Piece

Piece by Peace

Rating: NC-17

Pairings: oh, man

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise 98 Degrees and the Backstreet Boys are their own people. The author has not met anyone here described, nor does the author mean to suggest that these people act this way in real life. This writing is a work of fiction. I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and the Savage Garden slashwriters. It's also for wendy, literary-minded feedbacker and generous *NSYNC-love enabler. It's also for Kyla.

Wherein Nick is Nick, Nick is Nick, Nick is Nick...

Notice: See, now, wendy is extra-cool. Not only is she a great feedbacker, she got me tickets to see *NSYNC's show in Philadelphia. Kick-butt seats, so close you could watch JC's sweat fly. (Okay, I find that appealing, but I'm the only one, so let's move on, shall we?) Kyla joined me for the adventure (and got me into the soundcheck party when MSN was being selfish and trying to keep *NSYNC to itself). I spent my Wednesday seeing *NSYNC up close and personal; how was your day? Since Kyla and I were spending hours getting sunburned together, we ended up talking. (There's this thing. It's called "conversation." I have to look into that...) She told me about her upcoming Saga of the Great Justin Switch. She also happened to mention another idea she'd considered and discarded. And, being a generous and kind Kyla, she said that she wouldn't mind if I wrote it. So. Welcome to the Saga of the Great Nick Switch.

I wrote the first four pages of this story in the parking lot after the *NSYNC show, waiting for the traffic to fade. *NSYNC concert. Sixers-Lakers Game Four. Traffic. Mattslash. Great way to pass the time, yo.

Alla

Standing before the bathroom sink, Nick gave his reflection an admiring glance. His new tattoo had healed into some kick-ass body art. He could show it off tomorrow when he met the fellas, if he wore that sleeveless T. And if Kevin made a crack about his having the wrong kind of arms for that shirt, he'd kick Kevin's ass. Or he'd get the fellas to stand up for him. Everyone's personal policy was, "Only I may pick on Nick." Worked out pretty damned cool for him. Sometimes being the baby wasn't that bad, after all.

Nnn. One. Phone. Phone. Nick reached for it, but it wasn't there. He reached farther and knocked something to the floor. His hand scrabbled over something phonelike. "Hello?" He coughed. "Hello?"

"Nick, get your lazy butt over here. Kevin's threatening to kick you out of the band again. He hasn't done that for two-"

"Three," someone shouted in the background.

"-three weeks," the caller corrected himself. "Make that two large with black olives, my brother. Peace out."

Nick was going back to sleep.

"Yo, Nick!" A fist pounded on the door. "This is your first, last, and only official wake-up call. Justin is not taking your place in the line-up, so let's get some body moving!"

"What, again? You have to stop turning off your alarm, Nick. The snooze button is not your friend."

"You'd think he wanted to avoid our workouts."

"You know Nick's always had an aversion to exercise."

"Hey. Is our favorite comedy team playing without me again?" A third voice joined the party outside Nick's door.

"You're up for the gym and he's not?"

"Looks like it."

"Nick, get your lazy-"

"Posterior."

"-out of bed or our buff, ripped, sexy man Justin's taking your place and that is no lie."

"No lie."

"He'll do it. He's looking good."

"Check out those..."

"Ankles."'

"Mighty fine ankles."

"Giving you a run for your money here, Nick."

"I have to run?"

Nick was going the hell back to sleep.

Those were some weird dreams. He could swear that had been Lou Pearlman, and that blond kid had felt very familiar. Nick sat up, scratched his chin, and ran his hand through his hair.

Whoa. What the...

Nick grimaced and looked at his hand. What was in his hair? He'd showered last night... Hadn't he?

Whoa. This...this was not his room. No, he wasn't at home, he was at the break house. But this wasn't there, either. Unless he'd gone to the wrong room last night. After not washing that crap out of his hair. And why did everything look...vague? Fuzzy? He rubbed his eyes. This was not his room, in any house. He didn't even like the Dolphins.

Nick got up and...something was weird. The floor wasn't...he didn't...

Focus. There had to be a rational explanation. He wasn't in The Twilight Zone. He wasn't on drugs. He was even afraid to take aspirin after Jeff told him that horror story about the guy in Cleveland with the fake foot.

He'd get dressed, leave the bedroom, find out where he was, and wreak havoc on whoever'd gotten him into this situation. Especially if it happened to be Jeff. And if Justin had anything to do with it, he'd rustle up enough havoc for two.

Now he only had to find the bathroom.

He was in a bedroom. Double bed, sole occupant. A guy's room, so he hadn't ended up in some girl's bed, with or without the girl. Good. Now there was a reason to feel relieved.

Unless he'd ended up in some guy's bed.

Nick ventured past the doorway. Brief hallway leading to a large open living room, it looked like, and this door on the left was - - a closet of junk. Try again. This door on the right was, aha, a bathroom. Score.

Upon entrance to the bathroom, Nick checked behind the shower curtain and under the sink for strange people, then locked the door behind himself. Toilet. Good.

Nick almost shouted. Almost fell. That was not his - - that was not his - -

Okay. Get a grip. Nick rubbed his traitorous eyes and looked in the mirror. Then he really did shout, jump back, and almost fall in the tub.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck...

Get a grip, Nick. Nick. Nick. Ha. That was funny. He was Nick. He was the wrong Nick, but still a Nick, so at least that was some consolation, right? Right. Okay. He stared at not-himself in the mirror. "Hi." Whoa. He tried again. "Hi." He sounded fourteen. He was going to flip out, right here, right now. In Nick Carter's bathroom. Which was, apparently, his bathroom. Don't panic. Stay calm. What would Jesus - - no, Justin - - no, Jeff - - what would Drew do? Call the police. Call a shrink. Call Drew. Call the Backstreet Boys and demand himself back.

Take a shower.

What.

The.

Fuck.

It was embarrassing to take a shower. He was washing someone else's body. He was naked and wet and soapy with someone else's body. Washing "his" arms was bad enough. Washing feet and legs was weird and intimate. This was not his body, not his chest, not his... Not his face, either. He washed it gingerly.

Nick stood before the mirror and shaved someone else's face. Brushed someone else's teeth with, well, he was using someone else's toothbrush, but the toothbrush belonged to the teeth. He had bigger problems to worry about than sharing bristles, anyway.

He stared in the mirror. At himself. At Nick Carter.

Call Brian.

Call Howie.

Call Kevin.

Call AJ.

Call home.

Call-

Call Universal and ask what the fuck had happened to Nick Lachey.

He'd the fuck happened to Nick Lachey.

Shit.

Or Nick had happened to him.

It looked like Nick was visiting. God, was 98 Degrees on tour? It didn't look like a hotel room, though. It just looked...temporary. There wasn't enough stuff around, enough personal stuff, enough permanent stuff. Everything was unpacked and put away like Nick was staying, but there was luggage in the closet.

Maybe he'd taken a personal retreat to find himself.

Nick didn't know whether to laugh, scream, or hurl himself from the nearest cliff.

He'd learned something from his brothers.

He knelt, clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and prayed.

Nick lived alone here. Young, single, first apartment, expensive, tasteless. Kind of reminded him of Jeff's old place.

Nick got dressed, bypassing the clothes on the floor. This younger, taller body was not his own. He remembered having more muscle definition than this. He discovered what he'd knocked off of the nightstand earlier: glasses. Shit. And what was he supposed to do with this hair? He combed it and let it go. He had other problems.

Like what it meant that he heard someone opening the front door.

He wasn't showering someone else's body. Nick could just deal with it. But stubble did not work for this face, so he shaved.

This face didn't work, period.

Sort of a good-natured caveman thing going on there, Nick. Make that a pouty-lipped, good-natured caveman. Make that, butt-ugly. Which was weird, because he'd had the impression that Nick Lachey was gorgeous. But this, this was not a gorgeous face. Nose, no. Eyes, the polite term was probably deep-set. Ears, let's pin those back. Mouth, whoa, there was no excuse for that mouth.

Below the neck, though...

Nick had always wondered what it would be like to have this kind of body. The kind with serious masculine guy stuff happening. He was buff. Buffed. Buff. Whatever. He was ripped. Freaky.

His ears were pierced.

Nick did some sticking-up thing with the hair, right? Eek. Shit. Maybe he'd just shave it bald and start over. Nick might not appreciate that, but-

Whoa. Dimples. Not just kind of dimples. Serious dimples.

It was disturbing to smile at himself in the mirror and not smile at himself in the mirror and smile at Nick Lachey in the mirror and have the wrong person smile back and he was quite insane now, thank you.

People. Guys. Earlier. Talking.

Maybe friends.

Maybe the rest of 98 Degrees.

Maybe friends.

Maybe the rest of 98 Degrees.

Who else was in this place with him? Where was he? How could he get out and get back to where he belonged and...

Buff guys cried, too.

"Nick!"

"We can't just walk in."

"We always do."

"At least knock first."

"Then he wouldn't think it's us."

"He knows it's us."

"Not if we knock first. We never knock first. Nick!"

He'd hide in the bedroom. Lock himself in the bathroom. Run. Call the police. To arrest them for what, trespassing? He was trespassing. In his own apartment. Which wasn't his.

"Nick, if you're still in bed-"

"Maybe he has company."

"Nick?"

Laughter.

That was insulting.

"Tell the girls good-bye, Nick. The boys are here."

The boys.

The Boys.

Backstreet Boys.

No. Oh, no. No no no. It couldn't be. They couldn't be.

No, no, no, no, no.

Brian Littrell was coming down the hallway.

"Nick." Friendly concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He licked his lips. Felt different than usual. Duh, different mouth. Different voice, too. He did not like sounding fourteen every time he spoke.

"Nick, where've you been?" Howie Dorough. "Oh my god we're back again, reunion party time. Can't miss."

"Your hair!" Brian said. "That's what's - - your hair!"

"Oh my god!" AJ McLean struck the pose of an awestruck teen. "It's Leo! Leo! Leonardo DiCaprio! Oh my god!"

And Nick hung out with these people?

"I like Nick with floppy hair," Brian said, smiling up at him with sparkly blue eyes, running fingers through his hair. "It's soft."

Oh. So that was why Nick hung out with these people.

"If you weren't spending time fixing your hair..." Kevin strolled towards him, down the hallway. "Why are you an hour late?"

"Not an hour-" Howie began.

"An hour," Kevin said. "And twenty minutes."

"Boy, I missed this all week," AJ said. "A whole seven days without strict daddy Kevin. How did I manage to make it through the-"

"That reminds me," Brian said. "I missed you this week." He hugged Nick.

Squeeze from Howie.

Hug from AJ.

Squeeze from Kevin. Arm around his shoulders. He kept forgetting how tall Nick was. "You okay?"

There was honest...honest...honest emotion in those green eyes. It was a casual question that could be brushed aside, but if he wasn't okay, Kevin would be right there to handle it. He licked his lips. "I don't feel good." I don't feel well? Good? Well? He never got that.

"Do you have a tummy ache or cancer?" Kevin asked, waiting in judgment, ready to whip him into shape or beat his problems into submission.

Nick thought fast. "I'm... I'm okay, I haven't... I've felt weird lately." He took a gamble. "This week." He resisted the impulse to say, "I haven't been myself."

"You okay?" Kevin actually felt his forehead. One of the guys might have done that, as a joke, but they'd never do that for real unless he were sick for real and they already knew it, and were concerned. This gesture was more...maternal? Paternal.

"Let's hang out here for a while," AJ suggested. "You have anything to eat?"

How was he supposed to know? "Take a look."

"I shall." AJ tipped an imaginary hat and ambled off towards the kitchen.

"Are you going to throw up on us?" Howie asked.

Brian sat on the sofa and pulled him down, too, away from Kevin and beside Brian. "What've you been up to?"

"Not much. You?" Lame, Nick. Lame, lame, lame.

"Family's good." Something flitted over Brian's eyes. Something sad.

"And?" AJ's grand return. "How is she?"

"AJ," Kevin said.

AJ seated himself on the back of the easy chair, feet on the seat, and bit into an apple. "We all know this was the big moment. Will she or won't she?" He tossed a flirtatious grin. "We already know she does." He rested his weight on one hand and gave a few quick pelvic thrusts before sitting again. "But the question remains-"

"No," Brian said.

AJ stopped. He hadn't expected that response. "No?"

"No," Brian said, and picked lint from Nick's sleeve.

"Brian," Howie said.

"Shit," AJ said.

"I'm sorry," Howie said.

"You just got back," Kevin said. "Give her a little time."

"She had the whole fucking tour," AJ said.

"Don't," Brian said sharply, looking to AJ. "She doesn't deserve..."

AJ held up his hands, surrendering. "She's your deal, not mine. You set the tone."

Nick was coming in in the middle of something. The middle of several things. Scrambling to put together the pieces, wishing that Drew were here, he sketched a quick mental outline. The Backstreet Boys had just gotten off of their tour. Now they were getting back together after what seemed like a group decision to spend a week out of contact. He could see that. After being forced together all during the tour, maybe being forced away from each other was therapeutic. Brian had gone home... As in, Kentucky? Somewhere. And seen a girl. Woman. Who put out, if he interpreted AJ correctly, but had made a decision. Commitment? Nick had no idea. But whatever Brian had wanted, she'd said no.

Clearly, she was nuts. If she refused commitment to Brian Littrell, she deserved commitment to a mental hospital.

"I'm sorry," he said to Brian.

Brian reached past him and swatted Howie. "Ping."

"How about those Packers?" Howie asked. Kevin snorted. "Oh, AJ, did you bring those lyrics from the club?"

AJ reached into his back pocket and pulled out crumpled paper, which he tossed to Kevin, who tossed it to Howie. "Club?" Kevin asked.

"Back in...Toronto? At the club, there was some booty booty," AJ said. "Pulled a...whatchacallit, in that movie, use some naked girl's butt for your desktop."

"What?" Brian asked.

"He was out clubbing, he got 'inspired,' he picked up some girl, and instead of enjoying a post-sex cigarette, he wrote lyrics in bed. Using his new friend as a handy writing surface."

"You wrote on a girl?" Nick asked.

"I wrote on paper," AJ said. "She's the desk."

Right. "Are the lyrics about the club or the girl?"

Howie handed him the wrinkled pages. "How's your writing going?"

Uh... "Okay."

"What happened to that grand song you were writing?"

"I don't think it worked."

"You don't think it worked," AJ repeated.

"Nick, it's been months of fine-tuning your masterpiece, and now it doesn't work?" Brian asked.

"I don't know." He pretended to read AJ's lyrics.

"Can we see it, finally?" Kevin asked.

"Not now." Hey, this was good. "This is good."

Brian's chin rested on his shoulder as Brian read with him. "Darkness doesn't burn."

"It does now," AJ said.

Nick opened the bedroom door with caution. No one in sight. He was at the end of a hallway. One door across from him, a stairway at the other end of the hall... He didn't hear anyone. Maybe everybody was gone. That would be helpful, right about now. He wanted to take inventory in peace.

This mess had better be fixed before he had to take a crap and wipe Nick Lachey's ass.

He peeked in the room across the hall. Bedroom. Guy's bedroom.

Staircase. Upstairs? He took a chance and went up, finding two more bedrooms, both seeming to belong to men. He went downstairs, finding himself on the first level. Living room sort of place, kitchen, casual and masculine.

There was a door. And behind the door, noise. Music. Voices, now and then.

"Get him!"

"He's making a break for it!"

The door opened and someone collided with Nick. Oh! Justin Jeffre. With platinum blond hair.

"Nick! It was awful! They made me...sweat!"

"Chicken!" someone called from inside the room.

"Wimp!" someone else chimed in.

"I had to lift weights, they were at least five pounds-"

"Either get back in here and work some body, or let the real men get to it," one of the voices said.

"I'll get out of the way to make room for the real men," Justin said. "I'll let you know if I see any." Justin patted Nick's arm and left to boos and groans.

Jeff Timmons stepped up and gave Nick a nod. "You keep skipping out, we're going to have him in shape in no time."

"I don't know where you got this weird idea that you can sleep in late. We're on vacation." Drew Lachey. Oh, shit. Not only were these guys 98 Degrees, which meant that they were probably as tight as he and the fellas, but Drew was his brother. This was boding really bad.

"Maybe you'll have to get to bed earlier," Jeff suggested. "This staying up all night having wild rounds of checkers has got to stop."

"Come on." Drew's sweaty hand grasped his wrist, pulling him into the room. "Like the man says, it's time to move some body."

It was surreal. Familiar, yet alien. The group of them sitting around and talking. Their conversation was casual, pointless, personal, seamless, and easy. They knew each other too well to resist coaxing each other into personality points. They prodded each other's senses of humor, pushed each other's buttons, and hit upon countless inside jokes. Kevin was in one chair, AJ in the other. More accurately, first AJ was sitting on top of the chair back, then sprawled in the chair, then standing behind the chair, then perched on the armrest. On the sofa, Nick was between Howie and Brian. Brian was relaxed against him, used to sitting beside him and resting shoulder-to-shoulder.

Nick stayed out of the conversation, not wanting to say the wrong thing and betray himself. He had no idea what was going on, and he wanted to get a clue before trying to explain.

He couldn't remember the phone number of the break house. He wanted to call and ask to speak to himself and see who answered. He was almost glad that he couldn't remember the number, because he was afraid of all possible responses.

He could not be pumping this much iron.

There was no way on earth.

Nick wanted to go and rip a telephone book in half. He was sure he could. That would be so fucking awesome.

He was powerful. Powerful. He could take on anybody, do anything.

This body was amazing. Look at that! Holy shit! When he got home, he was hitting the gym. Seriously. This was some cool shit right here.

"You're not even trying." Drew adjusted something on the machine. No, he had not just added more weight. "We let Justin play pansy, but we expect better from you."

He was not serious. He was serious. Nick adjusted his grip and breathed and....

Now that was power.

He wanted his face back, but he was keeping this body.

They'd moved into the kitchen. Amid the casual disorganization of having five people in a one-person kitchen, Nick could hide the fact that he didn't know the place better than anyone else. With himself, Brian, and Kevin at the table, Howie on the counter, and AJ on the floor, they ate and talked. He was hungry, so he ate more than he talked. He wished that the Backstreet Boys would leave, but he also didn't know what he'd do once they were gone. Right now, he was among family. Not his family, but family nonetheless. When they left, he'd be alone again, in someone else's life.

There was a routine here. Something was going on. 98 Degrees was here for something, a spiritual retreat, vacation... Whatever it was, it started with getting up at the asscrack of dawn and getting ripped for a year. But after that, they were probably going to do something. Whatever 98 Degrees did. He couldn't even remember the name of their freaking manager. He sure as hell couldn't sing Nick Lachey's parts. He didn't know the choreography, either, if you could call it that. Maybe they were just here to hang out. Downtime. He could handle that. For another two seconds. And then he was calling somebody to get him the hell out of here.

Jeff left the weight room or whatever they called it. Then Drew turned off the music. Quitting time? He pretended to be in the middle of his reps, although he'd lost count. Maybe Drew would go and he could sit here and try to think.

This was not shaping up to be Nick's lucky day.

Drew straddled the weight bench across the aisle from him. "What's going on?"

"I liked that song."

"You hate that song."

Never mind. Go away, little man.

"Are you having trouble sleeping?"

The trouble came when he woke up, to tell the truth.

"I know we're on break, but you've been sleeping in. Either you need to look at your sleep cycles, or you're trying to avoid working out with us."

Which one should he pick?

"Or you're trying to avoid working out with Jeff."

The little man was looking wise and concerned and supportive. Maybe that was it. He'd had a fight with Jeff, and he was trying to avoid Jeff, and maybe he could extend that to avoid everyone and get the fuck out of here.

"I don't know what's going on. It's been years and suddenly it's a problem again."

There was a Nick-Jeff feud in 98 Degrees' past?

"You've been hiding and he's been tense. If something happened and you don't want to tell me about it, I get it. There's your personal life and then there's your personal life. But, Nick. We're not going on like this. When the big man out front is uncomfortable around his second, the rest of us can't cover it up for you."

The big man out front. He was the big man out front. That was supposed to be Brian. Not that Brian was very big. Or AJ. Either the three of them shared the lead equally, or he was third in line; he was not the big man out front. And it wasn't even like Justin Timberlake. This Nick was a big brother and a best friend and, and, the big man out front.

He had a responsibility. He was their leader.

What was that like? To have a four-person group of equals, but to be, at least nominally, their leader? Among the Backstreet Boys, they all had a role to play. He was popular, but he wasn't in charge by any means. Kevin was the father; Howie was the mother. Brian was the good boy; AJ was the bad boy. Nick was the baby.

This family was different.

Here, Drew was the baby, but he could see that being the youngest in 98 Degrees was not like being the youngest in the Backstreet Boys. Drew Lachey was no Nick Carter. Or Aaron Carter.

The trouble was, the role of Nick Lachey was being played by Nick Carter. Who was no Nick Lachey.

"Nick. The world beckons you."

"Sorry. Thinking."

"Oh. Would you like an icepack?" Drew asked, patting his head.

He pushed Drew's hand away, and Drew pushed back, and he pushed back, and Drew pulled his ear and ducked out of range. Typical idiotic brother stuff.

He missed the fellas.

"How's your love life, Nick?" AJ asked.

"I have a love life?"

Everybody laughed. Whew.

"We've already covered Brian's love life," AJ said.

"How's your love life, Kevin?" Howie asked.

Kevin threw a napkin at AJ on the floor. "Ping."

"How's your love life, AJ?" AJ asked.

"Shouldn't that be, how's your sex life, AJ?" Brian asked.

Nick almost choked himself laughing.

"You know I don't kiss and tell," AJ admonished Brian.

Howie had to spit out his soda in the sink. "Don't make me laugh while I'm drinking!"

"AJ doesn't kiss and tell," Kevin said. "Screw and tell."

"And since it never stops at just kissing..." Brian said.

"Not with AJ McLean, it doesn't," AJ agreed with smug pride.

"Give me an A!" Brian cheered.

Silence.

Brian nudged Nick. "That's your cue."

"I'll do it," Howie said.

"Slacker," AJ told Nick.

"Give me an A!" Brian cheered.

"A!" Howie shouted.

"Give me a J!"

"J!"

"What's that spell?!"

"AJ!"

Kevin applauded.

"Thank you, thank you," AJ said with false modesty.

Nick wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.

"Is it over?" Justin asked, stepping into the weight room doorway with caution.

Drew smiled. "Yeah. It's safe. I'm going to hit the showers."

"Hit the - - could you be more of a jock?" Justin asked.

"He's the jock," Drew said, gesturing to Nick. "I'm Mini-Jock."

"I see you didn't inherit his good looks," Justin said.

"He got the beauty. I got the brains."

"You just go ahead and keep thinking that," Justin said with a fond pat to Drew's shoulder. Drew pulled a face and left them alone.

Nick recognized this scene. Tag-team therapy. First Drew's encounter session, now Justin's. What was going on with Nick and Jeff? Were Drew and Justin talking to Jeff about it, too, or was he supposed to take the first step towards patching things up, solo?

"How's Sleeping Beauty?" Justin asked, wandering through the room. "You keep dozing through the morning, I'm going to end up looking like...you. Or Arnold. We don't need that."

Nick didn't say anything.

"Did Jeff say something stupid?"

He didn't know. It was possible. Maybe he'd said something stupid, instead.

"If he gives you trouble, I can take him."

Yeah. That was likely.

"If you give him trouble, remember, I can take you, too."

Justin wasn't taking sides. Drew hadn't, either. Maybe that was how this group worked.

"He's cute, but he's trouble," Justin said.

That was supposed to mean something. He could tell, from the way Justin said it, that it was something that had been said before. About Jeff? Jeff was cute, but trouble? What? Why?

"Been nice talking to myself," Justin said amiably, and left.

Nick laughed.

"Gotta break up this party," AJ said, rising from the floor with lethal grace. "You're my ride," he said to Kevin, "so let's go."

"Where are you going?" Howie asked.

"Gotta date," AJ said. "With someone prettier than you."

"Prettier than us?" Brian asked, sounding wounded.

"Prettier than Howie," AJ explained, and patted Brian's cheek. "There's nobody prettier than you, babycakes."

Brian smiled.

Kevin snorted.

Nick laughed.

Nick hid in his bedroom. He didn't get the bathroom thing. Did each bedroom have a private bathroom? That was a waste of...something. It was stupid, was what it was. Distracting his brain with stupid quarrels like bathroom allotment wasn't helping, either.

What was he going to do?

He wanted to talk to somebody. He wanted someone to help him. He didn't have anyone here. There was nobody-

The bedroom door opened. "Nick, now that the aliens have replaced your brain with cottage cheese, I think - - sorry. I knew I'd never make it through that without laughing. Since when do you spend your day hiding behind closed doors?" Jeff asked.

"I'm thinking. I was thinking," he added pointedly.

"Now that Ward and June have had their little talks with you, it seems to be my turn." Jeff walked over to the bed and sat beside him. "Hi, Nick."

"Hi." Go away.

"How've you been?"

"Fine." Get out.

"Mad at me?"

"No." He wasn't. He had no idea why he was supposed to be. Maybe Jeff would let him know.

"I know you've been hiding from me."

"Why would I do that?"

"If I knew, I'd do something about it and you'd stop it," Jeff said. "Let's discuss why, shall we?"

"Let's not."

"Oh, puppy dog alert, Nick's pouting."

"Shut up." Maybe he was mad at Jeff after all.

Jeff smacked his thigh and stood. "Come on."

"Where?"

"Basketball, basketball, basketball."

"Get lost," Brian told Kevin. "Go on. Shoo."

"Take him with you," Howie told Kevin, turning a thumb in AJ's direction.

Nick found himself eye-to-eye with Kevin. "If you don't feel better by tomorrow, we'll do something about it," Kevin said. "I want you back to annoying the hell out of me in another twenty-four hours." Kevin cupped his chin in one hand for a moment, long enough for his brain to register the feeling of long, masculine fingers against his skin, then stepped back.

AJ planted firm hands on Nick's shoulders. "Go with God, my son."

"You, too."

AJ laughed and left with Kevin.

Now he was alone with Howie and Brian.

"You okay?" Brian asked.

"Fall and hit your head or something?" Howie asked. A gentle, concerned hand rubbed the back of his head. Oh, that felt good. A loving touch. Nick felt much less lonely. And much more lonely.

"I'm okay." Okay. Okay. Standing here in the kitchen, with Howie and Brian, okay. Having an out-of-body experience. Or an in-the-wrong-body experience. Howie was being very nice to him, and having someone be nice to him when he was hurt and scared... Oh... He wanted to get on his knees and ask Howie to make it all better. And Brian. Brian was cute, but trouble.

Rein it in, Nick. Now is not the time.

"One of us has to clean up in here, and one of us has to clean up Nick," Howie said to Brian.

"I call Nick!"

"I get to deal with AJ's bread crusts," Howie said.

"Aw, you get all of the fun jobs," Brian teased. "You could sell those."

"That would only encourage him."

"Come on, Nick." Brian tugged along by the elbow. "Come and talk with me."

"About what?" Nick asked.

"At what point did you discover you'd lost your personality?" Brian asked, dropping onto the sofa.

He was going to have to think fast. "That was years ago."

"Is this a permanent situation?"

"I hope not."

Brian's hands closed on either side of his head; Brian stared into his eyes, coming closer until their foreheads touched. Then Brian started humming.

Backstreet Boys were weird.

"Frick-Frack mind meld," Brian whispered.

Nick closed his eyes and prayed for a magical connection.

"Love. Music. Brotherhood."

"Keeping the Backstreet Pride alive." Holy...

Brian kissed his nose and let go. "I found Nick!"

What...the... Where had that come from?!

"Where was he?" Howie asked, walking in from the kitchen, tucking back an errant strand of hair.

"Orbiting Pluto," Brian said. "But I brought him back safely. Sir." Brian saluted.

Howie gave a return salute. "Excellent work, Sergeant."

"Are you always this annoying?" Nick asked.

"You have to ask?" Brian asked.

"We're usually worse," Howie said.

"But you're even worse," Brian said to Nick.

He rubbed his nose. "I think you gave me cooties."

"Boy, you already had cooties," Brian said. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You rest and recover. No more orbiting Pluto." Brian squeezed his arm and stood. "Keys."

Howie tossed Brian the keys. "Take care of yourself."

"Listen to Howie." Brian, hello, patted his hip, and left with Howie.

Nick waved. Bye.

Basketball, basketball, basketball.

He was freaking short. Until he figured that out, all of his shots missed. Then he had to relearn the freaking game so he'd know how hard to shoot, from which angle, etc. And Jeff, who was even shorter than he was, had serious bulk. It was like knocking into a brick wall; the man did not budge.

On the one hand, basketball was basketball. On the other hand, everybody had a different playing style, and he did not know Nick Lachey's. Jeff fairly sucked, so that was okay. At least he was winning.

They must have been playing to a certain score, or else Jeff just quit, because without warning the game was over and Jeff was draped on the grass off of the driveway. Nick went over and draped himself, too, for lack of anything better to do.

This was the same sun, right? That bright thing up there? That was his sun, too.

He wondered what year it was. It was possible that not only was he in someone else's life, he was in someone else's time. It was kind of hard to judge. He could ask. Or say, "Hey, do you happen to have a calendar handy?" Hey! There had to be a calendar inside. Somewhere. Damn, he was smart. Okay, time to go inside for calendar-hunting.

Jeff was moving. Not doing the looking-at-the-sun thing anymore. Doing the looking-at-him thing. On one side, propped on an elbow. Damn, that was muscle.

"What's with the staring?" he asked.

"If I ever...implied. That you're less of a man, or I'm more of a man..."

This was hard for Jeff. He could respect that. They could talk later. When he had a hell of a clue what the fuck Jeff was talking about.

"It's not about that," Jeff said.

What was it about?

"Nick, why are we fighting over this?"

"I don't know."

"I'm a jerk. You'll always have my love and respect."

Okay. That was good. He assumed.

"If I ever act like a...what was that?"

Like he was supposed to know?

"Bumbling hypocrite? If I ever act like a bumbling hypocrite again, call me on it. Not that you were afraid to call me on it this time."

They'd had a fight. He'd called Jeff a bumbling hypocrite. Why?

"Still love me?"

"Probably."

Jeff grinned. "Good. Make sure you tell Drew. He's trying his best not to get in the middle, but he wants to take a stand for his big brother and tell me where to get off."

Why? What had he missed? A lot. "Stop acting like a bumbling hypocrite, then."

"I'll do my best. Truce?"

Why not? "Truce."

Jeff wiped sweat from Nick's temple with his thumb, then wiped it off on his own forehead.

Nick wiped sweat from Jeff's temple with his thumb, then wiped it off on his own forehead. "Sacred sweat exchange," he said.

Jeff smiled at him.

This day just got weirder and weirder.

Standing before the bathroom sink, Nick stared into the blue eyes reflected at him. He tilted his face to one side, then the other. Raised his chin. Crossed his eyes at himself.

Nick was young. Cute. Pretty, even. He ran a thumb along one eyebrow. Checked his earlobes for piercings. This must be what it was like to have a decent nose. He'd have to tell Drew all about it.

This was Nick Carter.

He was Nick Carter.

"Love. Music. Brotherhood." "Keeping the Backstreet Pride alive." He had never heard that exchange in his life. Yet Brian had said the first line, and the response had fallen from his lips.

He was going to have to trust Nick. This Nick. To help him get through this situation. To be there for him, in cases like that one.

"We'll get through this," he told the Nick in the mirror.

Somehow.

What the fuck was the sacred sweat exchange?!

He wasn't the only one around here who needed a psychiatric evaluation, now.

Maybe it didn't matter what he and Jeff had fought about, since it was over. They'd exchanged sweat, you know. They weren't fighting anymore.

Not he and Jeff. Nick and Jeff. The other Nick. The Nick who was supposed to live in this body.

Speaking of...

He peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and looked down at not-himself. He flexed. Damn.

He had pecs.

Jeff had pecs. Jeff had been wearing a tank top, and there in the grass it had slipped, and he'd seen... That was one serious body.

He had a good body, too. Look at that.

He didn't. Nick Lachey did. Still. Damn. He rubbed his upper arm. Nice bulge of muscle there. And...and...hey. Wait. This couldn't be right. These were Nick Lachey's tattoos. They just looked kind of like his. Cool. At least something was semi-half-familiar.

Calendar! He wanted a calendar. Where?

Or food. Look at this stomach.

"Good afternoon, Adonis." Justin lounged in his doorway, amused. "We're chowing down. Clothing optional."

The phone rang.

He wasn't going to get it. He had an answering machine, right there. Nick Carter wasn't home right now. No, really.

"Nick, it's Kevin. If you're there, get off of the couch and answer the phone. Nick. Brian said you're more yourself now. Don't tell anyone I said it, but that's a good thing. See you tomorrow. And, Nick. Don't be late."

"'And, Nick. Don't be late,'" he mimicked. "Asshole."

Then he slapped his hand over his mouth. Whoa. Nick Carter was waking up in there.

Maybe the Nick Carter inside his brain could tell him what he was doing tomorrow, and exactly what time "not late" might be.

Jeff had showered and changed. His hair was damp, a shade darker. His red shirt hung loose but couldn't disguise that there was something serious under there. And he smelled good. "You smell good."

Drew stared.

"Thanks," Jeff said. "You smell like sweat."

Nick pulled Drew's nose. "Close your mouth."

"How do I smell?" Justin asked, draping an arm over his shoulders.

"Like you need to stop doing that to your hair." Blond? Was the guy kidding? He couldn't dye his hair that unnatural color and then leave his goatee dark. Who did he think he was, AJ? "You look like a Backstreet Boy wannabe."

Jeff burst into laughter.

"Sit down," Drew said to Nick.

He probably shouldn't have said that.

"You look like a horse's-"

"Justin," Drew said.

"Groomsman," Justin said. "He looks like a groomsman."

"Nice recovery," Jeff said.

"I'll say," Drew agreed. "Sit down." Nick was pushed into a chair. Manhandling fellow boy band members must be a universal part of the experience.

"It could be worse," Jeff told Justin. "He could have said that you look like an O-Town wannabe."

Lou flashbacks. Nick almost pinged Drew.

"Nick, it's Howie. Just calling in to make sure you're feeling all right. I'll be home. See you tomorrow. Like I say, hope you're all right."

"That sucked. Or, that didn't suck, which was the problem. I thought she was ready-to-wear. Women. Let you down every time. They also get me up. I was up tonight, boy. Whoo! Call me, Nick. And I'll take one large with pepperoni."

"Nick. Come over early tomorrow. I missed you this week."

"Brian?" What had he just done? Don't answer the phone! Don't answer the phone! Why did you answer the phone?!

"Hey, Nick. How you be, my soul brother?"

"AJ?"

Brian laughed. "No, it's me."

"What did you say about tomorrow?"

"Come over early."

"To your place?"

"Yes, Nick, to our place. Resist the lure of Pluto."

Our place. Who were we? "What time?"

"Nine-ish."

He was going to assume that Brian meant in the morning. Maybe. He had no idea. He took a gamble. "That's kind of early."

"That's why I said to come early."

Right. He licked his lips. He'd better say something Nickesque. Only he had no idea what that would be.

"You want me to come over?"

"Yes." No! No, no, no. "No."

"Sorry, there must be static. I didn't hear anything you said after 'Yes.' Be over in a minute." Brian hung up on his end.

One of the Nicks in this brain was a complete idiot.

Maybe more than one.

He'd showered. He'd taken a crap and had to wipe Nick Lachey's ass.

It was time to have fun. He'd sweated and pissed with this body. Now it was time to see what it could really do.

This guy's wardrobe sucked. If he looked like this, he would show the world. Hell, he didn't look like this, and he worked it better.

Where was AJ when Nick really needed him?

Where was AJ? Where were any of the guys? Where the fuck was he?!

And why didn't Nick Lachey own leather pants?!

He knew what to get the guy for Christmas.

Oh. Sweetheart. Come to Daddy. Nice. Nick Lachey was going to rock this world. Mm-mm. He had a thing for black leather; he'd admit it. Probably because AJ said he filled out black leather pants like booty from heaven. AJ had strict ideas about what came from heaven. Made for some interesting debates with Kevin.

Nick Lachey owned black leather pants. What else was the guy hiding around here? He needed boots. Gotta have boots. Oh, nice. Damn, Nick. Boy's got some taste.

Nick made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror. Now that was damned disturbing. Form-fitting black leather pants and boots. Naked from the waist up. Ripped. He looked like he belonged in a porn flick. An S&M porn flick. Plus, he looked like Nick Lachey, which in itself was disturbing. He kept expecting to see his own reflection.

He forced himself to look. It was his body, and he'd party if he wanted to.

He'd spent his life being Nick Carter. For his parents, for Lou, for Johnny, for Kevin, for AJ, for Howie, for Brian, for Aaron, for - - god. Yes, for God, too. He wasn't Nick Carter today, and the world could just deal with it.

He growled. "Motherfucker."

Damn that felt good.

Damn he looked good.

Nicholas Scott - - no. Nicholas something else. Or, no. Nickolas something. What was his name? Nickolas whoever he was, he needed to get a grip. He was changing clothes because Brian was coming over. Lantern Jaw Littrell, of all people. He needed to get a grip. He needed to get a haircut. He needed to get a move on because someone was at the door.

"Nick?"

He yanked on the blue T-shirt, finger-combed his hair, and looked down at himself. This Nick's body wasn't fat, per se. Just big. Not weak. There was muscle beneath the meat. He just needed to lose a few pounds. Shed the fat, build the muscle. Not that everyone wanted to look like a body builder. And this body looked just fine the way it was. He just wasn't used to looking at himself and seeing...this.

Any of this.

It was kind of neat, though. Being taller. He wanted to go make fun of Drew. And he was younger. He had years to live again. He wasn't sure how old this Nick was, but he suspected that at this age, he hadn't been in 98 Degrees. Hadn't met Jeff.

Hadn't met Jeff.

His life, his world, began from that point. That meeting.

"We've lost him, boys. Man your posts. We have lost our blond. He is orbiting Pluto. Red alert. Repeat-"

"Are you ever funny?"

Brian laughed.

Oh, he was cute.

"What's going on?" Brian sat on the bed, then stretched out on his back, arms behind his head.

Now that was convenient. Brian already getting in bed for him. No! No, no, no. He was not going to have a crush on Brian. He was not going to have dirty thoughts about Brian. He was not going to realize that Nick had to know what Brian looked like naked. He was not this Nick, and this was not his Brian. This Brian was Nick Carter's friend. Nick Carter was straight. As long as he was in this body and in this life, he owed it to this Nick to keep things going as well as possible. That agenda did not include hitting on Nick's friends.

Not Brian. Not Howie. Not AJ. Not Kevin.

No matter how sexy they were.

Or how often they touched him. What was with that? He could probably crawl on top of Brian and Brian wouldn't blink.

Not that he was going to test that theory.

He was projecting. He was used to being in a group with Jeff. Now he was in a group without Jeff, and he was trying to create a similar situation. This was not a similar situation. There was no Jeff here.

Only a very attractive sparkly-eyed man in his bed.

He sat on the floor. Then he sat on his hands. Then he tried to think about how horrible his life had become, instead of how cute Brian was.

He missed Jeff. He missed Drew. He missed Justin. He missed his home and his friends and his family and his life.

Moodswing city.

Brian slid down from the foot of the bed to sit on the floor, facing him. "What's wrong, Snickers?"

He would hit anyone who tried to call him that. But it sounded affectionate and intimate and caring, the way Brian said it. The way Brian was looking at him.

Brian tipped to one side until he fell over, then rolled to his back. "Clean your room."

"Clean it for me." He lay down, too.

Brian rolled to one side, looking at him. From this angle, Brian was looking at the top of his head. Then Brian started to touch his hair. Almost like petting him. Grooming him. Something intimate and comforting. Silence. He let his thoughts drift. Maybe he'd fall asleep right here, and wake up as himself again.

"She didn't say no."

He felt scared and he didn't know why. She'd said yes.

"I didn't ask her."

Better. Worse. Why not?

Brian didn't say anything more.

"Why not?"

"I didn't know if I wanted to. If that's what I wanted."

It would help to know more details here, but he could wing it. "You want to wait?"

"I don't know what I want."

"Take it piece by piece. Easy decisions first."

"What?"

"Say you're buying a house." Which, for all he knew, was what Brian was doing with this woman. "You don't say, I want this one or that one, right off. You take it piece by piece. You compare the each room. Kitchen versus kitchen. And in the kitchen, you take it piece by piece. Cabinets, counters, table, space, layout, every last detail. Where are the electrical outlets? You take everything a small bit at a time, and when you decide what you want in the small things, you can upgrade, and finally, you know what you want. Start small."

"Piece by piece," Brian said.

He might as well drag out the rest of the argument. He had time to kill. "It could also be peace by peace. The other peace. When you make a decision. Which of the choices will give you the most peace? Inner peace, peace in yourself." This was Justin's side of the argument. He understood Drew's side, with the kitchen, better. If you were trying to decide on the blue shirt or the green one, how did you know which would bring you peace? Green was supposed to be soothing, so maybe...

"Piece by piece," Brian said, his fingers gentle in Nick's hair. "Peace by peace."

Kick-ass black leather boots. Ass-tight black leather pants. Black sleeveless shirt. He found diamond studs for his earlobes and got some bitching style to his hair. These lips were made for pouting. Damn. He looked good.

"Nick Lachey, you look good," he told his reflection. "I hope you appreciate this."

He strode into the hallway. He had presence. He could feel it.

He walked into Drew. Literally.

Drew stared. "Nick. Nick, when you offered to donate your organs, did you specify that you still needed your brain?"

"I told them that if they needed an extra dick, you weren't using yours."

Stunned silence.

Oops.

"Hi. We haven't met. I'm Drew Lachey." Drew offered his hand. "And you are?"

"Nick." He shook Drew's hand. "Nice to meet you." He smiled. Life was good.

Drew smiled back at him. "I'm going to pretend that you're sane. That you remembered to comb your hair. And that you're wearing underwear. Next time I see you, I hope that one of those things is true."

Nick liked Drew.

"See you, hotshot." Drew smacked his butt and went upstairs.

Nick went downstairs.

"Have fun at the costume party," Justin said, and went back to his book.

Nick liked Justin, too.

Now. Time to get some use out of this day. He should go somewhere. Out. Clubbing. Partying. Only he had no idea where he was. They weren't even in the States, for all he knew. He needed a newspaper. Television. Radio.

Nick prowled through the house.

He found Jeff in a back room, slouched on the sofa, watching TV. "Hey."

"Hey." Jeff did a double-take. "Hey."

"Hey." That sounded familiar. "You busy?"

"Depends. If you want me to regrout your tile, I'm busy. If you want me to open the pickle jar, I've got the time."

"Regrout my tile?"

"Heck if I know. What's up?"

"I feel like doing something."

"I see that. Doing what, in particular? You look like you're in the mood for something unsavory."

"Maybe."

Jeff studied him.

He pouted.

"Seeing as we're in the middle of nowhere, with no mode of transportation, our choices are rather limited," Jeff said.

What? Shit.

"The most dangerous behavior possible is... We can't even bake cookies and then eat the raw dough and get salmonella poisoning, because we don't have cookie stuff."

Nick scowled. "Fuck."

Jeff's jaw dropped.

Oops.

"Are you on drugs?"

"Why? Do you want some?"

Jeff's eyes roamed. "I want some."

Oh, shit.

Jeff slapped himself. "Forget I said that."

Guys had come on to him before. He was pretty sure that had been what that was.

"I have been celibate a little too long."

"Tell me about it." Or not. He didn't know. Did Nick Lachey get some? He had to. Jeff had to, too. He'd missed a step.

"You look good, Nick."

"Thanks."

"We'll have to get you onstage like that."

He did go onstage like that. Got a good reaction doing it, too. Especially if he did the right moves. Moves. "Dancing."

"Dancing?"

"Let's go dancing."

"Where?"

"Somewhere."

"Nick, there is nowhere. Go dance in the kitchen if you want."

"Come on."

"To the kitchen?"

"I'm not dancing by myself."

"Yes, you will be. Think about who you're asking."

"Get some music."

"Anything else?"

"Change clothes. I'll meet you in the kitchen."

Nick closed his eyes and drifted.

"You're one of the most beautiful people I know," Brian said. "If not the most."

He wanted to move nearer to Brian's touch.

"I love you, Nick. We all do. Howie loves you. AJ loves you. Kevin loves you. Don't let him pretend to be Big Daddy. He's your big brother, that's all. He wants to take care of you. We all do. You can tell us to back off. Everybody has to grow up sometime. Even our little Snickers."

He could find peace here.

"You want me to stay?"

"Yeah."

Brian wriggled closer, rested his temple on Nick's shoulder, and continued to run his fingers through Nick's hair.

Jeff's voice. "Shut your mouth."

"Yes, Miss Janet," Justin responded.

Jeff stomped into the kitchen and dropped a boombox on the counter by the sink. "You owe me for this, Lachey."

"Got good music?"

Jeff muttered to himself, plugging in the boombox, rifling through jewel cases. He turned to Nick and said, "And if your brother laughs at me, he is out of the group."

"Okay."

Jeff glared at him.

"I promise." Aaron wasn't in 98 Degrees anyway. It wasn't a problem.

"Good." Jeff started the CD with a vicious jab at the buttons. "Dressed up like a - - and what kind of dancing do you think you can do in pants that tight?"

"Sex dancing."

"What?"

Oops. It was a Backstreet thing. Or, an AJ thing. "Sex dancing. I don't see any girls around here, so you'll have to do." AJ did it to Howie all of the time, or with Kevin. He wanted to try it.

"Sex dancing," Jeff repeated. "As in, sex."

"Sex dancing. Come on."

"You are on drugs."

"Scared?"

"Of dancing with you? No. Of dancing with your evil twin, yes."

He held out a hand. "Come on, Jeff."

"I know that this is going to end badly," Jeff said, and took his hand.

"Do you get scared sometimes?"

"Sometimes," Brian said.

"What do you do?"

"Pray. Have faith. Try to work it out as best I can. Talk to you."

"Can I talk to you?"

"Any time. Always." Brian's hand rested on his neck, thumb slipping beneath his shirt to stroke his collarbone. "Are you scared now?"

"Yes." He closed his eyes. "Not as much."

"We're going to fall asleep on the floor."

"Without brushing our teeth."

"Good night, Nick."

"Good night, Brian."

He wasn't AJ. This wasn't his body and he'd never, in the technical sense, had sex. But this wasn't too bad. Jeff couldn't dance for shit, so he did most of the work.

Nick knew the moves. Follow the beat, connect with the rhythm, do a lot of thrusting and rubbing and sexy gyrating. In other words, pretend you're AJ McLean, then have sex through your clothes with whoever's in front of you.

It was fun.

Very dirty.

Dirty dancing. He was dirty dancing.

Jeff pushed him away and crouched on the floor, head lowered, one hand out to keep him at bay. "Stop."

"What?" Howie never did that to AJ. Kevin did, once, when AJ's hands got too friendly.

Jeff looked up at him. "Is this a game, are you truly this stupid, or are you trying to get in my pants?"

What? "What?" What?

"These pants are too tight for this," Jeff muttered. "And how can you do that without underwear?"

"How can you all tell I'm not wearing underwear?"

Jeff made a face. "Don't fish for compliments."

Oh. Oh.

"We're not getting into this. I don't know what you're doing, but it's not going anywhere. Yes, it happened once. That was years ago. It was once and now it's done and we've understood that this whole time. Now, I don't know, you're thinking of coming out and you're scared, something. I'm your friend, I love you, I'm here for you. But not in your bed."

Wait.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult your masculinity by saying that you're scared. You're worried about telling your family. I understand that. Nick, we're your family, and we're right here. Your parents won't be any different."

Oh, shit.

"If you want my support, you have it. If you want to find somebody, go for it. But don't get those two things mixed up. You know we can't do that again."

"Excuse me." He walked from the room, unseeing, and made his way upstairs. He locked his bedroom door, went into the bathroom, locked the bathroom door, and threw up in the toilet.

Part Two