Nick. "Nothing that you'd be interested in. Unless you're looking for dirt on me, in which case just admit it. I'll probably give you some."

"Man, I can make up better shit for dirt on you than whatever's the truth," Chris scoffed. "I don't care about that. You're just not your usual sunny self, Nicky! Tell Uncle Chris what's wrong."

"Since when have I been 'sunny'?" asked Nick. "You been sitting home alone, eating takeout in your underwear and watching too much TV again? That ain't me. That hasn't been me in a long time."

"Yeah, maybe," Chris admitted, glancing around once they made it outside. "Actually, that sounds a lot like what I've been doing, in between bouts of having company that lets me eat takeout *off* of them, in their underwear. I dunno. Forget I asked, then. This can be one of those no-talking, drinking-each-other-under-the-table events. What do you weigh, anyway? Like, maybe 20 pounds more than me? 25? But you gotta give me the edge on experience. It'll be a close race."

"Shut up," snapped Nick immediately. "That shit doesn't matter. And I wasn't aware that Britney liked to have things eaten off of her. I bet she likes being eaten out, too. Does she? She seems like the type. As squirmy and breathless and grappling at you."

Nick felt himself being yanked back by his shirt, and thrown up against the wall. "Shut the *fuck* up," Chris hissed, his eyes dark. "Don't fucking say shit like that. I'd ask you if your mom never taught you better than to speak about a lady like that, but, huh. This is *your* mom we're talking about, so I guess not."

Nick felt the panic begin to rise up in him again as Chris held him there. "Just let go Chris," he said, trying to keep his voice low and even. It didn't work; he could hear it rising already. "Fuck, Chris, just let me go. Let me go!" He wrestled again him, but couldn't pull it together enough to wrench away so he threw all his weight against Chris, sending them both tumbling back. Then he finally jerked away and quickly moved out of arm's reach.

"What is *wrong* with you," Chris exclaimed, getting his balance and closing the distance again, shoving Nick's shoulder again. "Seriously. Do you *want* to get into this with me? because even Kevin might fucing tiptoe around you but I won't, and you don't *intimidate* me. That's Justin's fucking girlfriend. Show some respect."

"Just don't fucking touch me," said Nick, taking another step back out of Chris's way and raising his hands, more to control himself than to show any gesture of surrender. "Just don't. I'm serious. And fuck ... why am I gonna show her any more respect than I show anyone else? So she likes sex. Good for her. So do I. That's not disrespectful. Besides which ... *I'm* not the one fucking her."

"Just don't fucking *say* it like that," Chris insisted, coming closer one *more* time, looking like he had no intention of stopping trying to physically intimidate Nick. No intention of stopping touching him.

Nick stepped back again, only to find he was against the wall. "Chris, don't," he said, knowing he sounded more panicked than angry now. He didn't want to suddenly find himself lashing out at Chris; there would be no recovering from that, for them. "Let's just go. Let's just get a drink. Let's not fucking do this."

Chris rolled his eyes exaggerratedly and crossed his arms over his chest, but at least he stopped. "Oh, yeah, you're real tough. Whatever. I hope no one's ever counting on you to defend them from anything. Yeah, let's go get that drink. I'll buy you a wine spritzer."

"Fuck you," Nick spat out, but he was relieved all the same. "You don't know shit, Kirkpatrick. Asshole." He didn't push away from the wall yet, not until Chris was farther away.

"Actually, that's 'Asshole Kirkpatrick' to you," Chris said mildly, reaching for Nick's elbow, like he wanted to get him moving again. "What, you on probation or something? Get caught fighting, you get in trouble?"

Nick moved before Chris could touch him, starting down the sidewalk again. He was way too hypersensitive now to handle any contact with Chris at all. "No," he said shortly, and left it at that. There was dirt on him, and then there was soul-wrenching trauma. One he would share freely over drinks. The other, not so much. "Something else. How about this place at the corner? It look okay to you?"

Chris just laughed and shook his head, but once again he followed obediently. "Man, you need to relax. Look at me. I'm Mr. Easygoing. You know, unless you start talking shit about the people I care about."

"All right, fine," muttered Nick. "So what the fuck's the story there, then, anyway? What's going on between you three?"

Chris stared at him. "Did I not *just* say that I'm easygoing, except when it comes to people I care about? I'm pretty sure I said that. It wasn't the voices in my head." He pushed open the door to the bar, and held it open for Nick. "Pick another topic."

"I'm just *asking* so I don't say something else to piss you off, moron," said Nick slipping inside the dark bar. It was exactly what he wanted. "So you gonna buy me a drink or what?"

"Wine spritzer?" Chris asked, but he winked. "Hey, sure, I guess. Least I can do. Let's sit over there, yeah?" He gestured at a booth in a dark corner. "Tell me what you want and I'll join you in a second."

"Vodka-and-whatever," said Nick, and left him right there at the bar to go claim the booth he'd gestured at. He still didn't quite get what Chris was doing here with him, why he wasn't somewhere with his own friends. Or if not with them, then someone he could go without fighting for more than two minutes at a stretch. But whatever. At least in the booth Chris couldn't grab him again.

Chris joined him a minute later, sliding in beside him instead of across from him, handing him one of those awful vodka-and-red-bull things. "So, look. We'll get along fine as long as you don't talk about Justin and Britney, okay? It's off-limits. I'd be happy to do the same for you if you want to be fair."

"Don't ... just don't touch me right now," he said, sliding closer to the wall. "Don't ask. Just don't touch. And like you said, we'll be fine."

"Sure, okay," Chris said, holding up his hands. "No touching, I'm ... I'm getting that." Nick tried not to pay any attention to whether he looked hurt by that or not. "So who's Peter?"

"Who?" said Nick frowing at him as he sipped his drink. Half at the drink and half a the question. "Oh. Oh! Oh he was just ... some lighting guy I met this morning. He's no one."

"I'm sure he'd be happy to hear himself referred to like that," Chris said idly. "This is why I do not fuck the non-famous. Either I can't handle their bullshit or they can't handle mine. Stars ... we understand each other."

"Well, he stood me up," Nick reminded him, biting his tongue so he wouldn't comment on who Chris *did* fuck. "He fucking earned it. What a waste of my time."

"I told you someone knocked," Chris shrugged. "Maybe he thought I was you and you switched teams. Hmm?"

Nick snorted. "No, I think just about the whole industry gave up on that notion at least a couple years back. Besides, he coulda waited. I wasn't *that* late. Fucking Kevin. I can worry about myself just fine, thank you very much, I don't need him fucking doing it for me."

"Aww, take it easy on good ole Kev," Chris said darkly. "It's not easy being the grown-up in the group. Turns us into assholes, too."

"I seriously doubt you were ever the grown-up of your group," snickered Nick. "And even if you were, you only had Timberlake to keep in line. I'm surprised I didn't turn Kevin grey by the time he was twenty-five. Between me and AJ ... well, whatever. I know why he's worried. But it's none of his fucking business."

"Oh, you don't know," Chris said mildly. "That Bass; he's a hellion. Makes AJ look like an angel. Guess I'm just better at what I do than Kevin." He snorted. "Like *that* wasn't already obvious."

Nick just looked at him levelly, then shrugged. "Maybe you are," he said, doubting that very much. Kevin was an overbearing jerk, but they could've done worse. And he'd had his hands full for more years than he deserved, not even having any kids of his own. "Not Kevin' fault I turned out the way I did, though."

"Oh, and how is that, exactly?" Chris laughed, swallowing half his drink in one gulp. "God, you believe your own hype too much. You're not a bad kid, you seem like you have a good heart and all. Please don't try to tell me how tortured you are."

Nick flinched, but shut up. For about two seconds. "Thankfully not as needy as you seem to be," he said. "So I guess Kevin did *some*thing right."

"Needy," Chris mused. "Huh. I guess you're right about that." He finished his drink. "Well, I can think of worse character flaws. How about you?" He stared at Nick. "What do you think's one of the worst things about you?"

"One of the worst things about me?" repeated Nick. "You want me to tell you what I think's one of the worst things about me? Huh. Depends on who you ask. Some might say the coke habit, but I think it's more likely to be the fact that I'm a fucking loser asshole. Wouldn't you agree?"

Chris blinked at him. "Well, that's not what I asked. I don't care what people are *most likely* to say. What do *you* think is the absolute worst thing about you. What is it, Nick Carter, than makes you just hate yourself."

"Why would I want to tell you what the worst thing about me is?" asked Nick, quite seriously. "What the hell do you want to know for? The thing I hate most about myself is probably the fact that I care so much what other people think. And the loser asshole thing, wouldn't want to forget that."

"I'm just making conversation," Chris said lightly. "You know, following up on that wonderfully insightful 'needy' observation. So tell me. What part of being fantastically famous and globally adored makes you a loser, again?"

"You're such a fucking jerk," muttered Nick. "That shit doesn't matter. That shit doesn't make you who you are. There are plenty of fucking losers that get famous. I think you should go get me another drink now."

"I think it's *your* turn," Chris disagreed. "And then maybe you can define 'loser' for me, because apparently we're not on the same wavelength. My father is a loser. You, are not."

"You don't know me," snapped Nick, and shoved at Chris until he got out of his way and he could get up. He left before Chris could respond more than to grunt as he was shoved. He got two more of the same, vile as they were, and set them down on the table so hard one of them splashed over onto his thumb. He sucked it off slowly as he slid back into the opposite side of the booth.

Chris was just staring at him. "Okay, I was kind of being an ass before, asking, but. Well, I am an ass. But are you seriously okay? You can talk to me. I won't judge you, and. I'm not Kevin or Brian or someone. You don't have to face me in the morning."

"No, I'm seriously not okay," snapped Nick without even thinking about the consequences of admitting that. "Fuck. Besides, of course you'll judge me. Everyone judges, even people who say they won't." He kept sucking on his thumb long after the liquor had been cleaned off it.

Chris slowly reached out his hand to pull Nick's wrist away from his face, almost like he was approaching a wild dog. "I think we've determined that I have no moral high ground, with you," he said seriously. "I'm not going to make you talk, but I'll also swear not to laugh at you."

"I'm just ... " began Nick tightly. "Stressed. Over something. And -- " He chuckled bitterly " -- the blowjob was supposed to help *relieve* the stress. It wouldn't have anyway, though. Sex is ... not what it used to be. Nothing is. So tell me why you care, anyway? Cause, I mean, obviously you do."

Chris shrugged but, Nick noticed, didn't let go. "How many people know what you're going through? or close enough? enough for you to confide in, at least. And hell, maybe it's selfish anyway ... anything happens to you, more scrunity for the rest of us. You still using?"

"Fuck yeah," said Nick. "*Fuck* yeah. After ... well, whatever. Yeah. The guys know what happened. We don't talk about it, of course, but they know. I hate -- I fuckin' *hate* -- the look in their eyes when they look at me now. Like ... fucking pity, or something. Fuckers."

"Well, if one of my guys was using a lot, I'd probably be looking at them with something other than pity," Chris said bluntly. "You can fuck yourself up with that stuff, for serious, Carter."

"That's not why," said Nick, chewing on the pad of his thumb again. It felt good, in his mouth. "They're about ready to kick my butt, about the using. That's different."

Chris reached out and pulled that hand away, too, so he was holding both of them. "Okay, if it's different, why'd you bring them up when I asked about the using? What's the why? Why would they *pity* you, for shit's sake ... you're not the married one."

That actually brought a bit of a smile to Nick's face, for a moment. "You asked if people knew what I was going through. And you asked if I was still using. Two different questions. I answered both. And ... you really don't want the gruesome details of this one, Kirkpatrick. Trust me on this. It'll make your dick crawl up right inside your body, if I tell you."

"The whether people knew what you were going one was rhetorical," Chris muttered. "And kid, seriously. You will not shock me, can't shock me, could not shock me. I know you've read enough teeny mags to know what I've seen. Tell me if it'll help; don't if you don't want to. But don't make the decision based on whether you think I can *handle* it."

Nick shrugged just the tiniest bit, and jerked one of his hands free so he could down his entire drink. "I know you've had a shit life," he said after the burn had passed. "I know you've seen shit that would probably make me sick. That doesn't mean you want to hear it from me, now. No one does."

Chris just sighed. "Whatever. Let go." They both looked down to see that they were holding hands; it wasn't just Chris holding Nick's wrist. "I'll get you another."

Nick let go, trying not to jerk back when he did. "The same," he said. The stuff was growing on him. And even if it wasn't, it had a hell of a kick. "Um. Thanks." He tapped his fingers on the table for about twenty seconds, then brought his thumb back up to his mouth again, gnawing lightly at the skin, just enough to feel it.

"Here," Chris said, when he came back. And slipped in next to Nick again like he had the first time. "So what would you like to talk about, baby?" he asked, sucking some of the alcohol off his own finger.

"Baby?" said Nick, raising his eyebrows and drawing his hand away just long enough to speak. A panicky, trapped feeling rose up in him, but he was able to will it away. For the moment. "I guess you did buy me a drink first, so it's okay."

Chris just laughed. "Sorry, habit," he said. "You're being very Justin tonight. I didn't mean anything by it." He smiled, and actually looked friendly.

"I'm not sure how to take that," said Nick, "so I'm gonna pretend it was a compliment." He chewed on his thumb some more as he thought about what to say. The drinks were already hitting him; he probably shouldn't have had so many before they even got on stage. Not only was it a little stupid, it wasn't safe anymore. "Something happened. With someone. Which is why ... with the grabbing me. You know."

"Oh," Chris said, sitting back right away. "Oh. Nick, I'm ... okay, I know I'm an ass, but. And I never apologize for anything ever!" Nick didn't doubt that. "But I'm sorry, okay? for pushing you, for ... for whatever else I did when you were pissing me off." He frowned a little. "Is everything okay now?"

"No, everything is *not* fucking okay," Nick blurted out -- *snapped* out -- for the second time that evening. "I mean. It's over now. If that's what you mean. So I guess, in that way, it's okay. Yeah."

Nick watched Chris try not to react to being snapped at like that. "Well. If someone was. Hurting you? or trying to hurt you? Then I'm glad it's over. Are you, um, seeing anyone? I don't know if it's the same, or anything, but this one time, JC ... "

"This one time JC what?" asked Nick, a bit dully, letting the tension drain away. It wasn't Chris's fault. It wasn't Chris's fault. Leave Chris out of it. "What happened?"

"He just was letting someone treat him like crap," Chris shook his head, obviously realizing that wasn't his story to be telling Nick Carter. "We made him see someone, and it helped. I think it helped. He's still got more issues than National Geographic, but."

"It wasn't like that," said Nick, careful not to interrupt. "That wasn't ... it was, but it wasn't. Not the same situation. And I'm not." At Chris's confused look, he added. "Seeing anyone. I'm not. No."

"But you were?" Chris prompted. "I mean. Okay, I'm not gonna assume anything, but. If someone was fucking abusing you, man, then. Even if you saw someone you probably should still be doing it. Especially if you still can't be touched."

"I wasn't," said Nick. His thumb was starting to feel raw. "I haven't. It wasn't, like, an ongoing thing, Chris. It wasn't that. It was just ... an incident. With a few guys. And it's fucking over now."

"You were fucking *attacked*?" Chris blurted, looking right at the door immediately, and then grabbing at his hip where Nick could only assume he kept his cell phone. He wondered who he was worried about just then. "Fuck, Nick. Well. God. Even more, then, you should. You want the number? of the guy JC saw?"

"Chris," he said firmly, shaking his head at him. "You don't need to ... it was just a thing. I'll fucking get over it. I'm just still really edgy about all that stuff, especially when I can't, like, get away." Like right then. "The doctor says I'm all healed up and everything, so ... anyway. I don't need another person looking at me like I'm ... I dunno. Fucking *tainted* now, or something."

Chris held up his hands. "I'm not gonna pity you," he said seriously. "That's ... I hate pity, I think it's an asinine emotion. But, like, for the last time? you should see someone. This guy, he's ... he's super-understanding. We all went in and saw him once. He wouldn't look at you like that."

"This is weird," said Nick, sipping his drink. "This whole conversation is fucking weird. To me. I can't believe I fucking told you what happened. Kinda, anyway." He sipped again, and sat on his other hand. "Al right. Fine. Give me the number. No promises or anything, though."

"K," Chris said simply, reaching into his wallet. And fuck if he didn't have a business card right there. "I keep it," he explained. "For me. I told you he was good. You use it if you need to." He laid it carefully on the table. "So you've been using a lot more, since?" he asked, like it was casual conversation. "How come not just drinking? why coke?"

"Because I can," said Nick simply, staring at the card without taking it yet. This whole conversation *was* fucking weird. "It numbs the whole thing. Enough for me to keep functioning anyway. I'll probably slow down again, you know, once it starts to fade a little. It's just for right now."

"Uh-huh," Chris nodded. "Once what starts to fade? Memories? Nightmares? Scars? do you even have scars? or bruises? how recent are we talking about, and *shit*, Nick ... how did this happen? Didn't you have one of your guys with you?"

"I was on a date," muttered Nick. "You know. Hooking up. Didn't know the guy ws gonna invite some friends along for the ride. Didn't bring anyone with me." He chuckled bitterly, the memory dulled by the alcohol. "It was supposed to be a good night. Was ... a month ago now, almost. Well, three weeks, and a little bit." He scratched at his arm. "You can't see any marks anymore, unless you know where to look."

Chris bit on his lip. "Okay. Okay, so you weren't ... weren't attacked. Okay." Nick could see him relax a little. "I mean, not that what happened is better or worse or anything, but ... well, forget that. Nick." He waited for Nick to meet his eyes. "That's really recent. I think you should call this doctor before ... I mean, you shouldn't heal, or whatever, alone."

"I really can't believe I'm hearing this," said Nick. "I mean, from you, especially. Who an hour ago was shoving me around. Why do you care so much about my ... my fucking *healing*, or whatever? Why do you care so much if I get better?"

Chris bit on his lip harder. "I know I said I'm an asshole, earlier," he explained tightly. "But I do have, like, a soul. People don't ask for ... for stuff like that to happen to them. I had no idea. I'm trying to be a friend, here, Nick ... I don't have to, though. If it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," said Nick, still scratching at his arm. He was starting to feel it. "It's fine. It's just weird. I didn't know we were friends, and I'm just ... not used to it. No, I didn't fucking ask for it, no matter what him and his friends said. I fucking know that, Chris. Doesn't mean I'm not a fucking loser, though. So ... thanks, for being nice to me. And buying me drinks."

Chuckling a little, Chris smiled. "Yeah, I noticed you put the round you got on my tab. Smooth, Carter." He rested his chin on his hand. "You can talk to me, too, you know," he said slowly. "Not even tonight. I mean, if you don't want to call the doctor, you can call me." He laughed again, but this time it was more hollow. "Amazingly, my guys have actually found me to be a pretty good listener. Shit at advice, though."

"I don't even know you," said Nick, his voice getting quieter, less frantic, less panicked. "And you don't ... how's it gonna do anyone any good to hear about this, anyway? It's already affecting me quite enough, I'm not gonna want to inflict it on someone else, too, that's just ... it's unnecessary. At it would do is make you feel like shit, too, you know?"

"Well. I'll let you decide if the help it would give you is worth how it might make me feel," Chris said. "That can be your decision. Just remember what I said, about how I've seen a lot. I won't be scared away." He stood slowly. "Another round?"

"Hell yeah," said Nick, draining the last few drops of his drink and licking the rim of the glass. "I definitely need another round, after that. I've earned it."

"Okay," Chris said softly, nodding. Nick watched him a little as he headed to the bar, moving more slowly and purposefully than it seemed he had before. Or than he usually did.

He slid over to the edge of the seat. When Chris came back, he would either have to shove him over, or sit across from him again.; Nick thought it would be interesting to see which one he chose. He starting digging his fingernails into the heels of his hands as he waited, seeing what patterns he could carve into them.

It didn't escape Chris's attention that Nick had moved, either; he nodded almost like he'd expected it when he returned, and slid into the other side of the booth. "The bartender says to tell you hello and that she thinks you have pretty hands," he shrugged. "I guess it's too much to hope she said anything about *me* when you got a round?"

"I didn't even meet her eyes," admitted Nick. He unclenched his hands and looked at them, but he didn't see anything special about them, anything other than what he saw every day. "Sorry. I'll be sure to flirt on your behalf, next time."

"That's okay," Chris sighed, glancing back at her. "No point if she's smitten with you. I try hard not to do somebody else's leftovers when I can help it."

"It's not like she's gonna get anywhere with me or anything," said Nick, shrugging at him and dipping a finger in his drink and sucking it off. He scraped his teeth along it as he pulled it out of his mouth, and doen't make the obvious Britney comment. Things aren't *that* good between them, yet. "I don't do that."

"What, girls? or people that your friends notice first?" Chris reached carefully out for Nick's wrist and tugged his hand back down out of his mouth, with no real explanation for doing so.

"Girls," said Nick, after getting over his moment of startlement. "I don't do girls." He turned his head to look at the bartender and then back at Chris again. "You should go for her or something. She's good looking." He sipped his drink. "And talented."

"Because it takes a lot to open a can and pour a bottle," Chris snorted. "No, I already told you why not. Plus, I'm old, remember? Might be hard for me to get it up twice in one night." Nick truly, truly doubted that.

"You're not fucking old," snorted Nick. "I know old. Don't listen to me anyway. I have the worst taste in dates of anybody, ever. And I have the scars to prove it. Stick with what you know, Chris."

"How come you suck at getting dates?" Chris asked seriously. "JC mostly finds these nice guys. Mostly. And he's all shy and you're not."

"I don't know," muttered Nick. "Just lucky, I guess. JC finds nice guys, I find guys that are mostly interested in gang raping me. I guess that's the way life works, though, huh. JC's a nice guy, so he finds nice guys. I'm ... " He left the sentence dangling but the conclusion was obvious.

Chris knocked over his drink and didn't even move to pick up the glass. He just covered his face with both his hands. "What?" his voice was muffled. "You ... you kind of left out that part, Nick. Jesus fuck."

"What?" said Nick, taking an exaggeratedly calm sip of his drink. Mostly to keep his hand from shaking. "What did you *think* I meant, Chris? That they beat me up? I've been beat up before. I don't care about that shit, it would've been nothing."

"I can't believe you haven't gone to see someone yet," Chris muttered, still with his hands over his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't figure out that's what you were saying ... I guess. I mean, I feel like I have to worry about that shit with my sisters, not my guys. Shit." He dropped one of his hands back down to his pocket, with his phone.

"Well, now you know," murmured Nick, sipping again, fingernails on his other hand digging deep into his palm. "And don't you dare start looking at me like the rest of them do. You fucking promised, Chris."

"I'm not looking at you like anything," Chris said, and he wasn't. "So, okay, now I understand the whole thing about how you're not okay, but ... okay, physically, at least? are you?"

"The doctor says I'm healed," said Nick shortly. Raise glass, sip, lower glass, repeat. "I seem to be. I'll take his word for that."

"Any ... broken ... things?" he asked haltingly. "I mean, you look okay. I know that's not the point, but ... "

"I'm not broken," said Nick, which wasn't what Chris asked but it was what Nick wanted to answered. "Just damaged. And I'm healed now. My body is fine, Chris. I was about to get a blowjob when we met, remember. Or possibly give one. Or both."

"Right, how could I forget," Chris replied dryly. "I'm just ... well, I need to stop saying I'm sorry, I guess. That fucking sucks, Carter. How come your guys are even letting you out of their sights right now?"

"Because I don't give them a choice," said Nick. Another drink had disappeared. "Kevin would fucking kill me if he knew I was hooking up with someone I didn't have, like, a full background check on. Let alone someone I'd just met. And the other guys ... trust me, Chris, none of them want to talk about it. I'm not sure they've even said the word. And that's that."

"Well, they need to fucking suck it up," Chris said shortly. "Don't you want them around, want their support? I'm not an expert, but I think it's a good thing that you want to have sex again. I *don't* think it's a good thing that you're shutting them out."

"I'm fucking not," said Nick. "I'm fucking *not*. Look at me, telling the first person who even pushes me a little to get it out of me. Trust me, it's not *me* who's the one who doesn't want to fucking get this out there. I, at least, can admit it happened."

Chris bit his lip and looked down, obviously trying to figure out what to say. "Well, that they're shutting you out, then," he murmured. "And I'm not pushing you, Nick, but like I said, I'm here for you to tell me as much or as little as you need to. And before you ask why again, just fucking accept it. You *do* need to talk about it, so ... talk."

"You are pushing," argued Nick, but mildly. "That's okay. I needed someone with the guts to push. I'm not, you know." He looked up to meet Chris's eyes but only for a second. "Having sex, I mean. I'm not even sure I'm allowed to. Blowjobs aren't sex, they're just blowjobs."

Chris looked uncomfortable at that, either the topic or the look, but he didn't shrink back from it. "Um, I thought the doctor said you were healed. Is that, or. Just healed for some things. And were the blowjobs okay?" His cheeks reddened a little, but he didn't shrink back from that, either.

It was an unexpected reaction, but a welcome one, after all the *other* reactions Nick had had to deal with over the last month or so. "I'm not sure I'm healed enough for *that*," he admitted finally. Awkwardly, too. "And blowjobs are always okay. Hell, I'd blow myself, if I could."

"Heh," Chris snorted. "Yeah. But I just meant ... I mean, you got it up okay, and, um, followed through, if you know what I'm saying? 'Cause before, you said something about how even that wasn't good anymore ... "

"Right," said Nick, tapping his fingers against the table. "Right. Well ... it works and all. I come. The whole process goes without a hitch. It's not like it used to be, but an orgasm is an orgasm, and I'll take them where I can get them."

"How is it not like it used to be?" Chris asked carefully. "Just ... and look, Nick, I don't even know if I'm asking the right questions, so. Just bear with me."

"I don't know if you're asking the right questions either," said Nick, running a surprisingly shaky hand through his hair as he thought about the question. "I don't know. I guess ... it's not the same, if you don't let yourself go. Don't let down your guard. And I don't."

"So you need to be with someone you *can* let your guard down with," Chris extrapolated. "Huh. Well ... AJ does guys, right? and Howie? Do you think they would ... ?"

Nick let out a bitter laugh. "They would never," he said bluntly. "The way they look at me now ... they would never, ever touch me, Chris. Or if they did, they would be so fucking nervous it wouldn't be any good. I'm not sure I would let my guard down with them anyway. I'm not even sure I *can* anymore."

"With them, or with someone you were ... with, in that way?" Chris asked. "I mean. You can't go through your life without ever enjoying sex again. That's ... it's just not fair. Sex is good."

"With anyone," said Nick with a shrug. "It's not like it isn't good. It's fine. I come. I had a lot of great sex before this happened, Chris, and with a *lot* of different people. Maybe I just earned this or something. I already got my share, and that's it for me."

"That's stupid," Chris said bluntly. "That's just stupid. You said before you know you didn't deserve this to happen to you, and know you're saying you earned it? whatever. You're not an idiot, Carter, so just. Don't say dumb things like that."

"Deserving what happened and earning the results of it are two totally different things," said Nick. "And I'm *not* fucking stupid. I know what's right and what's wrong. I know the guys who did that to me are fuckers who deserve to rot in hell. I know that, Chris. That doesn't mean I didn't have this coming."

Chris shook his head. "No, it means *exactly* that. You're not making sense. And I don't think ... that's definitely not, like, a healthy way to look at it. Don't you *want* to enjoy sex again, rather than giving up?"

Nick shrugged, and then finally looked up at him again. He expected to see either pity or disgust on Chris's face. "Of course I do, I loved sex, but maybe I don't deserve to. Maybe I just shouldn't anymore."

"That's stupid," Chris said again, and all Nick could tell was that he just looked earnest. "We all deserve to love sex. Shit, with the crap we put up with? We owe it to ourselves, man. Seriously, I'm seriously thinking you should call JC and ask him out. You know you can trust him, right?"

"I don't trust anyone," said Nick, which was at least part lie. He was obviously trusting Chris enough to tell him this. "Besides, I'd probably just be an asshole to him and he's your friend and it would turn into a big mess. You like him too much to inflict me on him. No, I can just go pick someone else up, for whatever. For blowjobs."

"Well, but once you're ready to move on?" CHris pressed, then looked a little shameful. "Sorry. I guess this is kind of weird, me, like, pimping C out to you. Forget it. Although, I would definitely be pissed if you were a dick to him."

"I'm always a dick to guys," admitted Nick. "That's probably why it happened. I was all being a dick like usual and I probably said something stupid that set him off. So yeah, don't let me hurt JC or anything."

Sighing, Chris just gave Nick a look. "Okay. Can we just pretend that everytime you say something that you know in your head is wrong, like some weird rationalization like that, that I point out how wrong it is to you and we just move on? Because. That could get old." He ran his finger around the edge of his glass. "You wouldn't hurt JC."

"We don't have to talk about it," said Nick, staring at his hands. His palm was bleeding a bit, from his nails, and he scratched at the broken skin. "It's obviously making you really uncomfortable. And you don't know that I wouldn't hurt JC. I could. It could happen too easily."

"It's not making me uncomfortable, it's making *you* uncomfortable," Chris argued. "I just. I don't want you to be dumb about this, Nick. Please? I just want to help, I want you to get it out ... "

"I'm not being *dumb*," Nick snapped immediately, before even paying attention to the rest of what Chris had said. "You're asking how I feel and I'm telling you. You just don't like what I have to say."

"I don't *understand* what you have to say," Chris protested. "I don't get it. Maybe I don't understand all the things a rape victim goes through, all the emotions, but if you're still trying to justify their actions, then yes. You're saying stuff that's dumb."

"It's not *dumb*," insisted NIck, then stopped and clenched his fists again to still himself and took a deep breath. "Okay. I just. Can you find a different word or something? Because dumb ... it's a trigger word for me. I've been called dumb so much, Chris, you have no idea ... "

Chris looked very, very guilty for a second. "Sure, yes. No more d-word. Look ... I gotta go take a piss. Don't go anywhere, okay?" He stood up, with his hand in his pocket, and Nick realized he might have to pee. But he'd also be making a phone call or two.

He didn't say anything, though, and while Chris was gone he went back up to the bar to get a couple more drinks for them and a handful of napkins to clean up the blood on his hand. It was starting to hurt, just a little. He finished his drink in one long gulp and had to go back to get another.

When Chris sat back down it only took a split-second to see the bloody napkins crumpled up on the table. "Shit!" he breathed, looking all over Nick's body, then sliding over next to him. "Shit, are you ... what did you do, Nick? you need me to take you somewhere?"

"What?" said Nick, looking at him in confusion for a second before realizing what Chris was talking about. "Oh, no, no, it's just a little scratch. I took care of it. And I got you another drink."

'Um, thanks," Chris said, but he didn't touch it. He did reach for Nick's hand, though, just as he tried to pull it away and cover it up. "Why did you do that? Do you ... maybe, let's talk about something else for a while, huh? Just so you can. Calm down a little."

"Sure," said Nick, even though he thought he was pretty calm now, all things considered. As calm as a guy could be expected to be, after talking about what he had. "So. Um," he began awkwardly, and shrugged. "Have a nice piss?" It had to be better than bringing up Britney and Justin again, which had been his first impulse.

Chris laughed. "It was lovely, thanks. I've got such a girl's bladder sometimes, I swear. But I almost spelled out my first name, so that's cool." He grinned but didn't slide back over to his side yet, either."

"Well, I think we just exhausted the possibilities in *that* little conversation," said Nick after a moment of silence. "Your turn to think of something to say."

Chris's smile faded. "Sure. Um, how's the solo record coming? I heard you've got tour plans and everything."

"Oh. Right," said Nick, feeling about as unenthusiastic about that as he could. "Yeah. The album's done, mostly. I'll probably tour. I haven't really started planning it yet. Or I was, and then I just kinda stopped. Someone else is probably doing that, actually."

"Don't want to be bothered?" Chris said, and Nick looked up at him sharply. "What? I just think if it's your solo tour and it's something you really want, you should be involved. You'd want to be involved."

"I *was* involved," said Nick. "I was involved every day. I was involved in everything. It just doesn't ... seem as important anymore. It's hard to get excited about anything. You know?"

Chris sighed. "What do you think it's going to take, to get you to be?" he asked, very evenly. "I mean, I know you haven't gone through this before, but. You have to find something. Sex, singing, your friends ... something."

"I don't *know*," said Nick, his fingernails picking at the barely-formed scabs. "Time, maybe? Isn't that what it always takes? I wait long enough, and things'll get back to the way they were again."

"Yeah, maybe," Chris nodded. "The thing is, this doctor, he can help you with it too I think. Not to keep pushing it, but. You didn't even put the card in your wallet."

The card was still on the table in front of them, a few droplets of alcohol spray across it but not yet blurring the type. "I'm thinking about it," he said, even though he'd been trying to push the thought out of his mind. "I don't know, Chris. I'll probably just get over it."

"Cool, okay," Chris sighed, then looked back at the bar. "Looks like last call. You want me to call your guy to come pick you up, take you where you're staying? or you want me to drop you off somewhere?"

Nick shivered slightly, then shook his head. "I can find my own way back, thanks," he said. "I think I need to take a walk anyway. Get some fresh air. Enjoy the night. Thanks anyway, though." And he finally took the card, sliding it into his back pocket.

"I'm not leaving you alone," Chris said simply. "If you want to walk, we can walk. But me 'letting you find your own way back' is not an option. Let me call some people?"

"Why?" asked Nick, then added. "What do you think's gonna happen? I *am* able to get from point A to point B without help, Chris. You do know that, right?"

"FIne, you know what?" Chris snapped, then took a breath. "You're an adult. I know. But can you really expect that I could leave you alone after what you just told me? Even if it wasn't a random attack on you, Nick ... "

"What, you think it's gonna happen *twice*?" asked Nick. "You think I wouldn't just fucking ... fucking *kill* the next person who even tried to touch me like that? Beat them to death and kick them a few times afterward, just to be sure?"

Chris bit his lip, hard. "Well, even better," he said. "Then I'm saving you from murder charges. Can you just let me do this, kid? please?"

"Well, it's not like I can stop you," said Nick, shrugging again and finishing his last drink. His hand left a little smear of blood on the glass. "You might as well. I could probably do without the 'kid' thing, too."

Sighing again, Chris stood to let him up. "You do *not* make this easy," he muttered. "God, how bad do I want to, like, drag you over to C's place right *now*. Or hell, *my* place. Just to know you can smile."

"Nothing's easy anymore," said Nick with a sigh of his own, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't mean to. I just happens."

"Well, whatever," Chris said, throwing up his hands. But he waited for Nick to walk out ahead of him. And his next question was much softer, more hesitant. "Is it okay for me to just, like, touch your back? Would it help at all?"

"Yeah, it's okay," said Nick after a moment, after quietly determining whether he really was okay or not, with it. "I've had to get used to that again already. It's just ... don't do anything where I can't get away. I'll freak out and I won't mean to and I might hurt you."

Chris nodded, and then his hand was there, warm and gentle on the small of Nick's back. Right at his waist. "Is there any kind of touching that's helped you? Hugs, or anything?"

Nick flinched, just the tiniest bit, but he didn't pull away. "No," he said finally. "There hasn't been any kind of touching that's helped. I haven't exactly tried much; the guys keep their distance now anyway. I haven't even kissed anyone in -- " A memory assaulted him and for a moment he was struck speechless. " -- a while. My lips were swollen and torn a bit. It didn't feel good anymore."

"Oh, why?" Chris asked, and Nick wasnt exactly sure why *what* until he followed that up. "I mean. Did they, did they hit your mouth? or. Gag you or, or something?"

He was struck speechless again, at the matter-of-fact way Chris just ... just *asked* that. "It was ... no, not a gag. They just kept it full. Stretched That part wasn't so bad, though. I mean ... I can still do *that*, now."

"They made you ... " Chris started, then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. Well ... I couldn't even tell, you know? Looks like the same pretty pout I always see when we beat you at awards shows."

Nick gave him the tiniest smile. "Yeah, I know you can't see it on the outside anymore. LIke I said, I'm all healed up. The doctor said so."

"Well, then, bring on the smooching," Chris declared. "Come on, I *know* you can find someone you like to do *that* with. Shit, man, even Joey'd kiss you if you played it right."

"I just haven't felt right about it," said Nick, getting awkward again. "It's ... can I be honest, even if it sounds really stupid? And you won't tell me it's dumb?"

"No using the d-word!" Chris cried, then grinned. "Yes. You can be honest. Please do."

"It's all I've got left," he said softly. "That they didn't do. Didn't take. And I'm just ridiculously selfish about it now. Even now that I *can*, without it hurting. I know. It's stupid."

"That's not stupid," Chris said, not moving his hand. "Can *I* be honest? I really think that's great. Like, a good sign. That you won't let them take that. So ... you take your time, Nick. With all of it."

"Yeah, time," agreed Nick, walking along slowly. He wasn't even entirely sure where he was headed., wasn't sure it mattered. "It's kind of a fucked up situation and I'm really really not okay. But I'm more okay than I was. Even if it doesn't look like it."

"I couldn't even tell," Chris reminded him. "I had no idea. I think you really have it together. Had it together, had I not pushed you, you know? Literally and figuratively." He started moving his hand slowly over Nick's back.

"Yeah. Well. It was bound to happen, with someone, sooner or later," he said. "I should be grateful it was you. You've been really good about it, even if I'm still not sure why."

"I think you keep missing my point about how deep down I'm really a good guy. Maybe not as deep down as the inherent asshole, but yeah. I have *some* good qualities."

"Yeah, but even really good guys don't just go around offering their good-guy services to any passing aquaintance. I've pretty much loaded you down to the breaking point with my baggage, and you're still here."

"I'm a sucker," Chris sighed. "I dunno. Maybe I don't get a chance to be there for anybody anymore, or something. Maybe I'm being selfish."

"I'll take your selfishness over other people's attempts at comfort any day," said Nick wth a sigh. "So this doctor guy. You guys really like him?"

"I really do," Chris said solemnly. "I know Jace does. I mean, I *know* what he went through wasn't like what happened to you, not even knowing your whole story. But yeah. He's ... well, he's gay, for one thing, which helped JC. So."

"I'll think about it," said NIck, running his fingers over the gouges on his hand. "I'm thinking I'm gonna get really tired of feeling like this all the time really fast. I'm not really a patient guy,"

"Well," Chris sighed. "Yeah, me either. What's ... so, feeling like what all the time? What do you feel like? when you're not high, or drunk. I know what *that* feels like."

"I feel all ... fucked up," said Nick. "Not that I didn't feel fucked up before, but that was a fucked up I was coping okay with. This is a fucked up that's outta my control.. And I *really* don't like the whole bit where I freak out when I'm closed in or people get to close. That one's gonna cause me problems."

"Yeah," Chris agreed. "We're not in the best line of business for that. Maybe ... maybe you could ask for a little more security for a while? That might help. The closing-in feeling. As for the rest of it ... I don't know. I'm not an expert, but I doubt the coke helps."

"Helps me not worry about it," Nick argued. "I'm ... I'm not so far gone that I don't know it's not really a long-term solution. I was figuring once the memories started fading a little I'd just go back to using casually. As for security ... see, here's the thing with that. It's pretty stupid, too, when I talk about it, but not when I'm feeling it. I just ... it's hard, being alone with someone that much bigger and stronger than me. It doesn't make me feel safe."

Chris nodded, a little haltingly. "I get that. They'd never, though, and you're gonna have to depend on them sooner or later, Nick." He sighed. "I still don't have any moral authority here, about the rest, but. You really should be careful. I know we've both seen people *messed* *up* with that shit."

"It's just for right now," Nick assured him. "It's just until I get a better handle on things. I'm not gonna let it get bad like that, I know better. It's just until I figure out a better way of dealing with all this shit inside. AndI haven't yet."

"Doctor Goodwin'll help," Chris said, and Nick realized he'd even curled his hand around the back of Nick's neck carefully. "I think that's the thing he'll help most with."

"I'm gonna trust you." whispered Nick. "That it's a good idea to try. I really don't want to feel like this anymore. I'm not the kinda guy who likes to wallow in his misery. I just ... haven't known what to do. No one's told me what to do about this."

"I know, baby," Chris said, the nickname sounding unintentional again. "Shhh. You can get ... you know, have Brian take you, maybe, or Howie. After you call him and schedule something. You wanna call now? While you're thinking about it? and leave a voice mail?"

"You mean before I lose my nerve?" said Nick with another tiny smile. "I won't, Chris. You'd probably track me down if I did. I don't know if I want them to take me, but I'll tell them. Maybe they'll stop looking at me like I'm some kind of wild animal."

"Aww, they just ... it's hard for them too," Chris said carefully, squeezing a little. "You have to know they don't know how to handle it any more than you or I do. And that it's a lot harder for them to hear than me, because they love you. You know?"

"Knowing that doesn't make it feel better," said Nick, flinching again. "Just like I know that spinach is good for me but I still think it tastes like ass. And not in the good way."

Chris burst out laughing. "Yeah, okay, point taken. I'm just. I don't want you to hate them. Or push them away. You guys only really have each other; that's the way this works. So where are we going, anyway? Still need this fresh air?"

"I'm not even sure where we *are*, let alone where we're going," admitted Nick, looking around. "I'm not trying to push them away, I just feel pushed. LIke they're handling it even worse than I am, which is hard."

"I understand," Chris nodded, finally letting his hand fall away. "Where are you staying tonight, do you know? Why don't you let me get you there, really. I can stay as long as you want, or drop you off, or whatever. Just ... let me be an anal thirty-year-old for a bit?"

"I'm ... um ... " He stared at the unfamiliar buildings. "Wait, I wrote it down, I knew I'd be going out tonight ... " He dug around in his pocket and came up with a neatly folded piece of paper which he handed over to Chris without even unfolding it. "Okay, you can get me there. And stay."

Chris fumbled with the paper and glanced up at Nick quickly, then just squinted at the writing. "Hmm, okay. I'm gonna call Mike, okay? my guy? he's just gonna come over in a car, but it'll just be you and me in the back. Okay, Nick?"

Nick hesitated, then nodded. "Just don't leave me alone with him and we'll be good, I think," he said. "I just ... I don't know him. I'm sorry I'm such a freak about this. It's probably a real pain in the ass for you."

"No, it's fine. I just wanted to prepare you." He pulled out his phone and talked to someone for a second, keeping his hand on Nick's arm like he thought he might run off. "Okay. It'll be ten minutes or so. You feeling alright?"

"What, me?" said Nick, making a conscious effort not to jerk his arm away. "I'm fine, Chris. A little buzzed, but that's a good thing. Are we supposed to stay right here?"

"Yep, right here," Chris nodded, bouncing on his toes a little. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't cold or anything. Then it'll be a pretty quick drive to the hotel."

"I'm not cold," said Nick. If he shivered, it was for another reason entirely. "You could ... tell me a little bit about you and Justin and Britney," he suggested tentatively. "And I ask that in the most respectful way possible. After all, you know all about me, now."

Chris stared at him. "I didn't want you to share that stuff with me out of ... like, obligation, Nick. I was just trying to listen. And ... in the most respectful way possible? What you just brought up is nothing I need anyone to listen to."

"That's not what I meant," said Nick. "I didn't mean you were obligated. I just meant ... you know me really well now and I don't think I'll know you until I understand that. Is all. You don't have to tell me. You don't have to tell me anything."

"I don't know you really well!" Chris laughed uncomfortably. "I know this one thing, this ... you know, this thing that I know you don't want to define you. But if this ... I mean, if you want to hear something so this is more even, or whatever ... well, just tell me."

"It's not to be even, or whatever," said Nick, scratching idly at the back of his wrist. "I just want to know you. It's just been, like, me talking at you all evening. You understand a lot of stuff about me now. Maybe more than you think."

"Stop scratching," Chris murmured, pulling his hand away. "You'll bleed again. And what are you saying? That I'm only defined by Justin Timberlake?"

"I'm already bleeding anyway," said Nick. "And this isn't the same spot." But now that Chris called attention to it, he stopped. "I'm not saying anything. I just asked about it 'cause it's the only big thing about you I know. It's what was going on when we ran into each other."

"Nothing was going on when we ran into each other," Chris said stiffly. "What you saw was just ... nothing. A mistake. Not even a mistake." He didn't let go of Nick's hand, and the careful way he held onto it was in direct opposition to the tight way he spoke.

"Is this one of those things where you just need me to push a little bit for you to tell me, or do you really, really not want me to know?" asked Nick. "I know that's really rude, but ... I'm just in no shape to tell."

Chris just laughed. "You're cute. Really ... it's just stupid. Stupid stupidity; me being stupid, her being stupid. Him being stupid. Note how I didn't use the d-word. But yeah. It'll make me look like an ass to tell you, and I don't want to ruin this good image you currently have."

"It wouldn't," Nick promised him. "Ruin the image I have of you. But you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I think that's my new motto for life. I do not have to do anything I don't want to do. Well, except when I do."

"Heh, yeah," Chris smirked. But just then a big SUV pulled up, and Chris stepped off the curb to open the door for Nick. "Careful," he said, putting his hand right back on Nick's waist as he climbed in the door.

"I'm fine," insisted Nick. "Chris, I'm fine. I'm not *okay*, but I'm fine. And I can get into a vehicle just fine, I have years of practice." He didn't want Chris to take his hand off his waist, though. Maybe he was on to something, about certain kinds of touching making things feel better, not worse.

"Yeah, you've also had plenty to drink," Chris reminded him. "So just go with it. We'll be there soon. And then you can decide if you really, um, what me to stay or not."

"If you don't want to stay, you don't have to," said Nick, surprised. Obviously surprised The way Chris had been pushing it, Nick had thought he wanted to stay, keep an eye on him. Listen. "I haven't really had all that much to drink, you know. Just enough to get buzzed. To not feel so ... knotty."

"Don't think I don't know what you had to drink," Chris told him. "And I want to stay. I *want* to stay. I just ... I dunno, want to make sure you won't try and kick my ass in the morning for being there."

"I'm not gonna," said Nick. "I trust you. And believe me when I say I only had enough to drink to give me a buzz. I'm a big guy, Chris. I can take a lot. And usually do."

"Yeah, yeah," Chris murmured, looking out the window, his hand resting on the seat between them. "Well, there better be a fucking comfortable couch, is all I'm saying."

"I might even be able to swing you a bed," said Nick. "Unless the couch was for me and you wanted to play Dr. Kirkpatrick some more. In which case, yes, it's quite comfortable."

"Oh, I shouldn't," Chris started. "I didn't think you want me ... you know, in the room with you while you slept. Except, well. I guess I don't exactly fit the bigger-than-you-criteria. Even though I could still kick your ass! and don't you forget it."

"Actually, I'm trying very *hard* to forget that," admitted Nick. "And you are smaller than me, and ... I think that helps. I wish it didn't, but it makes a difference."

"Well, at least it's good for something," Chris sighed exaggerratedly. "And anyway, I was just playing with you. Sorry. I won't do it again." He gave Nick a huge pout, and Nick wondered if that was the time limit on how serious he could be for a given stretch.

"S'okay," said Nick. "I'm just a little, you know, hypersensitive." He started scratching the outside of his wrist again, just lightly. "I've been overreacting a lot lately. You know no idea."

"Why do you keep doing that?" Chris asked, grabbing both his hands but being careful not to do it too suddenly. "Scratching. Why? Stop."

"I ... " said Nick, looking down at his -- their -- hands in surprise. "It's just a nervous habit, I guess," he said finally. "I'm okay. You can let go now. Um. Of one, at least."

Chris didn't. He raised one of them close to his face and squinted. "You need to clip your nails, dude. No wonder you were bleeding. Hell, if you won't let JC give you a blowjob you can at least let him give you a manicure."

"I like them the way they are," he murmured, not meeting Chris's eyes. "Chris, you really need to let go of one of my hands. Pretty soon. Please?"

Obediently he released one of them, but kept the other, rubbing the back of the wrist -- right where Nick had been scratching -- soothingly with his thumb. "Did they, um. Tie you up or something?"

Nick shook his head, staring at his knees. "Just had someone holding on to them," he got out finally. "That's the beauty of having a few guys, I guess. Enough hands to do everything they wanted to do."

"I'm sorry," Chris murmured again. "Bet, um, that'll mess up any kinky bondagegames you liked to play before, if any, huh?"

"Never again," said Nick, so flatly Chris had to believe him, that he wasn't exaggerating. "I'm gonna get over the rest of this stuff, but that ... never again." He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about it."