“Yeah, can I have a decaf tea and a bunch of lemon slices?” Regan asked the waitress.

“One tea and a side of lemon,” the waitress jotted down, being sure to roll her eyes. “For you, hon?”

“Can I get a cup of coffee, fully caffinated,” Justin ordered with a smirk. “In fact, if you have any extra caffeine back there you could just throw it in there.”

“Cute,” the waitress remarked. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Justin answered, shifting his body in the booth to face her better. “Can I get a really big plate of French fries and a side of brown gravy.”

“Coming right up,” the waitress grunted, sauntering away.

“My God, you can’t still be hungry,” Regan said staring at him in awe.

“Hey, first of all, we ate a long time ago and second of all, its been a long time since I’ve been to a diner and I want me some diner food.”

“I see,” she smirked. “Enjoy the metabolism while you have it. I mean, look at Elvis. He went from leaving the building to being the building. It catches up with you. Even pop superstars.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied with a crooked smile. “But I could give you the exact opposite advice, Twiggy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you tonight,” he leaned in, resting his head on him folded arms on the table. “You’re real good at making people think you’re eating more than you are.”

She leaning back in her seat, arms crossed, regarding him skeptically. “You fancy yourself perceptive, dontcha, Cap’n?”

“Shall I explain?” he smirked.

“By all means,” she replied with a wave of her hand.

“First, you load up your fork or spoon or whatever but you only take these tiny little bites. Second, you move you’re food around your plate while you speak giving the illusion that the amount of food on your plate is getting smaller while distracting everyone with whatever you’re saying. Third, and this is my favorite, after the meal you make some sort of remark about how full you are or something to that effect. Tonight, I believe it was ‘My ass is gonna jiggle for week after that meal.’ You’re good, I must admit but not good enough if someone is paying attention.”

“Wow, that was impressive,” Regan smirked. “And exactly why were you paying me so much attention in the first place?”

Busted. “Um, well, it was just that I happened to pick up on the fact that you were pushing you’re food around your plate instead of eating it and it just made me wonder so I—”

“I get it, I get it,” Regan interrupted, letting him off the hook. It was enough just to see him squirm for that moment. “Just so you know, I’m not anorexic or anything. Mike was just always on my case about what I eat so when I’m around him, I just try to make it look like I’m eating more and then I eat the way I normally do when I’m on my own.”

“What? Decaf tea and lemon slices?” Justin asked incredulously.

“No, I eat a lot of soy, white meats, fruits and veggies. I’m a bit on the thin side but I’m a dancer; I have to be. I’m healthy, trust me. My diet is just fine.”

“Just like your ankles are fine?” He regretted his words the second they left his mouth. She seemed to want to avoid the issue and he didn’t think before he brought it up. He half expected her to blow up and half expected her to burst into tears. She did neither. It was the first time she’d surprised him all night.

“Do you ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t part of Nsync?”

“Yeah, all the time,” he answered. “Passes the time on the bus, especially when I’ve gotten mobbed and I catch myself wishing for that split second that I had a normal life.”

Regan thought silently for a moment. Justin studied her, noting how she seemed to be digesting what she’d just heard rather than contemplating her response. She looked up, ready to speak, when the waitress returned with the coffee pot. She grabbed the cup in front of Justin and unceremoniously flipped it over and filled it before leaving without a word. Justin chuckled under his breath as his eyes followed the disgruntled diner employee away but grew serious when they returned to Regan to see the intensely pensive expression on her face.

“I have never thought about what I’d do with my life if I couldn’t dance. Never. Not once. Even though I knew that dancers have such a short shelf life in the grand scheme of things, I never let myself imagine where I’d be when it was over. Even the first time, that pain shot through my muscles two weeks ago, I told myself nothing was wrong so many times, I started to believe it.” She paused, leaning down on her arms, bringing herself face to face with her companion. “I’m so scared and I know that if I go in on Monday and they tell me that I’ll never dance again that it’ll be my own damn fault. Whatever went wrong two weeks ago is two weeks worse now. I want to blame Bridget so badly. I want to be mad at her but I can’t. If the worst does happen I’m going to need her. I have no idea what I’m going to do if this is it for me.”

He wanted to assure her that there were a million opportunities out there for her. That life wasn’t over just because her life didn’t work out they was she thought it would. But he knew that wasn’t what she wanted to be assured of. While the best thing for her to tell herself right now would be that there was life after ballet, and while she was starting to finally admit to herself that something was wrong, she still wanted to be told it would all be ok; that it would all work out the way she wanted it to. He opted not to assure her either way.

“Do you know anything about this doctor?”

Her eyes, which had wondered away from his to examine the table full of club hoppers winding down from their night out, traveled slowly back to his. “His name is Aaron Boland. He’s around a lot cus he’s not just the house doctor, he’s the director’s brother. And he really creeps me out.”

“JC told me you have a fear of doctors,” Justin nodded.

“First of all, my sister-in-law has a big mouth— a fact she continues to prove over and over again,” Regan said, her brow scrunching up in frustration. “Second of all, I don’t think that’s the problem with Boland. He comes in a lot just to watch us dance and he always looks at me weird.”

“What do you mean, ‘weird’?”

“I dunno what I mean. I don’t even think ‘weird’ is the right word. Haven’t you ever just had a feeling about someone?”

“I’m having one right now,” Justin said, cocking an eyebrow. “You sure its not just the ‘doctor’ thing?”

“Am I sure? I’m not sure that bottle of ketchup isn’t going to sprout legs and start tap dancing but it doesn’t make it any more likely.”

“So why the fear of doctors?” Justin said, abandoning the issue for the time being.

“Where are my lemon slices?” Regan said shifting in her seat.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I don’t have a fear of doctors.”

“Um…”

“I have a mind numbing, pulse racing, heart pounding, ‘I see dead people’ terror of doctors.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

He looked at her, for the first time seeing the fear she’d just described. He’d seen a different kind of fear before; the kind caused by a threat to her livelihood. That particular fear was written plainly on her face. This was different. His eyes settled on her hands. Her left toyed with her bottom lip while the right unconsciously tapped her spoon on the tabletop. She was nervous. This wasn’t some stupid little thing that just gave her butterflies or made her uneasy like JC and his damn needles. She was seriously frightened.

“What is it that scares you about them?”

“Truth? I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’ve been this way since before I can remember. Funny thing is that my Dad says that when I was really little, I always loved going to the doctor- you know, lollypops and all that. He said the change was gradual until they had to lie to me just to get me into the car without a scene. Needless to say I caught on and never trusted where they said they were taking me. The mere mention of ice cream or pony rides still sends chills up my spine,” Regan took a deep breath and looked up meeting Justin’s gaze. He looked like he was trying to understand, working things over in his mind. “Does anything scare you like that?”

“I’m going to tell you something very few people know about me,” he said with exaggerated composure.

“Well I think its only fair, Mr. Perceptive.”

“Ok, then,” he smirked. He opened his mouth to begin when their transient waitress appeared and plopped a plate full of gravy soaked French fries on the table along with Regan’s tea.

They both looked up uncomfortably causing the middle-aged woman to snicker under her breath. “Lover’s spat?”

“Lack of tips?” Regan countered raising an eyebrow.

The waitress rolled her eyes yet again before slinking back behind the counter.

“You were saying?” Regan prompted reaching for the milk.

“Oh right,” he mumbled, having just popped a few smothered French fries into his mouth. “So, you know I used to be on the Mickey Mouse Club, did Star Search and all that, right?”

She nodded, cupping her hands around her teacup and taking a sip.

“Well I never really had a problem performing in front of people. I’d get the nervous little jitters, sure, but for the most part I was fine. Then I joined Nsync. I was fine until one day, in the middle of our first tour in Europe, I started having these monster panic attacks.”

“Stage fright?”

“I thought so, at first, but then I started having them when we were no where near a stage. It was the not knowing why that freaked me out more than the actual attacks. It was a tough time that I eventually grew out of but I can still remember how it felt and it makes my skin crawl. I can tell one thing that helped me though.”

She rolled her eyes and smirked, knowing exactly where this was going. “I’ll bite. What?”

“My friends, my family— talking to them about it, especially. I mean, besides helping me, it helped them, too. When people who care about you see you hurting, they want to be able to help you because they hurt with you,” Justin explained, tearing his eyes away from hers. He didn’t really want to get into specifics about that time in his life. It was tough to even think about but she needed to know that there was someone who could almost understand her fear— the being afraid and not knowing why— the being even more afraid because you don’t know why. She needed to know it at that moment and that it was someone tangible. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, even if he found redemption with a perfect stranger.

He shot up in his bed, knowing something was wrong.

“Damn Justin, what’d ya have a bad dream?” Lance mumbled through his pillow having been woken up by Justin’s start.

“I dunno, man. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Probably just nerves from today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many girls in one place, let alone screaming and trying to tear us to pieces. I think I imagined that scenario being a little more enjoyable.”

Justin let a chuckle escape despite himself. It was true that he’d been shaken up a bit that day from the intensity of their new-found popularity among young girls but he was certain that it was something else. His mind searched for anything that might be out of order but he found nothing. Seconds later his cell phone rang shrilly throughout the quiet room and he practically dove from his bed to the floor where the phone lay in his jeans pocket.

“Hello?” he said anxiously, knowing who it would be.

“Justin,” a strained voice breathed on the other end. It wasn’t a question so much as a sigh of relief.

“Cristin? What’s wrong? Where are you?” he questioned rapidly as he moved out into the hall to let Lance get back to sleep.

“Justin,” she started somberly. “What scares you?”

Her voice was broken and pleading for something— what he couldn’t say. The fact that he couldn’t read what she needed scared him more than the trembling in her voice. “What do you mean?”

“You have to be afraid of something— tell me.”

He didn’t know the best way to go about this. Clearly something was wrong and he was fairly certain it had to do with her stepfather again. He silently cursed himself for not making her come with him to Europe when he offered. She was stubborn, though, and refused to let her stepfather win. If she’d gone with Justin she would have had to leave school and the constant travel and unfamiliar surroundings would make it all but impossible to train and then Julliard would be out the window. Nothing in the world mattered to her but Justin and her violin. He debated whether to be strong for her or to allow his own fears and insecurities tumble out of his mouth. He debated which would comfort her more.

“You forget who you’re talking to here, little girl,” he said taking on an air of cockiness, trying to lighten the tension. “This is Justin Timberlake. I fear nothing.”

“Nothing but Freddie Crugar movies.”

The tightness in his chest lessened as he heard the chuckle rumble in her throat. “Will I never live that down?”

“Oh, I’ll be telling you grandkids the Freddie Crugar story, Timberlake.”

“All I’m worried about right now is you making it to embarrass me in front of my grandkids. Please come here. I want you with me. I can’t stand the thought of you there by yourself.”

“I’m fine Justin.”

“Bullshit. Then why are you calling me at 4:30 in the morning?”

“I just missed you and besides its only 10:30 here.”

“Tell me what happened, Cristin.”

“Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

She was lying. She knew he could tell when she was lying but he almost got the impression that this time she actually expected him to believe her.

“Cristin, there are ways to study the violin with out staying in that house.”

“Justin, I can take care of myself. I’m not afraid of him. I can get myself out of here and I don’t need your help.”

“Cris—” click “Dammit!” he growled tossing his cell to the floor.

Almost a week passed and he still couldn’t get a hold of her. At first, he figured she was just blowing off steam but it had been too long and he began to worry. Even in his busiest times when he barely had time to breath, he made damn sure they didn’t go more then 48 hours without talking. He finally got a hold of her friend, Melissa who told him what had happened. He wished he didn’t know even though he knew not knowing would have been even more unbearable.

She had gotten a scholarship to a fine-arts boarding school in Maine. The day after they’d spoke on the phone was the day she was supposed to leave. That morning she made sure to let every hateful word she’d bottled up fly out of her mouth at her stepfather, thinking there was nothing he could do to her now. There was one thing left, though. The doctor said her right wrist was essentially crushed and while it would heal, she’d never play the violin again.

He’d demanded to know where she was but Melissa told him that after they placed the cast on her wrist, she ran away from the hospital. She had the ticket to Maine that she could have exchanged for just about anywhere in the country.

That was when the attacks started. It wasn’t a fear of performing; it was a fear of doing anything without Cristin there to support him. More than that, he blamed himself for her provoking that animal the state called her guardian. Maybe if he hadn't played it tough for her benifit, she wouldn't have felt the need to do the same. Maybe when she asked him what he was afraid of, she was looking for some sign that it was ok not be strong all the time. He never found out the answers to those questions. He never heard from her again.

“Hello? Earth to Justin,” Regan said waving a hand in her companion’s face.

“Sorry,” Justin said shaking himself out of his reverie. “Did I zone out, there?”

“I’d say so,” Regan said, digging a few dollars out of her bag and tossing them on the table. “I thought the iron maiden slipped something into your gravy.”

“Just thinking,” he commented softly, getting his wallet out.

“Put your hundred dollar bills away, money bags. I got this one.” He began to protest and she put her hand up to his mouth to silence him. “See this face? This is my ‘resolve face.’ Learn it cus if we’re gonna be friends, you’re gonna see it often.”

An evil glint flashed in Justin’s eyes as split second before his tongue darted out of his mouth and licked her hand.

“Ewww! Cooties!” she squealed tearing her hand away form his mouth and grabbing a napkin from the dispenser. “Mental note— Timberlake fights dirty,” she ground out as she searched for her antibacterial lotion in her bag, causing him to chuckle when she produced it, laughing proudly for effect.

“I don’t really have cooties, you realize,” he smirked.

“A girl can never be to careful,” she mumbled rubbing the excess lotion over her arms.

“Smells good,” he commented, sliding out of the booth.

“Cucumber melon,” she smiled scooting over to the edge of her seat. She swung her legs around to climb out of the booth. The second the pressure of standing hit her ankles, they buckled, almost sending her straight to the floor. Had Justin not been standing beside her that’s exactly where she would have ending up.

“Whoa, there,” he said catching her and setting her onto a nearby chair. Her face contorted with pain and she mumbled incoherently under her breath. Justin knelt down next to her and she grabbed onto his hand, covering her face with the other as the tears came. “Shhh,” he said trying to calm her down, bringing his free hand up to stroke her cheek.

“Jesus,” she managed to get out. “Why is this happening to me?” Her voice was nothing but a whisper and had he not seen her lips moving, he would have completely missed it.

“Its gonna be ok,” he assured her, standing up. Her head jerked up, looking at him expectantly, holding onto his hand for dear life. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, bending down and sweeping her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. She rested her head in the grove between his neck and shoulder.

“Idn’t that sweet,” crooned their waitress sarcastically from behind the counter.

“Listen, crispy crème, you wanna stop being a pain in the ass and get the door,” Justin scowled.

“Testy,” she mumbled moving to get the door.

Once they were outside he impressively hailed down a cab with only a whistle and no free hands. She was too upset, no to mention half-asleep to realize where Justin had told the cabby to go. “Nearest hospital, please.”

They pulled up to the emergency entrance of Bellevue Hospital and Justin paid the cabby before getting out and moving around to the other side to get Regan.

“Why are we here?” she sniffed, realizing her surroundings.

“You can’t wait for Monday, Regan. You should get them checked out treated now or you’re just going to be in pain all weekend,” he explained as he carried her towards the automatic door.

They were greeted immediately be an orderly who grabbed a wheelchair for Justin to set her down in. “What’s the problem?”

“Her ankles,” Justin explained. “They could be severely sprained or fractured.”

Regan looked up at him, her expression plainly asked where the hell that came from.

“We have a physical therapist and I watch a lot of ER,” he winked eliciting a small laugh from the patient.

“Would you be able to fill out some forms for her while a doctor examines her?” the orderly directed at Justin.

“No but I can get her brother down here in a few minutes,” he answered, subsequently placing his hand over her mouth to quell her inevitable protest. She gave him a taste of his own medicine, sticking her tongue, licking his hand. “Ewww! Cooties,” he laughed. “Where’d you put that cucumber stuff?” he said rifling around her bag, which was now in his possession.

“Just don’t use it up,” she kidded as the orderly wheeled her away. “Wait, can’t he come with me?” she asked, panic beginning to register on her face as she came fully out of her daze and realized just where she was. Doctors here, doctors there, doctors everywhere.

“I don’t see why not,” the orderly nodded. “The doctor will probably just want some x-rays and then he can come up and see you.”

“Wait, how long will that take? Justin, I don’t want to go alone,” she pleaded.

“Regan,” he started kneeling down beside her, “I’m just gonna go call JC and tell him to get Mike down here so he can fill out those forms they need and then we’ll all come to see you. Just stay calm, I’m sure these guys will take good care of you.” He stood up and took the orderly aside, not before shooting Regan a reassuring smile. “She’s got a serious fear of doctors. It would really help if you could just keep her company until her brother can get to her. You might just want to talk to her cus if you don’t keep her mind off where she is, you might have a hysterical patient on your hands.”

“Don’t worry about it, man. Things are slow down here. They can spare me for a while.”

Mike arrived 20 minutes later, clearly less than pleased, not to mention less than awake. Justin explained what happened and that the doctor had came out to tell him they were just waiting on some x-rays and they could go in to see her as soon as the paper work was filled out.

Meanwhile, Regan lay in one of the outpatient beds, counting the stains on the ceiling and wondering how the hell she got to this point. Obviously she was an idiot. What kind of person lets a fear of something dictate actions that ensure that fear comes true.

“So, you’ve really got a great boyfriend, kiddo,” Jack, the orderly commented absently. He’d been sitting by her side for the hour she’d been waiting on Mike or Justin or, even the dreaded doctor to come and tell her what the deal was. “He obviously cares about you a lot.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” she commented, stifling a laugh when she saw his face light up slightly. He was actually very good-looking, not much older than 20. He had kind eyes and a beautiful smile.

“Oh, so you two aren’t… you know…”

“No we’re not,” she laughed. “I actually only met him yesterday. He’s kind of a friend of a friend.” The words sounded odd to her as they left her mouth. Had it only been one day since they’d met?

“I see,” Jack nodded with a smile. They’d been talking quite a lot since he’d become her wheel-chair chauffeur. She figured Justin had asked him to keep her occupied so she didn’t freak out but he seemed to be genuinely interested and managed to keep the conversation off her injury. He was a NYU Pre-Med student from Long Island. He was the oldest of four brothers and three sisters, his parents were both doctors and he had a superstitious grandmother who went to Portugal every year to get Holy Water of Fatima to soak her arthritic hands in.

“Miss Costelloe?” a voice said bringing the curtain back. It only took the sight of the white lab coat and stethoscope to cause her skin to crawl. She tensed immediately but calmed a bit as Jack leaned over and patted her hand gently. She gave him a weak smile of thanks before looking back to the man in at the foot of the bed and focusing on his face. Her brow crinkled in confusion. “Dr. Boland?”

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