*nsync undercover.
by megan
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Agent Dillaford walked through the large double doors of the government building, cursing when she set off the metal detector once again. She was already running late, and this would put set her back another minute or two, for sure.

"I'm going to need to see some ID, Miss." She exhaled loudly, handing the card over to the security guard.

"Still angry about my rent-a-cop comment the other day, I see." He nodded in acknowledgment, and she pleaded with him while digging through her wallet for her card. "Come on, Ryan. I'm already running late." He only smiled, shaking his head. She handed him her card, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he read it aloud.

"Special Agent Megan Ashley Dillaford, age twenty. Five feet seven inches tall..." He looked her up and down appreciatively. "Blonde hair, hazel eyes... Something's missing, here. I don't see a smile." She snatched the card out of his hands angrily, then shoved him out of the way as she ran up to the fifth floor.

"We still on for dinner tonight, Megs?"

"SCREW YOU, RYAN!" She slowed to a walk before walking through the door, muttering to herself "...Damn cartilage piercing. ALWAYS forget that thing!"

"I see you finally decided to grace us with your presence, Agent Dillaford. To what do we owe the honor?" She winced at the director's sarcastic tone, lowering her head in shame.

"Sorry, sir. Traffic on the 405 was hellish, as usual, and..."

"I'm not interested in excuses, Dillaford. I want you in my office in ten minutes." He walked off, leaving her in the center of the room. "And don't be late!" She plopped into her chair, pounding her fists on the desktop in frustration.

"Aww... somebody in trouble?" She shot up in her seat, rolling her eyes when she saw Agent Stevens sitting on the corner of her desk. The man made it a point to make her life as miserable as possible, and she was NOT in the mood this morning.

"What do you want, Stevens?"

"Just stopped by to see your smiling face." She forced a smile, then started looking through the files in her drawer.

"There you go." She groaned when she saw the file she needed peeking out from under his large rear end. "Now, get your leaded ass off my desk. Some of us around here have actual WORK to do." He grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her in until their noses were touching.

"I don't appreciate your tone, Tiger." She looked at his fingers digging into her arm, slowly raising her anger-darkened eyes to meet his.

"Then you'll like my claws even less. Back... off." He laughed, putting both hands in the air as he stood up.

"Whatever you say, girlie." He glanced at his watch. "By the way, it's time for your meeting." She shot up, looking at the clock on the wall. He was right.

"Shit!" She ran down the hall, pulling her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail on the way. She rapped on the door, breathlessly waiting for the director to open it. He looked pointedly at his watch before motioning her in, and her heart sank. This day was well on its way down the path toward hell, and it didn't look like it would be changing course any time soon.

*********************************

Megan followed Director Gaines down the hall to the conference room, not quite sure what to expect. This was her second year working as an undercover agent for the special operations unit of the FBI. During that time, she'd earned two promotions and a reputation as one of the best agents the unit had ever seen. Against all odds, she'd climbed to the top and stayed there, earning the respect of the men she worked with. They stayed out of her pissing match with Stevens, but were far from oblivious to it. Coffee breaks were spent wondering how long it would take for her to finally beat his ass down, and the odds were in her favor. She ran five miles every morning, held black belts in both Judo and Tae Kwon Do, and did yoga in the evenings to unwind. Stevens, on the other hand, was a middle-aged man who spent his free time drinking beer in front of the TV.

Gaines held the door opened for her, motioning her to take a seat. Her eyes widened with surprise when a tall man in his mid-twenties took a seat next to her.

"Hey, Mark. I wasn't expecting to see you here." He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, and his blue eyes twinkled as he grinned at her. Agent Daymond was her closest ally, and they'd been paired on several field assignments due to the similarities in their ages and abilities.

"Come on, now, Dilla. You didn't think I'd let you have all the fun, did you?" Gaines interrupted further conversation, clearing his throat loudly as he took a seat across from them."

"You're probably wondering what you're doing here." He said, peering at them over the rim of his glasses as he handed them each a stack of papers.

"Yeah- I'm starting to feel as though I've been sent to detention for something." Megan remarked, leaning back in her chair.

"Though you WERE tardy this morning, I can assure you that's not why you're here, Ms. Dillaford." She felt her face go hot with embarrassment, and turned even redder when Mark leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"BUSTED! You're lucky daddy didn't give you a spanking."

"Ahem!" They turned their attention back to Gaines, who was watching them interact with a slightly amused expression on his face. " As I was saying, you're here, as you might have guessed, to be briefed on a new assignment involving threats made against a group of five young men in the entertainment business." He pressed a button, and a video started playing at the far end of the table. Megan leaned forward, then burst into laughter when she recognized the faces of the five members of NSYNC.

"You got your tapes mixed up again, Gaines. This is some boy band."

"This is your assignment, Dillaford." She exchanged a look with Daymond before answering.

"Yeah, right. I appreciate your sense of humor, sir, but really . . . " She pushed her chair back, ready to stand up and leave.

"Have a seat, Megan." She exchanged another look with Mark, then sank slowly back into her seat. Gaines actually sounded serious about this. Mark cleared his throat, deciding to take over before Megan's mouth did.

"Excuse me, sir, but what's the deal, here? Don't these guys have their own security?"

"Yes, Mark, they do. Now, if you'd let me EXPLAIN . . . " He looked pointedly at Megan, "I'll tell you what the 'deal' is." He pulled a sheaf of photos out of the file in front of him, spreading them out so both of them had a clear view. "These pictures were taken by members of the security team, after a series of unexplained 'accidents' occurred during rehearsals." Megan's eyes widened as she took in large holes in the stage, collapsed scaffolding, and the remnants of the NSYNC wardrobe after an electrical fire.

"This is all done with, though . . . we're sent in for ongoing investigations." Mark said, confused. "Besides, nobody's been hurt."

"That was true until last night." Gaines said, pulling another picture out of the file. In front of them was an image of a goateed young Italian man with a large hole in his leg.

"This is Joseph Anthony Fatone III, a member of the singing group known as NSYNC. The hole you see in his leg was made when a trap door in the stage snapped shut prematurely, releasing three hundred pounds of pressure. The kid didn't break anything, but if he hadn't jumped . . . " He trailed off, leaving his agents to finish the thought.

"He'd have been decapitated." Daymond finished. "I still don't get how this involves us, though."

"Ah, but I was just about to get to that. The story they're sending out about the kid's leg is some 'mechanical failure' bullshit, but we know differently. That thing was rigged, and it was done by a crew member. Random fans don't have the mechanical knowledge to pull something like that off. There are seventy plus people involved in this tour, every one of whom is now a suspect." He pulled a set of ID tags and backstage passes out of an envelope. "As of tomorrow, you two are members of the 2001 NSYNC Popoddysey tour crew. Daymond, you're a pyrotechnics expert." He pulled a few more papers out and handed them to Megan. "Dillaford, you are now a backup dancer for Joey Fatone, Chris Kirkpatrick, Lance Bass, JC Chasez, and Justin Timberlake, collectively known as NSYNC." She shook her head, a look of pure disgust on her face.

"I don't dance, Gaines. I hit targets dead on from 100 yards, I win Tae Kwon Do tournaments, and I infiltrate white-collar drug rings, but I do NOT, repeat, NOT, dance- and certainly not for some punk-ass kids who happen to be celebrities." She stood up to leave despite Mark's efforts to yank her back in her seat, and Director Gaines stood up too, slamming his fists on the table, sending papers flying through the air.

"Those are your ORDERS, Dillaford."

"I can be a crew member too! I know how to set up scaffolding, I know how to rig harnesses . . . " Her face fell when Gaines continued to stare angrily at her.

"Daymond, you are dismissed. I'll be sending you your plane tickets and cover identity within the hour."

Mark gave her hand a quick squeeze, then leaned in to whisper to her.

"Come see me later and fill me in, okay?"

"DISMISSED!" Gaines roared, and Mark jumped up, sending Megan one last sympathetic look as he left. This didn't look good . . . not at all.

*********************************

"Follow me, Dillaford." Gaines ordered tersely. Megan shrank under his gaze, following him back to his office. He ushered her in, slamming the door behind him.

"Have a seat, kid." She obeyed, tapping her leg nervously on the floor. "Look, I appreciate that you've had it rough around this place, but I don't appreciate the large chip you've developed on your shoulder. When I give you an assignment, I expect you to take that assignment, no questions asked. Is that clear?"

"But . . . "

"IS THAT CLEAR?" She lowered her head to her chest, trying her best to hold back the tears of frustration.

"Yes, sir. I just think that my expertise lies in other areas, not in chasing boy bands across the country." She raised her eyes to meet his, continuing carefully. "Or is there something else going on here?" Gaines nodded in appreciation.

"First of all, Dillaford, these 'kids' are all older than you. Timberlake is the youngest of the crew, and he's got a good six months on you. Secondly, you're right. Something bigger is going on here, and we're afraid not only for the members of the group, but for the fans at the venues they'll be performing in. Whoever is doing this is trying to send a message, and they won't stop at harming the group." He gave her a grave look. "I need someone who will be in close physical proximity to them, I need someone who thinks and acts quickly . . . I need YOU, Dillaford."

-

"But what about Daymond?" Gaines chuckled, his brown eyes crinkled with amusement.

"Daymond doesn't exactly fit the profile for a backup dancer, now does he? I needed a female in good physical condition who would be able to blend in, and you fit the bill."

"But Daymond-"

"Daymond has personal ties to the group, Megan. His brother is good friends with the Chasez kid, and they go back a ways. The only reason he's on this assignment is because he's a professional, and I know he'll do his job." He sighed deeply. "However, that's also the reason I'm having you work directly with the five young men on this project. I'm going to have to ask you to keep Mark out of the loop as to the bigger issues, here." He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to speak. "I know you don't like it, Megan, but it's necessary."

"I don't know how to dance, Director. How am I going to suddenly show up as a backup dancer without any experience? I'll make a fool out of myself."

"Wade Robson, the tour director, will be doing some intensive work with you." He continued when he saw her disconcerted look. "He's basically the sixth member of the band, and therefore not a suspect. In fact, threats have been made upon his safety as well."

"But my cover . . . "

"One of the dancers has just left, due to injury. You'll take her place, and no questions will be asked. Now, about your relationship with this group of young men . . . " He eyed her carefully. "I expect you to be a professional, and they expect the same. You have a job to do, Dillaford. Establish a rapport with them, but . . . "

"I'm not going to jump any of them, Gaines! Jesus!"

"So we're clear?"

"We're clear."

"Be back here in fifteen minutes with workout clothes. I'll be sending you over to start working with Mr. Robson. Dismissed!" She stood to walk out the door, but stopped when he spoke once again.

"And Megan?" She turned around to look at him.

"Yes sir?"

"Watch yourself, kiddo. Things tend to happen when we least expect them."

"Yes, sir." She walked out, shutting the door quickly as she hightailed it back to her desk. This really was turning out to be one of the worst days she'd ever had . . . this assignment was going to be seen as a joke, and the credibility she'd worked so hard to establish among the men would falter under the pressure. To top it all off, she couldn't even discuss the full breadth of the issues with the one person who always understood. Mark was too smart not to realize that she was holding something back, and he wasn't going to like it.

"Hey, Dillla. How'd it go with Gaines back there?" Speak of the devil . . .

"Okay, I guess." She sighed, flopping down in her chair. "I'm still stuck being a dancer, though." She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration. "This sucks!" He reached over and ruffled her hair.

"C'mon, Dilla. You always come out on top of every situation you're thrown into, and you know it. Gaines is a smart guy . . . trust him." She looked up to meet his eyes.

"I know that, Mark. I'm just not sure we're fully prepared for what's coming." He laughed her off, waving a hand.

"You mean THEY'RE not prepared for what's coming! I have a feeling you're gonna shock the shit out of this group of pretty-boys, kiddo." The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, and the sparkle came back into her eyes.

"You just might be right about that, Daymond. You just might be right." She began drumming her fingers on the desktop. "Now, scoot! I've got some work to do before I hit the dance floor." Mark sputtered, then coughed in an attempt to cover his laughter. "What? What's so funny?"

"You . . . dance floor!" He wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to regain his composure. "Oh, that's priceless!"

"We'll see how funny it is when I kick your ASS, Daymond! Now, GET!" He raised an arm in salute before walking away.

"Yes, MA'AM!"

"... NO respect around here, I tell you! NONE!" She muttered, slamming the file drawer closed. She looked at her watch, then made a quick phone call before heading off to meet the choreographer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ryan. Looks like I'm working late tonight, so you'll be having another date with your TV . . . By the way, I'm nineteen, not twenty. That's right, and July is two months away . . . uh-huh. Talk to you later, then. Bye!" She smiled to herself as she walked to her next meeting.

"If these guys think they're gonna give me any shit, they've got another think coming, that's for sure . . . "

*********************************

"DAMMIT!" Megan yelled, falling flat on her ass once again when she tried to complete the dance routine. A smile tugged at the corners of Wade's mouth, and she sent him a warning glare. "Robson, I am NOT in the mood to hear any comments from the peanut gallery. I WILL get this!" He raised both arms in defeat as his cell phone rang.

"Whatever you say, Megan . . . Whatever you say." He turned his back to her as he spoke on the phone.

"Hello? Yeah . . . not so well. ...a hippo into a ballerina! NO, I'm not kidding! Yeah, okay- yeah, I'll see you all soon. Bye, Justin." He turned back around, balking when he saw the scary expression on her face.

"'Hippo into a ballerina'? Listen, Mr. 'I am a God who can do no wrong because I work with teen stars'- It's not my fault I never learned how to dance like a trained monkey!" She continued walking forward until she'd backed him against a wall, and they were nose to nose. "So I would just WATCH IT if I were you!"

"Don't kill our choreographer, we need him." She spun around at the voice, putting a hand on her hip as she found herself face to face with none other than Justin Timberlake. He grinned at Wade, humming the tune of 'Up Against a Wall' as he walked over to them. He looked her over appreciatively, then held out a hand in greeting. "Hi, I'm-."

"I know who you are." She said airily, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at Wade. "And I can't understand WHY you need him- unless you ENJOY hopping around like a crack addict." Justin put a hand over his heart in mock pain.

"Ouch. Oh how you compliment us, Agent Dillaford."

"Well, it's his fault! 'Hippo', my ass! I'll show him who's a hippo when . . . " She trailed off as Director Gaines walked in the door.

"Hello, Dillaford. How are things going?" Wade opened his mouth to respond, and she nudged him sharply with her elbow.

"Just fine, sir." Justin coughed loudly, and she looked at him, pleading with her eyes for him to shut up. He shot her an evil grin, winking as he spoke to Gaines.

"Oh, she's more than fine, sir. She's about to kick some boo-TAY!" Gaines raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Is that so? Well, good job, Mr. Robson. I thought you'd have more trouble, considering her lack of training."

"Well, uh . . . " Justin shot him a warning glance. "She's improving with rapid speed, sir."

"Good. Dillaford, I'll be expecting a briefing shortly." And with that, he left the room.

"Yeah, improving how well she falls on her ASS!" Wade muttered, walking over to Justin. "WHY did you tell him she was doing well?" Justin grinned widely, eyes sparkling mischievously.

"I didn't. I said it looked like she was about to kick some ass." He turned to Megan. "You owe me, woman."

"EXCUSE ME?" Justin began backing out the door as she walked forward, yelling loudly at him. "You waltz in here with NO knowledge of what's going on, you LIE to my supervisor, and you think I OWE you? Let me tell you something, Timberlake. I'm here to do a job- which involves saving YOUR ass, by the way- NOT to make friends. You don't know me, I don't know you, and that's just fine with me. Now, if you'll excuse me, part of my JOB now consists of getting this dance routine down. GOODBYE!" She slammed the door, leaving him standing there with a shocked expression on his face as the other guys walked up.

"Whoa! What was THAT all about? JC asked, looking at him curiously. "You and Wade have another lovers' quarrel?" Justin's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his bandmate.

"NO, Wade and I did not have a fight. I just met Agent Dillaford." He said, glaring through the window at her. "She's a piece of work, that woman!" Joey pushed him to one side, peering through the small window with him.

"A damn fine piece of work, if you ask me!" He remarked, whistling. "Break me off a piece of THAT action!"

"The only action you'll be getting from her is a swift kick in the ass, Fatone." JC told them. "Her partner, Mark, is Brad's brother."

"Huh?" Joey gave him a blank look, and Justin smacked the back of his head before turning his attention back to JC.

"Brad as in Brad Daymond, the guy who co-wrote half your songs?"

"That's the one."

"Man, do I feel sorry for him."

"Why? Brad says she's a great kid, one of the best in the business."

"What business, Bitches R Us? If I have to work with THAT all summer . . . " Justin shook his head in disgust.

"Give her a break, man- it's a tough business." Chris said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Justin shrugged him off angrily.

"I don't care how tough of a business it is, she . . . " He stopped, looking at his bandmates in disbelief. "Why do I even have to defend myself? I'M the one who got a door slammed in his face!"

"She's just a kid, JuJu. Give her a chance." Justin threw his hands up in disgust, walking away from them.

"I don't know why I even TRY with you people! You need me, I'll be back at the hotel. Have a nice dinner with Special Agent Hardass."

"What do you mean, 'have a nice dinner'?" Lance asked. "You're coming, too."

"The hell I am!"

"JuJu, if your ass isn't at that restaurant when we get there . . . " JC warned.

"Piss off, 'C!" Lance grabbed JC's arm, pulling him back as he tried to follow Justin.

"Let him go, man. His attitude will just make me lose my appetite if he comes, anyway." He soothed. "It's not worth it."

"Fine! But when we have our meeting . . . " JC hit his hand with a fist. "I'm gonna have a thing or two to say to the little punkass."

"C'mon, guys . . . let's go meet Miss Congeniality." Joey grinned. "Sandra Bullock ain't got nothing on this girl!" He exclaimed, bursting through the door. "HELLOOO, there!" Wade threw his arms up in frustration, glaring at Joey.

"Fatone, did nobody teach you to knock? We were almost finished!"

"Good- then we can take her out to dinner as a welcome to the crew." He grinned, holding out a hand. "Hi there, Miss. I'm . . . " He stopped mid sentence when Chris pushed Lance into him, causing him to lose his balance. He glared at them over his shoulder from his new home on the floor. "Joey. Damn, guys! Easy on the leg, now!"

"Sorry!" Lance said sincerely, helping him up before facing Megan again. "I'm Lance."

"JC"

"I'm Chris, and we're . . . " His face scrunched in confusion as he finished the now famous sentence by himself. "SYNC." He shook his head sadly, ignoring the laughter of the others. "Man, that just doesn't sound right."

He looked back up at her, smiling. "Oh, well. I heard you already met JuJu, anyway."

"You mean the Bald Headed Ego? Yeah, we met." The group burst into laughter at her remark, and Chris took her arm as they walked out of the room.

"I like you, Agent Dillaford. You remind me of me, only blonde, cute, and . . . " He managed to keep a straight face, despite the fact that she was shaking with laughter. "Nevermind."

*********************************

(New Orleans- May 16, 2001)

"No, no, and again NO!" Wade bellowed, glaring at the group of dancers in front of him. "You go down on the eight-count, THEN jump up, not the other way around! Come on, people- this has got to be presentable in TWO days!" He yelled, running his hands through his spiky hair in frustration. "AGAIN!"

Megan looked around curiously as they waited for the music to begin again. The crew was working on the scaffolding nearby, readying the harnesses the guys would be using to fly through the air later on in rehearsal.

"Megan! TODAY!" Wade yelled, bringing her attention back to the stage they were on. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment as the others glared at her, muttering under their breath.

"Figures. Can't even stay on cue!" Justin huffed from his spot next to her. She opened her mouth to respond, but stopped when the music began again, concentrating on her footwork. They were at the very end of the song when something caught her eye. She made a beeline for Justin, knocking him over and covering him with her body a split second before the large piece of metal scaffolding came swinging toward them. She shoved him back down, covering his head with her arms until she was sure of his safety.

"...the hell OFF of me!" Justin yelled, pushing her off of him angrily. "What was THAT for?" He asked, glaring at her intently.

"Uh, JuJu?" Chris was standing off to the side, shaking like a leaf. Justin put a hand up, ignoring him completely.

"Not now, Kirkpatrick. I repeat, what the HELL was that? Last time I checked, the choreography didn't include you tackling me." He shouted, brushing the dirt off of his clothes.

"JuJu?" Justin turned, an irritated look on his face.

"WHAT, Chris?"

"You almost got speared by a piece of steel, dude." Justin's eyes widened in shock, following Chris's shaking arm to the large steel beam swinging above them. "That's why."

"Oh." Megan turned to Wade, face pale.

"I need a break, Robson. Can I work on this with you later?" He nodded silently, mouth still opened in surprise. He made a face when he saw the line of blood soaking through the back of her T-shirt. The beam had sliced a line right down the middle of her back. Slowly, he turned back to the others, clapping loudly to bring them to attention.

"Okay, people . . . let's take it from the top. Let's try it without the airborne steel this time, shall we?" They all nodded, eyes still wide with shock at what had just happened. Justin shrugged, getting into position. Okay, so some scaffolding had just come crashing down toward him . . . no big deal. He would've been able to get out of the way in time. What did she expect, a thank-you card? He shook the nagging thoughts out of his head, pushing his body to execute the routine perfectly.

Megan held onto the door frame for support, shaking the cobwebs from her head. Damn, that hurt! She didn't think anyone had seen, though. She knocked loudly, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for her partner.

"Just a minute!" Mark called, wiping the grease off his hands before walking to the front of the room. "Hey, Dilla!" He smiled brightly. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be off dirty dancing with the boys?"

"VERY funny, Daymond. Actually, I was off doing just that. What I want to know is, where the hell were YOU when the steel beam was flying toward me and Timber-Boy?" His eyes widened with disbelief, and he threw down the wiring he'd been working on, looking her over.

"What? You're kidding me! Are you okay?" She gave him a bored look, shrugging his hands off her shoulders.

"I'm fine, Mark. So's the Bald Headed Ego, by the way, if you were wondering." She grimaced, pain shooting up her back as she jumped on a nearby table. Mark looked at her curiously.

"Dilla, what's wrong? You're looking a bit pale, girl." She glared at him, swinging her legs back and forth.

"I'm FINE, Mark. I just got a little scrape, that's all. No need to go 'big brother' on me." She stated, looking at him seriously. "Now, where were you?"

"I was here, working on the pyro for later tonight." Megan's eyes narrowed, and she hopped off the table, walking toward him.

"I KNOW that, Mark- but why? I thought you were supposed to be blending in, getting leads or something. Have you gotten anything?" He shook his head. She turned, slamming her hands against the wall in frustration and exposing her back to view. Mark sucked in air, walking toward her slowly. He pulled her shirt up to survey the damage, and she hissed when the cold air hit the cut.

"Dammit, Dilla- this doesn't look good. You need to get this taken care of." She wheeled around, yanking her shirt down.

"I SAID I'm FINE, Mark." She hissed, eyes flashing. "Now, I'm going back to the hotel and type up the incident report for Gaines." She turned in the door frame. "We need leads, and we need them NOW! If you find anything, let me know."

"Get that taken care of, kiddo."

"Get some LEADS, Mark! Later!" She yelled, storming off toward the hotel across the street. Shit. They weren't even on tour yet, and already there was trouble.

*********************************

Megan gritted her teeth as the hot water hit her back, washing away the protective layer of dried blood that had formed. It had been one hell of a day, that was for sure. She'd sent the report off to Gaines, only to be told that she was now to trail the guys twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The prospect was frustrating as hell, primarily because Justin showed no signs of changing his attitude toward her, and he was the most likely to sneak out, leaving security and his friends to worry. It had taken all of her willpower not to ask Gaines whether or not she had to watch them piss, too. She turned off the water, carefully drying her stinging back with the big, fluffy towel. Shit. It was bleeding again. Maybe she did need to have it looked at. A knock at the door startled her from her mirror-gazing.

"Just a minute!" She called, quickly throwing a shirt and pair of flannel pants on before padding through the door and looking through the peephole. When she saw Chris sticking his tongue out at her, she laughed, pulling the door opened. "Hey there, Chris. What brings you here?" He bounded through the door, taking a dive onto her bed. He landed right in the middle, and began jumping, getting dangerously closer to the ceiling with each bound. Megan watched in amusement, shaking her head in disbelief at his behavior. "Yo, Kirkpatrick!" She yelled, trying once again to get his attention. Startled, he hit his head on the ceiling, landing back in the middle of the bed with a groan as he clutched his head. Pitifully, he looked up at her, his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

"Ouch! Did you have to yell?" She raised an eyebrow in disbelief at him, slowly making her way over to the edge of the bed.

"My bed isn't a trampoline, Kirkpatrick- but I'm sorry you got hurt. Now, what brings you here? Slumming?" He rubbed his head, looking at her seriously.

"No. Actually, I came to check up on you. Wade said you were hurt." Megan rolled her eyes, towel-drying her wet hair.

"Wade has a big mouth. I'm fine." He gave her a skeptical look before walking over to the dirty towel she'd left on the floor and poking it with one foot.

"I realize you're in some kind of pissing match with JuJu, but that doesn't mean you have to lie." She froze with the towel in her hands, turning to look at him.

"This has nothing to do with Justin, and I told you, I'm fine." He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I am! Thank you for your concern, but I really don't need it. Now, is there something else I can help you with?" She asked, throwing the towel on a chair.

"Yeah, you can take that chip off your shoulder." Chris said under his breath. Megan wheeled around, eyes flashing angrily.

"Excuse me?" He straightened, eyeing her warily.

"You heard me. Look, I know this probably isn't your idea of a serious assignment, but it matters to me- to us. If you don't want to be here, that's fine, but I'm gonna ask that someone else be assigned to this case." His voice softened, and he looked at her seriously. "Think about it, Dillaford- would you want someone who thought you were a joke watching your back?" She didn't answer, merely crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. "That's what I thought. Have a good night."

When he'd left, she sat back down on the edge of her bed, blinking back the tears of embarrassment and frustration. Of all the guys, the last one she expected to lecture her was Chris. But he was right . . . she wasn't taking this assignment seriously, and it showed in her mood. She thought about her conversation with Mark earlier, and her heart sank. He was the one person who she KNEW gave a damn about her well-being, and she'd treated him like shit, nearly biting his head off. An apology was owed, certainly- if he'd even talk to her now. She shook her head, disgusted with herself. He appreciated being yelled at about as much as she appreciated being harassed by Stevens . . . not at all.

She'd been concentrating so much on maintaining a professional relationship that she hadn't stopped to think about how cold she'd been. They didn't want her there any more than she wanted to be there, but they'd made a real effort to welcome her and make her a part of the group. All of them except Justin, that was. Her next thought hit her like a ton of bricks, and she sank further into self-disgust with the realization . . . She'd drawn first blood. Justin had just been joking around, and she'd taken it the wrong way. To top it off, she'd been bitching about his behavior when she'd been acting the very same way- worse, even. Shit.

She straightened, wiping the tears off her cheeks as she headed for the door. It was time to do her rounds on the floor, and it was time to change her attitude. Unfortunately, part of that included apologizing to one Justin Timberlake of boy band fame. It wasn't going to be easy, but it needed to be done. Chris was right- it was better to have a good relationship with the people who were supposed to be watching your back. Someone was playing with their lives, and she hadn't exactly been sympathetic. She stopped in front of the room he was sharing with Justin, taking a deep breath as she reached up to knock. This was turning out to be one hell of an assignment, that was for sure . . .

*********************************

Justin rolled his eyes when he saw Megan's face through the peephole, standing with her arms crossed over her chest and a determined look on her face, Great. Probably here to chew him a new one for yelling at her after she'd saved his ass. Oh, well- he couldn't very well ignore her existence forever. Besides, Chris had heard the knock.

"Hey, JuJu- You gonna answer that, or were you planning on staring at the back of the door all evening?" Well, speak of the devil!

"I'm opening it, Chris." Slowly, he turned the knob, pulling the door opened. Megan looked at him, chewing on her lower lip nervously.

"Hi." She peeked around the corner, nodding at Chris. "Hi." Justin stood there, resting a hand on his hip as he looked her over. Something looked different about her tonight. She looked . . . meek, almost. Well, stranger things had happened.

"Can I help you with something, or did you just come to stare at my hot bod?" Chris asked, flexing a bicep. Megan smiled slightly, shaking her head.

"Nope. Actually, I came to talk to the Bald Wonder, here." She said, sticking her thumb out toward Justin. "If that's okay with you." Justin's eyes widened in surprise. It looked like stranger things were the way of the evening. He raised a curious eyebrow, nodding slowly.

"Sure . . . what can I do for you?" Chris took that as his cue to leave, squeezing her shoulder for support on the way out.

"Glad you decided to stay, girlie. Good luck. " She smiled, squeezing his hand where it lay on her shoulder. He looked over at Justin, eyeing him carefully. "I'll be next door bothering 'C. Gimme a call if you need anything." Justin nodded in response before closing the door behind him and ushering Megan inside.

"What's up?"

"Well, actually . . . " She stared at her feet, scuffing her shoes on the carpet. "I came overtoapologize." She blurted, hoping that would make it easier to say. It didn't work- she felt her cheeks burn red with embarrassment.

"I beg your pardon, but . . . " Justin looked at her curiously, tilting his head to one side. "What did you say?" Oh, he WOULD ask her to repeat herself! Slowly, Megan raised her eyes to meet his. Well, he DID look genuinely confused.

"I came to apologize." Her voice was clear, and her chin raised slightly as she spoke. Justin's jaw dropped in shock, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. "Pick that jaw up off the floor, boy! I don't really come from Bitches R Us, you know." Justin's face reddened with embarrassment, and he suddenly found the nonexistent lint on his shirt extremely fascinating. "Yeah, I heard that. But I deserved it at the time, I guess." His head shot up to meet hers, eyes wide. Would wonders never cease? "Look, Justin. I'm sorry I've been such a . . . " She trailed off, looking for the words to describe her behavior. "Hardass of late. I know you don't want me here any more than I've wanted to be here, and I'm sorry." She chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of her neck as she remembered their first meeting. "Guess I didn't make a very good first impression, huh?" Justin looked at her, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Nope. You had Wade running scared, though- that's ALWAYS okay in my book!" She smiled shyly, looking up at him.

"I did, huh?"

"Oh, yeah- I think he was about to pee his pants!" They both burst into laughter, looking away uncomfortably when silence overtook them again. Justin moved over to his bed, folding a stray shirt he'd left out.

"So . . . " He turned back around, looking at her. "I hear I have a new nickname now." Her eyebrows merged in confusion, and he smiled slightly. "Bald Headed Ego?" She turned away, smiling slightly.

"Yeah . . . you're an endangered species." He exhaled loudly, and she looked back at him, eyes sparkling slightly with amusement. "Oh, come on . . . don't I at least get a few points for originality?" Justin tilted his head back and forth, wrinkling his forehead in thought.

"I suppose . . . " He walked toward her, holding out a hand. "Truce?" She took his hand, shaking it firmly as she looked up at him.

"Truce." She put a hand on her hip, tilting her head to one side as she looked at him curiously. "Who told you, by the way?"

"Huh?" She raised an eyebrow. "Oh- THAT!" He grinned widely. "My friends have BIG mouths, Agent Dillaford. Bigger than my ego, even." She raised an eyebrow once again, and he chuckled, raising his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay . . . pretty close, though."

Megan turned to walk out the door, stopping when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Agent Dillaford?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for saving my ass today- even if you did tackle me a bit harder than you needed to." The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile as she looked over her shoulder at him.

"It IS in my job description, you know- but you're welcome."

"What, tackling me?" He asked, pretending to be confused. Megan turned around, punching him lightly on the arm.

"No, silly- saving your ass is. By the way . . . my name is Megan. My friends call me Dilla." Now it was Justin's turn to raise an eyebrow in teasing disbelief.

"I thought you weren't here to make friends." He said seriously, barely managing to hold his laughter in at her disappointed look.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Her expression was too much for him to take, and he burst into laughter. "What's so funny?" She asked angrily, looking at him suspiciously. She was dangerously close to losing her temper, and she didn't want to destroy whatever it was they'd just begun to build up. He clapped her on the back, and she jumped, blinking back the tears of pain that welled up as his palm hit her tender flesh. Justin stepped back, looking at her strangely.

"Damn, girl- I don't bite! You really are a hardass, aren't you?" She walked out the door stiffly, trying unsuccessfully to keep her back from moving as she walked down to her room.

"Not as much as you might think, Justin. Not as much as you might think." Justin closed the door behind her, flopping back down on his bed.

"It's official, Timberlake" He said, shaking his head. "You have now entered the Twilight Zone."

*********************************

(May 31, 2001- Foxboro, MA)

"Hey, Dilla!" Megan turned at the sound of Chris' voice yelling at her from down the hallway.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"What're you doing tonight, girl?" Let's see . . . she was behind on her report of this week's action, not to mention that she needed to find some time to spend with Mark- and soon. She wasn't any closer to cracking this thing than she'd been two weeks ago, and Gaines was starting to get on her ass about it.

"Piles of bureaucratic bullshit . . . " She muttered, eyes darkening. "You?"

"Well . . . " Chris fidgeted nervously, hopping on one foot. "We were kinda hoping you'd come hang with us." Megan's eyes widened in surprise as they moved up to meet his and she raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"We?"

"Yeah-me and the guys. So, what do you say, girlie?"

"Hmm . . . " She tilted her head to one side, holding her hands out as she verbally weighed the options. "Well, I can do piles of paperwork, or hang out with you and the Bald Headed Ego." Chris nodded, grinning as he was sure he'd won her over. "I'll take the paperwork, thanks." Megan smirked at his look of offended shock.

"Ouch!" He said, grabbing her hand and putting it over his heart with a pitiful look. "Is it still beating?"

"You'll live."

"How about if I told you JuJu won't even be there?" He whined, clasping his hands together as he pleaded with her. She sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"I would if I could, Chris- but I can't. I've got piles of paperwork to do, thanks to you guys." The man stuck his lower lip out in a pout, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fine. I see where the loyalty is."

"Chris, come on. I have to-" He held a hand up to silence her, looking away with his nose in the air.

"I don't want to hear it. You really know how to boost the ego, don't you?" The expression of mock offense on Chris' face crumbled what little resistance she had left, and she began chuckling quietly.

"Okay, okay! I'll come!" Chris snapped to attention, whirling her around happily until she was thoroughly dizzy and slightly green in the face. "Don't get too excited, boy- I can only come for about an hour." She said, disentangling herself from his arms. "By the way . . . what are we doing?"

"Watching movies." The mischievous sparkle in his eyes put her on alert immediately.

"What movie?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out, Dilla- now come on, we're gonna miss the beginning." He turned away, yelling down the hall toward JC's room. "Yo, C! You start it yet?" JC's head poked out of the door briefly, smiling when he saw that he had Megan in tow.

"No, we're waiting for your slow grandpa ass! You coming, or what?"

"Slow grandpa ass? We'll see how slow I am when I'm beating you DOWN, skinny-boy! What do you think is gonna protect you from that- your hair?" JC's grin turned into a scowl of disapproval, hands on his hips as he shook his head in warning.

"I don't think you have room to talk about bad hair, Kirkpatrick. Or was that someone else sporting multicolored braids that he put in PIGTAILS?" Megan's eyes went quickly back to see what Chris' response to that one would be, laughing when the older man merely tackled JC, bringing him to the ground with a thud as they landed in the room. Carefully, she stepped over their writhing forms on her way over to Lance and Joey.

"Hi, guys."

"Hey, Dilla." Lance drawled, patting the seat next to him. "Come have a seat, girl."

"Thanks." She rolled her eyes dramatically as she sank into the couch, shaking her head as she looked over at Chris and JC still scrambling around on the floor.

"Hey- you're lucky, you don't have to live on a tour bus with them." Joey said, grinning. "See what I have to deal with four months out of the year?"

"You're one to talk, Stinky Pete!" JC shot back from underneath Chris' arm. "At least we don't smell up the tour bus!" Chris stopped wrestling long enough to pull back and s hake his head in disbelief at the younger man.

"Speak for yourself, bro." He said, puffing his chest out proudly as he looked over at Megan. "I can take Joe in the stink department ANY day- especially after I've eaten Taco Bell." Lance groaned, shaking his head in disbelief as she began shaking with laughter at their antics.

"And he wonders why he never gets girls!" Lance poked a hip out, kicking his band mates lightly in the ribs. "C'mon, guys- let's watch the movie already." Chris looked at JC in wide-eyed disbelief.

"Did Mississippi just kick us, 'C?" JC nodded, grinning widely, as they sprang to their feet. Lance held his hands up in surrender, chuckling nervously.

"Uh, guys . . . we really need to start the movie, 'cause . . . " He looked at Joey frantically, searching for help.

"'Cause Bass don't wanna get his ass kicked." Joey finished, for him, smiling brightly.

"That's it!" Megan announced, throwing her arms in the air. "I'm outta here! You guys are certifiably nuts, and I have other things to do. I'll see you all later!" Four pairs of eyes met, conveying the thought simultaneously. Before she had a chance to react, Dillaford found herself lying on the couch at the bottom of a heap of boy band members. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to push all of them off of her, and finally surrendered when the movie began. As the opening scenes of Miss Congeniality flashed in front of her eyes, she glared at them, arms over her chest. She tried to escape again, but it was hopeless with both Joey and Chris sprawled across her lap.

"You are in trouble, Kirkpatrick. BIG trouble." Chris merely chuckled, a wicked grin spreading over his face. Dillaford looked at him in confusion for a moment before it hit her.

"I had Taco Bell tonight" He announced happily, smiling brightly. A collective groan escaped from the other three guys, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust before burying it in her sleeve, ducking the pillows sent in Chris' direction. Joey raised his head from its position on Megan's thigh, reaching over to smack him on the back of the head.

"No shit, dude!"

"Of course not" Chris answered matter -of- factly, giving Joey a disgusted look. "That's only when we're in Mexico." Megan buried her head in her arms, groaning loudly along with the others. It was going to be a very long night.

"Can someone PLEASE open a window?"

*********************************

Megan sighed, looking out the window and down to the city below. The industrial smog didn't do much for clearing the air, but it was still a good sight better than the toxic fumes emanating from one Chris Kirkpatrick throughout the evening. Ugh! She wrinkled her nose, turning around to pelt said perpetrator just as he and Joey were about to throw a blanket over her head. Chris' eyes widened in surprise at the contact, and Joey turned away, whistling away as he feigned innocence.

"Ouch!"

"Nice try, Kirkpatrick. And Fatone, don't think I didn't see you." Joey turned around, smiling brightly.

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you."

"Nah! Couldn't be!"

"Then who?" Lance asked, grinning at JC. Chris groaned, lobbing a pillow in his direction.

"LANCE!!!"

"What? I didn't steal the cookie from the cookie jar!" He proclaimed, sending both himself and JC into a laughing fit at their friend's exasperated expression.

"C'mon, Mississippi- help me out, here." Lance raised an eyebrow in disbelief, shaking his head.

"Uh-uh. Nice try, Joe, but I don't wish to have my ass kicked."

"We DID establish that earlier this evening, didn't we?" Megan asked, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully as she walked toward Joey. Her chosen victim backed up slowly, hands up in surrender.

"Hey, now Dilla. It was all Chris' idea, really!" Chris' jaw dropped in shock as he gave Joey a look of complete and utter disbelief.

"MY idea? You're the one who said you wanted to see if she had all the Miss Congeniality moves down, not me!" Dillaford raised an eyebrow at Joey, taking another step forward.

"Oh, really? Is that true, Joseph?"

"Ooh, you're in for it now, boy! She used the full name!" Megan's gaze shifted slightly to where she had both of the brown-eyed mischief makers in view.

"That's right, Christopher!" The older man shrank back in mock terror.

"Please don't hurt me!"

"Much as I'd like to kick your little lily-white butt, I can't. My job requires me to make sure you're safe, dammit!" Chris' lower lip poked out in a pout, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I resent that remark!" JC gave him an incredulous look.

"You WANT her to kick your ass?" He shook his head. "Man! And they say I'M the one on crack!"

"Not THAT, doofus! I was referring to the fact that Albino Boy here is much more lily-white than I'll ever be!" Chris told them, sniffing haughtily.

"Well, at least I have manners, Pineapple Head!" Lance retorted, smiling.

"Eminem wannabe!"

"At least my hair wasn't the same color as Elmo!"

"Well, well . . . " Joey paused, trying to think of a good comeback.

"Uh-oh!" JC said lowly, moving himself and Megan to a far corner of the room. She looked at him curiously, and was about to question him when she was interrupted by Chris, who jabbed a finger in Lance's chest.

"DON'T be insulting Elmo, man! I've told you MANY times . . . " He didn't finish his sentence, merely tackled his wide-eyed band mate, knocking over a small end table in the process. Joey fled for cover, immediately switching direction in his haste to avoid colliding with Dillaford. It didn't work. By the end of it, all five bodies were on the ground, struggling to get de-tangled from one another. Megan was the first out, face flushed with anger as she pushed Chris away, giving him a swift kick in the butt for good measure.

"GoodBYE, you nut cases!" She huffed, muttering as she headed toward the door. Chris looked up at her, a small glint in his eye.

"Does this mean you'll come watch Charlie's Angels with us tomorrow night?"

Justin snuck quietly out into the hallway, peeking carefully around for anyone who might recognize him. He was just around the corner when he heard loud voices coming closer. Shit! He froze at the sound, praying silently for whomever it was to go away.

"HELL NO, CHRIS! NEVER AGAIN! DO YOU HEAR ME? NEVER!!!!" Justin had to stifle the laughter threatening to escape his lips as he heard Dillaford's voice echoing through the walls. Heck, with that kind of noise, he probably didn't need to bother!

"SHUT UP! Some of us are trying to sleep, you know!"

"Oh, really? If that's the case, Mark, then I'd suggest you drag your sleepy ass out of bed and over to my room, 'cause we have some business to discuss."

"WHOO! Dilla and Daymond are gonna be making some NOISE tonight!" Joey whooped loudly, while Justin shook silently with laughter from his hiding place. He heard a door slam loudly, then . . . silence. He waited another moment, breathing heavily, before making his way down the next hall and toward the elevator. He pressed the button, beaming triumphantly as he waited to get on. Freedom! He had the whole night to himself, to do what he wanted. The elevator signaled his arrival, and he stepped forward, only to be yanked back roughly by a hand on his shoulder.

"And just where do you think YOU'RE going, Timberlake?"

*********************************

Justin's eyes widened in disbelief, and he silenced himself, pulling her hand away to reveal his dropped jaw. How the hell had she shown up without his knowing?

"Dilla! What the hell?" Megan gave him a cocky smirk, then poked him in the chest.

"Next time you're trying to sneak out... don't wear stanky cologne, okay? Now, come on- back to your room, kiddo."

"Don't think so- I'm going out." He shrugged her arm away, glaring as he jabbed the elevator button once again. Dillaford stepped in front of him, frowning.

"Nice try, Timberlake." Justin groaned, rolling his eyes.

"It's two in the morning, Dilla- it's not like I'm gonna get mobbed by fans or something."

"It's two in the morning, Timberlake- most people are trying to sleep, except perhaps the idiot who's been causing trouble on this tour. Now, come on- back to the room, boy." Justin grimaced in frustration, pushing her out of the way as the elevator arrived. He tried to get the door to close on her, but she stuck her leg in before he could get away. Justin glared as she pressed the button for the floor below theirs, then called Daymond and asked him to meet them at the stairwell.

"What the FUCK is this, Dilla? I'm an adult, I think I'm allowed to go out on my own!" He spat, brushing past her into the hall. "It's safer for me out there than for you, you know." Dillaford raised an eyebrow, grabbing his arm as they walked to meet Daymond.

"Do you hold blackbelts in two martial arts? Do you have combat training?" Justin's surprised look told her all she needed to know. "Uh-huh. I can take care of myself, Timberboy. In fact, I can take care of myself so well that I got put on assignment to watch out for your ass, too." Justin wrenched his arm out of her grasp, eyes flashing angrily.

"I don't WANT you here! I want to have a life, okay? Now, piss off!" Mark shook his head at Justin, letting out a low whistle.

"Wrong answer, buddy. You are now about to see a full-fledged Dilla temper tantrum, and believe me, it ain't pretty." Megan clamped a hand over Daymond's mouth, shooting him a deathly glare before focusing in on Justin.

"Now listen here, Timbercake." She enunciated the mispronunciation purposefully, leaning in toward him. "I didn't ask for this assignment- hell, I didn't even WANT this assignment, but Chris somehow convinced me that it was worth it. I DIDN'T come here to make friends, yet somehow I seem to have found friends in Chris and the other guys. Yet you, for some reason, seem to INSIST on making my life a living HELL. I know what it's like not to be able to be yourself, to not have freedom- heck, I live it EVERY DAY. So don't you DARE tell ME to piss off!"

"Dilla..." Her hand clamped tighter over Mark's mouth.

"Not now, Daymond." She hissed, turning back toward Justin. "You know the rules, Justin. You don't want to go out with five bodyguards, I understand that. But you MUST, I repeat MUST have someone with you. Is that understood?" Justin gave her a bored look, turning away to walk back down the hall.

"Is that UNDERSTOOD?"

"If I were you, I'd answer before she gets really pissed." Mark advised, keeping pace with the younger man. A pissed-off, overly tired Dilla is just about the worst sight I've ever seen. Kid once kicked through a wall." He nodded solemnly at Justin's shocked expression. "Yep. All the way through." Justin's shoulders slumped in dejection, and he let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"I just wanted to go out, Mark. That's all. I just wanted to go out." Mark clapped a hand on his shoulder as they began climbing the stairs, giving it a light squeeze.

"I'm sorry, bro- but this is for your own safety. You know that."

"Yeah, but..." He growled in frustration, eyes narrowing. "I just wanted to go out like any other guy my age. Is that too much to ask?"

"Shouldn't be, but at this point, it is, Justin. Now, go get some rest. We're rolling out of here in four hours." He looked back over his shoulder at Megan. "We can talk about the report then, Dilla." She nodded curtly, heading into her room without another word.

"'Night!" Mark called after her cheerfully, grinning when she shot him the bird. He turned back to Justin, chuckling. "Gotta love the kid, huh?" Justin shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.

"You couldn't pay me enough to take your job, dude- how do you handle her?" Daymond merely smiled in response, looking over his shoulder as he opened his door.

"Don't try anything else, J. Dilla's got a few extra senses on her."

Justin sighed loudly as he sat on his bed, completely and utterly depressed. He'd been planning this escape for awhile, and it pissed him off to no end that his plans had been thwarted. He needed some fresh air, he needed to get out, but most of all... he needed some company besides the guys. He loved them, they were like brothers, but they didn't understand what it was like for him. Out of all of them, he was the one who had to have the most protection, he was the one who was most easily recognized, and he was the one whose privacy was most compromised. It was enough to make him wonder whether it was worth it... whether the payoff was worth the sacrifice of not being able to show up at the same grocery store twice for fear of being mobbed. He closed his eyes, leaning back on the bed with a heavy sigh. He was just drifting off to sleep when he was startled awake by a knock on the door.

"Just a minute!" He groaned, shuffling sleepily over to the door. When he saw who was on the other side, he slammed it shut again, but she'd already gotten her foot in, preventing him from shutting her out. He shot her a deathly glare, not even attempting to hide his disgust. "What the hell do YOU want?"

"You wanted to go out... let's go out." She yanked him out into the hall before he could protest, grabbing his jacket on the way. "I'm getting a little sick of this touring lifestyle myself."

*********************************

Justin ranted at Dillaford all the way down to the lobby and out the door of the hotel entrance, talking about how he, unlike the living dead, needed his sleep. Secretly, though- he was glad. He HAD wanted to go out, to get away from the guys, the tour . . . from everything, and now Dillaford had given him that opportunity. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't so bad after all. Despite her hardass exterior, she had developed a soft spot for him. He smiled at the thought.

"Oh, would you just shut UP?" Megan asked, smacking him on the back of the head. "I see that grin, so I don't want you to give me any more shit about your precious beauty sleep, got it?" Justin grinned widely in response, his white teeth nearly glowing in the dark night.

"Got it. So, now that you've dragged my ass out of bed . . . where are we going, exactly?" Megan raised an eyebrow at him, and he shut his mouth quickly. As they rounded a corner into a less than desirable neighborhood, he began to chuckle nervously. "Uh, Dilla- look, I know I annoy you, but . . . are you trying to get us killed?" Her eyebrow raised again, and he gulped. This didn't look good. Maybe if he tried the direct approach . . . "Dilla, where in the HELL do you think you're going?" Justin's voice rose, cracking with the evident panic, and Megan finally cracked a smile.

"Will you RELAX, Justin?" He looked nervously over his shoulder, jumping about a foot in the air as he heard a loud clatter in the alley they'd just passed.

"Uh, yeah, sure . . . when you tell me where we ARE!"

"Sorry- no can do." Okay, now she was really beginning to scare him, and the smile on her face was getting REALLY unnerving. He began muttering about her under his breath, stopping when she whipped around to face him again. "You know, for a Southern boy, you really need to work on those manners, Timberlake. By the way . . . we're here."

"Huh?"

"I said, we're here." Justin broke out of his reverie, slowly raising his head up to see what she was pointing at. It was a small diner, a blue neon sign advertising 24-hour breakfast and great pies flashing in the window. A slow grin spread across her face as she watched realization dawn, and she held the door opened, motioning him in. They made their way into a small booth in the back while Dilla surveyed the other patrons for possible threats. Just as she thought . . . home free. When she spotted the waitress, she quickly pulled the hat she'd insisted Justin wear further down, nearly covering his eyes.

"What was that-" He closed his mouth again quickly when he saw their teenage, bleach-blonde waitress approaching. After they'd ordered, he leaned across the table, lowering his voice. "Thanks." Megan nodded curtly, then refocused her attention on the dessert menu.

"It's my job to see trouble before it happens. Don't tell me Mike doesn't do the same."

"Yeah, but he's a big huge, bodyguard. Ain't nothing going through that man. I don't know how you do it!" She raised an eyebrow, and he continued, stuttering nervously. "Not to say that you can't take care of yourself, 'cause you can, but . . . " She sighed wearily, and he brought his eyes up to meet hers, flinching at the sadness he saw there. "Dilla, are you okay?" Her head snapped up, and her expression hardened into the mask he'd become so familiar with.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine . . . just tired, that's all. I don't understand how YOU do this all the time, man- it's killing me!" She told him, grinning. "Y'all are too hyper for my old ass!" Justin busted up laughing at that one, reaching across to tug lightly on her ponytail.

"Yeah, right, Dilla- even I'M older than you, so don't go telling me about YOUR old ass!" A mischievous grin spread slowly across his face. "Besides, from where I stand on stage, that ass don't look bad at all- not at all." He ducked her arm, avoiding the smack he knew was coming. "Seriously, though . . . it's my job. I don't have a choice."

"That's where you're wrong." Justin brought his head back, giving her a curious look.

"Excuse me?"

"You're wrong. There's always a choice, Justin. Even when someone has a gun to your head, there's a choice. If you wanted out, if you REALLY wanted out, you could do it."

"No I couldn't! I have contracts, and the guys, and . . . " She put her hand over his, stopping him from ticking off all of the reasons on his fingers.

"Yeah, you could. You just don't want to."

"And you?" Megan bristled, straightening in her seat.

"What about me?"

"Why'd you choose to stay on the tour?" She opened her mouth, and he raised a hand to stop her. "And don't tell me you didn't have a choice, 'cause we've already established that that answer is bullshit."

"I have a job to do, and I take that job seriously- for the most part." She said, examining the leftover food on her plate. "I just needed to be reminded that this wasn't all a joke." Her eyes met his again, and Justin was surprised at the depth of pain he saw there. "Mark's taking this really hard, and, if nothing else, I owe it to him to be fully committed to this assignment. He's all I've got." She looked away, and Justin reached over the table, pulling her chin up with a hand until their eyes met again.

"If I didn't know better, Dilla, I'd say you were letting your guard down." He said softly, placing a hand on her cheek. She shied away, motioning for the waitress to bring their check. She stood up, tossing a few bills on the table for a tip, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Well, it's a good thing you know better, then."

*********************************

Justin was practically jogging to catch up with Dillaford's pace, she'd jetted out of the diner so quickly. He caught her two blocks later, grabbing her arm.

"Jesus, Dilla! This isn't the safest place to be walking around by yourself, ya know?" She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, eyes flashing angrily as she looked up at him.

"Spare me the lecture, Timberboy. I can take care of myself." She turned back around, quickening her pace once again.

"That doesn't mean you go out LOOKING for trouble!" He said, exasperated. "What the hell are you trying to prove to yourself, huh? That you don't need anybody? News flash, kiddo- you do. God didn't create people to go solo."

"But he created you to annoy the shit out of me."

"Look, little miss ' I'm an FBI agent, I can take care of myself'. You're on a short path to a lot of loneliness, and you're going there fast. Did it ever occur to you that despite your best efforts, people actually CARE about you?"

"Oh, please! If you're about to give me the 'you're part of the family now' lecture, find some new material. It's getting old. I didn't ask for you to worry about me, I don't need you to worry about me, and I sure as hell don't WANT you to worry about me."

"Is that what you say to Mark, too?" Megan wheeled around, her voice lowered to a near growl as she spoke.

"Don't you EVER bring Mark into a discussion with me, do you understand? You know NOTHING about me, Justin. NOTHING."

"Maybe that's because you never give anyone the opportunity. What, you think you'll spontaneously combust if someone actually gets to know you? Sheesh- I don't see how Daymond puts up with your ass!" Megan's hands curled into fists, and her jaw tightened as she fought the urge to beat him into a bloody pulp.

"Now would be a good time to shut up, Justin." She warned through clenched teeth. "I'm beginning to lose my temper."

"You don't scare me. The only person you scare is yourself, Dilla, so don't even try." Justin found himself slammed up against a brick wall on the street they were walking through, Dillaford's face inches from his own. His eyes widened in surprise, and the look in her eyes caused him to shrink back as far as he could.

"Not scared, huh? Bullshit, Timberlake."

"What're you gonna do, hit me? Somehow I don't think that would be a wise decision." Megan gave him a disgusted look, nearly spitting her next words out.

"You're not worth the bruised knuckles, let alone my job. Find your own fucking way back, pretty boy." She released him, continuing down the street in a flat-out sprint until she was out of sight. Justin stood there for a moment, completely and utterly confused. Something was definitely going on, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. The girl was too young to be that jaded against the world.

"The job . . . it's all about the damn job with her. I swear, you'd think she was gonna die if she messed up." He muttered, starting off toward what he thought the direction of the hotel was. Twenty minutes and several turns later, he was completely lost. Climbing up a fire escape ladder, he finally caught a view of the hotel, three blocks away. Carefully surveying the street signs, he groaned as he realized he'd only been a block and a half away when Dillaford had left him, and had been straying further off the path ever since. "Figures. Woman lets you think things are easy, but one wrong step and you might as well give up." He clambered up several flights of stairs, hoping the exercise would give him something to think about besides how completely pissed off he was at Megan for not letting him in. She was on again off again, hot and cold, laughing with him one minute and slamming him against a wall the next, and he wanted to know why. Somehow, he knew there was an explanation beyond the mere fact that she was a bitch. It wasn't that simple- it couldn't be, because she'd nearly let her guard down. Justin stopped in the stairwell of his floor, sinking down to sit on the steps and catch his breath. He shook his head, turning the doorknob and padding silently back down the hall. He almost knocked on Megan's door to check that she'd made it back, freezing with his hand in midair when a single, nagging question popped into his mind.

Why the hell did he care?

*********************************

Dillaford sprinted the last block and a half to the hotel, her vision blurred by tears. She ran up the stairs, knowing that the elevator could never get her where she needed to go quickly enough. She burst into the hall, not stopping until she'd reached her final destination, barely managing to gulp in a breath before she began pounding wildly on the door with her fists. Frantically, she looked through the peephole for any sign of life, sighing when she saw a light turn on. The door opened quickly, a very disheveled and somewhat disoriented Daymond answering.

"Dilla? What is it? Did something happen to one of the guys?" She couldn't answer for fear of crying, merely shook her head at him, taking in large gulps of air. "Dilla?" He asked more gently, pulling her into his room and shutting the door. "What's wrong?"

"I can't do this anymore, Mark." His eyes widened in shock at the remark, and he pulled her into a hug.

"Shh . . . why don't you take a few deep breaths, calm down, and then tell me what this is all about, okay?" He pulled away so that he could see her face, pulling her chin up with one hand. "Okay?" She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she fought to keep more tears from surfacing. "Are you hurt, hon?" Megan shook her head, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of the T-shirt she was wearing.

"No. I'm okay." Mark chuckled lightly at her insistent tone, then sat down on the edge of the bed with her.

"I'd hardly say you're okay, but I'm glad you're not hurt. Now, what's wrong?" Dillaford took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she raised her eyes to meet his once again.

"I... can't . . . breathe, Mark." She sputtered between sobs, trying desperately to keep some sense of composure. "And I'm sorry I woke you up, but everything's a big mess and I'm a total bitch and you probably hate me just like he does, but I had to tell you that I'm sorry, I really am." She brought her eyes up to his, and burst into a whole new round of tears. "I don't think I can do this anymore. I really don't."

"Do what? Hang out with *NSYNC? The job?" He gave her a sideways smile. "You're gonna have to throw me a bone, here, kiddo."

"The JOB, Daymond. The DAMN JOB, okay?" Mark held his hands up in surrender, backing away from her a bit.

"Whoa! Okay . . . the job." He looked at her curiously, scratching his head. "I thought you liked the 'damn job', Dilla." She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears, and sighed wearily.

"So did I, Mark . . . so did I."

"Does this have anything to do with Justin? 'Cause if it does, I'd be happy to have a little chat with him. I know you two aren't on the best of terms, but if he's really making your life miserable, Dilla . . . "

"No! Mark, no! That's not it. I mean, yeah, he's an arrogant ass, but . . . "

"You like him." Mark finished, holding up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "And don't even try to deny it, 'cause I know you far too well, kiddo. We both know you wouldn't have saved his ass if he bugged you THAT much, and . . . " He grinned brightly at her. "You certainly wouldn't have pulled tonight's little escape."

"What? How did you-?" Mark reached over, mussing her hair.

"You're not the only observant one, Dilla. Give me SOME credit every once in a while, will you? Now, what on EARTH has gotten so bad that you want to quit, and why didn't you tell me sooner?" Megan played with the hem of her shirt, avoiding his eyes, and the simple gesture nearly made Mark begin to cry, too. It was easy to forget that she was still pretty much a kid, though she took the enormous responsibility of her job on her small shoulders. "Dilla?"

"It's something Justin said, actually . . . about how I don't let anybody get to know me, and that 'despite my best efforts, people actually care about me.'" She scrunched up her nose, mimicking Justin. "I told him that I don't need him to worry about me, and that I don't want him to worry about me, and then he said he doesn't understand how you 'put up with my ass.'" She sighed, looking up at Daymond. "And I was seriously about to kick his ass, Mark, but then . . . then he told me that the only person whom I scare is myself."

"And . . . ?"

"I realized that he was right." She sniffled, giving him a slight smile. "So I left his ass and ran back here, and you know the rest." Mark's eyes widened in surprise.

"You what?"

"I left him about a block and a half away. It's not a big deal." Dillaford repeated, waving a hand in dismissal. "Daymond, I'm sorry. I realize that I haven't been the best partner on this assignment- in fact I've kinda been a bitch, and I'm sorry. I don't know how you put up with my ass, either."

"I put up with you because you're my friend, Dilla. You're the closest thing I've got to a little sister, and you ARE my best friend. That said, I'm not just 'putting up with you'. I care about you, and despite all the shit you give me, I know you care about me, too." Megan grinned, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

"Yeah, I do. Don't let it go to your head, though- your melon's already two sizes too big!"

"Ouch!"

"You know I love you." She said, ruffling his already messy bed-head. "You're all I've got, Mark. You really are." He pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

"And you just can't get rid of me, can you?" He asked quietly. "I love you too, kiddo. Now, get your ass out of here and get some sleep. We're rolling out of here in . . . " He looked at the clock on the night stand next to him, letting out a disappointed groan. "One hour." Dillaford walked to the door, turning around one last time before leaving.

"Thanks, Daymond. Sorry for waking you up."

"Hey- no problem, kid. What are friends for, huh?" Dillaford smiled, talking to herself as she walked back to her room.

"That's a very good question, Mark . . . a VERY good question."

*********************************

Justin looked curiously over at Dillaford as everyone convened for the morning roll call, his face flooding with concern when he saw tear tracks on her face. When she pulled her sunglasses down to reveal her red-rimmed eyes, he grew even more curious. He made his way over to the other end of the large room, but was stopped by Mark, who pulled him aside.

"Now is not the time, Justin."

"But I just wanted to find out if-" His mouth shut quickly when he caught Daymond's look. "Is she okay?"

"You know Dilla . . . She's always okay. I'd keep my distance for a while, though. When a tiger's been hurt, she's still likely to lash out with the other paw." Justin suddenly found the floor very interesting.

"Oh."

"Yeah. How's about you and I have a little chat later, yeah?" Justin sighed heavily, then gave Mark a glum look.

"Okay. After we stop for the night? We're supposed to have some free time then- no appearances or stuff like that."

"I'll look forward to it." Mark patted him on the shoulder, then moved to walk away. "And Justin?"

The younger man raised his head again to meet Mark's eyes. "Quit looking like you're on a death march. I promise I don't bite."

"No, you'll just break my neck first, and then I won't feel a thing." Justin muttered to himself, watching as Mark strode away.

"Huh? No, no, JuJu. You've got it all wrong! We didn't mind spending an evening without you- not at all!"

Chris told him, patting him on the shoulder in a consoling matter.

"That's right- Dilla took your spot, and we had a blast! She doesn't take up as much room as you do." Lance piped in.

"And she doesn't smell, either." Chris added, grinning brightly. "Now, come on, boy! We've got a bus to get to!"

"You have WAY too much energy after so little sleep, man. What are you ON?" Chris looked shiftily from side to side before revealing a small, foil-wrapped package in his jacket pocket.

"Shh! Not so loud! They'll take my Pop Tarts away!"

"Hey! Those are MINE, Kirkpatrick! Give them back!" Joey insisted, grabbing for the package. Chris yelped, then tore off for the bus, with Joey in hot pursuit.

"I agree with you, man. Too much sugar." JC said, smiling tiredly. "But what's up with you today? Usually you'd be the one stealing the Pop Tarts."

"Long night. When it was all over, I only got about an hour of sleep."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nah- I'd rather catch some more z's."

"I hear you on that, bro." JC told him, clapping him on the back. "But let me know, okay? I've known you for too long to believe that this is simply a sleep-depravation funk. In fact, I'd say it has something to do with our friend Dillaford. Your face dropped when we brought her up." Justin glared at his band mate, pulling away from his grasp.

"I said I don't want to talk about it, 'C." He growled, running a hand over his nonexistent hair. "I messed up, okay?"

"JuJu, if you hurt that kid . . . "

"Man, I am NOT in the mood for a lecture right now, okay? Lay off! Geez, what is it about this girl that has everyone ready to filet me, huh?"

" Sheesh! And they say I'M bad! I forgot how grumpy you are when you don't get your sleep." Justin exhaled loudly as he made his way up the bus stairs.

"I'm sorry, C. I just don't want to talk about it right now, okay?"

"Okay . . . you know where to find me."

"Yeah, third bunk, snoring like a chainsaw."

"Nah, that's Chris, farting like a machine gun." The two began to laugh, but were interrupted by Chris' voice coming from the back of the bus.

"No it's not! I disavow any and all connections to foul smells on this vehicle. It's not MY fault that Joey leaves his sweaty socks lying around!"

"I do not! Those are your tighty-whities, man!"

"Oh, come off it, Joe. Your feet are stanky, and we all know it."

"Not as stanky as your cooking, Lance!"

"I KNOW you didn't go there, 'cause . . . " A loud thud was heard, so Justin and JC didn't even hear the rest of the sentence. They sank onto the couches in the recreation area, shaking with laughter. Justin shook his head, then looked over at JC, a wide grin on his face.

"WHO'S the baby of this group?"

"I'd say it's a three-way tie between the stooges for now . . . but ask me after I've had some more sleep." JC responded, yawning as he closed his eyes and sank back into the couch. "'Night, JuJu."

"'Night." Justin replied, stretching his body out on the couch as he waited for sleep to overtake him again.

*********************************

Justin took a deep breath before knocking on the door in front of him. To say that he was nervous would be putting it lightly. After being rudely awakened by the smell of Joey's sock being waved in his face, he'd decided that sleep was a lost cause. Instead, he'd spent the remainder of the day trying to figure out what he'd said to piss Dillaford off, and also how he was going to get away without Mark maiming him for life. He wasn't really scared of Dilla, but Daymond was an entirely different matter. Especially after what he'd learned from JC . . .

"Man, why are you suddenly all protective of Dilla? I mean, it's not like she can't take care of herself." He'd said, once JC, too, had been rudely awakened. They'd gone to a quieter area of the bus, shutting and locking the door so that the stooges couldn't get in.

"Because she's been through a lot, J. I mean, think about it . . . she's younger than you are, and she's already been in the FBI for two years, during which time she's risen to the top of her division as an undercover agent. That's a lot of pressure, man."

"So is performing in front of 20,000 fans every night." Justin retorted defensively.

"That's true, but this is totally different. I mean, think about it. You and I complain about not having private lives, but . . . she's got it a million times worse." He gave JC a disbelieving look.

"How do you figure? I don't see her getting mobbed when she tries to go grab a burger."

"No, but think about it, Justin. Her job consists of pretending to be someone she isn't, infiltrating drug rings, the mob, you name it."

"That doesn't excuse her being a complete bitch, 'C. I mean, I try to get to know her, and she bites my head off. I don't understand why she's so afraid to open up." JC gave him a thoroughly disgusted look.

"You know, for someone as intelligent as you are, Justin, you're a real dumb ass. Now tell me . . . just how well would it have gone over if she'd opened up to members of the mob, huh? What, pray tell, do you think would have happened then?" Realization dawned in Justin's eyes, and JC nodded. "Exactly. In our profession, we make a mistake, and we're human. We try to cover, or, if we can't, we make a joke about it. She makes a mistake . . . "

"She's dead." Justin finished glumly.

"I see you're catching on. Now, I've known Dilla ever since she started with the FBI, and during that time, I've seen her grow more and more closed off. I don't know her very well, but I know enough to tell you that I don't like the changes I've seen. You want any more information, you're gonna have to ask Mark. I think he's the only person who knows anything about her beyond her name. All I'm saying is give some consideration to these things before you go off on her again, JuJu. She's dealt with more shit in the past two years that we'll see in our entire LIVES, man." He softened his tone, placing a comforting hand on Justin's shoulder. "You like her, you're going to have to take it way slow, buddy. Trust is hard-won, and if it's crushed . . . " JC left Justin to finish the sentence himself.

"It's never going to re-appear." He finished, raising his hand to knock on Mark's door.

"Hey. I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there before you got up the guts to knock. I told you I don't bite!" Mark called from inside the room. "Come on in- it's opened." Justin turned the handle, peering nervously into the room, where he saw Mark doing pushups.

"98 . . . 99 . . . 100." He finished counting off, then stood up, wiping some sweat off of his forehead. "Have a seat, Justin." Mark commanded, pulling the chair from the hotel desk and facing it backwards before sitting. Justin sank down on the corner of one of the beds, nervously checking the distance to the door. Mark saw the fear still in his eyes and chuckled lightly.

"So . . . "

"So, I understand you and Dilla had words last night- or should I say this morning?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Now, I've heard part of her side . . . let's hear yours."

"What did she tell you?"

"Not much. All I know is that she came to my room sobbing and saying that she wanted to quit." Mark told him, eyeing him carefully. "And that the reason she wanted to quit is because of something you said. Now, what I want to know is . . . what the HELL did you say to her? Last time I checked, she lived for this job, and I've hardly ever seen the kid cry." Justin's shoulders dropped lower, and he sank further into the bed.

"Sorry."

"Save the apologies for Dilla- just tell me what you said so I know what I'm up against, here." Justin coughed nervously, looking anywhere but at Mark's eyes as he filled in the details of his outing with Dillaford the night before.

"So, yeah. That's basically it." He finished, sighing.

"That's basically it? Is there more, or not?"

"That's it."

"So, let me get this straight. She pulled you out of your room so you could have your precious freedom from the guys and the guards, took you to a diner, you had a chat, and then you ended up telling her that she's a bitch and she doesn't deserve my friendship?" Justin gulped, picking at some nonexistent lint on the bedspread. Those weren't his exact words, but, looking back, it certainly didn't sound good.

"I... I guess." Mark shook his head, hitting his hands on the back of the chair.

"Dammit, Justin! I'm surprised she didn't kick the shit out of you! You had NO call to say ANYTHING to her about me. You don't know her well enough, and you sure as hell don't know me well enough. Dilla's family. She's saved my ass more times than I'd like to count, and I'd do the same for her in a second, given the opportunity."

"Sorry." Justin muttered, staring at the floor. The bedspread was no longer interesting.

"Don't apologize to me, man- apologize to her. And in the future, try to refrain from commenting on friendships that you know nothing about, okay? " Justin finally brought his eyes up to meet Mark's.

"Okay." He fidgeted uncomfortably, unsure of whether to ask his next question. "Mark- what happened?" Daymond's eyes clouded for a moment, then cleared. He gave Justin a weak smile, slapping him on the back as he opened the door to let the younger man out.

"If I told you that, Justin, I'd have to kill ya."

*********************************

Dillaford sank into the chair with a loud sigh before reaching out to turn on the desk lamp. She was way overdue on her reports, and Gaines was beginning to get pissed. Huh! What else was new . . . she seemed to piss everyone off. Well, everyone whom she'd nicknamed 'Bald Headed Ego', that was. It still never failed to amaze her that Justin could piss her off so easily. Daymond was right- she did like him. In fact, the scary thing was that he reminded her of Tony. Tony . . .

"Hey, precious! How's it going this evening?" Gambini asked her. Dillaford smiled brightly, walking over to him with a seductive swing to her hips.

"Fine, boss. You needed me?"

"Yeah. Seems we have a problem, here." Gambini signaled to his two bodyguards, and they pulled Tony into view. He was bound, gagged, and had several bruises forming on his face. It was all Dillaford could do not to rush over and rescue him right away, but this was life and death. One look in his eyes and she knew. If she even so much as flinched, she was through. Shit. Shit. Tony was the other prize kid of the division, the only other agent her age, and this was their fifth assignment together. As friends, they were inseparable. As a team, they were unbeatable- until now. Dillaford wracked her brain, trying to figure out what the slip-up had been, but she didn't come up with anything. She knew it wasn't her . . . She turned back to Gambini, eyes void of feeling.

"What's the problem?"

"This RAT is a fibbie." Gambini growled, sending Tony to the ground with a blow to the back of the head. Megan's eyes widened as she looked up at the man, but she hid the fear.

"He's a what?" She asked, playing up her 'dumb blonde' persona. "What's a fibbie, boss?"

"An agent, blondie. An FBI agent." She turned her mouth into a big 'O'.

"Really?" Her eyes widened even further in mock shock as she fought the tears threatening to surface at the sight of Tony's unconscious form. "Oh my God!" She exclaimed, burrowing her face into Gambini's chest, finally bursting into sobs. "And I . . . I trusted him!" Gambini shook her, bringing her face up to his.

"Did you tell him anything?" She shook her head, and he shook her again, more roughly. "What did you tell him, Glory?" Megan tried desperately not to vomit at the sound of her cover name, turning her head away from Gambini before she slipped and said something she shouldn't.

"Nothing!" She turned to looked at Tony, transferring her hatred for Gambini into her stare at Tony. "I can't believe this!"

"Neither can I, baby doll. Now, go back to your room. This is gonna be messy, and I don't want my baby seeing it." Dillaford nodded, walking away as quickly as she could with the escort Gambini insisted she have. She waited until he'd left before calling Daymond, finally letting her guard down. It was the first time she'd worked with Mark, but she knew he was trustworthy. He had to be. He was their backup, in the van around the corner.

"Talk to me."

"Mark, it's me. This assignment is shot to hell, you've gotta get out of here!"

"Dilla? What's going on?"

"They've got Tony, Mark. I don't know how, but they've got him." She flinched as she heard a gunshot, then another.

"Dilla? Dilla, are you still there? I heard gunfire." Megan didn't answer. Her eyes burned, and she was trying desperately to avoid vomiting right then and there. Shaking, she brought the phone back up to her ear.

"I'm here, Daymond. Tony's down."

"FUCK! Are you sure?"

"You want me to waltz out there and check?" She asked angrily.

"Dilla! No! I'm just hoping . . . " She never let him finish the sentence. She'd already hung up. Megan crept back down to the room, quickly and silently. She had to know for sure that he was gone, had to know there was no hope left. Dillaford lowered her body, looking through the keyhole to see what was going on in the large conference room. Her eyes widened, and she sprinted down the hall, emptying the contents of her stomach into the nearest vase. She ran back up to her room, triple locking all of the doors and readying her pistol before sitting down in the very middle of the bed. That was where Mark had found her the next morning when they'd pulled out- not asleep, but really not conscious either. She was shaking uncontrollably, eyes frozen open with a look of sheer panic. When he'd reached out to touch her, she finally reacted.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" She screamed, then began beating on him for all she was worth. The gun fired into the ceiling, and he'd tackled her to the floor. Dillaford punched, kicked, scratched and clawed, but to no avail. Mark was forced to slap cuffs on her as he dragged her off the scene, indicating that she was under arrest for prostitution as he dragged her past the Gambini family.

It had taken him a year to get it out of her. When she'd gone back down, she'd seen Gambini standing over Tony's body, laughing as he cut him into pieces. Gaines had tried to get her to take time off, but she'd refused. Instead, she'd pushed herself harder and harder, and her trust level had gone lower and lower. When she learned that Tony's death was a direct result of mentioning her while he was sleep talking, it had gotten worse. No matter how they'd tried to convince her otherwise, she knew.

He'd died because of her.

*********************************

"Dilla? DILLA?"

Megan's head shot up at the sound of her name, then heard the frantic pounding on the door. Shit. She must've nodded off. She ran a hand over her face, then through her hair as she tried to shake the grogginess and slow the rapid beating of her heart. "Dilla, I'm going to break this door down if you don't answer it right NOW!" Uh-oh. It was Mark, in full-fledged big brother mode, and he wasn't happy. She opened the door leading into his room, and he burst through, nearly crushing her with his hug. "My GOD, don't scare me like that! Are you okay?" She gave him an odd look, confused.

"I'm fine, Mark. What's wrong?"

"What's WRONG? You're asking ME what's WRONG?" Dillaford's eyes widened in surprise. Daymond never yelled at her- never. Mark looked at her face, calming somewhat when he realized that she was really and truly confused. "You were screaming bloody murder in here, kid. Justin's been knocking on the door and yelling at you for the past two minutes, and you didn't answer." He gave her a look of concern mixed with brotherly anger. "I thought you weren't having the nightmares anymore, Dilla."

"I'm not, I . . . " He gave her a stern look, and her shoulders drooped. "I saw a spider?" She finished lamely.

"Nice try, kid. Now, you can to feed that to the entire hall you woke up, but don't expect ME to take that bullshit. How long, Dilla?"

"Mark, I-"

"HOW LONG?" Dillaford sighed, sinking into a corner of the bed.

"I don't know why, but it's just been happening a lot more lately. I'm fine though, really." She added, seeing his skeptical look.

"Bullshit. I'm asking Gaines to take you off this assignment, Dilla."

"I'm FINE!" She protested, eyes burning with tears. "Don't do this to me, Mark. Don't pull me off of this. This is ALL I've got." Dillaford ran a hand over her face again, looking away. "And don't even try to pull some 'job performance' crap, 'cause you KNOW I'm doing my job." Mark sighed, looking at his feet.

"Megan, I just don't think-"

"I'm doing my job, Mark. If I weren't, then maybe you'd have a reason to say something to Gaines, but you go to him with this, and he'll laugh in your face. What're you gonna do, say that I'm unqualified because I screamed? Get real." Mark sighed again, knowing she was right.

"Okay. But I'm going to be watching you like a hawk, kiddo. If you're having the nightmares again, I want you to tell me. Dammit, Dilla- that's what friends do."

"I don't want you to worry about me, Mark. I can handle it, okay? I've been handling it ever since it happened."

"How? By pretending it never happened and refusing to form any close friendships? Don't bullshit me, Dilla- I at least deserve THAT much respect."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. But I'm dealing, I'm doing my job, and I'm going to be okay, alright? If my job performance starts to go down the crapper, then I'll quit." Mark snorted, not even attempting to hide his blatant disbelief of her statement. "Seriously, I will." She held out her hand, looking him straight in the eye. "You have my word, Daymond." Warily, Daymond shot his arm out, grasping her hand and pumping hard.

"You've got yourself a deal, then." He turned to go back to his room, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "I still think you're on overdrive, though. As a friend, Dilla . . . I think you need a break."

"And as a friend, Mark . . . you worry too much." She responded, giving him a quick shove and closing the door behind him. "Now, get! I have reports to write.

"Nightmares? What kind of nightmares?" Justin asked as Mark as stumbled back into his room, glaring at the door.

"Eavesdropping isn't nice, kid. Didn't anyone teach you that?"

"What kind of nightmares, Mark?" Justin persisted, ignoring the older man's chiding.

"The kind about things that have actually happened." When Justin gave him a curious look again, he waved a hand in dismissal. "End of session, Justin. You want to know more, you're gonna have to talk to Dilla yourself." He shot a look of warning. "I'm done playing monkey in the middle." Justin heaved a sigh before heading to the door. "And Justin?" He turned, raising an eyebrow when Mark stopped him. "If I were you, I'd leave her alone for tonight. She's swamped with work, and it's really starting to catch up with her." Justin nodded in agreement before heading right next door to knock on Dillaford's door again. Screw the work- he wanted to know what was going on, and now.

*********************************

Dillaford groaned when she heard an insistent knock on the door again, mumbling to herself as she shuffled her way over to answer it.

"You know, Mark- you CAN just knock on the door between our rooms. You're not exactly fooling me here by coming to the other door." She growled, opening the door. Her jaw dropped as she found herself face to face with Justin. "Oh. You're not Mark."

"Well, at least you're observant!" Justin teased, sending her a sideways smile. "Now, can I come in, or are you still too pissed about last night to speak to me?"

"Well, since slamming doors shut on people isn't my style, I'd say it's up to you. Enter at your own risk." She shot back, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"Oh, that's right . . . you just slam people into walls. My bad." Dillaford's eyebrow raised even further, and the corners of her mouth began turning upward into a smile.

"Aren't we the sassy one tonight?" She asked, walking back over to the desk where she'd been working. "I meant what I said about entering at your own risk- and after that comment . . . "

"Let me guess. Things just got riskier." Justin finished, a bored look on his face. "I'm going to restate my comment from last night, Dilla. The only person you scare is yourself." He immediately regretted his words when he saw the hurt look flash across her face, quickly replaced by a fake, bright smile.

"And YOU might best leave now, Justin."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Dilla. About last night . . . "

"Unless you want a re-enactment, I'd suggest you leave right about . . . NOW!" She growled, slamming her hands on the desk. "What is it with you? Didn't get enough digs in last night, so you had to come back for more? Contrary to what you might believe, Justin, I do have feelings." Justin opened his mouth to respond, but Dillaford plowed on before he could answer.

"OUT!" She shouted, pointing a finger toward the doorway he'd abandoned only moments before. She was literally shaking, she was so upset. First another nightmare about Tony's death, and now the Bald Wonder was coming to rub salt in the wounds he'd inflicted the night before? This was too much, especially on top of the fact that she had about . . . she paused her mental tirade to look at her watch- half an hour to get her report sent off to Gaines.

"I don't have the time to get into another pissing match with you, Justin. You've won, okay?" She let out a loud sigh, running her hands through her hair as she sank down into the chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to you rag on me again." She looked up at him wearily. "You know your way out." Justin hung his head in shame at the sight in front of him. He knew better than to believe that all of the defeat showing on her face was due to him, but the fact that he'd even contributed to it made him feel lower than the scum on the bottom of a slug. He shook his head at himself, then raised his eyes to meet hers again.

"I'm sorry." This time it was he who plowed on before Megan could get a word in edgewise. "Just hear me out, and then I promise you that I'll allow you to dropkick my ass out this door if you want to." He told her, smiling timidly when he saw her smirk. "What I said last night was wrong, and I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, both Mark and JC gave me hell about it today." Justin chuckled, rubbing his head sheepishly. "Something about shooting my mouth off without knowing what I'm talking about." Dillaford began to chuckle too, enjoying his discomfort.

"Hmm . . . sounds vaguely familiar. I think I might know somebody who does that." She conceded. Actually, she'd gotten more than one ass-chewing for the same thing herself. Justin fidgeted, looking at the ground as he continued.

"I shouldn't have run my mouth about you and Mark. You're family to him, and I was too stupid to see that." He looked at her again, stepping closer to her. "Look- I know that I'm probably the last person you want to hear this from, but . . . " He paused, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled at her. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I might not understand, but I'd be happy to listen. The guys tell me I'm pretty good at that." Dillaford raised both eyebrows, standing up until their faces were nearly touching. She leaned in, speaking in a low voice.

"I'm impressed, Chia Head. I seem to have lost the desire to dropkick your ass out of here. Which means . . . " She leaned in even closer, and Justin took a deep breath, unsure of what to expect next. "I'll just shove you out instead." Megan finished, pushing him backward. Startled, Justin grabbed the nearest thing he could for balance- her. They landed on the floor with a loud thud, Dillaford on top of Justin in much the same way she'd been when she saved him from the steel beam.

"Yo, Dilla! You in there? I-" Before they had a chance to get up, Chris burst into the room, eyes widening as he saw the position they were in. "I've interrupted." He finished, raising his eyebrows in amusement as an evil grin spread across his face. He leaned down to Justin, whispering loudly enough for Megan to hear as well. "Damn, JuJu- I'm impressed. That was quite a scream you elicited earlier." Justin groaned, and Dillaford buried her crimson face in his chest as Chris bounded excitedly out of the room.

"Lance, dahling!" He called down the hall. "I have something to tell you!" Dillaford lifted her head until she could see Justin's embarrassed face, then began to giggle.

"What?" Justin asked, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile.

"Do your friends EVER mind their own business?" He gave her a look.

"Remember how I told you they had big mouths?" Dillaford looked at him in confusion for a moment, then began nodding as an evil grin spread slowly across her face.

"You want to start plotting revenge now, or later?"

*********************************

(June 23, 2001- Minneapolis, MN)

"Let's review, shall we?" Gaines asked, looking sternly at Megan and Mark. "Since the two of you have been on board, there have been three- let's count them, THREE mishaps!" He grimaced, clenching his teeth as he looked at Megan. "And how many leads do we have, Dillaford?" Megan blinked, answering quietly.

"None." Gaines whipped around to face Mark, who was smiling slightly at Megan's discomfort.

"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, Daymond. I suppose you think it's funny that the Chasez kid was nearly decapitated by a large piece of plywood?" Mark straightened in his seat, his face turning pale. That had happened under his watch.

"No, sir."

"I'd expected more than this from you two. You've been on this case for over a month now, and we've gotten nowhere. I'm beginning to wonder if the ties you've got with the guys are affecting your performance." Gaines said, looking pointedly at Megan. It had become a nightly ritual for Justin to come waltzing into her room after they'd arrived at their hotel for the evening. At first, it had simply entailed plotting their revenge against 'SYNC' as they jokingly referred to them, but somewhere along the line, the two had become fast friends.

"With all due respect, sir- I'm doing my job." Dillaford responded, insulted. "Yes, I have become friends with all of the guys, but that doesn't mean that I'm neglecting my duties." She said, eyes narrowing. "Actually, I'd say that being their friend makes me even MORE vigilant."

"You're an attractive young woman, Dillaford." Gaines said, rubbing his chin as he spoke. "And you're on a tour with five handsome young men. It's no surprise that-" Dillaford cut him off before he could finish, eyes flashing with anger.

"I resent the insinuation you just made, Gaines." She roared, jumping up from the conference table. "I have NEVER let personal feelings get in the way of the job before, and I'm not about to start now." Daymond shot her a look, trying to calm her down, but to no avail. "Jesus, Gaines! If I were going to jump somebody's bones, Daymond here would be the prime candidate- and that hasn't happened yet, has it?" She asked.

"Dillaford, SIT DOWN!" Gaines ordered angrily. "This is NOT a witch hunt, so don't treat it as such. I'm simply trying to understand why we don't have any leads yet. Do we even have a suspect?"

"Yes." Mark interrupted, nodding his head. "The problem is, we've got about five of them right now, all of whom have alibis for at least one of the incidents." He let out a loud sigh before continuing. "We're trying, Gaines, but with just two of us on the job, it's rough. Dilla's got to be around the guys nearly all of the time, and with a crew of two hundred, it's just impossible for us to be watching everyone all of the time."

"Are you requesting backup, Daymond?" Gaines asked, calming. "That can be arranged, you know."

"No!" Mark exclaimed, then lowered his voice. "I mean, no, sir. What I'm requesting is more time."

"How long do you expect me to wait, Daymond? Until one of them is dead?"

"Dammit, Gaines! You know that's not what he means!" Dillaford broke in, jumping out of her chair once again. "We can crack this case, Gaines- you know we can!" Gaines stood up, shaking with anger.

"This meeting is OVER! Daymond, you're dismissed."

"But-"

"DISMISSED!" He roared again, and Mark hightailed it out of the room. Megan started to follow, but found herself being dragged back by her arm.

"We're not through yet, Dillaford." Megan looked up at him, gulping. He rarely got this angry, and he'd NEVER laid a hand on her before. "You need to get a handle on that temper, Agent." She nodded meekly, eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes, sir." She responded, running a hand through her hair before continuing. "I'm sorry. Believe me when I say that I understand your frustration. You know as well as I do that Mark and I have never had this much trouble before, and it's getting to me."

"Understood." Gaines nodded tersely. " I'll give you a week. One week, Dillaford. If you don't have something by then, I'm pulling Daymond out all together and bringing in some older agents."

"But-"

"No buts, Dillaford. He's been breaking up since the thing with the Chasez kid, and we both know it." Gaines said sternly, his eyes boring into hers. "I know you two are thicker than thieves, but I need you to tell me if he's falling apart, hard as it may be. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir." She made it to the hallway before his voice stopped her in her tracks once again.

"And Dilla?"

"Yeah?" She heard him let out a deep, frustrated sigh.

"Don't let me down. Stevens is one of the only men we have left available for duty right now, and you KNOW I don't want to do that to you."

*********************************

Justin walked into Dillaford's room, flopping down in the middle of the bed with a loud sigh. Dillaford raised an amused eyebrow at him, briefly turning away from her laptop.

"Bad day, JuJu?" He groaned in response, covering his face with his hands.

"You have NO idea."

"Bet it doesn't beat mine." She challenged, a sparkle in her eyes. Justin's eyes lit up at the mention of the challenge, and he sat up, looking at her curiously.

"You're on, girl. Terms?" He asked, leaning back down and propping himself up with an elbow.

"Winner pays the other's cover at a club tomorrow night after the show- and if YOU win, which you won't, you have to pay your way in, too. None of this 'freebie 'cause I'm a celebrity" business." She said sternly.

"Getting a little cocky, aren't we, Dillaford?" Justin asked, shooting her a half smile. "One more thing- club of choice for the winner- meaning that when I win, I get to choose where we go tomorrow night. And . . . " He grinned brightly before continuing. "You actually have to dress like a girl, no matter who wins." He gave her an evil grin. "Meaning I have to approve what you wear."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? 'Dress like a girl'! I AM a girl, O thou of Biggest Ego." Justin shot her a skeptical look, surveying her Army surplus outfit and hair shoved haphazardly under a baseball cap. Dillaford glared back at him. "What?" Justin continued to stare, making her shift uncomfortably in her chair as she brought one leg up and folded it beneath her. "FINE! I'll wear a skirt or something . . . If I have one." Justin held out a hand, grinning widely.

"You have a deal." She reached out her hand, and they shook, sealing the bet. Dillaford leaned back until the back of the chair was resting against the corner of the desk, then looked at Justin expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well, what? You go first." Dillaford shook her head vehemently, nearly falling off her chair in the process.

"Uh-uh. If I have to wear some sort of hoochie outfit no matter what, YOU'RE going first, Ego Boy."

"Fine!" Justin shot back, grinning confidently. "Beat this, then. Past twenty hours on a bus with Chris after he's had about three Taco Bell meals, plus Joey who hasn't changed his socks that we can tell for the past week." Megan made a move, pretending to applaud, but Justin held up a hand to stop her. "There's more. The three stooges decided it would be great fun to pull the shaving cream trick on JC, who I might add has been INCREDIBLY pissy lately due to lack of sleep. To top it all of, they used MY shaving cream, so Hair Boy came after ME when he woke up." Justin finished, nodding his head for emphasis. "His nostrils were literally flaring- I thought the boy was going to shoot flame at me!" Dillaford laughed, and he shot her a pained look. "I'm serious!" He whined.

"Bravo, Justin. However, I still don't think you're going to be able to top me." He gave her a skeptical look, and she plowed on. "The day started with getting wrassled out of the last hotel by some of our contacts, and we had to catch the red-eye here to Minneapolis to meet with Gaines." Justin snorted.

"At least you didn't have to ride a bus!" Dillaford shot him a look, and he promptly shut his mouth.

"During the entire flight, I was stuck next to some guy whose ass took up not only HIS entire seat, but at least half of mine as well." The corners of Justin's mouth began to turn up into a smile, and Dillaford stuck a warning finger in his face. "DON'T, Timberlake. It's NOT funny." She crossed her arms, glaring at him out of the corners of her eyes. "Not only did I have to sit next to him, I had to listen to him SNORE for the entire flight. And this wasn't just any snore. Oh, no. Megan had to get the guy who seriously sounds like he's sawing logs- with a RUSTY CHAINSAW!" She continued, voice raising as Justin began to lose his composure. "Then, when we FINALLY get off the God-awful puddle-jumper from hell, they've lost my luggage." Justin's jaw dropped, and she nodded. "Yep. This . . . " She swept an arm up and down her body, indicating the Army outfit. "Is the only thing I could manage to buy today with the cash I had on me." Justin let out a low whistle.

"Okay, girl, you win." He said, raising his hands in defeat. "I can't beat that." Dillaford gave him a terse smile, shaking her head.

"Oh, but I'm not finished yet, JuJu. We're still only at seven this morning, and that was twelve hours ago." Justin's eyes widened.

"Oh, shit!"

"My thoughts exactly. When we got here, we were dragged into a meeting with Gaines, in which he basically told us that we suck and he's going to pull us off of this assignment if we don't solve it in the next week." She sighed, meeting Justin's eyes. "Or more accurately, he's going to pull Daymond off ."

"Double shit."

"It gets worse. If Daymond goes, he's going to put Stevens in." She shook her head vehemently. "Yuck!"

"Stevens?" Justin asked, confused.

"Guy old enough to be my dad, on an ego trip, hates my guts?" Megan replied, raising an eyebrow. "Ringing any bells yet?" Justin nodded, and Dillaford sighed wearily, the events of the past day finally showing on her face. "The kicker is, Daymond doesn't know, and I can't tell him." She jumped out of the chair, pulling the cap off and running a hand through her hair as she paced back and forth. "This sucks, Justin. It really sucks. If I have to work this assignment with STEVENS, of all people . . . " Justin stood up, pulling Dillaford down to sit on the bed next to him.

"Shh . . . " He soothed, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay, Dilla. We'll think of something, I promise." Dillaford ran a hand over her face, giving him a disbelieving look.

"This isn't a revenge plot against your buddies, Justin. This is my job, and I have a feeling it's going to be all shot to hell before it gets better."

*********************************

"Come ON!" Justin demanded, pounding on Dillaford's door for the umpteenth time that evening. "At this rate, the club's gonna be closed before we even get there!"

"Not on your life, Timberlake! I'm not going out in this . . . this . . . " Before she had a chance to finish her sentence, Justin had burst into the room, finally out of patience. He froze in his tracks at the sight before him. Dillaford was decked out, and she looked . . . well, she looked hot, if he was going to be completely honest with himself. Her hair was up in a bun, a few curls hanging down to frame her face, and her eyes seemed to be more brilliant than he'd ever remembered. His eyes traveled down her body, and he saw that she was wearing a bright blue tank top and a black leather miniskirt. The ensemble was finished with a pair of black sneakers, which he had to chuckle at.

"What?" She asked, bringing her eyes up to meet his nervously. "I know I look funny. I told you-"

"Would you quit worrying? You look fine." Justin replied, grinning brightly. Dillaford eyed him suspiciously, hands on her hips.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to bust up laughing any minute. And don't try to deny it, 'cause I know that look too well." Justin raised his hands in defeat, finally giving into the laughter that had been threatening to escape ever since he'd seen her confused expression.

"You look FINE! Interesting choice of footwear, by the way." He added, smirking. He was rewarded by a smack on the arm.

"Shut up. At least I'll be comfortable." She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You sure I look okay?"

"Yes! I've already told you this what, three times now?" She gave him another disbelieving look, and he turned to walk away. "I give up. LANCE!" He yelled down the hall.

"What? Are we going to the club tonight or not?"

"Yeah, we're going. I need your help with something first, though."

"Just a sec!" Lance called, jogging down the hall toward them. "What's up?" Justin gestured impatiently toward Megan.

"Dillaford here's afraid to go out, 'cause she doesn't believe me when I say she looks fine." He told Lance, tapping his foot impatiently. "So I've called in a second opinion. Come on, Dilla- come out here." Slowly, the door opened wider, and she stepped out into the hallway, looking around her nervously. Lance's eyes widened, and he took a step back.

"Whoa!" Dillaford sent a deadly glare in Justin's direction before running back in the room and slamming the door in their faces.

"I TOLD you!" Megan fumed, ranting through the door. "Forget it!"

"Come on, Dilla- you look great, girl. I was just shocked because I've never seen you that dressed up, that's all." Lance told her, trying to ignore Justin's desperate looks in his direction. The door opened a crack, and he saw her eyes peeking through.

"Really?"

"Really. And I'd be honored to escort you this evening, if JuJu here hasn't already claimed the duty." Justin's face darkened, and he smacked Lance on the back of the head. "Ow! Now come out here before JuJu beats me up, will ya?" He asked, offering his arm. Dillaford took it, throwing her jacket over Justin's head as she started down the hall toward the rest of the guys, who had been waiting for her. Justin sputtered, batting the offending piece of clothing away as he glared at their backs.

"I'm not a coatrack, Dillaford!" He protested angrily amidst the laughter of the others, quickening his pace to catch up with them. "Carry your own damn jacket!" Justin sent the jacket sailing through the air, landing squarely on Chris' face. The older man pulled the fabric off of his face slowly, turning to Justin with a deadly look. Justin shrank under the gaze, further quickening his steps as he made a beeline for the elevator.

"Run, boy!" Chris yelped, tearing off after him as he handed the jacket of to a bewildered JC. Justin jammed the elevator button several times, then gave up, opting for the stairs as Chris drew closer to him. Dillaford turned to Lance, finally letting the laughter she'd been holding in escape. She leaned against him for support as they walked the rest of the way to the elevators, laughing heartily as they heard the sounds of Justin and Chris clambering down the stairs. He didn't speak until they'd arrived safely on the first floor, only to see Chris chasing Justin through the large hotel lobby. Joey laughed at their antics until he realized that Chris was wearing one of his favorite T-shirts, then he, too, joined the chase. Watching all of the drama unfolding before them, JC shook his head. He turned to them, his expression a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and pure amusement as he handed Megan's jacket to Lance.

"Dillaford . . . you're in for a long night." He shook his head again as Joey was tackled by Justin in an attempt to win the fight over who would be riding shotgun in the large SUV they were using for the evening, and a grin spread across his face. "A VERY long night."

*********************************

Dillaford grinned at Justin as they made their way into Tropics. Despite the fact that nobody knew they were going to be there, it was completely packed for a Tuesday night. She grabbed the nearest guy- which happened to be JC- and headed out to the dance floor. It wasn't long before they were surrounded, and Dillaford found herself thankful for both the bodyguards and the 18+ age limit at the club. Joey cut in on her and JC, then Chris, and after that, she was ready for a break, so she headed over to the bar where she'd seen Justin earlier. She plopped herself on the stool next to him, and Chris sat on her other side. Dillaford fanned herself with a hand, looking over at Justin with a large grin.

"Having fun yet?" He shrugged slightly before taking a large swig of his drink, looking away. Dillaford raised an eyebrow before leaning over toward Chris and whispering loudly. "Looks like the baby didn't get his nap today. You'll have to do something about that." Chris laughed lightly, then reached over to punch Justin lightly on the shoulder.

"Hey, JuJu- what's up, man? You okay?"

"Fine." The younger man grumbled. "Just tired." All three of them knew it was bullshit, but Dillaford simply shrugged, then turned back toward Chris.

"Told ya- he needs scheduled nap time."

"Nah, that's JC- Justin just needs to be spanked." Megan's eyes widened in surprise, and she was just about to comment on that one when JC came up to join them.

"Hey, kid- wanna dance again?" She gave him a broad smile, nodding as she downed the rest of her water. She leaned in to say goodbye to Chris before being ushered away.

"I don't even want to KNOW the history behind THAT comment, but I'll catch ya later, pops!"

"Hey! I'm only . . . " Chris began counting on his fingers, then frowned and waved her off. "Nevermind. Have fun out there."

"Ten years older than her." Justin finished as they were out of earshot, glaring at Chris. "You're TEN years older than her, dude. Leave her alone." Chris arched an eyebrow in amusement at his fellow band mate. THAT'S what was bugging him? Ha! It was true that Dillaford had yet to dance with him, but still . . . the kid hadn't asked her, either.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Leave her alone. That's like, gross. She's a kid." Chris began to laugh at Justin's expression, which merely caused the younger man to become more agitated. "And while you're at it, tell 'C to quit looking at her ass, would ya? He's supposed to be 'like a brother' to her, and unless he's from Albino Boy's home state of Mississippi . . . "

"Why don't you tell him yourself, Justin?" Chris shot back, trying to get his laughter under control. "'Cause I, for one, would LOVE to see that conversation. And Joey- what are you going to tell him?"

"He's too old, he's skanky, and he's got a woman and kid back home." Chris' eyebrow shot back up again in question as Lance walked close by.

"And he's too business-minded for her. But . . . " Justin paused, looking over Lance's direction. "At least he's not so damn old, like the rest of you guys."

"So who, Oh Master Timberlake, should be allowed the auspicious honor of dancing with the lovely young miss Dillaford, huh?"

"Me." Justin grumbled under his breath, not quite audibly. Chris' eyes widened, and he put a hand over his heart in mock shock.

"You? Did I just hear you say that YOU are the one she should be dancing with?"

"Shut up, Chris." The older man shook his head, grinning evilly.

"Oh, no. I don't think so, JuJu. If that's what's up your ass, then you've got some serious issues, man. We DO see her as a kid sister, but you . . . "

"I do too!" Justin protested. "I just think y'all should keep your nasty paws off of her."

"You like Dilla, Justin likes Dilla!" Chris chanted gleefully, ducking to avoid the swat he knew was coming. "Lighten up, man! Tell the kid already and get it over with, would ya?" He continued, seeing Justin's skeptical look. "Or at least get up off your ass and dance with ONE of the girls here tonight. Come on- you're supposed to be having FUN tonight."

"I don't want to dance with any of those little hoochies. I want to dance with-" Chris cut him off, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him backwards off of the stool.

"Let me guess . . . Megan? Then go, cut in on her and 'C. He's looking like he's about ready for a break, anyway." Chris said sternly, pushing Justin into the crowd.

"But Chris-"

"GO! And quit acting like something crawled up your ass and died, okay? It's damn annoying, and certainly not the way to win THAT chick over." Chris ordered, wiggling his eyebrows in Dillaford's direction.

"She has a name, you know!" Justin shot back before getting lost in the shuffle of the crowded dance floor.

"Yeah, and it ain't 'Miss Congeniality', either." Chris said to himself.

"Talking to the voices in your head again, Chris?" Lance asked, giving Chris a disapproving look as he grabbed Justin's empty spot. "I thought we talked to you about that, buddy."

"Justin's got it for Dilla." Chris responded, as if that explained everything.

"Yeah, right!" Lance scoffed, shaking his head. "I KNOW I told you to lay off the crack, too, grandpa." Their eyes met, and the green pair widened in shock when they saw the seriousness of the others. "Holy Shit!"

*********************************

Megan smiled at Justin as he walked up to her, cutting in on her dance with JC. She tilted her head inquisitively at his dark expression.

"You still need a nap, or are you going to be civil now?" Justin frowned, and she raised an eyebrow in annoyance. "Okay . . . well, then I'd suggest you walk back over there to Chris and Lance, who are willing to put up with your crap."

"They don't want me." He replied, sticking his lower lip out in a pout and crossing his arms over his chest.

Dillaford looked him over with a frown, tugging lightly on his lower lip.

"I can see why, with that attitude. You look like an overgrown toddler, and I STILL say that you didn't get your nap. Either that, or you're suffering from the male version of PMS, also known as MSB."

"I am NOT!" Justin retorted, glaring at her. "Wha- MSB? What the hell does that stand for?" Dillaford merely smirked at him.

"Wouldn't you just like to know?"

"Not really. Are you ready to go yet?"

"Actually, I was having fun until you scared JC off with the expression on your face . . . but yeah, I could turn in. It's getting pretty late, and we've got to get going in a few hours again." She said, stifling a yawn. "Besides, I promised Mark I'd drop by sometime for a chat." If possible, Justin's mood got even worse with those few words. He rolled his eyes, grabbing her arm as he pulled her toward the nearest security guard.

"God forbid we forget THAT . . . poor Daymond might cry." Justin turned to Dre, his bodyguard. "We're going back to the hotel, so we need a car, pronto." Dre gave a look of disgust at Justin's attitude.

"You give me lip like that and you can walk, boy. You, on the other hand . . . " He said, smiling at Dillaford. "I'd happily order a limo for. So I guess I'll have to compromise." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, ringing up another member of the security. "Hey- Curl top and Dilla need a ride back to the hotel, so I'm going back." He looked around, then back at Dillaford. "Anyone else coming?" Megan shook her head.

"Don't think so. I managed to get stuck with the overgrown toddler when the rest of them decided they were tired of him." Dre chuckled, holding the door for her as they exited the club.

"Okay." He clicked his phone back on, re-dialing the previous number. "Yeah- no, it's just the kids. The rest don't want to deal with JuJu- it's that time of the month." Dre laughed at Justin's feeble attempt to hurt him with a punch to the arm while he was hanging up the phone. "Boy, I've been covering your scrawny little white ass all day, but if you keep that up, I may be forced to feed you to the hungry throngs of teenies just waiting for a taste of Timbercake." He warned. Justin let out a frustrated growl, but sat back in his seat and behaved himself for the rest of the trip, sulking while Dillaford carried on a lively conversation with Dre. When they arrived back at the hotel, Justin slammed the door shut before Dillaford had a chance to climb out, narrowly missing cutting a few of her fingers off in the process. He stormed toward the back entrance, but was stopped short by Dre's large hand on his collar.

"Hold it right there, Hot Stuff." He ordered. "Now, I don't know what your problem is tonight, but you've got no call to be treating her like that." Seeing the challenge in Justin's eyes, Dre continued. "Don't even try telling me that I don't know, 'cause I've been watching your ass all day, boy. She's been perfectly civil to you."

"What about that back there? She was calling me a toddler, for goodness' sake!"

"And I'm inclined to agree with her right now, kid. Now, I don't want to hear another word from you this evening, unless they include 'I'm sorry'."

"That's two." Dre yanked back on Justin's collar, then shoved him through the door with a warning glance.

"Don't push it, boy." Justin yanked the door shut behind him, then made his way over to the elevator bank without looking back once. Dre shook his head, turning around to face Dillaford as she reached the hotel door. "Sorry, kiddo. I don't know what's up his ass, but he'd better get a laxative soon, or I'm gonna pound it out of the little pain in the ass." Megan chuckled as Dre made a show of cracking his knuckles and flexing his biceps. Despite his words, she'd seen him interact with Justin enough to know that that was the last thing he'd ever do. A stern lecture, yes- actually harming the boy wonder was out of the question, though. There was too much of a bond there.

"I'll take care of it myself, but thanks." She managed to squeeze her way into the elevator with Justin before the doors closed, then looked over at him pointedly. "Thanks for waiting."

"Welcome."

"I hate to ask this, but . . . what crawled up your ass and died tonight? I thought we were supposed to have fun."

"Yeah- WE were." Justin retorted. Dillaford didn't miss the emphasis on the word 'we', but that only made her more confused.

"And . . . ?"

"You spent the whole night dancing with 'C- who, by the way, is too old for you. And don't even get me started on Chris, 'cause . . . "

"The man used to look like a pineapple, Justin. Not my type, never will be. JC is a good friend, and-" She stopped, shaking her head in disbelief. "Nevermind. I'm not the one who needs to be explaining my actions this evening."

"You didn't even dance with me once, Dilla- I thought this was supposed to be us having a fun night."

"I didn't dance with you because you were too busy sulking at the bar, you moron!" Justin opened his mouth to speak again, but Megan held up her hand, silencing him as she strode purposefully to her room. The other guys had arrived, and they were watching the scene curiously. "Save it. I've heard MORE than enough from you this evening, and I don't need an audience."

And with that, the door slammed shut in Justin's very confused face.

*********************************

Once he recovered from the shock of having the door shut in his face, Justin turned around and stormed back to his room, shoving two of his bandmates out of his way in the process.

"What are you looking at?" He asked Lance, whose eyes widened in shock as he shared a look with Chris. "And YOU don't even start!" He warned JC, who was about to lecture his young friend on his behavior. JC raised his hands in surrender, backing away as Justin stomped by. Once they'd heard the door slam, all four shared a look. Chris took off for Dillaford's room, Lance pulled Joey into his room to explain, and JC waited about a minute before pounding loudly on Justin's door, insisting that the younger man let him in. The kid was NOT getting out of a lecture this time.

Megan opened the door at the light knock, knowing that one of the guys would be on the other side, waiting for an explanation. She was hoping it wasn't JC- he was too much like Mark, and she had a feeling that talking to him about the night's events would only make things worse. Opening the door, she let out a sigh of relief when she saw Chris standing there, a concerned look on his face.

"Can I come in?" Dillaford grabbed a pile of clothes off the foot of the bed, gesturing for him to sit.

"Sure. I'm getting out of this outfit, though, so you'll have to hang on a minute while I go change." She said, shrugging. "What's up?" Chris rolled his eyes heavenward at the stupidity of the question. As if Dillaford, of all people, wasn't perceptive enough to know why he'd showed up on her doorstep.

"I'm not exactly sure, Dilla- why don't you tell me?"

"Nothing to tell. Justin's being an ass, and I got sick of it. The end." Her muffled voice came from the bathroom, and she emerged a few seconds later in shorts and a T-shirt that was about five sizes too big. Chris raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "What?"

"I think there's more to it than that, and I think you know it, too." He replied, smirking. "Nice shirt. Where'd you get it? Dre?"

"I hardly think you're one to talk about wardrobe, but no. It's one of Mark's, actually- and it's comfy."

"Hey, I'm not Chasez. He's the one who looks like a designer barfed on him half the time." Chris defended, crossing his arms over his chest as he pretended to pout.

"True . . . " Dillaford conceded, tilting her head to one side. "But he's got the looks to pull it off."

"Are you saying I'm not pretty?" Chris asked, batting his eyelashes. Dillaford pushed his head away, laughing lightly.

"Nope. As I told Justin earlier tonight, you used to look like a pineapple. I could never reconcile that with myself." Chris stuck his lip out in a pout, but lay back on the bed to get comfortable. He was finally getting some information, and that's exactly what he'd come for.

"And JC?"

"God, what is it with you guys tonight? I'm not after the guy, okay? He's more like a brother than anything else . . . " She shook her head, making a disgusted face. "I mean, it'd just be so . . . WRONG! Ick!"

"What do you mean, 'what is it with us guys'?" Chris asked, feigning innocence. "Did someone else say something?"

"Yeah, Timber-Boy. He doesn't dance with me, ignores me when we're at the bar, drags me back to the hotel with him, and then gets pissy about how I wouldn't dance with HIM the whole night!" Megan exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. "Ugh! I'm telling you, it's MSB."

"MSB?" Chris asked curiously. "What does that stand for, anyway? I heard you saying something about it earlier, but you never really explained."

"That's 'cause Justin was in a snit, and . . . "

"You just love to get the boy even more riled." Chris supplied. Dillaford glared at him indignantly, hands on her hips.

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!" Chris raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but let it go. They'd be at it all night this way, and they'd probably forget what the hell they'd been talking about in the first place by the time it was all over.

"Whatever. So . . . "

"So?"

"What DOES MSB stand for? Or is it some classified government secret that you'll have to kill me after telling me?" Dillaford laughed, then hit him in the face with a pillow.

"Nah, nothing like that."

"Well, then?" Chris batted the pillow away and looked at her expectantly. Dillaford blushed, looking away slightly as she muttered the words.

"Massive Sperm Buildup." Chris wanted to burst into laughter, but managed to keep a straight face before asking again.

"What was that, Dilla? I couldn't hear you." She sent him a deadly glare, pelting him with another pillow as she cleared her throat loudly.

"Massive Sperm Buildup. And I KNOW you heard me the first time, you ass!" Chris gave her a shocked look, ducking when she reached out to smack him on the back of the head. "It's the male version of PMS- once the 'problem' is taken care of, he'll be just fine." Dillaford turned away, walking over to the desk and the ever-growing pile of report information to send to Gaines. "Now, get out of here before I hurt you. It's late, and I've got actual WORK to do, here."

"Night, Dilla!" Chris chirped, letting himself out of her room. He bounced down the hallway to his room, a Cheshire-cat grin on his face the entire way. He knew just who would alleviate Justin's MSB. In fact, she was the one who'd diagnosed the problem in the first place. Now it was just a matter of getting them BOTH to realize it . . .

*********************************

"No, no, no, and again . . . NO!" Lance shouted, shaking his head. "Chris, it's three-thirty in the morning, we have to be on the bus in two hours, and I haven't slept in . . . " He looked at his watch. "Over 24. Now, leave me in peace to get my hour's worth of sleep."

"Nope. Not gonna happen, Lancey-pooh." Chris retorted, smiling brightly. Lance groaned, burying his head under his pillow.

"You know, I'm already pissed, and calling me THAT isn't helping your case, Kirkpatrick."

"Sorry, Poofu." Lance shot up, pummeling Chris with the pillow several times before falling back on the bed, running his hands through his hair with a distressed look.

"You're not going to give this up until I agree, are you?"

"Nope." Lance sighed, running a hand over his tired face in frustration.

"What's in it for me?" Chris tilted his head to the side, grinning thoughtfully.

"Umm . . . Me not bugging you for a whole week?" Lance rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to smack Chris upside the head.

"Yeah, right, Kirkpatrick. I'm a businessman. Give me something I can work with, here."

"I'll stop putting Joey's socks on your face when you're sleeping on the bus." He offered. Lance reached out, finally giving into the urge to smack the older man.

"I KNEW that was you, you moron!"

"Okay . . . I'll wash Joey's socks- by hand." Lance shook his head in disgust, and Chris pretended to pout. "Come ON! That's beneficial to ALL of us, Lance- you've gotta admit that."

"You are NOT going to put your pampered little hands of yours on Joey's socks, so don't even PRETEND." Lance told him, eyes narrowed. "You're lucky I don't tell all of the teenyboppers how you put lotion on and wear those stupid little white gloves . . . " Chris raised his arms in defeat, chuckling.

"Okay, okay . . . so I'll get Joey to wash his socks."

"And how are you gonna do that? It hasn't worked for the past five years, why is it suddenly gonna work now?" Chris snapped his fingers and shook his head.

"Damn! You drive a hard bargain, Bass. So, let's try this . . . what do you want out of this?"

"I want to be left alone for the rest of the tour. None of your pranks, and you have to keep the rest of the guys in line, too. In addition . . . " Lance raised an eyebrow seriously. "I want NOTHING to do with this mess when it blows up in your face, which it will. I'll play into this little 'Operation MSB', but when it comes crashing down, I don't know about it, I don't have anything to do with it, and hell- I don't even know YOU." He finished, crossing his arms. "We clear?" Chris gulped. This wasn't going to be easy, but . . . hell, he could use a challenge in life.

"Crystal."

"Good. In that case . . . " Lance shuffled over to the desk, plopping down in front of his laptop computer. "What, exactly, is the first step to this thing?"

"Well . . . " Chris shuffled his foot uncomfortably, avoiding Lance's hard stare.

"What, Chris? I'm beyond tired, beyond having my patience lost, and I'm about this close to wringing your scrawny little neck." He warned, holding his fingers less than two millimeters apart. "Spit . . . it . . . out."

"You havetaseduce Dilla." Chris blurted, moving closer to the door. Lance's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head as though to clear it.

"Say again?" Chris gauged the distance to the door, then looked back at Lance. He'd probably make it, but wasn't sure he wanted to run the risk.

"Nevermind."

"WHAT did you say, Kirkpatrick?" Lance demanded, tensing up. Chris looked at the door again, then back at Lance, finally meeting his eyes.

"You have to seduce Dilla." Chris readied his body for impact, closing his eyes and tensing his body. When no impact came, he slowly opened one eye, then looked over at his friend, who was shaking silently in his seat. Tentatively, Chris took a step toward him. "Lance?" The younger man raised a hand, wiping away the silent tears streaming down his face before looking up at Chris.

"Ooh, that's priceless, Kirkpatrick. ME seduce Dilla . . . HA!" Lance shook his head, and Chris chuckled nervously, still not quite sure what to do. Lance had thought he was kidding, which couldn't bode well when he broke the news that he'd actually meant it.

"Heh. Heh. Yeah, pretty funny, huh, Lance?" He asked, backing toward the door and checking that the hall was clear before letting his next sentence loose. "I wasn't kidding." Chris was out the door in a flash, slamming it shut behind him just in time to escape Lance. Unfortunately, from the thud and groan he heard, it wasn't in enough time for Lance to stop himself. Chris cringed. Shit. It was NOT going to be a fun bus ride. And if JC caught wind of this . . .

*********************************

"WHAT???" Justin demanded of the pounding on his door, awakening him from his precious few hours of slumber on a bed that wasn't liable to dump him if they went around a corner quickly. "What do you want?"

"Wake-up call, man. Time to get your butt on the bus." Mark's voice came through. Groggily, Justin shuffled to the door, grabbing his bag on the way out. He never bothered changing on these short nights- wasn't worth it two hours later when he had to go out to the bus.

"What are you doing here? Security's in charge of waking us up and getting us on the bus in the morning, not crew."

"I just wanted to see your pretty little face, but I was highly disappointed." He waved a hand in front of his nose. "You've got some BAD morning breath, kid. You should carry some Altoids with you or something." Mark laughed at Justin's offended look. "Seriously, though - I wanted to talk to you." Justin groaned.

"Did I mention how much I HATE having four best friends with huge mouths?" Justin asked, grumbling as they walked down the hall together.

"No, but I'd guess you hate it just about as much as I hate to hear about you dragging Dilla out of the club last night." Mark countered. "Now, before I beat your ass, I'd like to hear your side of the story." He grinned slightly, and Justin's look of wide-eyed shock softened slightly. "If it's good enough, I just might let you off all together." Justin raised an eyebrow, grumpily crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, if you ask Dilla, it's 'cause I have MS . . . B, or something like that." He waved a hand, annoyed. "Whatever the hell that means." Mark's eyes widened, and his face broke into a broad grin as he began to nod. "What? What does that stand for, anyway?" Mark chuckled, clapping Justin on the back.

"Massive Sperm Buildup." Justin's jaw dropped, then he began stuttering uncontrollably as his face turned a rather lovely shade of pink.

"She . . . I . . . Ooh, I'm gonna KILL that girl!" He looked at Mark's laughing face, and said loudly. "I can get laid, you know. I mean, it's not like I'd have to try or anything, you know. I'm Justin Timberlake."

"Uh, Justin?" Mark cleared his throat, eyes sparkling with amusement as he fought to contain his laughter. "You just announced that to the entire hotel lobby, buddy. You've got MAD game now, boy!" Justin's mouth snapped shut with amazing speed, and he glared at Mark unhappily. "You still haven't explained why you dragged her out of there. I thought you guys were having fun. Did something happen on the way there?"

"No. It was fine, until she let JC dance all up on her, not to mention Joey, Chris, and Lance. She didn't even dance with me ONCE the entire night." Justin pouted. Mark raised an eyebrow. This was a case of the green-eyed monster if he'd ever seen one, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on.

"Did you ASK her to dance with you, Justin?" The younger man gave him a look of absolute disgust.

"That's beside the point. The point is . . . "

"You didn't even ASK her to dance, and then you got all pissy 'cause you didn't want her to have any fun unless without you?" Mark finished.

"No, it's just-" Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, being a double agent has never been my thing, so I'm not even gonna try to play both sides, here. But I will say this: Dilla's a straightforward person. If she doesn't like you, she won't waste ANY time telling you where you can go and what you can do to yourself." Justin chuckled at Mark's expression. That was true enough, as he knew from personal experience. "I also know that when she cares about someone, she's willing to let loose a little bit. She's done that with you and the guys, but especially you." Mark gave Justin a pointed look. "I also know that she takes shit from no one. That said, I'd highly suggest that you either solve your MSB . . . " Justin opened his mouth to protest, and Mark held up a hand. "Or pull whatever you have up your butt out. Patience is a virtue that Megan Dillaford was NOT blessed with. You got me?"

"Gotcha." Mark patted him on the shoulder, pushing up the steps toward the bus.

"Good. See you in the next city, kid."

"Bye." Justin said glumly, boarding the bus to the hoots and hollers of his band mates.

"Oh my God, it's Justin Timberlake!" Chris squealed, jumping up and down in an uncanny impression of one of their twelve-year-old fans.

"I'll be damned! If it ain't the boy that can get laid!" Joey hooted, punching Justin on the shoulder as he and Chris burst into laughter. "What was that about, anyway? Kirkpatrick and I can't get laid 'cause we're not Timberlakes?"

"Can we PLEASE forget about that?" Justin asked, groaning as he buried his face in the sleeve of his shirt to hide the fact that it was turning a dangerous red color. Chris, Joey, and JC looked at each other, before blurting out in unison.

"Nope!"

"But be sure to give me some tips about how to announce my manliness in the middle of a hotel lobby, would you? Those gay rumors have been hurting me lately, man."

"Nah- it's the Chia Head, 'C. I'm telling you."

"Look, Pineapple-Head. I've told you before, you've got no room to talk."

"I ain't lying, 'C. NO game with the braids, man. NONE." Chris motioned with his hands for emphasis. "When I cut the hair, though . . . "

"You still had none, until Dani took pity on your sorry ass." Justin finished. Chris turned around, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh HELL no, you didn't! Speaking of Chia Heads . . . "

The banter continued, ending in yet another wrestling match on the floor of the bus. Lance, however, remained notably absent. He sat quietly in the corner with his book, listening and watching carefully. If he'd thought Chris' assignment was difficult before, it was impossible now. Dilla had looked none too pleased at JuJu's outburst, and he had a feeling that ANY advances made by a member of the group would be rewarded with either a swift kick in the butt or laughter. Huh- knowing Dillaford, it would be laughter WHILE she kicked his ass.

*********************************

(July 10, 2001- Kansas City, Missouri)

"Chris, I don't like this at ALL. I mean, I know that I agreed to this- God only knows WHY- but I did."

"Because you were tired of the pranks." Chris offered, shrinking back when Lance glared at him. "O-Kayy, then."

"I wasn't counting on the fact that Justin would stop speaking to me, or that JC would be using every spare minute to lecture me on not stealing the girl that Justin likes." Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair as he paced around Chris' hotel room after the show. Normally, he'd be out with Justin and Joey at the club, but not tonight. He was tired of Justin's silence and JC's angry looks. "Seriously, I've had enough."

"And this has NOTHING to do with the fact that Daymond has been treating you like expired meat unworthy even of being incinerated?" Chris asked.

"CHRISTOPHER!" Lance roared. "Can't you be serious for ONCE?"

"Okay, okay. Sorry, dude."

"But no, Mark burning holes in me with his eyes isn't helping, either. You'd swear I was trying to molest his kid sister while he looked on or something." Chris coughed loudly, and Lance looked at him in surprise. "What?" Chris tilted his head to one side, and Lance's jaw dropped as recognition hit. "Oh, shit! That's what I'm doing, huh?"

"Well, I don't know, Lance. You tell me . . . just how far have you gotten with our little Dilla?" Chris ducked, but not in time to avoid Lance's well-timed swat to the back of the head.

Dillaford froze with her hand ready to knock, eyes wide with shock at the words she'd heard. She shook her head, as though trying to clear it of the confusion she was finding there. What the hell? Slowly, she leaned in closer to the door, hoping to hear better. If she'd heard what she thought she had . . .

"You know, sometimes I really wonder why we keep you, Chris. I mean, we don't really need a Chipmunk in the group." Lance said, eyes narrowing. "You know I haven't done anything to the kid- I've just gotten to know her better, that's all. Hell- if Justin's her type, then you KNOW I'm not gonna hold a candle. I can't compete with JuJu."

"Well, from the looks he's been shooting your way, I'd say he thinks you can."

"That's just it, Chris. I don't WANT to compete with him! Dilla's a great kid, but she's not for me, and I'm tired of being treated like Judas when I'm around JuJu and C." Lance yelled, exasperated. "Geez! The only reason Joey's still talking to me is 'cause he wants to tell me how proud he is that his 'wenching' lessons have finally helped me out. What the HELL, Chris?" Chris shrugged.

"Well, you know Joey . . . "

"Yeah, I do- but I don't know Justin or JC anymore. This isn't worth losing them over, Chris." He looked up from his perch on the end of the bed. "I only did this because I thought it would HELP Justin. I don't see that happening here."

"So what are you saying, exactly?"

"I'm DONE, Chris. Done. Go back to your usual stupid bus pranks or whatever, but I've had it. I care way too much about both of those kids to keep on doing this."

"But-"

"Chris, there is NOTHING that's going to convince me to change my mind on this one, okay? NOTHING." Lance yanked the door opened to find a visibly shaken Dillaford, her hand still poised to knock. Terrified, he looked back at Chris. Had she heard? If so, his time would be best spent picking out which casket he wanted to be buried in. The girl DID pack heat, after all. Hmm . . . he'd always thought wood looked nice. Gulping audibly, he turned back to greet her. "H- hi, Dilla." He managed to stutter out. "Wha- what's up?" Megan tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowing dangerously as she looked at the man in front of her. She'd thought all of the attention he'd been giving her was odd, but had finally accepted it as a genuine friendship interest, and had grown to enjoy his company.

"I don't know, Lance. I think I might better be asking YOU that question." She took a step into the room, eyeing Chris. "Or maybe YOU, Christopher. Hmmm? Am I right?" Chris' eyes widened in shock as they met Dillaford's, and Lance dropped his head in shame as he attempted to slink silently out the door. Forget about Dilla killing him- he'd happily do it himself right now, after seeing the look on her face. Shit.

"Dilla, I-" She whirled around at the sound of the familiar low voice.

"Save it, Lance. There's not a THING you could possibly say that I'd want to hear right now. Not a THING!" Megan exclaimed, tears pricking at her eyes as she shook her head. "Just . . . just go, okay?" Silently, he nodded, closing the door behind him. Dillaford watched him go, then turned back toward Chris, a look of complete and utter loss on her face. The knowledge that he'd put that expression there made Chris want to shrink into some sort of cave and never return.

"Dilla, I'm sorry." She set her jaw, then squared her shoulders as she fought the tears in her eyes.

"Don't 'Dilla' me, Chris. That name is reserved for FRIENDS, a category to which you most certainly do NOT belong." She spat, eyes flashing. "I don't want your apology - I want an explanation, Kirkpatrick, and I want it now. What the HELL is going on?" With a loud sigh, Chris wilted onto the bed. It was going to be a long night.

*********************************

Megan slumped down in her chair with a deep sigh, brushing several loose strands of hair off of her tear-stained face. If nothing else, her conversation with Chris had been enlightening. Why was it, though, that she didn't want to know any of the information that she'd received? It was all so complicated . . .

"Why, Chris? WHAT in your addled little excuse for a brain would convince you that I needed seducing, first of all, and secondly, why on Earth would you pick LANCE to do the job?" Chris gave her a guilty look, and she nodded in understanding. "Oh. 'Cause you knew I'd trust him over you or Joey, and JC-" She gave a wry laugh. "Well, he'd tan your hide for even thinking about it- unless I was mistaken about his friendship, too."

"We wanted you to be happy, Dilla. That's all."

"Well, you've failed miserably on that, haven't you, Chris?" She asked softly, finally allowing the tears to fall freely from her eyes. Chris reached out to rub her back, but she scooted away, crossing her arms over her chest much like a toddler would do. "I trusted you." The past tense of the verb wasn't lost on Chris, nor was the way she accentuated it to prove her point. Shit. Yeah, that's what he was in, alright- it was smelly, it was deep, and damn if he hadn't dragged Lance into it with him. Shit.

"I know you did, kiddo." He sighed, knowing that was the closest to any kind of endearment he could utter without being killed. "And I am sorry, even though you don't want to hear that."

"Yeah, you are." She said, punching him a little harder than necessary, but still on the soft side. Then, she raised her eyes to his, asking the question she'd been dreading. "Did Justin know about this?"

"Nope." Chris laughed lightly. "Believe it or not, Justin is the whole reason I wanted to do this." Dillaford gave him a confused look, and he immediately regretted letting his mouth run off on its own again.

"Care to explain that?"

"I, uh . . . " He coughed, then cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Dammit, Chris! The least you could do right now is have enough respect not to bullshit me or try to cover anything else up. I think I deserve at least that much." She turned away again, then muttered, "But I've been wrong before. I thought I was worth more than being used for some sort of sick game, too."

"Justin likes you." He blurted out.

"Funny. Didn't I JUST finish asking you not to bullshit me?" Megan asked, standing up. "Forget it. I've had enough." She looked over her shoulder once she'd reached the door, giving him one more sad look. "Do me a favor and don't talk to me for a while, Kirkpatrick. I don't think I can handle another lie." She'd taken a deep breath, leaning into the door before twisting the handle and pulling back. As she stepped back, she was surprised to find herself pressed against Chris' body. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hand off of the door handle before turning her around. She struggled against him, but finally gave up when he plopped her on the bed, giving her a VERY fatherly look.

"I'm not lying."

"Psshh . . . whatever." Dillaford protested. Yet, at the same time, she found herself studying his eyes for any sign of deception. Experience had taught her one thing: No matter how many lies could fly out of a person's mouth, the eyes remained true. When she saw nothing but truth there, she relaxed slightly, letting out a deep sigh. "How do you know?"

"Remember that night at the club?"

"Yeah- he didn't dance with me the whole night, and then he dragged me out early. You're not convincing me, here."

"He was JEALOUS, Dilla." Her head shot up at the sound of her nickname, and Chris held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry! Really, though- he was angry because you danced with all of the guys but him." Chris chuckled at the memory. "He told me I was too old, Joey already had a woman, JC was too much like your brother, and Lance was too business-minded for you. Then, he flat-out TOLD me that HE was the only one worthy of dancing with you."

"But he didn't."

"Noo . . . he got preoccupied when he saw you dancing with 'C again, and decided you needed 'rescuing'."

"Humph. Should've rescued me from YOU instead. JC's harmless."

"Ouch. I deserve it, but still . . . ouch."

"If he's so smitten with me, then why hasn't he spoken to me since then?"

"That's my fault. I devised Operation MSB, assigned Lance, and . . . "

"The rest is history. Gotcha." Dillaford shook her head sadly. "This is nuts, Chris. I mean, this is like, Crusty the Clown on crack, or something."

"Say what?" Chris asked, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"It's a whole hell of a lot of fucked up, okay?"

"Of course it is- I came up with it, remember?" Dillaford smiled slightly at Chris' humor.

"So what now?"

"First of all, talk to Lance. The guy feels like absolute shit, and it's really not his fault." Dillaford gave him a look of extreme disbelief. "It's not! He didn't want to do this at all, but I badgered him until he gave in. He always gives in, ya know."

"He still did it, though."

"Just talk to him, please? For me?" Chris pleaded, hands clasped together as he stuck his lower lip out in a pout.

"About the only thing I want to do for you right now is kick your ass, but for LANCE'S sake, I'll talk to him."

"Thanks. What about Justin?"

"What ABOUT Justin?" Dillaford snapped.

"Well, are you going to talk to him? Tell him what's been going on?" Dillaford shook her head in disgust.

"Don't think so, Kirkpatrick. Your little scheme DID accomplish something, after all." She said, giving him a stern look. "It showed me that Justin and I would NEVER work out."

Now, sitting in her room two hours later, Dillaford had one question for herself. Why had that statement crushed her so badly? She shook her head at her own self-analysis when it hit her, and she protested vehemently out loud.

"No. HELL, no! I do NOT like Justin that way!"

Then another question popped into her head: If that were true, why was she denying it so emphatically?

*********************************

The next few days were unseasonably quiet in the *NSYNC camp. Justin still wasn't speaking to Lance, Lance wasn't speaking to Chris, and Chris . . . well, he was trying desperately to find a way to explain what was going on to JC without dying an early death. At least, he figured, he had a couple of years on the other guys. And, despite what Lance had said, they DID need him in the group. After two days of silence, he'd had enough. They had a show in Denver the next night, and they weren't going to do well if nobody was speaking to anybody else. It was time to bite the bullet and talk to JC- at least he'd get some good advice before being beaten senseless. JC always seemed to know what to do.

Then there was Justin. The young man was too prideful to talk to Dilla and apologize for his behavior, much less tell her WHY he'd been behaving in such a manner. Part of the reason he'd been so distant was because just as Lance had started making the moves on her, Britney had chosen to dump him. To compound the issue, she'd given him the 'I hope we can still be friends' specialized line of bullshit. Losing both Britney and Megan at the same time made him realize just how lonely the road could be. Now, he just wanted things to go back to normal with Dilla. No . . . that wasn't quite right, either. He wanted . . . Justin threw down the notebook he'd been writing possible song lyrics in, frustrated. He just wanted Dilla, period- and when the hell had THAT happened?

"It happened when you saw that she's just a kid like you- too much pressure, and few people to trust. That's when." He said aloud to his bunk. "Shit." Justin rubbed a hand over the fuzz on his head. He missed her friendship, and he missed having someone other than the guys to confide in. But then again, what kind of friend was she if she hadn't even spoken to him in the past two weeks, beyond the necessary pleasantries? For a while it had made sense- she'd had Lance to talk to, but now . . . now she looked miserable. She'd holed herself up in her hotel room the past two nights, refusing even to let Mark visit her. He'd heard her protesting that she had too much work to do, and that she thought she was getting sick- but Mark wasn't buying it, and neither was he. At this point, he was desperate for information. So desperate, in fact, that he was considering speaking to Lance again. Speaking of which . . . Lance wasn't looking too hot lately, either- and he'd been awfully short with Chris. Hmm . . . yep, it was definitely time for some detective work. Mind made up, Justin hopped off of his bunk and headed toward the 'living room' of the bus, where Chris and JC were having what appeared to be a rather heated discussion in hushed tones. Both men became silent as soon as they saw Justin, though.

"Hey, Chris!" He said, smiling. "JC. You seen Lance lately?" Chris' eyes widened. Justin was looking for Lance? Uh-oh. He had a shorter lease on life than he'd previously thought. Lance wasn't gonna lie, and then Justin would come and beat his ass. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, JC had answered for him.

"Yeah- he's up front, with Joe. They're talking about the next Star Wars prequel, something like that." Justin nodded, then headed further toward the front of the bus. JC watched him go, then turned back to Chris. "You're lucky I didn't spill this whole thing to him right now, you know." He hissed. "You've REALLY made a mess this time, Kirkpatrick."

"Don't I know it." He sighed, running a hand through his short hair as he looked miserably at JC. "I was only trying to help, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know. But . . . " JC trailed off, looking Chris in the eye sternly.

"I've been about as much help as a bull in a china shop." Chris finished. "I know, 'C. What I DON'T know is what to do to make things better. I'm stuck, man."

"No! Don't DO anything, Chris. You've already done enough, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"No more schemes, no more grand master plans, and no more 'operations'. Right now, I'd say the best thing you could do is fess up and take it like a man."

"Justin's gonna KILL me!" JC shrugged nonchalantly, turning away from Chris.

"No skin off my back, man- we DON'T need a Chipmunk." Chris' jaw dropped in shock at the remark.

"Wait a minute . . . you . . . I . . . you- why didn't you SAY anything sooner?"

"Wasn't my business- still isn't. But you came to me for advice, so . . . " JC shrugged again, and Chris' eyes narrowed.

"Okay, who are you, and what have you done with 'C? JC would NEVER let something like this go for two days without giving me the lecture of my life." He grabbed JC's head, ruffling his hair as he looked through it carefully. JC swatted his hands away.

"Ow! What are you doing, Kirkpatrick?"

"Looking for the chip the aliens replaced your brain with. I know it's gotta be here somewhere . . . "

"Will you STOP? I wasn't abducted by aliens, Chris. Geez! I just thought it would be better for you to solve this on your own."

"Okay, now I KNOW you're lying. You INSIST on butting into everything. Why not this time?"

"I do not!" JC protested, crossing his arms over his chest. Chris gave him a look, and he raised his arms in surrender. "Okay, so I do. But you forget, man- I know Dilla." JC glanced over his shoulder, patting Chris on the back when he saw a very angry Justin heading in their direction. He leaned into Chris, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I also know Justin, and I don't have a death wish. Good luck!"

With that, JC headed back to his bunk, ready to immerse himself in the writing of another song. Maybe 'Chaos' would be the next title. Or maybe he'd just go with 'Operation MSB'. He laughed to himself as he thought of it . . . oh, yeah. THAT would be interesting.

*********************************

(July 13, 2001- Denver, Colorado)

Megan sighed, stretching her tired limbs after a quick run-through of some rough spots in the show. Since she still wasn't in any mood to talk to the guys, she decided to go for a quick walk around the venue and see if she couldn't catch some more leads. Though everything else seemed to be falling apart, that was the one area where she felt she was doing okay. She and Mark had gotten some good leads between the two of them, narrowing their suspect list down to two people. Now, it was up to them to figure out who was the guilty party- meaning that Dillaford was determined to crack the case on her own. Sneaking along underneath the scaffolding, she made her way toward the pyrotechnics area, in search of Jeff Moon. Despite Mark's declarations to the contrary, she believed that Jeff was a more likely suspect than Kyle Remington, leader of the stage crew. Though both men had been outwardly perturbed when first Justin, then JC had nearly been killed, Dilla's money was on Moon. Unfortunately, Moon was working directly with Mark in the pyro area, meaning that if her hunch were correct, Mark was in deep. So far, their cover hadn't been blown, but all it would take was a misplaced word from Mark, Wade, or any of the guys, and they'd be toast.

Peeking around the corner, Megan found the pyro room to be completely deserted, with the exception of Daymond, who was standing with his back to her as he worked on one of the tower fireworks that lined the back edge of the stage. Disappointed, Dilla turned around and headed back- no good information would be found today.

She was nearly back to the stage when she tripped over a large duffel bag. Irritated, she cursed, then looked down to see who the owner of the offending object was. One eyebrow shot up in interest as she saw that the bag belonged to none other than Remington. After looking around quickly to ascertain that nobody else was around, she stooped down, unzipping the bag and rifling through for anything of interest. T-shirts- ick! Those were way too brown for it to be healthy! Hmm . . . a clipboard? This could be interesting! She pulled it out, and began scanning the notes scrawled on the paper when she felt the hair on the back of her neck raising. Shit! Someone was close- too close. Dillaford rapidly stuffed the clipboard in the bag, jumped up, and began running- straight into someone's chest. Fuck! She stepped back, only to find that whoever it was didn't feel any great need to let go of her arms. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet Justin's amused ones.

"Going somewhere, Dilla?"

"I WAS, until you got in my way, Timberboy. You make a better wall than a door, you know."

"Ha ha. What are you doing back here, anyway? This is for crew only."

"I was, uh . . . looking for Mark." Justin gave her a skeptical look, crossing his arms over his chest.

"In a duffel bag? Yeah, right- and I'm Donald Duck."

"Really? Can I have your autograph?" Justin shot her another look, and she gave up.

"Fine! I was looking for something, okay?"

"Well, you found me!" Justin replied, grinning brightly.

"Very funny. Now, I really DO need to go and find Mark, so if you'll excuse me . . . " She began to walk away, but Justin sidestepped, blocking her way again. Annoyed, she looked up at him angrily. "Timberlake, I'm running out of patience. You know firsthand what that means . . . " She warned.

"Oh, come on, Dilla. You haven't talked to me for more than two weeks, and you've been avoiding all of us like the plague for the past three days- what's going on?"

"I don't remember you breaking my door down in an effort to talk to me, either, Justin. Why the change?"

Justin shifted uncomfortably, tracing a pattern on the floor with one foot as he avoided Dillaford's gaze.

"I, uh . . . talked to Lance." He said, sighing. "And Chris." Justin looked up, meeting her eyes as he finished.

"And?"

"And it explains a lot. I'm sorry." Dillaford jutted her chin out defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at him.

"Thanks for the apology, Timberlake, but it's a little late. You were acting like an ass BEFORE 'Operation MSB'. How do I know that anything has changed?" Justin shook his head, kicking at a stray piece of wood in frustration.

"You don't." He said flatly. "You're gonna have to trust me." Dillaford laughed wryly, looking away.

"Now, that's just priceless. Y'all had your chance, Timberlake, and every one of you let me down." Her chin quivered slightly, and she tried desperately to keep her voice under control. "I don't really want to go there again." She said softly, walking away. Justin waited all of half a second before starting after her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Look, Dilla- I'm sorry. I was an ass, Chris was . . . well, he was just Chris- fucking things up without ever meaning to, and Lance was caught in the middle. Both of them did what they did for MY benefit, and it backfired. They feel awful, though, and they want nothing more than to go back to being friends with you again."

"What about you?" Dillaford asked, her voice muffled by his heavy shirt.

"What? I can't hear you, you're going to have to move your head out of my chest." Dillaford looked up slowly, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"I said, what about you?" She asked, drumming her fingertips on her arms. "You've told me all about how Chris and Lance feel, but not about you. So . . . What about you?" Justin's eyes widened in shock at the blunt question, then tilted his head to one side, as though deep in thought.

"I, uh . . . well, I . . . oh, hell!" He leaned over, grabbed her, and kissed her slowly, softly, on the lips, before stepping back. "I've wanted to do THAT for a long time, does that tell you anything?" He asked softly. Dillaford shook her head, trying to recover from the shock of what had just happened. She looked at his searching eyes, smiling slightly at the panic she saw there. She leaned back into him, then responded softly, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Nope. You'd better try it again, so I get the message."

*********************************

Justin stood stock still, in his mind still half expecting Dillaford to knock him senseless for having the audacity to touch her, much less KISS her. When her words sank in, however, he found a slow smirk spreading across his face, and he responded.

"Well, okay, then." He leaned down to meet her, and their mouths met again, this time with more urgency, more passion. All of the pent-up frustrations, hurt, and confusion of the past two and a half weeks were put into that kiss. Gently, Justin's tongue probed her mouth, as though asking for permission to enter. Dillaford responded in kind, and the two found themselves completely caught up in one another, oblivious to the outside world until they were brought back to reality by someone clearing his throat rather loudly. Embarrassed, they pulled away, refusing to make eye contact with one another as they searched for nonexistent lint and wrinkles on their clothing. When they dared to look up, they found JC standing in front of them, a shocked, yet slightly amused expression on his face. Justin shot him a look, fully expecting the older man to begin a long lecture right then and there. Instead, Justin found himself shocked yet again.

"Well . . . " JC said, clapping him on the back as he smiled at Dillaford, "It's about damn time!"

"What are you doing back here, 'C?"

"I might ask you that same question, Justin, but . . . " He looked over at Megan, then coughed. "I think I have my answer, don't I?" Both Megan and Justin found themselves blushing furiously, and Dillaford suddenly wished that she could be teleported back to the hotel room, where she could presumably die in misery. Justin, on the other hand, was used to such embarrassment, and shot JC his usual look of death. The older man looked away, then cleared his throat again. "Ahem. I saw you walking this way a while back, and I came to get you because it's time for sound check." JC finished. "And I was looking for YOU" JC pointed to Dillaford "Because I hear you have a birthday in three days, and I wanted to know what you'd like to do." Justin looked at Dillaford in surprise.

"Your birthday is in three days? Why didn't you tell anyone?" Dillaford shrugged.

"Didn't think it was that big a deal. I mean, it's just a birthday. Besides . . . " She said, giving him a pointed look. "It wasn't like there was anyone I wanted to spend it with, until now."

"What?" JC asked, a look of mock offense on his face. "You didn't want to spend your birthday with me? Dilla, Dilla, Dilla." He shook his head in disappointment. "I thought we were closer than that." He sighed loudly, a pained expression on his face. "Oh, well. Guess I'll have to sit alone in the hotel and write about how, once again, the Bald One has stolen the girl of my dreams." Megan reached out, smacking him lightly on the arm as she laughed.

"Okay, okay! Will you quit whining if I promise you the first dance, or something?" She asked. JC tilted his head back and forth, thinking.

"Well . . . I guess so. But you have to promise me something, first."

"What's that?" He leaned over toward her, whispering in a conspiratorial manner.

"That Justin won't kill me. Look at him!" JC gestured wildly toward the other man. "He's steaming from the ears!" Dillaford raised an eyebrow in amazement at his stupidity.

"Gee, JC, I wonder why THAT is? Maybe because you interrupted something embarrassing, made a big deal out of it, and are now trying to 'steal' me away . . . I dunno, what do you think? Would you be pissed?" JC winked at her, giving her a quick hug before replying.

"Ya think? I'm just glad to see you two out of the dumps, man. For a while there, I wasn't sure what was gonna happen- a lead singer heartbroken, and a back-up dancer SO pissed off that she was about ready to kill the boy band she'd vowed to protect." Dillaford rolled her eyes at Justin, playfully pushing JC away.

"And they wonder why you didn't stick with acting. My GOD, 'C, you could win an Oscar for that!"

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah!" Dillaford nodded enthusiastically. "You'd even beat out Chris for 'Most Pathetic Male' with THAT act!" As if on cue, Chris appeared, bounding around the corner in an attempt to get away from a dripping wet and VERY angry Joey, who was making very good time considering his wet clothes had added a good fifteen pounds to his already solid frame.

"KIRKPATRICK!" He roared, skidding to a halt in front of Dillaford, who had become the shield of choice for this particular chase. "Come out from behind the girl, and take your ass-whooping like a man!"

"I am not a man- I am . . . " Chris leapt out from behind Megan, bringing Joey to the ground in a heap of flailing arms and legs. "Spiderman!" He said, grinning triumphantly as he sat atop Joey's chest. Dillaford shared a look with Justin, then made a beeline for Chris, whose eyes widened first in shock, then fear, as he saw the two 'kids' heading toward him.

"Spiderman, huh?" Dillaford asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "Let's see how well you can scale that scaffolding there, boy!" Chris looked behind him, and, seeing the height of the scaffolding in front of him, gulped loudly before turning around to face his two new adversaries.

"What's wrong, Chris? Not gonna climb?" Megan asked. Chris shook his head vehemently, then stood up and began backing slowly away, tripping over Joey in the process.

"In that case, I suggest you RUN!" Justin shouted. Chris turned away, taking off like a bullet with both Justin and Megan in hot pursuit. Laughing loudly, Joey turned to JC, looking for an explanation.

"Operation MSB." JC said simply, ignoring Joey's confused look.

"Say wha-?"

"Nevermind." JC said, waving a hand. "Let's just say that the kids finally got together, and Chris owes them a BIG debt." Joey's eyes widened, then he burst into laughter again.

"Should we begin looking for a midget-sized casket with Elmo on the top?"

*********************************

(July 16, 2001- San Diego, California)

The show went incredibly well that night, owing much to the fact that everyone was once again on speaking terms. It seemed as though everyone was on some sort of a high- Chris was high on life, as usual, Justin and Dillaford were in the throes of a new relationship, giddy with excitement over that prospect, and the rest of the guys were just plain old happy to see Justin happy again. The only damper on the evening was when Miss Brit showed up in the audience... but even that didn't bring them down much. Justin had come to the realization that, if nothing else, he would always love Britney as a friend. There wasn't much more to say, beyond that. Dillaford understood that- heck, she'd been there with Tony. She'd always loved him just that little bit more than as a friend, and understood that Justin would always be that way with Britney. She knew where she stood with him, though, so it was all good. Dillaford was not one to compromise her pride or integrity by whining about Justin's friendship with Britney- she'd known about it before she ever got involved with him, and she knew about it now. The end. She hated seeing guys dealt with women who were so insecure that they were threatened by their boyfriend's close female friends, and she'd vowed long ago not to damage any lifelong friendships because she was jealous. That was the epitome of stupid- especially since the guys nearly always ended up breaking up with girls like that, and then finding themselves without their usual support system to lean on. Besides... it was her birthday, so she had nothing to worry about.

Well... Dillaford tilted her head to the side as she packed her gym bag to head back to the hotel. That wasn't quite right- she was REALLY scared about what Chris and Joey would come up with as a birthday gift. They'd been shooting her evil grins all day, and the fact that they'd gone shopping together only added to her angst. Megan shook her head, smiling at their antics. One really couldn't hope for a better group of friends, she decided, letting out a sigh. She was going to miss them when this assignment came to an end.

"But enough about that... it's time to PAR-TAY!!!" She said aloud, smiling as she left the dressing room.

"Talking to yourself again, Dilla? That's very unhealthy, you know." Chris told her matter of factly, shaking a scolding finger in front of her nose.

"You would know, since you're the only person who speaks to you." She shot back, arching an eyebrow.

"Ouch. JUSTIN!" Chris called, a hurt look on his face. "Dilla's being mean to me!"

"So?" Justin asked, chewing a bite of apple.

"So control your woman, Timberlake." Justin swallowed, then looked between the two with growing amusement. Though Dillaford was making a valiant effort to keep her temper under control, the increasingly red shade of her face warned him that she was about to blow any minute.

"Whatever you did, you probably deserved it." Justin replied, shrugging. "What do you want me to do? Spank her?"

"BAD mental image, JuJu. I don't need to know what you and Dilla do on your own time back at the hotel, so I'd appreciate-" His sentence ended abruptly as Dillaford took him down, tackling him to the ground in one fell swoop. Victoriously, she raised her arms in a V, grinning brightly at Chris while perched on his chest.

"FIRST of all, I'm nobody's 'woman'. Secondly, NOBODY, and I mean NOBODY, controls me. Thirdly..." She gave Justin the evil eye, then focused back on Chris. "I do NOT need a spanking. If ANYONE-" She looked up, glaring at Joey as he walked by. "Touches my ass, there will be hell to pay. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Chris grinned, raising one arm in mock salute. "Now, lemme up!"

"Okay- but ONLY 'cause I'm in a good mood." Chris' eyes widened in disbelief, and he gave Justin a pitying look.

"Man, do I feel sorry for YOU when this one gets PMS. Sheesh!" Dillaford raised an eyebrow in warning, and Chris scurried off after Joey, shouting something about aborting 'Mission Birthday Bomb'. Justin shook his head, grinning widely at Dilla.

"I don't know what he thinks I could do to you, anyway. I mean, look at HIM- scared shitless of you!"

"And you're not?" Justin reached over, draping an arm over Megan's shoulder as they continued walking down the hall toward the exit.

"Dilla, Dilla, Dilla- we've had this conversation before. You're about as scary as a little mouse." Megan arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You're saying that I don't inspire any fear in you whatsoever?"

"Nope." Justin replied, letting his arm wander down her side, coming to rest dangerously close to her rear end. The action was not lost on Dillaford, who raised her eyebrow even further.

"Was my earlier statement lost on you, Justin?"

"Nope."

"Did you think I was joking?" She asked, her voice raised in warning. "I wasn't."

"Nope." Justin's cocky grin spread even further across his face, and he inched his hand even closer to the forbidden area. "Like I said, I'm not afraid of . . . " His fingers moved lower, and he pinched her butt cheek lightly. "You." Megan whirled around, a look of pure venom on her face. Justin gulped loudly, and his eyes widened in fear as he began backing slowly away from her. "Um . . . sorry?" He squeaked lamely, in an attempt to escape whatever punishment she had planned.

"Not good enough. I'd suggest you RUN, Timberlake."

*********************************

"Justin, what are you DOING? I mean, it's bad enough that you made me wear a DRESS, but now you drive me out to the middle of nowhere, and . . . oof!" Megan complained, as Justin put her down. "Is that SAND? Justin, I'm wearing HEELS! I can't believe you-"

"Will you shut UP for just ONE minute, woman?! I mean, really- I'm trying to do something nice for you on your birthday, and all you do is complain. I mean, I thought Brit was bad . . . "

"I KNOW you did not go there, Justin, because if you did . . . " She warned, then became slightly fearful when she didn't hear an answer. He'd insisted on blindfolding her, and, being the smart ass he was, had also insisted on restraining her hands, knowing she'd fight him every step of the way. This was not cool. She was out in the middle of nowhere, with nobody to guide her, and now he'd abandoned her. "Justin?" She queried again, a tinge of panic to her voice. "Justin, where are you? Just-IN!" Megan felt a large pair of warm arms wrap around her, and heard him chuckling softly.

"Did ya miss me?"

"That was SO not cool! I didn't know where you were, I can't see anything, I can't WALK in these damn shoes, and . . . "

"You missed me." He said simply, and Megan could just imagine the smug, teasing smile on his face.

"Yeah I missed you, you dolt! Don't EVER do that to me again!" She let out a scream when he lifted her up again, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Don't worry . . . I won't let you go." He said, smiling as he pretended to slip and lose his footing. It was a mistake- he elicited an ear-piercing scream from Megan, whose mouth was VERY close to his ear. "Sheesh, girl! I'm not gonna drop you, okay? I was just kidding!"

"You're NOT funny! Justin, when I get my hands on you . . . " His face split into a grin at her tone, especially the hint of fear behind it. She'd really been scared! He put a finger over his lips as he approached his goal- a large white tent near the water, lit up with little white Christmas lights, with 'Happy Birthday' streamers all around. Five round tables were situated under the tent, each with pristine white tablecloths and beautiful place settings, occupied by all of the people whom Dillaford had befriended on the tour so far. It was truly a vision, as the moon reflected off of the water a hundred yards or so away. Gently, Justin set Dillaford back on her feet, then removed the binding on her hands. She scrunched her nose in confusion, and he leaned down, whispering quietly to her.

"We're here."

"Where? Justin, we're in the middle of nowhere, and-"

"Shh . . . Do you trust me?"

"I- yeah, I trust you, but Justin-" She stopped as he pulled the bandana off of her eyes, which immediately shot up to his face, questioning.

"Then turn around." He nodded to Lance, who started the entire group singing 'Happy Birthday' as soon as she turned around. Megan, for once, was silent. Her jaw dropped open in shock at the sight before her. Dinner at a nice restaurant, she'd thought . . . maybe. Going somewhere nice for a dance was a possibility in her mind, too, but this . . . she'd never imagined this. The thought to have this set up, with everyone here, and a catered meal that smelled absolutely HEAVENLY . . . well, it was by far the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, and she found tears pricking her eyes at the beauty of it all. Seeing her tears, Justin immediately became concerned, thinking he'd done something wrong. "Dilla? You okay? I thought . . . " She reached up, placing a hand on his cheek, then pulled him down toward her for a soft kiss.

"It's wonderful, Justin." She sighed, smiling at Mark as he came up to steal a hug from the birthday girl. "You're wonderful."

"Well, in that case . . . let's PAR-TAY!" He shouted, wiggling his eyebrows playfully as he pulled her under the tent, making a beeline for the makeshift dance floor. "Chris!" Chris nodded, then started some music as they hit the dance floor. Dillaford looked at Justin skeptically, one eyebrow raised.

"You put CHRIS in charge of the music at my party?" Justin smiled, leaning down until his lips were nearly touching hers, brushing against her with every word.

"I thought you trusted me."

"I do, but . . . " She was interrupted by Chris singing along rather loudly to Boy George's 'Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?', bursting into giggles as Justin's face turned from shock, to rage, to a tight smile.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a band mate to kill." He said. "I'll be right back." He took off, yelling loudly enough for the entire group to hear.

"YES, I want to hurt you, Chris! This is NOT the play list we agreed on!" He began to wrestle Chris for the microphone, sending the entire group into fits of laughter at the sight before them.

After he'd taken care of the little 'problem', leaving JC in control of the music and banishing Chris to a far table for the evening, he returned, straightening the bottom of his now rumpled dress shirt. Dillaford used the opportunity to finally finish her sentence, still laughing at the entire episode.

"I may trust you, but Chris . . . " She shook her head, tears of mirth streaming down her face. "Is an entirely different matter. You gotta love the guy, though."

"No, I've gotta KILL the guy!" Justin grumbled, his handsome features still contorted in a scowl. "I can't BELIEVE . . . " Dillaford kissed him, more urgently this time, and he quickly forgot about his homicidal plans.

"Thank you." She said, looking deep into his eyes.

"For what?" Megan raised an eyebrow, and he pulled her closer to him, grinning. "Aw, hell- I don't care WHAT it was for- just do it again!"

*********************************

(July 18, 2001- Scottsdale, Arizona)

The guys were messing around with the mics on stage, trying to get them to work without emitting ear-piercing feedback. So far, they were unsuccessful, and Megan grimaced as JC's voice crackled through when she approached the stage. She covered her ears, giving him a look that just dared him to speak again.

"What's this? Making sure that if your singing doesn't ruin their ears forever, the microphone will?"

"Ha ha ha. You're just jealous 'cause you're not as pretty as me." JC replied, cringing as the mic emitted another high-pitched squeal.

"'C, the day I become jealous of the Chia Head you've got going there is the day Chris falls into my good graces."

"Oh, the PAIN!" JC howled, holding a hand up to his heart. "And my hair looks better than that 'fro your man used to have, so I wouldn't talk."

"At least he's not anorexic like you, stick-boy!"

"And the point goes to . . . Dilla!" Joey interrupted in an announcer's voice.

Mark watched from his perch on stage, where he was situating the pyrotechnics for the night's show. It was good to see Dilla happy again, and it was even better to see that everyone was getting along. He smiled as he watched his surrogate little sister interact with his friend.

"I've gotta agree with Dilla on that one, C!" Mark yelled, chuckling at her sense of humor. Dilla definitely held her own, that was certain.

"Is that so?" JC asked, ambling over to Mark with a look of mock anger set on his face. "Better than looking like a trucker!"

"Hey, now! I see no potbelly, here . . . except maybe on Kirkpatrick."

"Actually, I was referring to the flannel shirt and ugly-ass baseball cap, but now that you mention it . . . " JC studied Chris, tilting his head from side to side. "You've got a point."

"Wha? Are you making an attack on my manliness, Chasez? 'Cause if you are, let me just say-HOLY SHIT!!!!!!" Chris yelled as he was yanked up in the air by a large grappling hook, which was supposed to hook onto their harnesses for the flying parts of the show. The hook had snagged him by the back of his shirt, and he was being lifted higher and higher at an alarming speed. "Guys? Guys, this isn't funny." It was a well-known fact that Chris was afraid of heights, and the guys had been known to pull pranks on him, but the look of terror on their faces told him that this was far from funny.

"Dilla, go find where this thing originates!" Mark yelled as he began climbing the scaffolding. "I'm going after Chris!"

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh SHIT!" Chris squealed, trying desperately not to notice the fact that he was now hanging by a hook nearly 60 feet in the air, with no protection of any sort. If he was let go . . .

"Hang in there, buddy! I'm coming up!" Mark shouted from thirty feet below. Chris was doing remarkably well so far, but it was only a matter of time before he REALLY started to freak out.

"Hurry! I can't DO this, Mark!"

"Hang in there, Chris. You're okay, dude!" Lance shouted, trying to keep him somewhat calm.

"You'll be okay, Chris! Just think of the bragging rights from this one!" Joey said, taking up the cheer section. "My leg is NOTHING to this!"

"Yeah, great, Joe . . . bragging rights. What's there to brag about if I DIE???" Chris asked, panicking. He began to kick wildly, sending him closer to the scaffolding. If he just got there, he thought, he could climb down, and then he'd be okay.

"Chris, STOP!" Justin warned. "STAY STILL!" The warning came too late, as they heard a sickening ripping sound, and Chris' shirt tore.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!" Chris began chanting, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. "SOMEBODY GET UP HERE NOW!!!!"

"Chris, it's Mark. I'm almost there, guy. DON'T MOVE, don't look down, and STAY CALM! I'll be there soon, okay? We'll get you down, don't worry."

Dilla sprinted up the stairs, trying desperately to find out where the rigging for the hook was, so she could get over and begin lowering Chris before Mark performed any more acrobatics. She didn't need BOTH of them falling, for goodness' sake! She saw Chris drop downward again, and said a silent prayer that he'd make it as he jerked back up, kicking his legs as though that would prevent him from falling.

"Joey! Even though your feet stink, I love you, man." He shouted, tears filling his eyes as he realized that this was it. He was literally hanging by a thread, and he was really hoping that the manufacturers of his clothing line did a good job. "C! Even though you look more like a Chia Pet than Justin ever did, you write some good music, man, and I'm glad to call you my bro. Lance- you've come a long way, Mississippi- even if you DO make fun of Elmo. And JuJu . . . "

"NO! Chris, STOP! You're not gonna die, dude! You're not gonna die!" Justin interrupted, shooting the others a look for not having stopped their oldest friend's line of thought earlier. "Quit being a pansy!" JC glared at him, then swatted him on the back of the head.

"JuJu, what the HELL . . . ?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Who you calling a pansy, pretty-boy?" Chris shot back. "I can take you ANY day, kid!" Justin's face split in a grin.

"Oh, yeah? Your SISTER fights better than you, Kirkpatrick. And I'm talking about the littlest one!"

"Aw, hell, NO! Just you wait, Timberlake! When I get down from here, I'm gonna kick your ass all the way back to the trashy southern state you came from!"

"That's the spirit! You tell him, Chris!" Joey whooped, then nudged Lance, lowering his voice. "Check it out- Mark's THERE, man."

*********************************

"Chris!" Mark called from his perch three feet away from where Chris was hanging, "Reach your left arm out, and grab my hand, okay? We're gonna get you down." Chris nodded, reaching his hand out. Mark grasped it, pulling him in safely. Once Chris had his feet firmly planted on the sturdy steel scaffolding, Mark reached around the back of him, unhooking his shirt with one arm while he held onto the scaffolding with another. Once he was done, he nodded to Chris. "Let's go." Chris took a deep breath, looking down at the ground below him. He felt his arms begin to shake with fear, and sucked in more air, as though what was already in his lungs wasn't going to be enough.

"I... I don't think I can do this, Mark. I mean, that's a long way down."

"Look straight ahead, Chris. Just watch your hands, and I'll watch your feet. It's smooth sailing from here, buddy. You've done the tough part."

"O-Okay."

"I'll be right below you."

Now that Chris was safely on the scaffolding, Megan had abandoned her search for the controls, focusing instead on finding a harness. The scaffolding wasn't going anywhere, but it was tricky to climb, and she would rest easier knowing that Chris and Mark had some sort of support system. By the time she found what she was looking for, the two men were halfway down, at a particularly difficult stretch of the climb. Because there were lights set in the center of this part, crossbeams made it impossible to find flat footing.

"Mark! Wait up! I've got a harness and a rope. Latch the carabineer to the steel, send the rope back on through, and we're golden."

"That's great, but how are you gonna get it up here?" Megan raised an eyebrow at the four men beside her.

"Who's got a good arm?"

"Joey." They all answered, and Megan handed him the materials.

"Let's see what you've got." After a couple of tries, Mark managed to catch the rope with one of his feet. He retrieved it quickly, and got Chris harnessed in safely before sending the rope back down. He held a thumb up in the air.

"And we're golden! Keep on going, Chris. You're as good as on the ground now."

"Yeah, right!" He grumbled, continuing on his downward trek. "Once I'm down, you can't PAY me enough to get back in the air, man." He was fairly running down the scaffolding now in his haste to get to safety. " It's NOT gonna happen, so Johnny and everybody else . . . " He was so caught up in his rambling that he forgot to watch what he was doing, and he lost his footing, dropping five feet before Megan was able to stop him with the rope. He looked like he was about to lose his lunch all over poor Mark, so Megan decided to coach him out of it.

"That's what we've got the harness for, Chris. Swing back on over, and regain your footing, okay? " Chris nodded, then flung all of his energy toward the scaffolding, where Mark was waiting to grab a hold of him. He came up short on the first swing, and Mark leaned out even further, holding on with one arm, leaving only one foot on the scaffolding as he reached to bridge the gap. Chris swung in again, and the impact caused Mark to lose his footing, leaving him dangling by an arm.

"Mark! Get your other arm on there NOW! I've got Chris!" Megan ordered, a tinge of panic in her voice as she watched him hanging in the air.

"I'm . . . trying!" He grunted, reaching for Chris. "I've almost got him."

"Mark, I'VE got him! Take care of YOU!"

"But Dilla-"

"This is NOT the time for your macho shit, Daymond! Get your ass on that scaffolding, now!"

By this time, Chris was twisting around on the rope, swinging back and forth. With a mighty tug, Dillaford sent him fairly crashing into the scaffolding, which he gripped happily. Unfortunately, this sent him slamming into Mark, whose only choice was to grab onto Chris' foot for support. The extra weight on the rope caused Dillaford to lurch forward, dropping both men another few feet as Chris's hands were ripped off of the scaffolding.

"SHIT!" Dillaford yelled, and Justin was immediately behind her, gripping the rope as they struggled to pull both men back to a better position. Chris reached down for Mark's hand, sending them swinging once again. Mark looked up, shaking his head at Chris.

"Give it up, Chris. They can't help us if we're swinging like this."

"I'm not letting you fall, man." Chris said solemnly, shaking his head as he leaned over again. "The only reason you're up here is because of me. I'm getting you out of this." He grabbed Mark's hand with his own at the same time Dilla and Justin pulled, sending them crashing into the scaffolding once again. Chris managed to ease the impact by getting his free arm out in front of him, but Mark, who was dangling off of Chris' hand, was sent crashing in with his back, fairly knocking the wind out of him. His grip loosened, and Chris felt him slipping away.

"Fuck! Mark, hold on! Just a sec!" He pulled his other arm off of the scaffolding again, reaching down to get a better grip on Mark's arm.

"Let it go, Chris." Mark told him, looking up with fear in his eyes. "You're making it worse for them. They can't hold both of us, especially when we're swinging like this."

"I'm NOT letting you go, man! Are you NUTS?!"

"Get your feet on the scaffolding, Chris." Mark ordered, giving him a stern look. "Now, your other hand."

"I can't hold onto you with just one!"

"Chris, GET YOUR HAND ON THE SCAFFOLDING!" Mark breathed heavily, and his face was red from the exertion of trying to hold on. "I'm going to be fine, okay?" Slowly, Chris nodded, pulling his right hand away. Mark kicked in an effort to reach the scaffolding, but instead, he lost his grip all together, sending him flying toward the ground at an alarming speed, his yell drowned out as Dillaford screamed.

"NOOOOOOO!!!!!"

*********************************

Dillaford rushed over to Mark, leaving Justin to hold onto the rope holding Chris, who was white as a sheet. She knelt down, panicking, holding her breath until she realized that he was, indeed, alive. Somehow, he'd managed not to hit his head on impact, landing on his right side.

"Mark? Mark, what hurts? What's broken? Are you okay?" Mark heard her voice, saw her concerned face in front of him, and tried to answer, but he simply didn't have any air left in his lungs after the fall. He raised one thumb in the air slowly, indicating that he was okay. When he could actually speak again, he'd tell her that his arm hurt like a bitch, and that he thought he might have broken it. It was a miracle that he hadn't cut it off, the way he was falling down the edge of the scaffolding. He was lucky he'd made it at all.

"Mark, I see you can move your hand. That's great, it means you didn't paralyze yourself." She said, tears in her eyes as she looked at him.

"...Hurts!" He wheezed, air coming back into his lungs as tears pricked his eyes. "Fuckin' hurts, Dilla." Mark repeated, curling his body into a ball around his left arm.

"What does?" She asked, running her eyes over his form as though that would tell her everything. "What's hurting?"

"Arm . . . can't breathe." He wheezed again, and she snapped back into professional mode. She jumped up, clearing her throat loudly before yelling to snap the guys out of the shocked trance they were standing in.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do. Justin, you and Joey watch Chris get the rest of the way down. Lance- use that damn cell phone you've always got with you for a good cause, and call an ambulance. JC- get outside so you can direct the paramedics once they get here, and Mark, I'm staying right here with you." When everyone remained exactly where they'd been, still in shock, Dillaford yelled, "MOVE!"

With that, everyone sprang into action. Chris began his descent once again, under the watchful eyes of both Joey and Justin. Lance whipped the phone out of his pocket, quickly rattling off their location and the nature of Mark's accident, for once glad that he remembered trivial information like the address of the stadium. JC hightailed it out the front door, but not before checking up on Mark, whom he gave a brotherly pat on the shoulder. The man had saved his life once, and he'd certainly saved Chris this time. Then there was Dilla . . . to be quite honest, JC was almost more concerned about her than he was about Mark. He knew how Mark operated, and he knew the guy was going to be okay. Dilla, on the other hand, had a habit of blaming herself for anything that happened to either her partner or her charges, and she wasn't going to take this lightly. In fact, he'd already heard her muttering to herself about how it was all her fault when she thought nobody was listening.

JC's worries thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the ambulance, and then his focus was on directing them to Mark and getting him safely transported to the hospital. Dilla wanted to ride in the ambulance with him, but JC stopped her, thinking it better for her to wait until they knew exactly what Mark was dealing with injury-wise.

"Let me GO, JC! This is Mark- he's practically my brother!" She yelled, struggling against him as he held her back from the ambulance, crying.

"Meg, I think it's best if you stay here, hon. We'll head over in a couple of minutes, okay?"

"NO! NO, it's NOT okay, JC! If that were Chris, I wouldn't do this to you!" She shouted angrily, giving him a hateful look. "Just because it's not one of you, you don't care!" JC took in a sharp breath, struggling to control his temper at her hurtful words. It was difficult, especially because, deep down, he WAS glad it hadn't been Chris in that ambulance.

"That's not true, Dilla, and you know it." Justin said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. "It's just better to let the doctors work on him now, and we'll see him in a little bit."

"This is all your fault!" She yelled, wheeling on Chris, who was still pale and shaky from the entire ordeal. "This is all YOUR fault." Chris shook his head slowly, then ran out the door, followed closely by Joey.

"Shit! Dilla, that was uncalled for." Lance said, shaking his head sadly as he followed the others. Dilla made a beeline after Chris, fueled by rage at the fact that Mark had been injured. She was pulled back roughly by Justin, whom she shot a look of pure contempt.

"Go AWAY! Just go AWAY!" Justin shook his head, tightening his grip on her arm.

"I don't think so, Dilla. You're out of control, here. I'm only trying to keep you from doing something you'll regret later."

"Let me GO! Justin, I'm warning you!"

"Dilla, you're out of control. You're not helping him like this, kiddo." Justin told her. In her irrational mind, being called a kid was the ultimate insult, and she shot him one final look of contempt before letting loose with a powerful slap, sending Justin backwards as he reeled from the impact. Justin's eyes widened in shock at the impact, then narrowed in anger.

"You really are a BITCH, you know that?" He spat, before running to catch up with the others. Dilla's eyes widened as his words sank in, and she began to tremble when her actions finally registered in her brain. She slid down the wall, curling up into ball as she sobbed.

JC watched the whole scene sadly from a distance, thinking it best to leave her alone until she'd had a chance to purge her emotions. He'd known it would only be a matter of time before she cracked, but he hadn't expected this. Dillaford was falling apart, and there was no one there to help her pick up the pieces.

*********************************

"Family and friends of Mark Daymond?" A nurse asked, looking up from her chart.

"That's me." Dillaford answered, jumping up from her seat. JC shot her a look. "I mean, us. That's us. How is he?" She'd spent the past hour and a half in the waiting room with the guys, in sullen silence. Before heading over to the hospital, JC had come and talked to her, letting her know that she at least had HIS support. That had helped, but who she really needed right now was Justin, and he didn't seem ready to speak to her just yet- not that she blamed him. Nobody on the wrong side of one of her slaps had ever cared to speak to her afterwards ever before, and she didn't expect that to change now- especially since she hadn't apologized to him yet. Her mind was consumed purely with thoughts of Mark, and until she knew he was okay, little else mattered.

"Well, the good news is that he was really lucky. Very few people falling from that height do so well." She said. "The bad news is that he broke a rib, and one of those ribs punctured his lung." She pointed to an X-ray of Mark's chest. "So we're going to have to keep him for a while, here, and monitor his breathing to make sure he doesn't contract pneumonia."

"How long?" Dilla asked, fidgeting anxiously. He'd be off the case for sure, but she didn't want to leave him for any longer than she had to.

"Another three to four days is standard, but if he contracts pneumonia, it will be another day or two beyond that."

"Can he have visitors?" JC asked, hoping the answer was yes. Dilla wouldn't rest easy until she saw Mark in the flesh, and she needed to calm down.

"Yes, but only one or two at a time, and visiting hours are over in . . . " She glanced at her watch. "An hour."

"We've got to get back to the venue anyway . . . Dilla, why don't you go in." JC offered, giving her a light squeeze on the shoulder. She raised her eyes to him hopefully.

"Really?" JC nodded, shooting the others a warning glance.

"Yeah. I'll wait here for you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, 'C."

"No problem, kiddo. Cheer up- he's gonna be fine." Megan nodded, straightening as she followed the nurse down the hall. "What?" He asked Justin, who was glaring darkly at him.

"What the hell is THAT about, JC?" Justin asked, eyes flashing. "You and Dilla are suddenly best friends?"

"No. I think that what she said was wrong, and I'm not happy with her, but I also realize something that YOU seem to have forgotten."

"Oh, really? And what, pray tell, is that?"

"Mark's all she's got." Justin gave him a look of sheer disbelief.

"Since when? Last time I checked, she had me, you, and the rest of the guys as friends, too." JC crossed his arms over his chest, giving Justin a disgusted look.

"That's interesting, 'cause the last time I checked, you called her a bitch and walked away." Justin's eyes widened at the attack, and he immediately spoke up in his own defense.

"She HIT me!"

"And I'm not saying that was right- it wasn't, and I know that. What I'm saying is that she could have used a bit of support when Mark was going to the hospital, and she didn't get it." Justin opened his mouth, and JC put a hand up to stop him. "I know she was freaking out, JuJu- but wouldn't you have been freaking out if it had been Chris? I would have been." Justin's mouth snapped shut as he realized the futility of his ranting, and JC nodded, satisfied. "That's what I thought."

"It still doesn't excuse her yelling at Chris, or hitting Justin." Lance said, "But I guess we were a little harsh on her, weren't we?"

"Yeah . . . especially when you take into account that she's lost a partner before." JC added. When the others shot him curious looks, he waved a hand in dismissal. "That's all I know about it, guys. But I know it probably made her freak even more when Mark got hurt. She's already blaming herself."

"And here I thought she was blaming me . . . " Chris trailed off when he saw JC's glare. "It was an accident, though."

"We all know that, but you know how she is. She needs us now more than she ever has, but she's going to do her best to prove otherwise right about now." JC continued, to the amazement of the others. "The kid is falling apart, guys."

"So what, exactly, do you expect US to do about that?" Joey asked. "She's not frickin' Humpty Dumpty, and I, for one, wouldn't know how to put her back together again. What?" He asked when Chris gave him a funny look.

"WHERE do your thoughts come from, dude? I mean, I'd swear you don't do drugs, but . . . "

"You're one to talk, Kirkpatrick!" Lance interrupted. "Come on, guys- we've got a show to do tonight."

"I don't feel like it." Chris said, making a face.

"Maybe not, but do it anyway- do it for Mark." Lance responded. And they did. That night, instead of the usual "NSYNC!", a loud "For Mark!" was heard from the voices of the five. Justin added another one as an afterthought.

"Dilla," He said quietly to himself, "This one's for you."

*********************************

Mark's eyes opened slowly, and he closed them almost immediately when a wave of pain shot through his chest from the effort of breathing. When they opened again, he found himself face to face with Megan.

"Hey, Dilla!" He croaked weakly, giving her as bright a smile as he could muster. "How you doing?" Megan sniffled loudly, wiping tears from her face before responding.

"Good. Really good, now that you're awake." Even in his drug-induced haze, Mark was able to see the blatant lie in that statement. He shook his head slightly, then reached for her hand, taking it gently in his own.

"Dilla, I'm fine. You know that there's nothing you could have done, right?" When she looked away, he yanked on her hand, almost to the point of pain. "Right?"

"Yeah . . . I guess." She responded unconvincingly. "But Mark-"

"But nothing. I'll be okay, and so will you." She dropped his hand, moving toward the window as she muttered.

"Not so sure about that." Mark tilted his head quizzically.

"Excuse me?"

"They're bringing Stevens in to replace you, Mark." At those words, he began to laugh, stopping quickly at the pain.

"Yeah, right, Dilla- and don't make me laugh, it hurts!" She turned around, and their eyes met.

"I'm serious, Mark." He searched her eyes, and, seeing no deception there, let out a low whistle.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, hon. But you've got the guys, you know, and-"

"I kinda blamed this" She indicated the bed, and Mark's condition, "On Chris. We aren't all exactly on speaking terms right now." She muttered, her brow furrowing as she looked away again.

"What else, Dilla?" He asked. He'd seen that expression numerous times before, and it always meant the same thing: Dilla was keeping something from him.

"I slapped Justin." She mumbled softly, hoping that he wouldn't hear. Yeah, right- when it came to her, Mark had bionic hearing.

"You WHAT?" She turned around, arms crossed over her chest.

"You heard me. I slapped him."

"Yeah, but . . . why?"

"He told me I was out of control and he called me a kid." Mark gave her a stern look, and she shrank back. "Yeah, I know- I WAS out of control. But you were hurt, and-"

"Megs, I'm fine. As a matter of fact, I'm seriously more worried about you right now than I am about myself. I'm thinking I need to put in a call to Gaines."

"No! Mark, DO NOT do that to me." Megan ordered, lowering her voice. "If you do that, it'll be like everything we worked for so far was for nothing. Just don't. I'll be okay, I really will."

"Dilla, if you got pissed at JUSTIN, think of what it's gonna be like working with frickin' STEVENS every day."

"But I-"

"You know you love Justin, and Stevens . . . well, let's just say I'll be putting my money on you murdering him within the first week, if not the first HOUR."

"So?" She asked, an eyebrow raised. "I doubt anyone would miss him."

"Think about the department. What would they do at their desks all day without betting on when you were going to kick his ass?"

"I dunno, Mark. Maybe WORK?"

"But what would we do for entertainment?" Mark asked, eyes twinkling. Finally, a slow smirk spread across Dillaford's face, and she leaned forward, poking him lightly in the chest with her finger.

"Listen to me yell at your gimpy ass for leaving me on assignment with Stevens, forcing me to commit a homicide in the line of duty."

"It's not MY fault I had to leave, Dilla." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, for Dilla's expression darkened again.

"I KNOW that, Mark. I'm sorry, I should have-"

"Just STOP! Dammit, Dilla! When are you going to realize that the world does not revolve around you?" Mark asked, finally exploding. "For Pete's sake! Tony wasn't your fault, dammit. He made a mistake, and he lost his life." Dilla whirled, unshed tears choking her as she looked at him with blazing eyes.

"Don't you EVER talk about Tony like that, Mark. NEVER again, do you hear me? It wasn't HIS fault!" Mark didn't even flinch at her outburst. He was used to them by now, and he knew that no matter how angry she might be with him, she would NEVER lay a hand on him while he was lying injured in a hospital bed.

"Well then whose was it, Megan?" He asked, jutting his chin out defiantly. "Huh? I'd really love to know, 'cause I really don't see how you could control his mind enough to make him stop sleep talking."

"It was my job to watch his back!"

"It was your job to crack the case, and to get the hell OUT if things blew up."

"I was supposed to HAVE HIS BACK!!!"

"And then what? Blow your own cover and be killed? You and I both know that if Tony had survived, and you hadn't, he would've died, too."

"No, no he wouldn't." Dilla argued, shaking her head vehemently. "He promised."

"Dilla, I want you to listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once." Mark said softly, making a space for her as she sat on the edge of the bed in defeat. "Tony was a good kid, but he wasn't strong enough for the job." He put a finger on her lips when she opened her mouth to speak. "Shh . . . Dilla, you know as well as I do that you can't pull this job off when you love your partner in a romantic way. THAT was his downfall, Dilla, and it had nothing to do with you. Somewhere along the way, he fell in love with you, and somewhere along the way, you consumed so much of him that he even spoke about you in his sleep. You couldn't have controlled that or changed it any more than you could have changed how you feel about Justin."

"But I don't-"

"Dilla," Mark said, looking at her seriously. "Don't run away from another one because you're scared. One day, it's going to be too late."

*********************************

(July 22, 2001- Oakland, CA)

"I wasn't there because I was working a LEAD, Stevens!" Dillaford said through clenched teeth. It had only been three days since Mark's accident, and already she was on the verge of going insane. That, or watching in delight as she slowly squeezed the life out of Stevens' neck. As she really was a tender-hearted person under her armor, she was going crazy. Gaines placed a hand on her arm in restraint, giving both of his agents a look. These two were worse than his thirteen-year-old twin girls on their worst day.

"I still say you were too busy smooching the Timber-boy to realize that Lansten was left unattended for the evening." Stevens replied, smirking. "If you didn't spend so much time in his room-" Megan's face reddened at the use of her affectionate name for Justin, and his presumptuousness in calling Lance 'Lansten'. That was almost as bad as calling him 'Jimmy', and she felt her temper rising to brand new heights at Stevens' superior tone.

"If you didn't spend so much time sitting on your ASS eating TWINKIES, you wouldn't look like Lou Pearlman! I'm doing my JOB, Stevens, which is more than I can say for you!"

"So your job includes having intimate knowledge of the people you're here to protect? Now, that's a new one, Dillaford."

"Screw you, Stevens!"

"Sorry, babe- I don't take used merchandise." He retorted, grinning widely. Dillaford shot up out of her chair, and was halfway across the table before Gaines managed to grab her roughly by the collar, yanking her back into her seat while shooting Stevens a look fit to kill.

"ENOUGH! Stevens, you are DISMISSED! And Dillaford..." Stevens' smirk wasn't lost on Gaines, and he gave the other man a warning look. "Not one word, Stevens, or you'll be ASSISTANT security guard in the building when you get of that plane tomorrow." The smirk dropped, and Stevens gave Gaines a curt nod before quickly exiting the room. When he'd left, Gaines returned to his seat with a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he watched Dillaford clench and unclench her fists in an attempt to calm down.

"Have a seat, Megan."

"Yes, sir!"

"Is what he said true?" Gaines held his arms up when he saw the familiar flash of fire in her eyes, then continued in a soothing voice. "Not about THAT, Dilla. I know you better than to think that you're sleeping with someone under your care. I mean about being romantically involved."

"If I were, it wouldn't affect my work, Gaines."

"Answer the question, Dillaford."

"It wouldn't affect my work, so why is it relevant?" Gaines gave her a hard look, his patience gone after playing referee to her and Stevens all afternoon.

"It's relevant, Megan, because you signed a CONTRACT that explicitly forbids any personal involvement with those under your care, outside the realm of what is required to keep your cover intact. THAT'S why, Dillaford." Megan blinked at his tone, then hung her head as she protested once again.

"But it's not affecting my work."

"So it's true?" Gaines asked, shaking his head sadly. "Dilla, you know this means I have to pull you off the case, don't you?"

"But I'm so close, Gaines! I really am! Mark and I narrowed it down to two, and looking through the records for last week..." She stopped, knowing it was hopeless as Gaines stood there, shaking his head.

"You're off the case, Dillaford. Pack your bags and say goodbye, because your flight goes out late tonight."

"But I've GOT him, Gaines! If I can just catch one more-" She was cut off when a plane ticket was slapped into her hand.

"Your flight's in two hours."

"Then I quit." Gaines looked at her in disbelief.

"Megan, I know you're angry, but this is NOT worth throwing your career away for."

"Gaines, if it keeps ANY of them from harm, it's worth my career ten times over." She replied, standing up to leave. Gaines' eyes widened further, not because she was defying him, but because she was so determined to stop whomever was sabotaging the tour. Her hand was on the doorknob when she felt his hand on her shoulder, and she turned around, eyes wide with surprise. He pulled her in for a fatherly hug, patting her back.

"Kid, you've got more guts than I've ever imagined. You crack this thing, and you're back on in less than a second." Dillaford blinked back the tears in her eyes, giving him a quick squeeze before she opened the door.

"And Dilla?" She turned again, tilting her head inquisitively.

"Stevens is headed for Assistant Rent-A-Cop no matter what." He said, giving her a wink. "Though personally, my bet's still on you kicking his ass before the week's out." A slow smile spread across Dillaford's face as she left.

"I hear you loud and clear, sir."

*********************************

After leaving the conference room in a slow canter, Megan burst into a full-out sprint as she headed for her room, and the phone. She dialed Justin's number frantically, hoping that the boy would, for once, have the sense to answer the thing. This was important.

"Timberlake's House of Pain, Chris speaking."

"Hey, Chris. Put JuJu on the phone, will ya?"

"Sorry, no can do. He's in the middle of a wrestling match with Lance, and it's against the rules to interrupt for anything less than an emergency."

"This qualifies, Kirkpatrick. Trust me, this qualifies."

"Oh, really? Did you break a nail, Dilla? Or did you finally figure out how to get the stick out of JC's ass? 'Cause if you did, let me be the first to say-OW! That HURT, C!"

"Good! It was supposed to. What's up, Dilla?"

"I need to talk to Justin... NOW!" She said, tapping her foot impatiently. At least she had the one with SOME common sense on the phone now, so she should be talking to Justin soon.

P"Sorry, kiddo. It's against policy to interrupt a wrestling match, and-"

"I quit, JC."

"Lance would kill me, 'cause he's got the upper hand." JC continued, paying no attention to what she'd said. "So, as I was saying.... YOU WHAT????" Dillaford grinned with satisfaction at the loud yell. JC could always be counted upon to overreact, and that was EXACTLY what she needed at this point. JC looked around at his band mates, frozen in their spots, then waved a hand in dismissal. It didn't work. Instead, they all huddled closer to him in a useless attempt to hear the other end of the conversation. "Why? Are you okay? What happened? Dilla, you can't just-" JC's voice disappeared, and after a brief scuffle, Justin's voice came through, still panting from his wrestling match with Lance.

"Dilla? What's going on?"

"I quit."

"You WHAT? Megan, you can't just-"

"I've already heard this before, JuJu. If you're going to tell me the same thing as JC, just put him back on the phone. I don't need a repeat performance."

"But why? This doesn't make any sense, and-"

"Would you LISTEN for a minute? I quit because Stevens made a big deal about us, and Gaines had no choice. It's in my contract, and it was either quit or be sent back to push paperwork. Now, you KNOW how much I love that, JuJu, so I quit." She smirked slightly as she leaned into the phone. "Besides, I can't let Stevens have all the fun now, can I?"

"Wait a minute. Did you just say that you dropped your whole career? Dilla, I'm still not-"

"Justin, I'm SO close to solving this case, and I can't do it if I'm off the tour, now can I? I came here to do a job, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let STEVENS mess it up. If any of you gets hurt..." She trailed off, shaking her head vehemently at the mere thought. If any of them got hurt under Stevens' watch, she wouldn't stop at kicking his sorry ass. Oh, no. She'd go all out and... Her homicidal thoughts were interrupted by Justin's thoroughly confused and somewhat panicked voice.

"So what does this mean?"

"It means, Justin, that you and the guys have to decide how much you want me on this tour. As of right now, I'm officially unemployed. I'm staying either way, Justin, but I'm either going to have to be some strange sort of groupie or you and the guys are going to have to hire me as a member of the tour staff." Megan took a deep breath before continuing. "You don't have to decide right this minute, Justin, but I had to tell you before someone else did. Just promise me you'll talk to the guys about it and get back to me in the next day or so, okay?"

"Of course we still want you on the tour, Dilla. But are you sure about staying on the case unofficially? I mean, that puts YOU in a higher risk situation without any back-up, and I-"

"Justin, I can solve this case."

"I know you can, but at -"

"Justin, I need to solve this case, okay? I'll be fine. I need to do it, that's all. I need to do it for Mark, I need to do it for myself, and I need to do it for you guys. I don't trust anyone else to do a good job, and the LAST person on my trust list is Stevens. Now, things are getting messy, and I have a feeling that something major is going to happen in the next couple of days. So... whatever you decide, just watch your back until I meet up with you guys. Okay?" Justin let out a deep sigh, running a hand over his shorn head. This was crazy! Dilla had quit, she was going to stay on the case anyway, and now she was saying that something major was going to happen in the next couple of days... talk about stress factors! It was too much information, too quickly, and he was having a tough time processing it all.

"Yeah, but Megan-"

"Promise me you'll be looking out for yourselves, Justin. You have to promise me that. I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay, I promise." He heard her grunt of approval as she stuffed her paperwork deep into one of her bags, then silence. "Dilla?" He was answered by the sound of the dial tone. "Love you." He said softly to the phone, before gently pushing through his friends on the way to his bunk. He'd promised- but what about her?

*********************************

"Wait a minute, here. So she quit the FBI and is gonna work the case on her own, with no back-up? Is she NUTS?" Chris asked, eyes wide in disbelief. "I mean, I know she's a tough chick, but really . . . "

"I KNOW it's crazy, Chris! Why do you think I'm telling you about this? Geez, man!"

"Calm down, JuJu. Okay, so we've established that Dillaford is putting herself in a bad position, here. But the main question is this: Are we hiring her for the rest of the tour? I mean, we've got several more dates, and we're short one dancer if she leaves, so . . . "

"Of course we hire her, Lance! We don't have time to find another dancer on this kind of notice! Besides, I wouldn't trust anybody BUT Dilla to solve this case." JC interrupted. "Unless anyone has objections, I say she stays on the tour." He looked around, searching their faces for any indication of disagreement. When he saw none, he nodded, clapping as he stood up from the table. "Good. It's settled, then." The others got up as well, with Chris and Joey heading straight for the video games. Lance retreated to his bunk to do some work for his company, but Justin remained behind.

"Hey, C?"

"Yeah?"

"How's Mark doing?" JC turned from his spot in the doorway, tilting his head to one side curiously. Sure, Justin cared about Mark, but he had a feeling something deeper was going on with the kid. He'd been a mess ever since hanging up with Dillaford, and JC wasn't quite sure why.

"Last I talked to him, he was doing much better. Still gonna be out of commission for a while, though."

"Oh." Justin responded glumly, playing with the Coke can in his hands.

"Why? What's wrong, JuJu?"

"Nothing. I was just wondering, that's all." JC raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Justin often forgot that JC had known him since he was twelve, and could therefore spot his lies before they even entered Justin's brain.

"O-Kay . . . Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me." JC said, heading back toward his bunk again.

"Wait!" JC smirked. Right on time. For a moment there he thought he'd have to pull it out of the kid. He turned around again, arching an eyebrow in question.

"Yes?"

"I don't know what to do, C. I mean, I don't think this is safe for Megan, and if she gets hurt while she's off duty, she's OUR liability now. I mean, legally, that's a bad idea, isn't it?" Justin asked, his blue eyes pleading for JC to agree with him. JC let out a deep sigh, shutting the makeshift door before joining Justin at the table once again.

"Justin, I understand that you're worried about her. I'm worried, too, but I'd rather have her working this case than that Stevens character. Wouldn't you?"

"No." Justin replied petulantly, sticking his lower lip out in the all too familiar pout. "I don't lo- I don't care if HE gets hurt." He'd covered it quickly, but not quickly enough. JC's eyes bore into his, full of sympathy.

"Does she know?"

"Know what? That I care about her? I should hope so!" Justin said indignantly. JC shook his head sadly.

"JuJu, this is ME." His eyes met Justin's again, and he asked softly, "Does she know you love her?" Justin slumped down further in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"She hung up before I could say anything."

"Did you try calling her back?" JC asked, a slight smile on his face. He loved the kid like a brother, but sometimes common sense completely evaded Justin. He was greeted with a deathly glare in response.

"NO, JC. I've just been dialing her number on my phone for the past FOUR HOURS for no reason!" He exploded, eyes flashing. JC raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay! Just checking. When is she supposed to get here, do you know?"

"She's meeting us at the hotel tonight."

"Well, you'll see her in a couple of hours, then." JC said, patting him on the back as he stood. "Talk to her then."

"But this would be so much easier over the phone! I mean, I can't just sit there and say 'Hey, Dilla! How was your day? By the way, I love you.'"

"Why not?"

"It's not that simple, C! Ugh!" Justin threw his hands up in frustration, kicking one of the extra chairs.

"Damaging the furniture isn't gonna solve anything, JuJu." JC chided, giving him a disapproving look. "I understand if you're scared she doesn't love you back, but that's a risk you're going to have to take."

"But . . . how did you . . . I. . ." Justin sputtered, dumbfounded. JC merely winked, heading out the door once again.

"You were the same way with Brit, JuJu." Justin scratched his head, then began playing with the Coke can once again. Yeah, he loved her, but what was the big hurry? He didn't have to tell her today, or even tomorrow. As a matter of fact, he could just not tell her at all. No . . . maybe next week. Then again . . . His thoughts were broken as JC's voice sailed back to him again.

"And Justin? Don't wait until it's too late." Justin mimicked JC's words with a scowl on his face. Sometimes it really sucked having a band mate who'd known him for eight years.

*********************************

Megan fumbled with the bag on her arm, searching for the phone that was ringing insistently from somewhere within its depths. She felt bad about blocking Justin's number, but knew him well enough by now to know that he'd try to dissuade her from doing what she had to do. It was better to put him off until she was face to face with him. She continued digging in the bag, grinning triumphantly when she successfully retrieved the phone. Her grin was quickly replaced with a frown as she checked the caller ID, however.

"Hi, Mark."

"Well, hello to you too, little Miss Thang! When, exactly, were you planning on telling me that you'd quit the FBI and decided to keep working OUR case on your own, huh?"

"Mark, I don't think that yelling is good for you in your condition. Any added stress isn't good for you, which is why-"

"Dilla, what were you THINKING? This isn't safe! I want you to go back to Gaines right now and tell him you made a mistake. I'll see you in the office tomorrow morning." Dillaford chuckled, rolling her eyes at his demanding tone.

"Yeah, right. You're not even being released until Thursday, so don't even try, Mark. Besides, I can take care of myself, and you know how close we were to cracking this-"

"That doesn't matter if you get hurt, Dilla. Remember that I'm still your friend, and as such I-"

"Should let me do what I want to do, and learn from my own mistakes." Dillaford finished for him. "So, who called you, anyway? Let me guess . . . C? Or was it Justin?"

"JC. He didn't bother calling you, because he knows you're too hard headed to listen to reason anyway. However, I'm still going to at least attempt to talk some sense into you." Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Dilla, you're not indestructible, and I don't understand this sudden need to go Rambo and try to do things all on your own."

"I'm not going 'Rambo', Mark. At least I HOPE I'm not as butt-ugly as Sylvester Stallone. Ugh!" She waved a hand in dismissal. "Mark, if anything happens to any of the guys, especially Justin . . . "

"Dilla, you can't keep blaming yourself for anything that happens to anyone else on an assignment you're involved with! Tony was not your fault, and he's certainly not a reason for you to endanger your life, too!" Megan clenched her jaw at his words, and her voice became rigid.

"This is NOT about Tony, Mark. It's about the guys. They're the first friends I've come across besides you in a long while, and I will NOT see them hurt, Mark. Do you hear me?"

"If they're your friends, Dilla, then why won't you listen to their concerns about your well-being? Why won't you listen to MINE, for goodness sake?"

"Because Mark, I'm-"

"Fine." Mark finished for her. "Dilla, I don't have a good feeling about this, okay?"

"Well I do!" Megan retorted, throwing her bag into the back of the cab she'd hailed. She heard Mark's sigh, and joined in with one of her own.

"Dilla, I know that you're going to do whatever you want to anyway, but will you PLEASE be careful?"

No response. Mark let out a deep breath, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "Please? Dilla, I may be overprotective, I may bug the shit out of you, and I may be overreacting, but I don't have a good feeling about this, and I'm NOT ready to lose you." Megan was silent as she blinked back the tears burning in her eyes. She swallowed slowly, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat before answering him.

"Okay, Mark. I promise."

"Thanks. Now, do me another favor and talk to Justin, okay? The boy is worried sick about you."

"Why? He knows I can take care of myse-" She was cut off again by Mark's voice.

"It's called CARING, Dillaford. That's C-A R-"

"You know, Daymond, I can still kick your ass." Dilla threatened, annoyed that her surrogate older brother was, once again, completely right. It never failed. She did something rash, and he was there to tell her how to fix it. It sucked having someone know her so well.

"Dilla, I'm still bigger than you, and I'd just LOVE to see you try!" Mark challenged. "I know you can take care of yourself too, Dilla, but I'm still worried. Just give him some peace of mind, okay?" Mark chirped cheerfully. "Now, be a good little girl, and remember what I said!" Mark hung up, and Dillaford looked at the phone in confusion until it hit her.

"Oh, yeah. I'm supposed to tell Timber-Boy how I feel." She chuckled, shaking her head. It was simple, really . . . but then again, the mere idea had her stomach doing somersaults. If it was so simple, then why was it so hard? Megan shook her head, answering her own question out loud.

"Because you have so much to lose." A slow smile crept across her face as she thought of Justin, and suddenly her statement did a 180. "And so much to gain, too." She tipped the cabbie, running up the stairs to the hotel lobby with a ridiculous grin on her face. She could do this.

*********************************

Megan ran all the way up to the fifteenth floor of the hotel, not having the patience to wait for an elevator. From the looks of it, there was some sort of convention going on, and she had no desire to wait fifteen minutes, only to be squished in an elevator that would undoubtably be full beyond capacity. The thought of being trapped in an elevator for any amount of time was not a welcome one. Besides . . . once she made up her mind to do something, she did it, dammit, and she wasn't about to put things off any longer.

When she burst through the door onto the correct floor, she was stopped dead in her tracks by security- literally. Well, maybe not quite- the encounter didn't kill her, but running into Dre at top speed was definitely going to leave her with some bruises. She glared up at the mountainous man angrily from her new home on the floor, trying to shake the cobwebs from her head while he laughed heartily.

"Going somewhere, Dilla?"

"I WAS, before I ran into your big ass! What, are you training to become a semi in your next life?"

"Nope." Dre responded cheerfully. "Just doing my job." He lowered his voice. "Been having a bit of trouble since last night, so we're watching ALL entrances to the floor right now." Dillaford's shoulders stiffened.

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" Dre waved a hand in dismissal.

"Just the usual overly zealous fans, that's all. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about." He chuckled when Dillaford shot him a deathly glare. "Good to see you again, too, kiddo." She jumped up, throwing her bag over her shoulder again as she finally regained her senses. She was halfway down the hall when Dre's voice stopped her again.

"Yo, Meg!" She turned around, one eyebrow arched curiously as she waited for another smart-ass remark. "Timberlake's room is that-away!" He informed her, sticking a thumb over his shoulder in the opposite direction.

"Gee, THANKS!"

"Dilla!" Megan didn't have any time to respond before being tackled by Chris, leaving her sprawled in the middle of the hall for the second time in the last five minutes. "Good to see you, girl!"

"Can't say the same for you." She retorted, struggling under his weight. "Get . . . OFF, Kirkpatrick!" Joey stuck his head out into the hall, eyes widening at the sight in front of him.

"Did I miss something here, or are you dating JuJu and Chris at the same time?" Megan finally managed to shove Chris off of her, brushing her hair out of her face as she looked up at Joey, face red with anger.

"NO! If you would keep your more hyperactive members on a leash, then this wouldn't happen!"

"We do. This is just his five-minute break." Joey dead panned. "Blame it on Lance. He was in charge today."

"Hey, now! What are y'all trying to peg me with this time?" Lance asked, sticking his head over Joey's shoulder. A slow grin spread across his face when he saw Megan sitting on the floor, glaring angrily at a very hyper Chris. "Hey, Dilla."

"Hi, Lance." She responded, brushing herself off as she stood up again. "Can you tell me where Justin is? He's the only one of you fools I really want to see, and Kirkpatrick here . . . " She glared at Chris. "Seems intent on maiming me before the chance."

"Dilla, Dilla, Dilla . . . " Lance chided, shaking his head sadly. "Is that any way to treat the 'challenged' one? I mean, Chris is just looking for a little bit of love."

"I need love." Chris affirmed, nodding his head.

"You need love." Joey chimed in, then was joined by both Lance and Joey, singing, "We all really need love. All I want, all I need . . . "

"UGH!" Megan yelled, plugging her ears as she passed Dre once again. "How do you put UP with this on a day-to-day basis?"

"I threaten to feed them to the teenies if they don't shut up. Usually works pretty good." Dillaford shook her head as she surveyed the three band mates, still singing away.

"What I wouldn't give to be you right now."

"You want to be a 300-pound black man who works for these nut cases?" Dre asked incredulously. "And you're saying THEY'RE messed up in the head?"

"Hey, if it would get them to SHUT UP . . . "

"Are you SURE you'd want to trade places with me?" Dre asked, winking at Justin over her shoulder.

"Hell yeah, I'm sure! Why do you ask?"

"Because if you were me . . . " Dre smirked, turning Dillaford around by the shoulders, "Then that smile wouldn't be for you. And I'm pretty sure-" Dillaford never heard the rest of his sentence. She was too busy bowling Justin over with a huge hug.

"JUSTIN!" Justin's eyes widened in surprise as Megan attached herself to him. This wasn't typical Dillaford behavior- not that he was complaining, mind you, but it just wasn't normal for her.

"I missed you, too." He whispered, pulling her in for a tight hug. They stayed that way for a while, just savoring the comfort and closeness of one another. Justin was the first to pull back, glaring at Chris, who'd begun chanting softly.

"Megan and Justin, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N . . . " When Justin's hand fisted, Chris cowered behind Joey.

"Don't hurt me!"

"I'm about to hurt you, too, if you don't-"

"SHUT UP!!!" Lance, Joey, and Megan joined Dre's warning. Chris gave them all a hurt look, then began slowly backing toward his room, making mock martial arts moves all the way. Lance and Joey followed, leaving Megan and Justin alone together for the first time since her arrival.

"So . . . " Justin said, pulling her in for another hug and resting his chin on the top of her head. "Where were we?" Megan relaxed into him, then took his hand, leading him toward what was now her room.

"There's something I have to tell you . . . "

*********************************

Justin tilted his head to the side curiously, waiting until they were inside Megan's room to speak.

"Really? 'Cause I have something to tell you, too." Megan sank down on the edge of the bed, trying to think of exactly how to get out of this. The three words she was about to say were not to be used lightly, and though they were extremely important, she was beginning to wish she hadn't made such a production out of this. Justin sat down backward in the desk chair, his arms resting on the chair back as he leaned forward expectantly.

"Well . . . ?" Justin trailed off, and they sat in expectant silence, each waiting for the other to speak. Dillaford watched the clock switch from minute to minute, avoiding Justin's inquisitive gaze. When it turned over for the second time, she finally opened her mouth to speak.

"You go first." Both sets of eyes registered shock at hearing their sentence come out of the other's mouth, and a slow grin spread across Justin's face as he looked over at Megan.

"Okay . . . Same time, then." Megan nodded, and he began counting to three. Simultaneously, they said the words that had been on their minds for the past twenty-four hours.

"I love you."

Once again, both pairs of eyes registered shock. It was different this time, as the shock was quickly replaced by the glow of happiness.

"Really?" This was getting ridiculous. It took them two full minutes to speak, and then they couldn't say anything without it being at the same time as the other person. A silly grin took over Justin's face, and he leaned in to kiss Dillaford. Unfortunately, he leaned in a bit too far, and was deposited rather roughly on the floor when the chair tipped all the way forward. When he recovered enough to speak again, he spoke in a loud commentator's voice.

"And as Timberlake goes in for the goal, he is DENIED!" Megan's eyes filled with tears of laughter as she helped him up, and he continued the commentary. "Now, for the second attempt . . . " Justin pulled Megan close to him, lifting her chin with a finger as he looked into her eyes. He leaned in, and, after what seemed like an eternity to Megan, brushed his lips softly against hers. She leaned further into him, and he took the hint, deepening the kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, both were swollen-lipped and breathless. Megan leaned her head against Justin's chest, closing her eyes as she concentrated on the sound of his breathing. Huh- that hadn't been so hard, after all. She brought her arms up until they were around his neck, then looked up at him seriously.

"I love you, Justin."

"Even if I fall on my ass when I'm trying to kiss you?" He asked, grinning cheekily.

"Even if you fall on your ass while you're trying to kiss me." She nodded. "As long as you actually kiss me afterward."

"I think that can be arranged." He smiled, leaning in for another kiss.

"Good. 'Cause otherwise I might have to take matters into my own hands."

"Oh, really?" Justin raised an eyebrow, stopping with his lips over hers.

"Yes, really. Now, don't make me get bitchy!" She warned. Justin grinned, his breath on Dillaford's mouth as he smiled teasingly at her. He was driving her insane, and he was enjoying every minute of it.

"Hurt me." He said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. "Ouch!" Justin yelped when she pinched his side, then stuck his lower lip out in a pout. "That hurt." Megan rolled her eyes, tugging on his lower lip lightly.

"Don't pout- it's not attractive." Justin merely stuck his lower lip even farther out, fixing her with his best puppy dog look. "Okay, okay!" She relented, "I'm sorry."

"You should be. Now, nice as it is to see you . . . I don't like it." Dillaford gave him a confused look. "It's not at all that I don't want to see you," He covered quickly, "But I don't like the fact that you're going to try to solve this case on your own. " Justin told her seriously. Megan rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Justin, I don't know how many times I'm going to have to say this, but-"

"You can take care of yourself." Justin finished. "I know that, Dilla. But I love you, and I don't want to see you get hurt. You're taking on an awful lot by yourself here."

"I can handle it." Dillaford replied defensively. "I've dealt with worse than this, Justin. Believe me."

"I know you CAN, Meg- it's whether or not you SHOULD that's bothering me."

"And that's MY decision to make, not yours." She shot back. "Justin, this is what I do. I work for the FBI as an undercover agent, solving cases."

"Not by yourself, you don't!" Justin protested. "Tell me ONE other time you've been completely on your own on an assignment. ONE, that's all I ask."

"I haven't." She admitted. Justin raised an eyebrow, giving her an 'I told you so' look. "But I can do this, Justin." He just didn't get it. There was no way he could know all of the reasons that she felt compelled to finish this case out on her own, unofficially. He couldn't know, because she'd never told him. It was better that way, though- at least that's what she kept telling herself as she saw his confused, somewhat hurt expression.

"What are you trying to prove, Dilla? That you're tough? We all know that. That you're independent? We know that, too. Oh, I get it . . . it must be that you have a DEATH WISH, 'cause this makes NO SENSE!" Megan bristled at the insult, and tears pricked at her eyes.

"With or without your approval, this is what I'm doing, Justin." She said coldly. "I didn't ask for your opinion, and if all you're going to do is insult me, I sure as hell don't want to hear it."

"Fine!" Justin sighed, running a hand over his face. "Just . . . just be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry- I will." Megan responded, pushing him toward the door. "Now, git! I've got work to do." Reluctantly, Justin left, walking back toward his own room. Somehow, Dillaford's promise had made him even more nervous than he'd been before she'd said it.

*********************************

Once Justin was safely out of her hair, Dillaford went into 'detective mode'. She was familiar enough with the tour by now to know where both Jeff Moon and Kyle Remington were to be found, and it wasn't with the guys. She'd compiled a pretty good amount of information on Remington, but there still wasn't anything to flat-out prove his involvement with the 'accidents'. He was never there at the time any of the accidents occurred. If he was involved, it was behind the scenes, not up-close and personal. There was nothing quite like snooping around for getting good information, though, and she'd gotten to know several members of the crew, specifically the pyrotechnics crew, through Mark.

Jeff Moon was not a friendly man. Well, that wasn't quite right, Dilla reasoned. He wasn't a social man, and that fact was seriously cramping her investigation. Even in passing conversation, the daily gossip, she'd learned very little about him. It was plain to see that no woman would let him go out in public dressing the way he did, but all she really knew about him was that he would go out with the rest of the guys on the crew. Even when drunk, the man wasn't much for giving information about himself . . . or so Mark had said. Megan wasn't about to try to find out. She'd done enough trying to be 'one of the guys' in the Special Ops unit- she wasn't about to try with the tour crew. First, she didn't NEED the respect of these guys, and secondly- it would be more than a little suspicious.

After triple-checking for nosy crew members in the hall, Megan jiggled the doorknob to Jeff Moon's room. She nearly shrieked with joy when she found it opened, but settled for doing a little dance to show her happiness instead. Getting caught would NOT be good, especially if her suspicions were correct. Anyone who could play with the guys' lives like that was no one she wanted to piss off, that was for sure. Memories of Chris' expression when he'd been hoisted above them only days before were enough to make her shudder in disgust.

Quietly, Dillaford looked around the room, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the smell emanating from a pile of clothing thrown carelessly in a corner.

"Someone doesn't make use of the laundry facilities, THAT's for damn sure!" She said quietly to herself, prodding at the mess with her foot, just to make sure there was nothing alive in it. In the corner of her eye, she finally caught sight of what she was looking for- a large, leather bound book, which appeared to be either a journal or day planner. If he had any pertinent information, that was where she'd find it. In her experience, blue-collar criminals were none too intelligent. Even the white-collar ones often lacked intelligence, but they had the means to hire brains for their 'projects'. Not that she expected to see 'terrorize *NSYNC' written on his calendar anywhere, but whatever he did have written, she'd find.

Several minutes and thirty pages later, Dillaford was no closer to cracking the case than she'd been at the beginning of the day, and her patience was running out. Truth be told, half the reason she'd wanted to stay on the tour was to spend more time with Justin, and this just wasn't cutting it.

"Come ON!" She whispered through gritted teeth. "There HAS to be something here . . . there just HAS to!" She leaned over, banging her head on the edge of the desk in frustration, then froze. Voices. Men's voices, and they were getting louder, too. Megan sat straight up, looking for possible escape routes. Great. She could either jump off the balcony, trap herself in the bathroom, or hide under the bed, none of which sounded the least bit appealing.

"Please, please, just keep going. Whoever you are, just GO. Keep on walking, please!"

"You know, I'm really getting sick of this, man! I got rid of Mark, what more do you want?" Her ears pricked up as she recognized Moon's voice, eyes widening. This was better than a day planner, any day. Unfortunately, it also meant that he was likely to enter the room at any moment, and it was way past too late for her to get out of there without being recognized by somebody.

Justin was going to kill her when he found out about this. She was pretty sure that breaking and entering a crew member's room in hopes of getting evidence didn't qualify as 'being careful', and he HATED being lied to almost as much as he hated being referred to as 'Britney's bitch'. Dillaford shook her head. This was REALLY not what she needed to be thinking about at a time like this. What she needed to be thinking about was how she wanted her epitaph to read, how she was going to explain herself when she got caught . . . ANYTHING but the stupid thoughts that were currently running through her brain at top speed.

"It ain't my fault the Chasez kid got away, man! The big guy had some sort of bond with 'im or something, man!" Moon whined. "And the kid's got that feisty little bitch around him all the time, so I can't get to him." He complained. "The weird one was in the bag, 'till . . . " Megan heard a smack, then Moon's yelp of pain. She hit the floor, rolling under the bed just in time to see two pairs of feet shuffle in.

"Shut UP, you idiot! Do you have ANY idea how many people are around here, all of whom work on the same crew you do? Fuck! If I'd known you were so damn simple, I would have taken care of this myself LONG ago. Now that the kid's out of the way, too, I've half a mind to do it."

Megan's blood nearly froze in her veins at the words she'd just heard. She KNEW that voice. More important, she knew the person to whom it belonged.

*********************************

Dillaford crouched under the bed, barely daring to breathe for fear of being discovered. Suddenly, she found herself breathing rapidly, loudly... or so it seemed to her overly sensitive ears. This was a nightmare, is what this was. Mark's injury had always sat wrong with her, and she had been looking for clues ever since, but she'd never expected THIS. Now, it all made sense. Mark's injury, the fact that more attempts had been made on JC's life than on any of the rest of the guys... it HAD to be someone aware of the personal connection. Shit! Why hadn't she seen it all sooner? Man, if only she'd kept her eyes opened, if only she hadn't been so caught up in Justin... She should have figured this out WEEKS ago. Now, she was stuck under a bed, listening to the latest plot while face to face with... Moon's dirty socks, from the look and smell of it. Ugh!

"Now, if the kid comes back, which I think she will- the little bitch- she's gonna come nosing around here. Meaning... your ass doesn't leave this room!"

Megan fought the urge to scream out loud, opting instead for running through every foul word in her vocabulary several times through, and inventing a few new ones in the process, all inside her head. The bastard! Of course he'd go and do something intelligent like this when she really wanted him to be his usual stupid self. Shit!

"But-"

"That's right, your butt stays here, Moon. I find out about you leaving, and believe me, I will, it's your ass on the line. I doubt anyone will miss you." He said, giving Jeff a disgusted look. "Use the time to take a shower or something, man. You look like shit." Jeff bristled at the remark. He'd taken this job for the money, with the understanding that he'd be left alone otherwise, and the boss wasn't living up to his end of the bargain. Moon hated meddling, and he hated being told what to do even more. Sullenly, he tilted his head in acknowledgment.

"A'ight. But I'm going out to dinner first, man. I'm not eating room service again- it's too expensive." Moon protested, jutting his chin out defiantly. He wasn't gonna be pushed around by this... His thoughts were interrupted when his boss' voice cut through again.

"Now, is everything set for tomorrow?" Dillaford's ears pricked up. Tomorrow was the record release, and there was going to be a HUGE party, not to mention the scheduled concert. Whatever the bastards were planning, it was going to have a big impact, and it wasn't going to be good.

"Yeah, yeah- pyro goes haywire, explosives 'accidentally' get aimed out into the audience, harming throngs of teenagers. " Moon replied, chuckling. "It's a cinch. Nobody's gonna let their kids go to one of their concerts after THAT!"

"I should certainly hope not. And the other?"

"It's all set. The boys will be taken care of, too."

"Good." He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes, Moon. If your ass isn't back here by then..." He trailed off, letting Moon figure out exactly what he meant, and Dillaford could imagine him making a subtle gesture toward the gun he wore under his flannel shirt. "And this time, lock your damn door."

Megan took a deep breath, finally relaxing a bit. They were leaving, giving her an opportunity to get out of the room. She would probably have to balcony-hop, but that wouldn't be too bad. She'd done it before.

"Fine!" Moon grumbled. "But I really don't think anyone is going to be coming in here."

"You're right." Dillaford thought to herself. "It stinks too badly for anyone to want to come in, that's for sure."

"Just GO, Jeff. And hurry back." Moon jumped, grabbing his jacket on the way out the door. He didn't need to be told twice. His hand was on the doorknob when a cell phone began to ring, startling all three occupants of the room. It only took a moment for the horror to set in on Dillaford's face when she realized that the offending noise was emanating from her very own pocket. She fumbled with the small object, trying desperately to turn it off.

"Shit, man! Answer your damn phone, would you?" The familiar voice demanded. Moon gave him a confused look, then retrieved his cell phone for the other man to view.

"It ain't mine, boss. Must be yours." She let out a sigh of relief, having finally managed to turn the nasty little machine off. FUCK! How could she forget that?

"It's not MINE, you moron! That's not my ring, and besides..." Dillaford tensed as she felt weight bearing down on the bed as he patted it with a beefy hand. "It seems to be coming from here." He grinned widely. "I think we've found our intruder, Jeff." He lifted up the bed skirt, a satisfied smirk slinking across his face when he saw Dillaford. "Well, lookie here." She made a move to kick him, but stopped when she suddenly found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. He grabbed one of her arms, dragging her roughly out from her hiding spot. "We've found ourselves a little fibbie bitch." Dillaford wrenched her arm out of his grasp, her hazel eyes burning with hatred and loathing for the man in front of her.

"Fuck you, Stevens."

*********************************

Stevens laughed, looking her over carefully before responding.

"Not a half bad idea, sweetheart. But like I said, I don't take used merchandise." He tilted his head to one side, looking at her curiously. "Now, just what AM I going to do with you?"

"Get out of my way before I KICK YOUR ASS?" She suggested, spitting on his foot. It was a mistake. He cocked the gun, preparing to fire, and brought it even closer to her face. Dillaford made a mental note NOT to mouth of to deranged, pathetic men who had guns to her head in the future. That was, if she ever made it to that future. With the way things were going right now, that was highly doubtful.

Once again, she found herself thinking about Justin and the rest of the guys. She also thought about Mark, and what an ass-kicking he'd be giving her when he found out about this- once again, provided she survived. When she'd come down to snoop in Moon's room, she had NOT expected to end up looking down the barrel of her supposed partner's gun. This was not how her life was supposed to go, and she was QUITE sure that she wasn't supposed to die yet. Or maybe she was . . . but not at the hands of someone as pathetic as Stevens. Dillaford racked her brain, desperately trying to figure out how to get out of this one alive, apprehend both Stevens and Moon, and explain the entire situation to anyone she might bump into in the process. So far, she wasn't coming up with much. She'd been trained on how to retrieve a gun from a suspect, but so had Stevens, and because he was an agent, she also knew that he'd have at least one other weapon on his person at all times. She, on the other hand . . . well, she had her brains. For once, she wasn't so sure how they'd measure up against those of Stevens. She's obviously underestimated him, and now was not the time to do so again.

"I would watch my MOUTH if I were you!" Stevens warned, landing a kick in her shin. Dillaford sucked in air, wobbling in an effort to maintain her balance. She bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, or even tear up.

"What are you going to do to the guys, Stevens?" He grinned widely, smirking at Moon.

"Wanna tell her what's gonna happen to her precious little pretty-boys, Jeff?" Moon shook his head, eyes still wide with shock at the events of the past few minutes, and Stevens let out a raspy chuckle. "No? Well, I'll tell her, then. Have a seat." He ordered, indicating with the gun that she should take a seat on the end of the bed. "I COULD tell you, but then I'd have to kill ya. Wait- I'm going to do that anyway!" He burst into laughter at his own lame joke, wiping away the tears of amusement flowing down his face. "Oh, that was good! I kill myself!"

"Would you really?" Megan muttered, rolling her eyes at the imbecile in front of her. Stevens straightened, narrowing his eyes.

"What did you say?"

"I think that's a LOVELY idea, Stevens. I'd vote for you killing yourself, ANY day!" She responded, chin jutting out defiantly. He raised a hand to smack her, then let it drop, shaking his head when she didn't flinch. Dillaford didn't even blink. She just stared back at him. "Go ahead, Stevens. If you think hitting me will make you feel like you have a bigger dick, though, you're wrong." She was baiting him now, waiting for him to completely lose his cool and give her an opportunity to take control of the situation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Moon looking around the room nervously, obviously afraid of what he might witness in the next few minutes. Mistake number one on Stevens' part- he'd picked a less than intelligent associate, a complete pushover from the looks of it. If she could just get the upper hand over Stevens, handling Moon would be a cinch.

"I'm warning you one last time, Dillaford: watch that mouth, or you'll be sorry." Dillaford shot him a disbelieving look.

"You really ARE a moron, aren't you, Stevens?" She spat, shaking her head. "I mean, if you're gonna shoot me anyway, I really have nothing to lose by telling you EXACTLY what I think of you. And you wonder why you keep getting passed over for promotion . . . "

"Shut UP, Dillaford!" Stevens growled, this time actually reaching out and slapping her across the face, cutting her lip in the process. Megan sat back up, wiped the blood off her lip with the back of her hand, and spat the rest in his face, using the opportunity to knock him flat on his ass. They writhed on the floor, fighting for the dominant position, while Moon looked on, stupefied. Finally, he sprang into action, and Dillaford watched amusedly as he joined in the fight, actually using the opportunity to pound out all of his resentment for Stevens while supposedly 'helping' him. Dillaford used Moon's anger to her advantage, allowing him to grapple with the portly Stevens while she took care of the weapons. When she'd collected both guns from Stevens, she jumped up, training one gun on each man, her back to the door.

"Freeze, assholes. My patience is wearing thin."

*********************************

"So after that, I called Gaines, and he got me back-up right away. Turns out he'd stayed with the tour, so he came in and helped me." Dillaford grinned. "It was a sad, sad thing, but Stevens put up a fight, and I was forced to restrain him."

"Restrain him? You kicked his ass from here to China and back, girl! What are you talking about, 'restrain'?" Chris asked, swatting her playfully. Megan put her arms up in guard position, and he jumped backward, a fearful look in his eye. "Ahem. Excuse my interruption, Dilla."

"As I was saying . . . "

"You FINALLY kicked his ass!" Mark finished, grinning brightly at her. "It's about time, girl!"

"AMEN!" The other five occupants of the room agreed, grinning cheekily at Dillaford.

"What I want to know is, who was calling you on the phone?" Joey asked, "And how did you survive under Moon's bed for so long? I mean, the guy REEKS, and I've only ever passed him in the hall before a show."

"You're one to talk, Fatone! Your socks are registered lethal weapons in some states!" JC cut in, jumping out of the way when Joey reached out to smack him.

"Actually, I don't know." Megan replied, a shocked look on her face. "I never checked the caller ID." She pulled her phone out of her pocket to review her calls, and her jaw dropped when she saw who it was.

"Mark! What were you-?"

"Dilla, hon, you forget that I know you WAY too well. Besides . . . " A Cheshire Cat grin lit up his face. "I had a lot of money riding on you kicking that man's ass."

"But how did you-?"

"I worked with Moon the entire time I was on the tour, Dilla. Then, when Stevens started asking about your relationship with Justin . . . the pieces kind of came together. I didn't have any proof, though, so . . . "

"You waited for me to go snooping around like you knew I would."

"Yep. I was going to tell you my suspicions that night, but as it turned out . . . "

"She was already putting the pieces together. Nice job, bro!" JC said, clapping Mark on the back. "You too, Dilla. I can't imagine if they had gone through with their plan."

"All those kids getting hurt . . . " Chris shook his head. "Makes me sick to think of it."

"Did you ever find out what he was planning to do to US?" Lance asked, eliciting glares from all of the other guys. "What? I'm just curious!"

"If they were gonna do that to our FANS, I don't even wanna know." Justin said vehemently.

"Me neither." Joey agreed. "My leg was bad enough, man. And what they did to Chris . . . "

"Don't remind me."

"Majority rules." Dillaford said to Lance. "It's a good thing, too, 'cause he never did tell me." Lance shrugged.

"Probably better that way, anyhow. Don't need any more nightmares- Chris' B.O. gives me enough of those."

"Hey! Them's fighting words, boy!"

As the five boys of *NSYNC became tangled in yet another brotherly brawl, a lone figure miles away sat rereading his orders once again. He chuckled, tucking the picture of the five smiling faces in his back pocket before securing his weapon and walking out the door.

"Can't wait to meet you, boys!"

*****
Copyrighted 2002.
Do not steal or plagiarize any part or idea of the story.
If you do, I will report you to Zero Tolerance. You have been
warned.