Secret Chord
by Kittie

JC was up early.

Chris opened his eyes, rolling over and burying his face in his pillows as the banging of cabinet doors and the rattle of pots and pans brought him slowly out of a deep sleep. He glanced one-eyed at the alarm clock and swore softly; he still had fifteen minutes before he had to be up. JC had probably gotten it into his head to make them both breakfast as an apology for breaking that picture frame yesterday. The fact that it had been a very ugly picture frame with a very ugly picture in it didn't seem to do much to assuage his guilt, and the constant spoken apologies weren't working either. Maybe this breakfast would snap him out of it. Well, if nothing burned. JC in the kitchen was always something of a gamble.

Chris yawned widely and then grimaced, smacking his lips and cringing away from his own morning breath. He rolled out of bed and turned off the alarm before shuffling into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "Morning," he called down the steps, holding a hand in front of his mouth. He made a mental note not to speak again until he was minty fresh. JC's reply was lost as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

A few minutes later he emerged with a fresh face and clean teeth and headed downstairs to survey the damage. He didn't smell any smoke, which was a good sign, but he'd been lured into false complacency before and if there was one thing people always said about Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick, it was that he learned from his mistakes.

"Morning," he said again as he entered the kitchen.

JC looked up from the bowl he was stirring, his hair a wild nest of curls around his head and his smile wide. "Hi! I'm making pancakes."

Chris eyed the flour all over the counter and all over JC. "Uh-huh. Why's that?"

JC's smile faded a little and he looked back down into the bowl, stirring furiously. "I just wanted to."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that picture frame, would it?" Chris patted his brother on the head and coughed when a cloud of flour was dislodged into the air.

"What picture frame?" JC asked, but the blush on his cheeks gave him away.

Chris rolled his eyes and took two glasses from the cabinet, pouring them both some orange juice. "Right. Never mind, then." He took a seat at the kitchen table and opened the newspaper JC had placed there for him. "So, what do you have planned for today, 'C? After breakfast, I mean."

JC shrugged, sending more flour into the air. "I dunno. I have a couple of paintings I need to work on, but I think I'm also getting somewhere with my sonata, so I guess I'll just see what flows."

"Sonata?" Chris wrinkled his nose in confusion. "I thought you were doing a march?"

"I finished that," JC answered, his smile returning in full force. "I'll play it for you after dinner tonight."

JC had tons of music lying around the house--finished and unfinished pieces that he never bothered to record properly. They were all written out by hand on music paper, the notes painstakingly drawn in with a number two pencil. Chris had tried to get him to use the computer and the special program he'd purchased just for transcribing music, but JC seemed to be a little afraid of the thing. He had a thing about PCs. Chris would have to buy JC a Mac as soon as he'd saved up enough money, but the damned things were so expensive, he really hated to do it. Of course, he was a sucker when it came to doing things for JC.

JC was pouring batter into the frying pan now, tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth in concentration. Chris smiled fondly at him and went back to the newspaper.

~*~

The pancakes had gone well, JC mused, scrubbing busily at the frying pan. Chris had liked them, he could tell. He made a mental note to add a bit more sugar and cinnamon to the batter next time. He'd hardly tasted the difference from the usual mix. Chris, as always, had laughed at him for putting honey on his pancakes instead of syrup, but JC was sure he'd win his brother over one day. Honey was underrated.

After he finished washing the dishes, he set about sweeping the floor. He'd spilled more flour than he'd realized, and it took him longer than expected. Then, after the floor was finished, he had to wash the counters and refrigerator as well. The flour seemed to have gotten everywhere.

Finally satisfied with the kitchen, he went upstairs for a bath. Chris had left his towel on the floor after his shower, so he picked that up and hung it on the rack where it belonged. Then he took a detour back into the kitchen to write Chris a note that they were almost out of bubble bath, before relaxing into the tub.

Bath time was his favorite part of the day. There was something about lying naked in a tub full of hot water and surrounded by bubbles that made him feel good. Relaxed. Light. He lifted a handful of bubbles in his hand and squinted at them, noting how many different colors they made. Bubbles were really beautiful, if you actually took the time to look. He wondered if bath bubbles were different than dish water bubbles, and if those were different from the bubbles you blew with those bubble-blowing wands. Were there other kinds of bubbles? Bubble gum made bubbles, but those were of a different sort entirely. He decided to ask Chris to buy a bunch of different soaps so he could make bubbles and perform an experiment. Oooh, and he could do a painting about bubbles! It would be really pretty. And he could put a butterfly in there, because butterflies were pretty, too.

He ducked his head under the water and almost swallowed some when he realized how cold it had gotten. He must have been thinking about bubbles for much longer than he'd thought. He stood slowly and dried himself off with his favorite towel. He liked it so much that he washed and dried it after every use, so it would always be clean and fluffy. Chris only wanted his towels washed once every two weeks or so, which JC just didn't understand. Chris' towels were almost never clean and fluffy.

After he'd drained and cleaned the tub, JC stood quietly in the bathroom, undecided on what to do next. He really wanted to do his bubble experiment, but first he would need Chris to go to the store to buy all of those different soaps. He thought about that as he took his towel and his clothes from yesterday into the laundry room. Chris was so overworked, lately, why should he have to go to the store on top of everything else? They didn't need any more groceries--those had all been bought just the other day. JC decided to go to the store by himself, to save Chris the trip.

He hummed happily to himself as he poured the laundry soap. Oooh, laundry soap! He hadn't thought of that for his list. And what if powdered laundry soap made different bubbles than the liquid kind? He took out his pocket notebook and wrote down "powdered soap" so he'd remember to add it to his list. Maybe he could get different brands, too. For variety.

With the washer running, he went into the kitchen to complete his list and to gather up a few dollars from the JC Emergency Fund. The JC Emergency Fund was different from the Chris Emergency Fund, and they were kept in different places. JC knew Chris had told him where the Chris Emergency Fund was, but he'd forgotten. It wasn't important, since he wasn't supposed to touch it, anyway. That was why they had the JC Emergency Fund in the first place. JC emergencies were usually spur-of-the-moment and fun. Chris emergencies were boring and sometimes scary, and sometimes they made JC cry. He felt tears prickling at his eyes just remembering, so he stopped thinking about it and instead concentrated on counting the bills in the JC Emergency Fund, which was actually a cookie jar with pretty purple flowers painted on it. He got to $96.00 before he got bored and stopped, and then dropped two twenties back in. He wasn't sure how much the soap would cost, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't add up to the $56.00 he had left.

He did a quick check to make sure he had everything he needed. Wallet? Check. Money? Check. Shoes and socks? Check. Shopping list? Check. JC stuffed the bills into his wallet and stepped out into the sun.

~*~

"Hey, Mr. K."

Chris glanced up, startled, as AJ walked by his office with the mail. "Hi, AJ," he called, taking the interruption as an opportunity to stretch his limbs and rest his eyes from staring at the computer screen. He stood and went out into the hallway, leaning against the wall. "How goes it?"

AJ shrugged as he sorted through his mail cart. "It goes. Had a bad morning."

"Sorry to hear that." Chris took the pile of mail AJ offered and watched as he carefully distributed the rest of the mail for their department. He fell into step with the younger man as he headed back to the elevators. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." AJ gave him an apologetic look. "It's just... stuff. With, um.... Howie."

Chris frowned a bit. AJ and Howie were an unlikely couple, but they seemed to work. Where AJ was tattooed and pierced, Howie was clean-cut. AJ had a taste for wearing all black; Howie liked pastels. AJ loved heavy metal, rap, and R&B; Howie tended towards pop and salsa. But they loved each other, and though Chris would never tell AJ, he thought they were pretty cute together. "You guys have a fight?"

AJ shrugged again. "I dunno, I guess. Look, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Tell you what...." Chris held the door to the elevator when it opened. "Why don't you meet me back here at around 12:20 and we'll go to lunch? You can tell me all about it then."

AJ hesitated for a moment, then nodded hesitantly. "Okay. Thanks, Mr. K."

Chris rolled his eyes. "How many times have I told you not to call me that? We're still friends during business hours, you know."

"Sorry, Mr. K," AJ said, rewarding him with a small grin.

Chris stuck his tongue out at the young man just before the doors closed. Impudent little bastard. Just Chris' kind of guy.

Lance was waiting for him in his office when he got back. Strangely enough, Lance was Chris' kind of guy, too, even if he did look a little too much like a corporate suit. "Hey, Lance," he said, sliding back into his chair. "What's up?"

"Goofing off with AJ again?" Lance asked, his stiff posture and intent green eyes seeming to telegraph disapproval.

"Yup," Chris answered cheerfully, knowing Lance much too well to fall for that act. "And you're goofing off with me."

"Hmm...." Lance's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Maybe."

"Maybe nothing. You could be working right now, but you're not. You're in here. With me."

"Business meeting," Lance corrected, eyes twinkling.

"I bow to the master." Chris nodded his head in mock reverence. "Should we close the door, then?"

"Why not?" Lance leaned back and began to clean beneath one of his fingernails. "Go ahead, I'll wait."

Chris had just opened his mouth to give Lance a few choice words when his phone rang. He made a sour face and picked it up, ignoring Lance's chuckles. "Fitzgerald, Ware & Associates, this is Kirkpatrick, may I help you?"

"Hello, may I speak with Christopher Kirkpatrick, please?"

Chris crossed his eyes at Lance. "This is he, may I help you?"

"I'm calling from Nightingale General Hospital in regards to your brother, Joshua Kirkpatrick."

Chris' smile faded and he sat straight up in his chair. "What? What happened to him?"

Lance frowned at him, mouthing "JC?" and leaning forward with concerned eyes.

"There has been a traffic accident," the clinical voice on the other end of the line answered. Chris didn't really hear the rest of what she said.

~*~

JC was fine.

Chris had to keep reminding himself of that fact as the nurse led him down the hallway to the room where JC was laid up with a broken leg. He was fine. One broken bone and a mild concussion. No biggie. JC was fine.

He'd nearly broken all land speed records getting to the hospital, leaving Lance to explain his absence to AJ and to anyone else who asked. Lance would also take care of finding out if Chris would be able to take time off to care for JC during his recovery. He'd been pretty sure it would be alright--Kevin S. Richardson was nothing if not a fair and understanding boss, but it would be nice if it could be a paid absence.

The nurse stopped in front of an open door and knocked softly it before stepping inside. "Joshua?" she said quietly, "You brother is here."

Chris followed her in and his breath caught when he saw JC. He looked small and pale in the hospital bed, his leg suspended above the bed and a bulky bandage on his forehead. But his smile was wide and genuine, and Chris felt most of his fear wash away.

"Chris!" JC reached out his arms and Chris dove into them, hugging him as tightly as he could without jostling the injured leg. "I'm okay," JC murmured into his shoulder, squeezing him tight. "You didn't have to come."

Chris pulled away slightly and stared at him incredulously. "You got run over by a motorcycle!"

JC waved to the nurse as she stepped discreetly from the room, then turned back to Chris. "I didn't get run over," he said, wide-eyed. "Did they tell you that?"

"Run over, hit, whatever." Chris sat down by the bed and took JC's hand, needing the contact. "Do you have any idea how scared I was when I got that call? And what were you doing out in the street, anyway?"

JC's eyes lit up. "I went to the store for you!"

"For me? But we didn't need anything."

"I wanted soap, for bubbles."

"Bubbles."

"Yes. And I thought you shouldn't have to go to the store for that, so I used my Emergency Fund and I bought them myself." He stopped, eyes widening. "Did they save my soap? I was almost home when I--"

"Don't worry about your soap, JC," Chris interrupted, throat tightening. "I'll buy you more, okay? Just don't worry about it."

"I'm okay, Chris," JC said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Chris took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know."

~*~

"Excuse me?"

Joey fidgeted nervously in front of the hospital's reception desk, running a hand through his hair. "I'm here to see Joshua Kirkpatrick, what room is he in?"

"Name, please?" The nurse consulted her computer screen, not even looking up at him.

"Um, Joey. Fatone. I... I wanted to visit...."

"Room 534," the nurse interrupted. "Elevators are just down the hall."

"Thanks." Joey walked away from the desk slowly, his tread heavy. His mother had warned him against that damned bike, but had he listened? No. And now he'd gone and hit a guy, which was just.... He sighed. It sucked. A lot.

He punched the button for the fifth floor a little harder than necessary when he got into the elevator, then let out a sigh and leaned against the wall, fingering the bandage on his hand. That was his worst injury. It looked like most of the skin on his hand had been scraped off by the asphalt, but the doctor had said it wasn't as bad as all that. Either way, his hand throbbed with every beat of his heart. He made himself stop his mental pity party. This other guy was in much worse shape.

He found room 534 easily and poked his head in the door. "Um, hello?"

The man in the bed looked up from a pad he'd been writing on and grinned. "Hi!"

Joey hesitated. "Um...."

"You're not a nurse," the patient said, looking him up and down curiously.

"No, I...." He stepped further inside and stood stiffly by the bed. "I'm Joey Fatone. I was... it was my... my bike."

"Oh!" Kirkpatrick's gaze went to his hand. "You got hurt, too?"

"Just scraped up a little." He looked down at the floor, shuffling his feet. "Look, Mr Kirkp--"

"JC."

"Huh?" He lifted his head again, startled and confused.

"JC. My name is JC."

"Oh. Okay, JC. Well, I wanted to apologize--"

"Is your bike okay?"

Joey stopped, even more confused now. "What?"

"Is your bike okay? It was a pretty bike."

"Oh, yeah, she's fine." He waved off JC's concerns, taking a seat in the chair by the bed. "She's a big gal, it'd take more than a bit of a spill to put her out of commission."

"Does she have a name?" JC was writing again. No, he was drawing, Joey saw as he leaned forward to peek at the paper in JC's lap. He couldn't quite tell what it was supposed to be.

"No name," Joey answered, leaning back again and relaxing slightly. There didn't seem to be any hard feelings, which was a huge relief. "What about you?"

JC looked up from his drawing, confused.

"I mean, I know your name, but what does JC stand for?"

"Oh! Joshua Chasez," the young man answered, looking from the drawing to Joey and back again, pencil moving rapidly.

"Shh-zay, huh?" Joey pronounced it carefully, trying to picture the spelling of it in his head. Obviously, it started with a 'C'. "I guess that's French?"

"Uh-huh. My mother was French, and she wanted me to have her name, too, and not just my Dad's. My brothers both have normal middle names, though."

"I like your middle name. It's kinda cool." He leaned forward to look at the drawing again and saw that it had taken shape as a face with a goatee very similar to his own. "You drawin' me?"

JC looked up guiltily. "Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind." Joey moved his chair closer to the foot of the bed and adjusted his pose. "Here, now you can get a better view."

JC's sunny grin lit up the whole room.

~*~

Chris walked slowly back toward JC's room, silently thanking God that he had such an understanding boss. Richardson had told Chris to take as much time as he needed, as long as he called to update the department on JC's condition every now and again.

The doctors had been very adamant that JC couldn't be home alone for at least a week while he recovered from his concussion, and possibly even longer, depending on how friendly their house would be to someone with only one useable leg. He would have to be relocated to the downstairs guestroom until he graduated from the wheelchair to crutches, and a temporary ramp would need to be built over the stairs that led from the front walkway to the porch. Maybe Lance would know some good contractors.

He stopped short as he stepped into JC's room, seeing a man he didn't recognize sitting by the bed. "Excuse me?"

The man turned around and stood all in one swift motion, suddenly looking very nervous. "Um...."

"Chris!" JC grinned happily at him and tugged at the stranger's hand. "Joey, this is my brother, Chris. Chris, this is my friend Joey."

"Uh-huh." Chris looked Joey up and down, noting the outfit of denim and black leather, the spiked brown hair with red tips, and the thick goatee. He didn't really look like JC's type. "Chris Kirkpatrick." He held out a hand for Joey to shake, keeping his face neutral.

"Joey Fatone," the man returned, giving a nervous smile.

Chris pushed past him and sat down in Joey's abandoned chair. JC had been drawing a picture of the guy. "That's a nice picture, 'C," he told him, making JC blush. "How long you been working on that?"

"Just for a little while," JC answered. "Joey posed for me!"

"So I see. How d'you know Joey? I've never seen him around." He heard Joey fidgeting behind him and narrowed his eyes, not comfortable with his presence.

Joey answered for JC. "I, um.... I was riding the bike."

Chris stood and whirled around, suddenly furious. "You what?"

JC gasped and grabbed at his hand, desperately trying to pull him back. "Chris, wait--"

Chris wrenched free of JC's grip and stalked over to Joey, shoving him backward and out of the room. "You get out of here, you hear me? I don't want to see you anywhere near my brother."

JC was crying behind him. "Chris, no, stop! He's my friend!"

Joey held up his hands in surrender, backing away. "Look, I'm sorry, it was an accident! I--"

"Get. Out." Chris took another step forward but didn't push him again, all-too-aware of the nurse's station just down the hall. "Don't come back here, ever." He turned and stalked back into the room, his body shaking with rage. JC was sobbing, calling out both Chris and Joey's names with arms outstretched, the drawing forgotten in his lap. Chris forced himself to calm down and hurried to him, gathering him in his arms and rocking him back and forth, whispering apologies and promises in his ears. JC just continued to cry.

Joey was gone.

~*~

Chris stared at the phone in his hand, his finger hovering over the buttons. He'd tried to call twice now but had chickened out both times. Justin needed to know about the accident, but then he and Britney would want to come visit JC, and Chris wasn't sure he wanted that.

He hung up the phone again and buried his face in his hands. He needed to call. He knew this. He needed to let them come and see for themselves at JC was fine, and then they'd leave. Two days, tops.

He picked up the phone and again and dialed the whole number. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Chris let out a frustrated sigh. There was no way he could leave this news as a message--

"Hello?" He was startled by Britney's voice, breathy and a little rushed. "Hello, are you there? I was outside...."

"Oh. Hi, Brit." He grimaced the minute the words came out of his mouth. She'd know right away now that something was wrong. He silently cursed his rotten luck and her rotten timing.

"Chris? What's wrong?" Sure enough, she was concerned now. He could hear the frown in her voice.

"Is Justin in? I need to talk to you both."

"I... he's outside. Chris, what's wrong?"

"Nobody's dead or dying, Brit, okay? Just get him, please."

"Okay. Hold on." She put the phone down with a clatter and Chris heard her calling to Justin. There was more shuffling and the murmur of voices before Justin's vice came on the line. "Chris? Man, what's goin' on, you scared Britney half to death."

Chris waited until there was another click, signifying that Britney had picked up another extension. "There's been a minor accident," he told them, not bothering to sugarcoat it. "JC was hurt--" both Britney and Justin gasped and started to interrupt, so he railroaded over them. "--but it's not bad. He got hit by a motorcycle, of all things, and he's got a broken leg and a bit of a concussion. But he's okay, and there's no need for you to--"

"We're coming down there," Justin said firmly, his voice allowing no argument. "Are you gonna put us up or do I need to book a hotel?"

Chris sighed and told him the upstairs bedroom would be available.

~*~

Joey stood nervously in front of 624 March Street, his finger hovering over the doorbell. There were a million reasons why he shouldn't be here, but the one reason he should was overpowering them all.

Just an apology. That was it. An apology for both of them and maybe a goodbye for JC, with regrets that they could never really be friends. And then he'd leave and not come back, like Chris said. But first....

He took a deep breath and rang the bell, wincing as he stabbed the button a bit too hard and jammed his finger. He stepped back and waited, clasping his hands behind his back. He really hoped this was the right house. It should be--according to the phone book, it was the only Kirkpatrick residence in the neighborhood where he'd hit JC--but there was still margin for error.

The door opened, revealing an unfamiliar young man with curly blond hair. "Hi, can I help you?"

Joey's face fell. "Oh. You're.... I think I have the wrong house. I was looking for JC Kirkpatrick?"

"No, you've got the right house." The young man gave him a friendly smile and held out a hand for him to shake. "I'm Justin Timberlake, JC's brother. You a friend of his?"

"Oh. Um.... Kind of. Did... Chris didn't say anything to you? About me?"

"I don't know," The young man cocked his head, looking him up and down slowly. "That depends on what your name is."

Joey resisted the urge to smack himself in the head and instead gave a sheepish smile. "Right. I'm Joey Fatone."

Justin's eyes widened. "Oh! Come on in!"

Joey did, a little puzzled at the warm reception, but grateful nonetheless. "Thanks."

"I thought you looked familiar," Justin said as he let Joey into the house. "JC's got a couple drawings of you lying around. Man, he talked about you nonstop last night. He'll be so glad to see you!"

"Um... it'll be nice to see him, too." Joey looked around cautiously. "Is Chris around?"

Justin laughed. "Nah, he's at work. I know who you are, man, JC told Brit and me the whole story. Chris is stubborn, and way overprotective, but JC loves you. I say what Chris doesn't know won't hurt him. C'mon, JC and Brit are in the family room, down the hall just past the living room."

"Wait, can I....?" Joey ran a hand though his hair, trying to marshal his thoughts. "I just... is he okay? JC, I mean? He seems a little... um.... I mean, he's great, you know? Really sweet. I just... I don't want to...."

"Man, you're wound pretty tight, aren't you?" Justin smiled sympathetically at him and moved into the living room, taking a seat on one of the couches. Joey followed helplessly, sitting down across from Justin in an easy chair. "The thing with JC is weird," Justin explained. "He's just... JC. We don't really know what the deal is with him, and probably never will. He's been tested for everything under the sun, and it all came out negative. He's pretty much a genius, intellectually, but he could never handle school; his mind drifts too easily. He's probably borderline autistic, or something... at least that's Chris' theory. I don't know that we have to put a name to it. Like I said, he's just JC."

"Wow, that's...." Joey stared down at his hands, unsure of exactly what he was supposed to say. "Chris takes care of him?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Me and Brit--Britney, that's my wife--we live down south, in Louisiana. We're all half brothers, you see. Same Dad, different Moms. We grew up separately, but we'd see each other when our visits with Dad overlapped. Chris really took a liking to JC. He's always been a big brother to the both of us, even when we weren't together. When JC's Mom died a few years back, everyone was kind of worried about what would happen to JC. He doesn't belong in a home, or anything, but he also can't be on his own for too long. And our Dad is... not a caretaker, let's just put it that way. Chris dropped everything and moved here, so JC wouldn't have to deal with a new home on top of everything else. It's worked out great, and JC loves him to death. I think Chris likes having someone to care for."

"That's why Chris is so...."

"Intense. Yeah. He thinks JC is more helpless than he actually is. I mean, yeah, the guy gets easily distracted, but he's not stupid. He can make decisions for himself, and I think that's what Chris forgets." He shrugged and stood up, prompting Joey to do the same. "Anyway, that was probably a little more information than you wanted, but oh well, at least you're prepared."

Joey managed a smile. "Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem. Let's go surprise JC."

~*~

Kevin Richardson strolled down the hallway, glancing into each office along the way to say hello and to inquire about the families and friends of his employees. He'd taken a management course a few years back that had stressed the importance of having a good, friendly relationship with one's staff, and so far it had worked like a charm. His people were all highly skilled and motivated, and often went out of their way to make sure things ran smoothly. He was not only the best loved department head in the company, but also the highest ranked.

A quick glance into Lance Bass' office confirmed that he was once again AWOL. Richardson rolled his eyes. If Bass wasn't so brilliant and so good at what he did, he'd have been fired ages ago. The guy was never in his office, always goofing off with Pennick or Kirkpatrick. But somehow, he always managed to finish his projects with time to spare. One of these days, he'd have a conference with the young man and ask him how in the world he did it.

He was almost to his office when he heard Bass' voice a few doors up. He smiled slightly and headed over, glad Bass had finally decided to make friends with one of the new guys. Miller, Underwood, Angel, and Estrada had all come to the department within the last three months, and Bass had taken an instant dislike to all four. Kevin had been hoping for a change of heart, and it looked like he'd gotten his wish. He reached the office where the voices were coming from and poked his head in the door to say hello, only to do a double-take when he realized whose office he was actually in. "Kirkpatrick?"

Bass and Kirkpatrick looked over at him, only mildly guilty at having been caught goofing off. "Hi, Mr. Richardson," they chorused. Kevin shook his head. They were just like a couple of grade school kids.

"What are you doing here, Chris?" he stepped into the room and leaned against the door jamb. "I thought you were going to stay home with your brother?"

"My other brother, Justin, came into town with his wife. They're staying with JC at the house, so I'm free to come in."

"Oh." He stared at the younger man for a moment, considering. "Are you sure that's what you want to do? I'll understand if you'd rather take the time off. It'd be sort of like a free vacation."

Kirkpatrick shook his head. "That's okay, sir. Things are a little tense at home.... I'd rather stay here."

"Suit yourself. Is JC alright?"

"He's fine, thanks for asking. He broke his left leg pretty badly, but the concussion was mild. He ought to be on crutches soon."

"Good, good." He turned to Bass and glared at him. "Another 'business meeting,' Bass?"

Bass regarded him blandly, looking as innocent as could be. "Yes, sir. I was just catching Chris up on what went on in his absence, sir."

Kevin barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Right. Well, carry on, then. Kirkpatrick, just tell me if you change your mind and want that time off. It won't count against your vacation days, if that's what you're worried about."

"Sure thing. Thanks Mr. Richardson."

Kevin nodded and left the office, hearing Bass' laugh ring out behind him. He shook his head and smiled slightly as he greeted his secretary and re-entered his office. There was something to be said for a happy staff. Now, if only he could get Bass to get along so well with the new guys....

~*~

Joey smiled indulgently and nodded at all the appropriate times as JC chattered on and on about bubbles. Apparently, he'd been on his way home to start an experiment when he'd been hit. Joey hadn't really ever thought about bubbles, but the things JC was saying made sense, in a weird, JC kind of way.

Joey felt his smile grow a little wider. JC had lit up like a Christmas tree when he'd laid eyes on Joey, and Joey had a feeling he'd done the same. There was just something about JC that made him happy. Justin and Britney had hung out with them for a little while, then they'd left to give JC and Joey some time alone. JC was determined to do a few more portraits of Joey: some in charcoal, some in pastels, and then finally, a big one with oil paints. Joey had been worried that he'd have to sit still for an awful long time for all of that, but JC said he'd just use his first charcoal drawing from the hospital as a guide, and only use Joey himself for color and aura reference. Whatever that meant.

"Can you sing?" JC asked suddenly, cutting himself off in the middle of his bubble lecture.

"Huh?"

"Can you sing?" JC repeated, hand poised over his drawing paper.

Joey caught his breath and swallowed hard. JC was sitting on the bed in front of the window, covered with the colorful dust from his pastels, and in that moment he looked like an angel, his lithe body silhouetted by sunlight, the light radiating outward from him and pushing through the wild curls on the top of his head. His lips were full and pink, his blue eyes wide and sparkling.

Then he cocked his head and frowned, confused by Joey's silence, and the moment was gone. He was just JC again. "Joey?"

Joey cleared his throat and gave a sheepish laugh. "Yeah, uh... sorry. I got distracted. I can sing, yeah."

JC's face cleared and he grinned at Joey, setting down his pastel crayon and clapping his hands. "Sing something for me!"

"Oh, no way, man." Joey shook his head, laughing. "Uh-uh."

"Please? I bet you have a beautiful voice!"

"Well, I don't know about that...."

"I'll sing with you." JC started to get up, then fell back down to the bed with a yelp of sudden pain; his leg reminding him of its injury. "Ow! Joey!"

Joey was across the room in seconds, enveloping JC in his arms. "Shh, it's okay. Don't try to move around, your leg needs to rest."

"I forgot," JC sniffled, reaching down a hand and placing it at the top of his bulky cast. "I don't hurt when you're around."

Joey caught his breath as JC smiled up at him, the lines of pain already smoothing from his face. "I...."

"Joey?" JC lifted a trembling hand and placed it on Joey's cheek, tracing the goatee with his fingertips. "Joey, can I...?"

"Hmmm...." Joey closed his eyes as JC's lips met his, and sighed softly into JC's mouth. He was so lost in JC that he didn't register the crescendo of voices in the hallway until the door burst open, slamming into the opposite wall from the force.

~*~

"So, didja get in any punches of your own?"

Joey looked dejectedly up at his father through the one eye that wasn't blackened and swollen shut. "No."

Joe Fatone, Sr. shook his head and took a seat next to his son at the dining table as his wife handed Joey a bag of frozen peas for his eye. "Figures. What have I told you about fighting?"

"Always make sure the other guy looks as bad as or worse than me."

"Joseph Fatone, Sr., how many times have I told you to stop filling the boy's head with that fighting crap?" Phyllis Fatone smacked her husband on the back of the head and immediately went to her son's side, cooing over his injury.

Joe rubbed the back of his head and glared half-heartedly at his wife. "Unless the other guy's a girl," he added.

"He wasn't a girl," Joey admitted, putting the bag of peas down on the table. "He was.... He was really mad."

"Well, how much bigger'n you was he?"

Joey looked away. "Um, smaller actually."

"Smaller?!" Joe opened his mouth to talk some sense into the boy, only to get another smack to the back of his head.

"Don't worry about it, Joey, you shouldn't be fighting anyway, especially people who are smaller than you," Phyllis reassured him. "Why don't you tell us what happened?"

"Well...." Joey took a deep breath and kept his gaze on the table. "I went to see JC again, to apologize and I guess to say goodbye. Only his brother wasn't there. Well, another brother was, and he let me in and was really nice, and everything. I went and stayed with JC for a long time, just talking and stuff. And, um, wemayhavekissedalittle. But then Chr--"

"Hold up!" Joe Fatone stopped his son before he could get any further. "Say that last part again?"

"But then Chris--"

"Not that part, the part before that!"

"Oh." Joey looked timidly up at his father and swallowed hard before responding. "We, um... kissed. Me and JC."

"JC's a guy?"

"Yeah."

"A guy who you kissed?"

"Y... yeah."

"Huh." Joe sat back in his chair and visibly struggled for something to say. "Okay, uh.... Huh."

"Yeah." Joey looked back down at the table and began to pick at the bag of peas.

His mother laid a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it reassuringly. "It's alright, honey, go on."

Joey sighed and continued. "Well, yeah, so we kissed, but then Chris came in and totally freaked out and he hit me and I left. That's all."

"Chris is the other brother?" Phyllis clarified, "The one who threw you out of the hospital?"

"Yeah."

"Well, this explains a heck of a lot," Joe Sr. mused, staring thoughtfully at his son. "I always wondered why you liked musicals so much."

Phyllis smacked him on the back of the head, yet again. "Joseph Fatone, Sr, that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say! And that's saying a lot!"

Joe gave up and decided to retreat to the living room before he ended up with a concussion.

~*~

Justin was waiting at the front door when Chris got home. Chris sighed and pushed past his youngest brother, making a beeline for the kitchen. "Can I at least put my briefcase down before you start talking at me?"

"I'm not gonna talk at you, I'm gonna talk to you, and you're gonna listen." Justin's face was hard, his blue eyes flat and angry. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Chris calmly opened the refrigerator and took out the orange juice, taking a healthy swig from the carton before answering. "Well, today I got up, took a shower, and went to work. Then I came home and was ambushed by a living Q-tip."

"Very funny." Justin grabbed him by the shoulder and forcibly pushed him into one of the kitchen chairs. "Now sit down and shut up."

"Alright, Justin, wait just a damn minute--"

"No, you wait! You don't know what it's like around here! You got to leave the house for nine whole hours, but me and Brit were stuck here with a mopey, depressed JC. Do you have any idea what we've been through?! When he's not crying, he's pouting. All of his drawings are done in blues and blacks, and every song he plays is in a minor key. We're going insane!"

"Then leave," Chris retorted, pushing away the guilt he felt at Justin's words. "Nobody's making you stay here."

"We're not gonna leave," Justin hissed angrily, "because JC needs us. He needs you, too, when you're not acting like an ass."

"I'm an ass? You--"

"I, what? Let JC spend some time with a friend? Yeah, that was terrible of me, I can't believe I did it."

Chris glared at him, his face hot. "The guy ran him over with a motorcycle, Justin. I can't believe you're forgetting about that."

"He clipped him," Justin corrected. "And it was probably JC's fault. You know he forgets to look both ways when he's excited. Besides, JC's fine--or, he was, until you broke his heart."

Chris looked away, stung. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Justin got right up in his face. "Then let me spell it out for you. Joey made him happy, Chris. JC's not stupid, and he's not a child. He deserves the right to choose his own friends, and he chose Joey. You discounted his feelings and you just did what you wanted to do, and now he's miserable. He lugs that unfinished picture of Joey all over the house, and stares at it while he plays the piano and while he paints. He didn't even wash his towel today, Chris."

"His towel?" Chris' head shot up and he stared at Justin, floored. "But... his towel?"

"Yes." Justin's face softened just a little. "Look, I understand you being protective. We all want the best for him, okay? But what happened with Joey was an accident. JC really likes him, and Joey likes him back. I think we should give them the chance to be friends."

"But... but...." Chris struggled for words, knowing he was losing the battle but not yet willing to admit defeat. "He was kissing him! He was taking advantage--"

"They like each other," Justin repeated firmly. "JC might even love him. Are you gonna stand in the way of that?"

Chris groaned and let his head fall to the table. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to JC." Justin placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed it, showing his forgiveness. "And get Joey back here."

"I can't." Chris lifted his head again and rubbed at his eyes. "We don't know how to reach him."

Justin rolled his eyes and stood. "You're an idiot, you know that?" He picked up the phone and dialed three digits.

~*~

"Hullo, what's doin'?" Joe Fatone cheerfully picked up the phone on the third ring, ignoring his wife's disapproval at the too-familiar greeting.

"Um...." A voice he didn't recognize spoke up at the other end. "Is this Joey Fatone?"

"This is Joe Fatone, what can I do for ya?"

"Oh." The person hesitated, and Joe heard a short, muffled conversation before they spoke again. "Do you ride a red motorcycle, by any chance?"

Joe chuckled and shook his head. "That would be my son, Joey. You must be looking for him."

"Oh!" The man's voice was greatly relieved. "Thank goodness I found you. You're the eleventh J. Fatone I've called!"

"That many, huh?"

"Well, I didn't have a city to give to information, so I just asked for all of 'em."

"You must really want to talk to my son," Joe guessed. "He in trouble?"

"Oh, no!" The man chuckled sheepishly. "I should tell you who I am. My name is Justin Timberlake, and I'm calling on behalf of my brother, Chris Kirkpatrick."

Joe paused. "Kirkpatrick?"

"I see you know the name."

"Joey told me about... things. But I thought your name was JC?"

"That's my other brother. Look, can I please talk to Joey? Or, you know, have his number, or something? I think we owe him an apology."

~*~

Chris stood in the doorway to JC's temporary downstairs studio, watching in silence as his brother plunked halfheartedly at the piano's keys. The melody was slow, halting, and sad--all in a minor key, just as Justin had said. The half-finished pastel drawing of Joey was propped up where JC's sheet music would normally go, and every time it started to slip, JC would stop playing and prop it back up again, sighing at it and sniffling pitifully. If Chris didn't know JC as well as he did, he'd swear he was faking it for maximum sympathy. But this was JC, and he never faked anything.

"Hey," he said quietly, stepping into the room.

JC's fingers froze on the keys, and his back stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Hi," he responded after a long moment, the song resuming where it had stopped.

"What're you playing?" Chris took a seat on the piano bench that had been pushed to the side to make way for the wheelchair and watched JC's long fingers as he played. "It's nice."

"It's not mine," JC answered without looking at him. "I heard it on TV."

"And I bet you just heard it once, too," Chris teased him, as always amazed at JC's uncanny ability to perform any song perfectly after hearing it for the first time.

JC didn't respond to the teasing tone. He just shrugged.

Chris sighed and sat quietly for a little while, just listening. "What is it?" he finally asked. The song sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

JC just started the song over from the beginning, singing the lyrics quietly.

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe I've been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
I remember when I moved in you
The holy dark was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe there's a God above
And all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It's not a cry you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Chris blinked tears from his eyes as the last notes of the song faded away. "I'm sorry, JC. I... I shouldn't have treated you that way, or Joey. I was wrong, and... I'm sorry."

JC sighed, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing it in complete forgiveness. "I know you were worried about me, and scared. But he... I liked him a lot, Chris. It hurts."

Chris put an arm around him. "Yeah, I know. I'm trying to fix it, okay? We, uh... we called him."

JC jerked away and stared at him with wide eyes. "What?"

Chris smiled slightly at him. "Well, Justin did. He called information and got his number, and we talked to him and asked him to come back. So, he should be here any minute."

"I'm here now, actually," came a voice from the doorway.

JC's eyes lit up and he turned awkwardly, his broken leg preventing him from moving the way he wanted to. "Joey?"

Joey Fatone smiled and stepped slowly into the room, casting wary glances in Chris' direction. Chris flushed and looked away, his face going hot at the sight of Joey's rather spectacular black eye. He stared at the floor as JC pushed away from the piano and wheeled frantically to the door, Joey meeting him halfway and falling to his knees before the chair to embrace him. The two were speaking quietly, and when Chris looked up again they were kissing, Joey's big hand running gently through JC's curls.

He stood and quietly left the room.

~*~

"Is this a pity party for one, or can anyone join?"

The deep voice drew Chris' attention and he looked up from his bourbon and found Lance, AJ, and Howie all standing above him, looking appropriately grim and solemn. "Pull up a seat," he said simply.

AJ sat down across from him with a quiet hello, while Lance and Howie took chairs from a neighboring table, Howie placing his next to AJ and Lance settling down next to Chris. "A little birdie called me and told me you were here," Lance said, signaling a waitress.

"A birdie named Brian?"

"Nick, actually." Lance glanced over at the bar and gave Nick and Brian a tiny nod, smiling as the two bartenders nodded back in complete unison. The waitress chose that moment to appear, and the newcomers ordered drinks and appetizers. "You eaten?" Lance asked, when she left.

"Nope."

"You can share our food, we ordered more than enough," Howie offered.

Chris shrugged, not wanting to go through the effort of replying.

"So what's wrong?" AJ asked bluntly. "You don't usually drink before 7 pm."

"Just stuff. Felt like getting out of the house."

"Your brother?" Howie asked hesitantly, obviously wanting to help but unsure of his welcome. "He's okay, isn't he?"

"Sure." Chris took another sip of bourbon, savoring the taste and the burn in his stomach as he swallowed. "He's fine."

AJ rolled his eyes. "Look, Chris, you know perfectly well I'm not gonna leave you alone until you tell me what's up. Lance and Howie may be all polite and stuff, but you know me better than that."

Lance chuckled, and Howie let out a muffled "Oh, Lord," before burying his face in his hands.

AJ ignored them both. "Besides, you owe me. I'm always spilling my guts to you when crap happens in my life, so spill. What's got your panties in a twist?"

Chris felt his mood lift a little despite himself. "First of all, I don't wear panties, and second of all, I owe you nothing. And are you even old enough to drink?"

"I'm 23, thank you," AJ answered, affronted. "And I'm not interested in your underwear. Talk."

"Okay, okay." Chris paused as the waitress returned with their food, then took one of Lance's quesedillas and picked at it while he talked. "Long story short, the guy who hit JC came to visit him, I freaked out and threw him out, but JC really liked him and got all mad at me, and Justin and Brit weren't talking to me either, so we got him back and they're in love and that's that."

"Oh." AJ frowned at him, then looked at Lance and Howie. "Did you guys get any of that? 'Cause I think I missed it."

Chris sighed and started over.

~*~

"I guess part of me's jealous." Chris took a gulp of his milkshake and swiped a hand across his mouth. "I mean, I'm 30 years old, I'm not exactly a spring chicken, you know?" Lance hummed in sympathy. "When do I find that someone special? Justin's got Britney, and God knows they're perfect for each other. JC's got Joey now, so who knows how long he'll be staying with me. He'll probably move out and spend all his time with his new true love and leave me all alone and miserable."

AJ swallowed the spoonful of banana split Howie had been feeding him and shrugged. "I dunno, man. Maybe you oughta go out and get hit by a motorcycle, too."

Howie smacked his hand lightly. "Don't be an idiot." He looked to Chris and smiled reassuringly. "Look, Chris, it'll happen when you least expect it. I know it's a cliché, but that's because it's so true. I never dreamed when I met AJ all those years ago that we'd end up together like this. It just happened one day. I looked at him, and bam! I was in love. Maybe that's what'll happen to you."

"I doubt it." Chris drained the rest of his milkshake and signaled the waitress for another. "I'm way past my prime, who'd want me?"

"Are we talking men or women, here?" AJ asked. "Just out of curiosity."

Chris shrugged. "Either, I guess. I'm not picky."

"Oh, yeah?" AJ raised an eyebrow, suddenly looking very devious. "I happen to know of a guy who just might qualify. Ow! You didn't have to kick me!"

Chris saw movement to his right and looked over, surprised to see Lance's cheeks a bright shade of pink. "Lance?"

"What?" Lance mumbled, his eyes cast downward as he took a huge spoonful of his sundae.

"So," AJ leaned forward. "Do you like blonds?"

End

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