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Chapter Ninety-Eight
Point of View: Narrator



Leon didn't stop. All night, he was hanging, leaning again the bars of his cell, staring out into the darkness, as though he were able to smell Nick from there, as though if he were ready and already awake in the morning when they came to herd the guys all out to the showers, breakfast, and rec time, that he'd be able to get to Nick that much faster.

He plotted how he would do it.

He really wanted to do it slow, but he figured unless he happened to get Nick in just the right place, where no prying eyes or patrol guards were, he wouldn't have time to. Too slow and he might lose the chance, and worse never get a second opportunity. Too fast, though, and half the fun would be taken away.

Once he got past Nick, Leon would go for Kayla and get what was rightly his.



Nick started pacing. He had no idea what time it was. He could hear Leon, still yelling occasionally, and he knew he had to do something - something besides sitting on the floor and crying like a baby, which was what he really wanted to do. He had to be ready. So he was gearing up his mind.

Nick had learned a long, long, long time ago, as a kid, that when you're afraid of something and you think you can't face it, but you have to... that you can mentally prepare yourself, and it's less scary in the moment, at least. He was visualizing Leon, trying to remember his features and his voice from the conflict in the alley when he'd protected Kayla. He also prepared himself for the pain that he'd probably end up feeling - Leon would get a lot of good hits in, he was sure, and he didn't know if Leon had friends in the other cells or not. But as Nick paced, he prepared himself to fight back the best he could.

Nick had never been the type that fought back... even as a kid at school when people bullied him. He'd always been a somewhat reserved child in that manner until he hit the stage, which was his outlet. Of course he was a loudmouth as a kid, he got detentions constantly for disrupting class and was recognized across the board as a goof off, the class clown. Untreated ADHD will do that to a kid, though. But he'd never been good at defending himself.

In 1995, he'd asked one of the Backstreet Boys security guards to help him out and show him a couple good punches and defensive moves. They'd come in handy a couple times - he'd been in his fair share of hairy situations - but he still wasn't that skilled at it. For the most part, he found that standing his ground and acting like he was good at it usually kept him from actually having to be good at it.

He had a feeling acting wasn't gonna cut it with Leon.



Brian was at the reception desk at 7:30AM sharp. "I'm here to see Nick Carter," he told the lady, "He was brought in last night."

The receptionist looked at him, then pointed towards a long line already forming a few feet away. "Visiting hours start in about thirty minutes, you can wait there and we'll process your background check."

"You already did a background check," Brian said, "I was just here like a week ago."

She blinked up at him. "Like I said, you can wait there."

Brian glanced over his shoulder at the motley crew behind him and turned back to the receptionist. He leaned closer to the window that separated them. "Look, I don't like doing this but, I'm Brian Littrell, I'm a Backstreet Boy."

"How wonderful for you," she answered. "The line ends over that way," she said, pointing.

Brian pulled out his wallet. "How much to get in to see Nick immediately? Any price."

"Any price?" she asked.

"Any price," he confirmed.

She nodded. "The price is time spent in line." She pointed.

Brian sighed. "Thanks," he mumbled, and moved back to the end of the line. He pocketed his wallet and leaned against the wall.



Two hours later, Nick was picking at dry, flavor-less scrambled eggs in a small cafeteria when Leon sat down next to him. Four other good-sized guys sat at the table, too. Nick kept his eyes on the tray.

"Good morning, Nick," Leon said.

Nick scratched his nose, trying to ignore Leon.

"I said," Leon hissed, "Good morning, Nick."

Nick looked up at him. "Morning."

"So how is Kayla?" Leon asked.

"I don't think Kayla is any of your fucking business," Nick replied dryly.

Leon's nostrils flared. "And why wouldn't she be?"

"Now there's a real brain-bender," Nick answered.

"You have a smart mouth for being such a little prick," Leon said. "Did you not notice how many guys I've got here? Maybe you can get lucky once in an alley when we're alone, but don't go getting cocky."

Nick shrugged.

"I really hope you don't think you're getting out of this jail alive," Leon said in a casual tone.

"I'm not gonna fight you, Leon," Nick said. He started to stand up. Leon grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back down into the seat. The other guys at the table laughed at how hard Nick came down, but he hadn't really tried to resist Leon's shove - he hadn't known it was coming.

"I didn't say you were gonna fight me," Leon said, "I said that I'm gonna kill you."

Nick laughed. "Whatever, man." He tried standing up again. This time when Leon grabbed him, Nick was ready, and instead of going down, he backhanded Leon's arm and grabbed him by the wrist, quickly pulling his arm back to the pressure point, and leaned in as he winced, caught off guard by Nick's quick response. "Don't touch me again," Nick said in the lowest voice he could manage considering his insides were leaping around like Mexican jumping beans.

Leon broke free of Nick's grip and stood up quickly. They faced each other, shoulders square, both sets of eyes alight as adrenaline shot into their veins. Nick taller, Leon buffer.

He stared at Nick.

Nick stared at him.

The tension was so thick it radiated off of the two men. Nick's fingers flexed, balling and unballing into fists at his sides, his feet planted in a way that could've been ready to lunge or to steady himself if he needed to. Leon's stance was similar.

The other four guys at the table were watching very close, ready to spring, their muscles tightening.

Leon reached down and picked up his plastic fork from the table, holding it in his fist behind his back where Nick couldn't see it. Go for the neck, Leon thought, staring at the exact spot, just below the corner of Nick's jawbone, that he would strike.

Nick stood stock still.

Leon flexed to go. It was a slight movement, a tension in the muscle...

"Carter, you have a visitor." A guard was suddenly at their sides.

Leon's tension drained and he slowly lowered himself to his seat, mouthing this ain't over.

Nick quickly followed the guard away from the table, abandoning his tray, his heart pounding.