It was when Justin attempted to get up and answer the pounding on his hotel room door that he realized his shoes were still on— and thus his clothes from the night before.

He stumbled as he pushed himself off the bed, and in an effort to balance himself, knocked the fifth of vodka off the nightstand. Luckily, the cap was on the bottle. And unluckily for his head, the bottle was empty.

That was when he truly became aware that the room was spinning. He stuck a hand out--fingers splayed towards the bed, and pushed his body upwards again.

Slowly, carefully, and maybe in a straight line, he walked to the door. He balanced himself on the door jam and opened the door, trying not to look like he was still drunk.

The alcohol induced smile, or maybe it was just a baring of teeth, faded under his lawyer’s glare.

"How many times do I need to tell you that you are not to call Britney," Mr. Jones said. He pushed his way into the room.

"She wants Xander," Justin said, a slur dulling his words. He tried again, forming the words carefully with his lips. "She. Wants. Xander."

"I know," Jones said. "And I’ve been working on getting you that damn dog for the last two weeks, but I need to be the one to deal with it. Not you."

"She and I already discussed it though," Justin said.

"And we discussed this two weeks ago. Absolutely, positively no calling the soon to be ex, even if, especially since she wants your dog."

"She said I could have him." Justin felt his shoulders slump.

"And now she says you can’t," Jones said. "I talked to Miranda this morning. Britney’s prepared to go to court over this dog. She says you wouldn’t be a fit caretaker because you’re on the road all the time."

"I’ll bring him with me," Justin said. He looked up and his eyes flashed. "She’s on the road, too."

"It’s just a dog, Justin," Jones said. "You go to court over this dog, and who knows what else will come out. Are you prepared for that?"

"Yes," Justin said. He nearly stumbled as he made his way back to the bed. "I’m not leaving him with her."

"Think," Jones said. "Think long and hard."

The sundeck was all white, lace, and yellow roses. When Lance had decorated it, it had been light wood and deep blue tiles. Even the mug in his hand was white with small yellow flowers on the handle. He couldn’t say he preferred it this way.

"It’s been so long since we did this," Megan said. She was wrapped in a white, terry cloth robe.

"I know," Lance said. He looked across the table as he girlfriend, and then he surreptitiously looked at his watch. Since he’d followed Meredith’s order to not come into the office until it opened for real, she’d decided to push her luck and tell him to spend more time with Megan. He’d figured he’d had to eat breakfast anyway, so why not kill two birds with one stone.

"You work too much," Megan said. She got up from her chair and walked over to Lance. Nudging his legs apart, she sat down on his knee.

"I enjoy work," Lance said.

"I know you do," Megan said. "Listen, Lance, I know things haven’t been the best between us recently, but—"

Lance sighed as Megan trailed off. He really didn’t want to get into this now. "But what?" he asked.

"I’m not ready to give up on us yet," Megan said. "What do you think about us taking a weekend? Just us, no work?"

Lance felt his heart ache slightly. Megan had such a caring, hopeful look on her face. "I can’t now, Meg. Not with Mer’s new album coming out, and making sure that her tour stays on track."

"I know," Megan said. She smiled sadly. "It was just a happy thought."

She looked crestfallen, and a part of Lance wanted to say screw it all and head off to the woods for a few days, but he didn’t. "When I have time, hun, okay? When things settle down."

"Okay," Megan said. She kissed Lance quickly on the cheek and stood up. "Go to the office, and try to get home while I’m still awake, okay?"

"Okay," Lance said. He stood up, and looked at Megan readjusting her robe. Meredith had told him to spend more time with Megan. "Do you want to come by the office and grab dinner tonight?"

Megan’s smile lit up the porch. The white’s seemed whiter, and the yellows looked that much more pastel.

"Some place nice?" she asked. Her expression pleaded yes.

"Sure," Lance said. He thought quickly. "I’ll call Lloyd’s and make a reservation for eight."

Megan clapped her hands. "I love Lloyd’s."

"I know," Lance said. He walked to the door of the porch, and watched as she settled into her chair, coffee cup firmly in hand. "I’ll talk to you later, okay?"

"Yeah," Megan said. She raised the cup to her lips. "Love you."

"Back at you," Lance said. He left the porch, and walked through the house to the BMW in the driveway.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Joey stared at the potted palm in the corner of the room. The hard plastic chair tried to make the curves of his body conform to its shape. The magazines on the coffee table in front of him were several months old.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His knee moved up and down, causing his heel to tap against the linoleum floor.

Tap. Ta—

"Mr. Fatone?"

Joey moved his gaze from the plant to the girl sitting behind the desk. She looked like she might have been a fan at one time. There was just a glimmer of awe behind her bored gaze.

"Joe," he said. "Mr. Fatone is my dad." He smiled.

"Mr. Fatone," the girl said again. "You can go back now. Room seven."

Joey felt the smile slide off his face. "Sure. Thanks." He pushed himself up and began walking past the down the hall.

"Joey," the girl said as he passed.

Joey stopped and looked at her.

"Good luck." She gave him a quick grin before turning back to the computer in front of her. She looked as disinterested as she had before.

"Thanks," he said. He saw her nod before he continued down the hall.

The door to room seven was open. He saw three men inside waiting for him. He took a deep breath and entered the room.

"Question," Chris said as he walked into his agent’s office. The name on the door read ‘Don Francis.’

The man looked up from his desk, a fake smile on his face. "Shoot."

"Do you think we could turn the Chris Kirkpatrick Show into quality programming?" Chris sat in the ratty chair on the other side of the desk.

The smile on Don’s face became real. He began laughing until there were tears in the corners of his eyes. "Quality programming?" he asked as he wiped his eyes. "Sure, and lose two thirds of your audience."

Chris sat back in his chair, no hint of a smirk on his face. His fingers were pursed in the chapel steeple.

"Do you think the producers would go for it?" he asked.

"Nuh-uh," Don said. "You were signed to host the next Springer--the Springer of the new millennium. You’ve been obscenely successful, Chris. They aren’t going to let you change. Why would you want to?"

"Because my wife won’t let my daughter watch the show," Chris said. "I’ve thought a lot about this. I’m the star. I should have some say in the content of my show."

Don nodded, although he didn’t look like he believed what he was agreeing to.

"My contract’s up in a month," Chris said. "Make something happen."

Don nodded again. The smile had completely left his face.

"Good," Chris said. He pushed himself out of the chair. He walked out of the office and shut the door.

JC adjusted the bass lever on the keyboard in front of him. He listened as the beat got louder and heavier. He softened it just slightly. His head moved up and down, keeping time with the beat. He let his fingers fall softly to the keys. The pads of his fingers caressed the imitation ivory.

He looked at the sheet of music on the stand in front of him. He pressed the first chord, having it coincide with the appropriate beat. Then another chord. Then another. And another. His fingers flowed over the keys, making smooth, easy transitions.

He stared at the sheet music without really seeing the notes. He knew them. They had flowed through his brain for days, weeks, his whole life. Five parts. A simple harmony. It was a song that he knew would never see the light of day, because the four people who were meant to sing it with him weren’t doing that anymore.

He started when the door clicked shut behind him. His fingers jumped on the keys, hitting a wrong chord. JC looked over his shoulder, glaring at whomever had torn him from the place he went when he was playing the piano.

"Sorry," Joey said. He ducked his head sheepishly. "I thought I was being quiet."

JC shook his head slightly, trying to shake off the last semblance of his trance like state. "It’s okay." He turned off the bass beat. The room was silent.

"I’d forgotten how deep you go," Joey said. He repeated himself. "Sorry."

"It’s okay," JC said again. He turned around on the swinging piano stool. "What’s up?"

"I just finished that audition I was telling you about," Joey said. He flipped one of the chairs by the wall of the studio around and sat on it backwards.

"How’d it go?" JC asked.

Joey shrugged. "They’ll take the blond guy I saw sitting in the waiting room when I left." He rested his chin on his hand. "What are you doing?"

"Playing," JC said. He looked at the sheet of music on the stand, and then back at Joey. "Fooling around."

"Can I hear?" Joey asked.

JC shrugged. "It’s nothing."

"Nothing?" Joey asked. "Come on, man, you’re going to deprive me, your best friend, the opportunity to hear the next hit of the year on the day it was born? I think not."

"It’s nothing," JC repeated. "I was just playing around."

"It didn’t sound like nothing," Joey said. "It sounded good. Something like what you would have had us listen to ten years ago."

JC blushed. "No. It’s just a tune that was running through my head. That’s all. Just getting it out on paper. You know how those tunes can be." He laughed nervously.

"It is something for us, isn’t it?" Joey asked. "You told me you still think in five parts. This is one of those songs, isn’t it?" He stood up and waked over to the keyboard. He picked up the paper and stared at the notes. He began humming them under his breath.

"I just miss it," JC said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t, but sometimes I do."

"Me too," Joey said. He kept staring at the notes. He handed the paper back to JC. "Play this for me."

JC sighed and turned back to the keyboard. He smoothed out the sheet of music and propped it back up on the stand. He started the bass beat again. Slowly his fingers found the first chord again. Then the next. The harmony began to be audible. He felt himself slipping into the world where only he and the music existed. Joey was just a presence at the back of his mind.

He stopped when he came to the end of the page of notes.

"Wow," Joey said. "You got words to that?"

JC nodded, not turning to look at Joey.

"Someone needs to sing that, Jace," Joey said. "That’s too good a tune to let it languish on a piece of paper."

"I was just playing," JC said.

"Yeah," Lance said. He looked up from the contract in front of him as the door to his office opened.

"Hey," Meredith said as she poked her head in. She grinned widely. "What you doing?"

"Getting your tour contracts ready," Lance said. He set the piece of paper down on his desk, and folded his hands. "Why?"

"I was just checking to see if we were still on for dinner tonight," Meredith said. She walked over to Lance’s desk and sat down on the corner. "I saw your secretary had made reservations at Lloyd’s."

"Shit," Lance said. He let his forehead slap his palm. "No."

"No?" Meredith asked. Her lips formed a small pout. "But I love Lloyd’s."

"I told Meg I’d have dinner with her tonight," Lance said. "But we had plans first. I’ll call and cancel."

"No," Meredith said. She shook her head. "Of course not. I spend more time with you than Meg does anyway. She’d kill me if I took this time away."

"I feel bad though," Lance said.

"Rain check," Meredith said. "And I expect nothing less than Lloyd’s since you got my hopes up."

Lance nodded. His eyes traveled over her body. "Nothing less. I promise."

Justin stared at himself in the mirror. There were black gauges in place of the circles that normally rested above his cheeks. A thick wall of pain rested behind his eyes.

"Your show is going to be shit tonight," Lonnie said from the far side of the room. He was reclined on the threadbare couch.

Justin stared at his reflection. "It’s always shit." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the plastic bag of pills. "The kids can’t tell the difference."

He dumped three reddish pills with the small black word ‘Advil’ into his hand. He popped them into his mouth, and swallowed them without water. "That’ll take care of the headache, anyway," he said.

"Why do you still do this, Timba-lake?" Lonnie asked.

"What do you mean?" Justin asked. He turned around and faced his guard. "I’m a singer. Singing is what I do."

"You haven’t gone on stage without a hangover yet this tour," Lonnie said. "That’s not what singers do."

"I don’t have a right to drink?" Justin asked. "I’m traveling 32 weeks out of the year, and my personal life is more fucked up than I ever thought it could be. I’m 27 years old. I have the right to get sloshed if I want to."

"That’s pretty pathetic, alright," Lonnie said. He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "I’m just bawlin’ like a little baby. It doesn’t answer my question though. Why are you still doing this?"

"I told you. Singing is what I do." Justin turned around and faced the mirror again. He stared at the reflection of his bodyguard in the glass.

"You don’t like it anymore," Lonnie said. "You don’t respect it anymore."

"You sound like JC," Justin said.

"I could sound like worse people," Lonnie said. "At least he seems to be happy with what he’s doing."

"Fuck you," Justin said. "What right do you have to lecture me about this?"

"Name one other person you’d consider a friend," Lonnie said. "And don’t say Jones, cause we both know he’s just using you for the fame you’ll bring him."

Justin stared at himself in the mirror.

"That’s why I have the right," Lonnie said. He crossed his thick arms and nodded his head once.

Chris wrapped his arms around Dani. He buried his nose in her blond hair. "I did it," he said.

"Did what?" Dani asked. She pulled away from Chris slightly. Her eyes searched his face. "What did you do?"

"I talked to Don," Chris said. "I told him I wouldn’t renew my contract unless I got some say in the program topics. Quality programming."

"You didn’t," Dani said. Her eyes kept searching Chris’s face. "You did?"

Chris nodded. "Don was not happy. He doesn’t think the producers’ will go for it."

"I’m so proud of you," Dani said. "If the producers’ don’t go for it, that’s their loss. You’re better than that show."

"I wish I thought so," Chris said. He sighed heavily, no hint of the spark that made him Chris. "What am I going to do if they don’t want me anymore?"

"You’ll find something else," Dani said. "Something better. Something you can look back on and say you were proud to be a part of."

"I was proud to be a part of ‘N SYNC," Chris said.

"You’ll find something else," Dani said again. "You’re the Chris Kirkpatrick. How can you not?"

Lance stopped the BMW in front of the restaurant. He opened his door and handed the keys to the valet that immediately appeared. He walked around the car and opened the door for Megan. She stepped out and linked her arm through his.

"I love this place," she said.

"I know," Lance said. He led her to the door of the restaurant and waited as the doorman opened it for them. "Meredith was jealous when she found out we were coming here tonight."

"She and Tony come here all the time," Megan said. "She always tells me about it."

"Oh," Lance said. He nodded at the maitre d’. "Well, now you can make her jealous."

"I plan on it," Megan said. She clung tighter to Lance’s arm. "She gets too much of your time. I deserve some of it."

"Yeah," Lance said. He gently guided Megan through the maze of tables. "You do."

Megan sat down in the chair the maitre d’ pulled out for her. She smoothed her dress. "I almost think I’d get more of your time if you were still in ‘N SYNC."

"No," Lance said. "Then I was singing, and doing the business. I had less time."

"But I could have gone with you," Megan said. "We could have spent time together on the road."

"Johnny didn’t like girlfriends on the road," Lance said. His voice was more clipped than he’d intended. He softened it. "Relationships didn’t last. Justin and Britney were the only ones to make it, and look at them now. Their relationship thrived on the time spent apart from each other."

"Chris and Danielle are together, right?" Megan smiled at the waiter who poured water in her glass.

"Yeah," Lance said. "But they only got back together after Chris wasn’t doing the group anymore. The road drove them apart, too."

"I still think I’d see you more," Megan said. She studied Lance. "Do you miss being on the road?"

"No," Lance said too quickly. He repeated it. "No."

"So if one of the guys was to call you up, out of the blue, and ask you to reform the group, you’d say no?" Megan raised one of her eyebrows to emphasize the question.

"No," Lance said. "I mean, yes. I’d say no. I have my own business now. I wouldn’t want to leave."

"Okay," Megan said. "Just checking. Just making sure you weren’t going to be running out on me anytime soon."

Lance grabbed one of the menus from the center of the table, opening it to hide the uncertainty on his face from Megan. "André will be here to take our order soon."

He could almost picture Megan’s nod, and the almost hurt look on her face.

"Why don’t we try again?" Joey asked JC. He put his beer down on the bar. "It could be just like old times."

"Yeah, except Chris is like 36 and that is too old to be in a boy band." JC swirled the alcohol around his mouth, warming it up. His tongue stumbled over the words, too big for his mouth.

"Has Chris ever acted his age?" Joey asked. "He probably matches Justin’s 27-year old maturity now."

"He has a wife and kid though," JC said. He took a long swallow of beer. "Why are we talking about this? We will never be ‘N SYNC again. That ended when we walked off the stage that final time."

"We could be the vocal group we always wanted to be," Joey said. "I mean, obviously we’re too old to be doing those dance moves."

"Exactly," JC said. "We’re too old. Why ruin the good name that ‘N SYNC still has by trying to bring it back and failing?"

"Because we’ve already ruined the good name," Joey said. "Look at us, Jace. Look at our lives. As I see it, the only place we can go is up."

"Nuh-uh," JC said. "It would be complete and utter humiliation. We aren’t popular anymore."

"Pop is popular," Joey said. "We could still do it."

"No," JC said. "No."

"You could write the songs," Joey said. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack sitting on the bar between them. He lit it, and put it between his lips. "And Lance could manage us."

"No," JC said.

"And Chris and I will still be the backup singers." A puff of smoke left Joey’s mouth when he spoke.

"You wouldn’t be the back up singers," JC said. He finished off the beer in his mug. "You never were."

"What would we really have to lose?" Joey asked. He tapped the ashes off the end of the cigarette into the ashtray. "I mean, really.

JC just stared into his mug of beer.