a hammer and a chisel and a really big stick
are sometimes needed to break a block. Mine's on a chain around my neck, dragging me down, baby - 200 pounds of cement, at least.
And, lo. Songfic. The last refuge of the unimaginative mind, but I love it. It isn't even slash, and I won't insult Nicky by calling this his birthday-fic (not when AJ at least got sex), but there's Critter, and bowling, and Joydrop, and things.
And sometimes you just have to sing at the top of your lungs, even if there's no-one there to listen.
Sometimes
He really hated shit like this.
It would be a lot better if he'd just stop looking around so much, like he was expecting anyone else to be there. This wasn't one of _those_ things, he wasn't part of a group, here. He was Nick fucking Carter, okay? Even if, tonight, he was mostly Aaron's big brother. 'Just get _over_ it,' he said to himself, and put a scowl on his face because he thought it might make him stop feeling like he was going to cry.
And he was _not_ going to cry, dammit.
He'd only just stepped backstage when he felt it, arms around his waist and neck, pulling him down, and he hugged back automatically, without even really knowing who it was holding him, until a voice whispered into his ear.
"How you doin', kid?" Chris asked him, sympathetically.
Nick didn't say anything, because he felt like he was going to cry, again, and he _wasn't_, okay? He just pressed his lips together and shook his head, and Chris hugged him a little harder - like that was even _possible_ - and Nick held on to him, maybe just a little bit too long.
The other *NSync guys came over and hugged him, too, even Justin, while Chris waved away photographers - not because Nick was in a rival loser boyband with one member in rehab, but because this wasn't about that, not about publicity or made-up rivalries. This was about the fact that Nick was in pain, and he needed a hug, or maybe even five.
Eventually, Chris came around again and hugged him and rubbed his head and made him smile - even though, shit, Nick was more than half-a-foot taller than the guy, and he could have picked Chris up and slung him over his shoulder like he was Aaron, no problem. Of course, Chris had been doing this to him since he was a kid - 'since I was a kid,' Nick thought, like it was a hundred years ago, or something. Or maybe it just felt like that, sometimes, when he was alone without his Boys around, without his brothers. But, he understood why they weren't here, why they couldn't be, and almost wished that he wasn't, either.
Then Chris let him go, and Nick turned around and blinked a couple of times and went to find his _real_ brother.
'Real,' huh. Like all the rest of them were just figments of his imagination, or something. Ghosts, maybe.
The thing was, he knew how to do this - how to smile and pretend he wanted to be here, pretend that he belonged. This wasn't real, and it was almost his entire life - smiling for the cameras, smiling for the fans, singing when they told him to, moving onto the marks. He knew how to do _this_, this game of make-believe, and he knew it so well he could barely remember a time when he hadn't known what it was to belong almost entirely to someone else - to the fans, to the Firm, to the entire freaking _world_. He could do this with his arms tied behind his back, blindfolded, and gagged, with his heart ripped out of his chest.
As a matter of fact, it was _easier_ that way. A lot easier.
He smiled a lot, that night.
don't worry 'bout one thing
don't worry 'bout nothing
she said I'm not gonna let this one go
nobody's on my side
nobody seems to see
how much, how deep, how far these things can be
"How ya doin', baby boy?" Chris sat down in a chair beside Nick and patted him on the knee.
Nick smiled. Chris was the only person in the world he knew who could say something like that without having it mean something else - without making it a sneer, or a dig, or a burn. He meant just what he said - even the 'baby' part. Maybe especially that.
"Oh, I'm just fine, old man," Nick said, patting him back, but on the head.
Chris wrinkled his nose at him, and Nick laughed. "Great night, eh?"
Nick shrugged, looking around the milling crowd to see if he could catch sight of Aaron. It wasn't his job to keep an eye on his little brother - that's what the bodyguards and publicist were there for, after all - but he liked to keep him in his sights, nevertheless, to make sure that nobody gave him a hard time. Of course, Aaron was already a long-time veteran of stuff like this, and it all seemed to roll right off his back. That made Nick sad in some way that he couldn't quite explain, to himself or anyone else. "It's okay."
"Yeah, it's a regular thrill-ride. So, do you want to get the hell out of here as badly as I do, or what?"
Nick glanced over at him, trying to figure out if this was a pity-offer or not, and whether or not he really cared even if it was. Chris was looking at him evenly, one eyebrow raised, waiting for him to answer the question. Nick looked down at his hands. "And do what instead?"
"Oh, I don't know," Chris said. "Go bowling?"
Nick grinned, genuinely surprised. "Bowling?"
"Yeah. I know this twenty-four-hour rock-and-bowl place not too far from here. It's cool. They've got great cheeseburgers."
"Only _you_ would want to leave a big exciting party like this and go _bowling_," Nick said.
"What? You mean to tell me that the thought of standing around in rented shoes that have known the fungi of a thousand feet before you doesn't thrill you to the bone?" Nick laughed, and Chris chuckled, too. "So," he added, standing up with an expectant look, "you coming with, or what?"
Nick looked around again. Aaron had a reporter from one of the teen magazines wrapped around his little finger, his publicist standing a discreet distance away and seeming like she was going to burst into tears from sheer happiness. Nick sighed and stood up. "Sure," he said. "Let's go."
and everywhere I go
and everyone I see
somehow almost sets me free
and the space where we meet
is different from the rest
and I just can't seem to forget that
Chris was a surprisingly good bowler - or maybe not so surprisingly, since Nick seemed to remember a birthday party not too long past when one of the guys had gotten Chris his own ball, with his name on it and everything. At the time, it had seemed like a great gag gift, but now he wasn't so sure that it was so much of a joke.
Still Nick managed to rally in the third game and finally hit his stride, even though it had literally been years since he'd been bowling. By the fourth game, he was actually having fun. It helped that it was pretty late, and there weren't a whole lot of people in the place, so they weren't interrupted by anyone other than a waitress who came by to them bring root beers and a big basket of fries and onion rings. She knew Chris by name, and Nick didn't think it was because she was a big fan of his music, considering that she looked about fifty-five, and the 'rock' that played in this place was circa 1962.
"You a regular here?" Nick asked, when they'd finished the fourth game and sat down to a couple of double cheeseburger platters.
Chris shrugged. "I don't know about 'regular' - " he started, then stopped himself to wave at one of maintenance workers who called out his name from a couple lanes over. Nick grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Okay. So I like to come here sometimes. These are my kind of people. Thanks, Maggie, you're a sweetheart," he said to their waitress, who brought over ketchup and extra napkins. "No questions, no autographs - to these guys, I'm just plain Chris, not the 'S' in *NSync."
"Yeah," Nick said, peeling pickles off his burger. "That must be nice."
"So," Chris said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "How are you _really_ doing, Nick? No bullshit."
"No bullshit? I'm fine," Nick said, repeating it for what felt like the twenty-thousandth time in the last five weeks. It was true, and even if it wasn't, it didn't matter how _he_ was doing, not in the big picture.
"Uh-huh," Chris muttered, under his breath. "Look, kid - "
"I'm not a _kid_, okay?" Nick said, frustrated. "Not _a_ kid, and certainly not _your_ kid, so you don't have to babysit me or play father-knows-best. I get enough of that from Kevin." He looked up. "Or are you two trading off, and he's going to be riding Justin's ass sometime in the future?"
Chris laughed. "Okay, I'd really like to see _that_ happen," he said. "No, seriously. If you can set it up, I'd be forever in your debt. We could sell tickets. It'd be bigger than Tyson-Holyfield."
Reluctantly, Nick had to smile. It was a pretty funny thought, though - just to put Kevin and Justin in a room together and watch the sparks fly. Kevin's laid-back drawl would drive Justin insane, and Justin's beat-boxing smart mouth would tick Kevin right the hell off. "Yeah," he said.
"I'm not sitting here talking to you, Nick, because I have to or I feel like I owe you something. I _like_ you, you doofus." Nick chuckled, because, somehow, Chris calling him names really did seem to reinforce the fact that they were friends, and had been for a long time. "I want you to know that you can talk to me, or, you know, come over to my house and play video games, if you want."
"You get any better than you were the last time we played?" Nick asked, slyly. "'Cause, you know, that was just sad. I thought maybe you were gonna cry."
"I was _not_!" Chris yelped, making Nick laugh. "You are just asking to have your ass handed to you on a platter, you know that, boy?"
"Right," Nick said, nodding his head. "Anytime, old man. Name the time and the place."
Chris looked at his watch. "We can be back at my place within an hour."
"Tonight?" Nick looked at him, surprised.
"What, you got something better to do? Or are you all talk, no action?"
Nick _knew_ Chris was still worried about him, and was just trying to distract him, trying to make him have some fun. He knew that, and he also knew that it didn't matter _why_ Chris was doing it, so much as the fact that he _was_ doing it. "Okay," he agreed. "Sure. You're on."
Chris grinned, and popped a french fry in his mouth. "Now you're talking."
and you were at the start
and now you are the end
and you left me with nothing to defend
I need the voice of a good friend
can't stop myself from laughing
no matter how sad these things can be
these things can be
"Here," Chris said, tossing a pair of basketball shorts at Nick's head. "These should fit you. If not, I'll have to wrap you in the bedsheets, 'cause they're the only thing left."
"If you weren't such a midget," Nick said, voice muffled by the worn cotton, "I could have worn your sweatpants without them coming up to my knees." He pulled the shorts off his head and put them on; the t-shirt Chris had given him to wear, at least, was roomy.
"Ha ha ha," Chris said. "Funny words, from someone about to get his ass kicked. You will find, Grasshopper," he added, putting an arm on Nick's shoulder and leading him down to the living room, "that height matters not in the mystical ways of the Playstation; it is _all_ about the skill. You want something to drink?"
"Sure," Nick shrugged, and sat down on the floor in front of the couch, where they'd left the controllers after Chris decided that Tony Hawk couldn't be played properly in 'show clothes.'
"I always wondered why Kevin didn't give you cigarettes or make you drink coffee when you were a kid, you know," Chris said, handing over a Coke and dropping down to the floor himself. "Stunt your growth, so he could be the freakishly huge one among the band of midgets."
Nick snorted, Coke flying around him, and Chris had to thump him on the back so he could start breathing normally again. "Don't do that," Nick said, coughing. "Now I know why they warn kids against snorting Coke," he added, and then, realizing what he'd just said, put the can carefully down on the suddenly-blurred floor. "Oh, shit."
"It's going to be okay," Chris said, patting Nick's knee, and Nick looked at him, and then quickly away.
"I want him to be okay," Nick said, rubbing the back of his hand against his wet eyes. "But I can't do anything, and I just feel so - useless. Stupid."
"I know," Chris said, sympathetically, and Nick sputtered out a laugh.
"Well, thanks," Nick said. "I'm glad you agree."
Chris grinned at him, swatting him playfully in the head. "You know what I meant," he grumbled, and Nick nodded. "I mean, there really isn't anything you _can_ do, except what you've been doing. Just take it one day at a time, you know. Try to keep it together if you can, and when you can't do it anymore, let it out."
"Did Kevin ask you to talk to me?" Nick asked, suddenly.
Chris shook his head. "Nope."
"Okay," Nick said, and pushed his palms into his eyes, to stop the flood-tide. "Okay," he sniffled, again, and wiped his hands on the shorts he was wearing. "So, are we going to play this, or what?"
"Darn right," Chris said. "I've just been waiting for the chance to get you on my home turf and beat the pants off you, baby boy. And, it's going to be even easier, now, considering that they're even _my_ pants!"
Nick grinned. "You wish, old man," he said, giving Chris a push on the shoulder. "Enough talk, and more action."
"Let the battle begin," Chris agreed, and started the game.
my eyes are bright and
I still don't even know you
I still wish that I could hold you
I still don't even know you
I sometimes wanna die
And, lo. Songfic. The last refuge of the unimaginative mind, but I love it. It isn't even slash, and I won't insult Nicky by calling this his birthday-fic (not when AJ at least got sex), but there's Critter, and bowling, and Joydrop, and things.
And sometimes you just have to sing at the top of your lungs, even if there's no-one there to listen.
Sometimes
He really hated shit like this.
It would be a lot better if he'd just stop looking around so much, like he was expecting anyone else to be there. This wasn't one of _those_ things, he wasn't part of a group, here. He was Nick fucking Carter, okay? Even if, tonight, he was mostly Aaron's big brother. 'Just get _over_ it,' he said to himself, and put a scowl on his face because he thought it might make him stop feeling like he was going to cry.
And he was _not_ going to cry, dammit.
He'd only just stepped backstage when he felt it, arms around his waist and neck, pulling him down, and he hugged back automatically, without even really knowing who it was holding him, until a voice whispered into his ear.
"How you doin', kid?" Chris asked him, sympathetically.
Nick didn't say anything, because he felt like he was going to cry, again, and he _wasn't_, okay? He just pressed his lips together and shook his head, and Chris hugged him a little harder - like that was even _possible_ - and Nick held on to him, maybe just a little bit too long.
The other *NSync guys came over and hugged him, too, even Justin, while Chris waved away photographers - not because Nick was in a rival loser boyband with one member in rehab, but because this wasn't about that, not about publicity or made-up rivalries. This was about the fact that Nick was in pain, and he needed a hug, or maybe even five.
Eventually, Chris came around again and hugged him and rubbed his head and made him smile - even though, shit, Nick was more than half-a-foot taller than the guy, and he could have picked Chris up and slung him over his shoulder like he was Aaron, no problem. Of course, Chris had been doing this to him since he was a kid - 'since I was a kid,' Nick thought, like it was a hundred years ago, or something. Or maybe it just felt like that, sometimes, when he was alone without his Boys around, without his brothers. But, he understood why they weren't here, why they couldn't be, and almost wished that he wasn't, either.
Then Chris let him go, and Nick turned around and blinked a couple of times and went to find his _real_ brother.
'Real,' huh. Like all the rest of them were just figments of his imagination, or something. Ghosts, maybe.
The thing was, he knew how to do this - how to smile and pretend he wanted to be here, pretend that he belonged. This wasn't real, and it was almost his entire life - smiling for the cameras, smiling for the fans, singing when they told him to, moving onto the marks. He knew how to do _this_, this game of make-believe, and he knew it so well he could barely remember a time when he hadn't known what it was to belong almost entirely to someone else - to the fans, to the Firm, to the entire freaking _world_. He could do this with his arms tied behind his back, blindfolded, and gagged, with his heart ripped out of his chest.
As a matter of fact, it was _easier_ that way. A lot easier.
He smiled a lot, that night.
don't worry 'bout one thing
don't worry 'bout nothing
she said I'm not gonna let this one go
nobody's on my side
nobody seems to see
how much, how deep, how far these things can be
"How ya doin', baby boy?" Chris sat down in a chair beside Nick and patted him on the knee.
Nick smiled. Chris was the only person in the world he knew who could say something like that without having it mean something else - without making it a sneer, or a dig, or a burn. He meant just what he said - even the 'baby' part. Maybe especially that.
"Oh, I'm just fine, old man," Nick said, patting him back, but on the head.
Chris wrinkled his nose at him, and Nick laughed. "Great night, eh?"
Nick shrugged, looking around the milling crowd to see if he could catch sight of Aaron. It wasn't his job to keep an eye on his little brother - that's what the bodyguards and publicist were there for, after all - but he liked to keep him in his sights, nevertheless, to make sure that nobody gave him a hard time. Of course, Aaron was already a long-time veteran of stuff like this, and it all seemed to roll right off his back. That made Nick sad in some way that he couldn't quite explain, to himself or anyone else. "It's okay."
"Yeah, it's a regular thrill-ride. So, do you want to get the hell out of here as badly as I do, or what?"
Nick glanced over at him, trying to figure out if this was a pity-offer or not, and whether or not he really cared even if it was. Chris was looking at him evenly, one eyebrow raised, waiting for him to answer the question. Nick looked down at his hands. "And do what instead?"
"Oh, I don't know," Chris said. "Go bowling?"
Nick grinned, genuinely surprised. "Bowling?"
"Yeah. I know this twenty-four-hour rock-and-bowl place not too far from here. It's cool. They've got great cheeseburgers."
"Only _you_ would want to leave a big exciting party like this and go _bowling_," Nick said.
"What? You mean to tell me that the thought of standing around in rented shoes that have known the fungi of a thousand feet before you doesn't thrill you to the bone?" Nick laughed, and Chris chuckled, too. "So," he added, standing up with an expectant look, "you coming with, or what?"
Nick looked around again. Aaron had a reporter from one of the teen magazines wrapped around his little finger, his publicist standing a discreet distance away and seeming like she was going to burst into tears from sheer happiness. Nick sighed and stood up. "Sure," he said. "Let's go."
and everywhere I go
and everyone I see
somehow almost sets me free
and the space where we meet
is different from the rest
and I just can't seem to forget that
Chris was a surprisingly good bowler - or maybe not so surprisingly, since Nick seemed to remember a birthday party not too long past when one of the guys had gotten Chris his own ball, with his name on it and everything. At the time, it had seemed like a great gag gift, but now he wasn't so sure that it was so much of a joke.
Still Nick managed to rally in the third game and finally hit his stride, even though it had literally been years since he'd been bowling. By the fourth game, he was actually having fun. It helped that it was pretty late, and there weren't a whole lot of people in the place, so they weren't interrupted by anyone other than a waitress who came by to them bring root beers and a big basket of fries and onion rings. She knew Chris by name, and Nick didn't think it was because she was a big fan of his music, considering that she looked about fifty-five, and the 'rock' that played in this place was circa 1962.
"You a regular here?" Nick asked, when they'd finished the fourth game and sat down to a couple of double cheeseburger platters.
Chris shrugged. "I don't know about 'regular' - " he started, then stopped himself to wave at one of maintenance workers who called out his name from a couple lanes over. Nick grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Okay. So I like to come here sometimes. These are my kind of people. Thanks, Maggie, you're a sweetheart," he said to their waitress, who brought over ketchup and extra napkins. "No questions, no autographs - to these guys, I'm just plain Chris, not the 'S' in *NSync."
"Yeah," Nick said, peeling pickles off his burger. "That must be nice."
"So," Chris said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "How are you _really_ doing, Nick? No bullshit."
"No bullshit? I'm fine," Nick said, repeating it for what felt like the twenty-thousandth time in the last five weeks. It was true, and even if it wasn't, it didn't matter how _he_ was doing, not in the big picture.
"Uh-huh," Chris muttered, under his breath. "Look, kid - "
"I'm not a _kid_, okay?" Nick said, frustrated. "Not _a_ kid, and certainly not _your_ kid, so you don't have to babysit me or play father-knows-best. I get enough of that from Kevin." He looked up. "Or are you two trading off, and he's going to be riding Justin's ass sometime in the future?"
Chris laughed. "Okay, I'd really like to see _that_ happen," he said. "No, seriously. If you can set it up, I'd be forever in your debt. We could sell tickets. It'd be bigger than Tyson-Holyfield."
Reluctantly, Nick had to smile. It was a pretty funny thought, though - just to put Kevin and Justin in a room together and watch the sparks fly. Kevin's laid-back drawl would drive Justin insane, and Justin's beat-boxing smart mouth would tick Kevin right the hell off. "Yeah," he said.
"I'm not sitting here talking to you, Nick, because I have to or I feel like I owe you something. I _like_ you, you doofus." Nick chuckled, because, somehow, Chris calling him names really did seem to reinforce the fact that they were friends, and had been for a long time. "I want you to know that you can talk to me, or, you know, come over to my house and play video games, if you want."
"You get any better than you were the last time we played?" Nick asked, slyly. "'Cause, you know, that was just sad. I thought maybe you were gonna cry."
"I was _not_!" Chris yelped, making Nick laugh. "You are just asking to have your ass handed to you on a platter, you know that, boy?"
"Right," Nick said, nodding his head. "Anytime, old man. Name the time and the place."
Chris looked at his watch. "We can be back at my place within an hour."
"Tonight?" Nick looked at him, surprised.
"What, you got something better to do? Or are you all talk, no action?"
Nick _knew_ Chris was still worried about him, and was just trying to distract him, trying to make him have some fun. He knew that, and he also knew that it didn't matter _why_ Chris was doing it, so much as the fact that he _was_ doing it. "Okay," he agreed. "Sure. You're on."
Chris grinned, and popped a french fry in his mouth. "Now you're talking."
and you were at the start
and now you are the end
and you left me with nothing to defend
I need the voice of a good friend
can't stop myself from laughing
no matter how sad these things can be
these things can be
"Here," Chris said, tossing a pair of basketball shorts at Nick's head. "These should fit you. If not, I'll have to wrap you in the bedsheets, 'cause they're the only thing left."
"If you weren't such a midget," Nick said, voice muffled by the worn cotton, "I could have worn your sweatpants without them coming up to my knees." He pulled the shorts off his head and put them on; the t-shirt Chris had given him to wear, at least, was roomy.
"Ha ha ha," Chris said. "Funny words, from someone about to get his ass kicked. You will find, Grasshopper," he added, putting an arm on Nick's shoulder and leading him down to the living room, "that height matters not in the mystical ways of the Playstation; it is _all_ about the skill. You want something to drink?"
"Sure," Nick shrugged, and sat down on the floor in front of the couch, where they'd left the controllers after Chris decided that Tony Hawk couldn't be played properly in 'show clothes.'
"I always wondered why Kevin didn't give you cigarettes or make you drink coffee when you were a kid, you know," Chris said, handing over a Coke and dropping down to the floor himself. "Stunt your growth, so he could be the freakishly huge one among the band of midgets."
Nick snorted, Coke flying around him, and Chris had to thump him on the back so he could start breathing normally again. "Don't do that," Nick said, coughing. "Now I know why they warn kids against snorting Coke," he added, and then, realizing what he'd just said, put the can carefully down on the suddenly-blurred floor. "Oh, shit."
"It's going to be okay," Chris said, patting Nick's knee, and Nick looked at him, and then quickly away.
"I want him to be okay," Nick said, rubbing the back of his hand against his wet eyes. "But I can't do anything, and I just feel so - useless. Stupid."
"I know," Chris said, sympathetically, and Nick sputtered out a laugh.
"Well, thanks," Nick said. "I'm glad you agree."
Chris grinned at him, swatting him playfully in the head. "You know what I meant," he grumbled, and Nick nodded. "I mean, there really isn't anything you _can_ do, except what you've been doing. Just take it one day at a time, you know. Try to keep it together if you can, and when you can't do it anymore, let it out."
"Did Kevin ask you to talk to me?" Nick asked, suddenly.
Chris shook his head. "Nope."
"Okay," Nick said, and pushed his palms into his eyes, to stop the flood-tide. "Okay," he sniffled, again, and wiped his hands on the shorts he was wearing. "So, are we going to play this, or what?"
"Darn right," Chris said. "I've just been waiting for the chance to get you on my home turf and beat the pants off you, baby boy. And, it's going to be even easier, now, considering that they're even _my_ pants!"
Nick grinned. "You wish, old man," he said, giving Chris a push on the shoulder. "Enough talk, and more action."
"Let the battle begin," Chris agreed, and started the game.
my eyes are bright and
I still don't even know you
I still wish that I could hold you
I still don't even know you
I sometimes wanna die