After Stacey left, Kevin and Nick guided Agent Bryant into the hotel room. Kevin whispered quietly to Bryant as they stepped inside. "Be careful what you say. I have a bad feeling about this guy, Gopher..." Bryant nodded discreetly.
Brian was kneeling on the couch, leaning over the back of it, staring at the door. "What's all the commotion about out there?" he asked when he saw his two friends and the federal officer entering the room.
Nick exploded into a description. "There was this chick -- and and - and then her dog - and it was like everyone was -- but they didn't - and then Skip was like WOOOAAAH!! And then - BANG! and Bryant's like 'hi' and I'm like 'hey' and then I gave her the CD!"
Brian stared blankly at Nick.
Kevin cleared his throat, "A fan caused a distraction because they wouldn't let Bryant up."
"Ohhhh," Brian nodded, "OK." He looked at Nick, "Cool."
Nick flung himself on the floor in front of the PlayStation where Gopher was sitting still, waiting for him to return, but staring at the officer. Officer Bryant smiled to Gopher, "Hello, I'm Agent Bryant..."
"Gopher," The Gopher replied.
Kevin motioned to the Peanut Gallery. "That's Howie, AJ, and Brian."
Bryant turned to look. "Hello, Boys."
"Hi," they chorused at the same time.
"And I'm Kevin," he added, shaking Bryant's hand.
Bryant smiled. "Great to meet you." He looked at Nick, "Nick? Are you ready to go?"
Nick glanced back from the PlayStation paddle. "Already?" Brian mumbled a quiet thank you under his breath.
"If you want to be back in time for the stuff you said you had to do tomorrow, yeah," Officer Bryant replied. "We've got a lot to do."
"Do you want me to come with?" Gopher quickly offered, putting his paddle aside as well.
Agent Bryant glanced at Kevin. "No." He replied slowly as Kevin's eyes turned stonelike at the thought. He smiled wanly at Gopher. "I don't think it'd be a good idea."
Nick jumped up and grabbed a red hooded sweatshirt he'd flung over the back of the chair. "OK. I'm ready."
The officer glanced him over. "You'll want sweat pants," he advised, "And a pair of sneakers. And probably a hat."
Nick looked down at his jeans and stocking feet. "Yeah probably." He hustled by the fellas and out into the hallway, presumably towards his own hotel room.
Bryant studied Gopher's face, and a strange feeling came over him, too, like Kevin had said. He nodded toward the door. "It was nice meeting ya'll, but I've really got to keep up with Nick."
"You sure do," Kevin answered, "And you'll be surprised how much effort that takes."
"Thanks for the heads up," he answered. He paused, "Kevin, would you show me which room is Nick's please?" he asked, making up an excuse to get Kevin in the hall to speak to him.
Kevin followed Bryant out of the hotel room and into the hall and closed the door behind them. Bryant looked at Kevin gravely. "Now this is gut instinct, but.. I had the same feeling you did from that guy. Steer clear of him as best you can, keep an eye on him. Anything fishy, immediately call me." He reached into his pocket and removed a small business card, pressing it into Kevin's hand.
Kevin looked at it. "Dunkin Donuts?"
"The other side is my cell number," Bryant answered.
Kevin nodded. "You cops really coffee addicts?" he asked. Bryant answered with a laugh.
When Nick emerged a few minutes later, Kevin had already returned to the hotel room where the other guys were. Bryant was leaning against the wall chatting with the security guards and looked up to see Nick step out in a pair of bright red track pants and an LA Lakers basketball jersey. The colors, of course, clashed ridiculously. "You're good at matching clothing, I see," Bryant murmured.
Nick looked down, not catchng the sarcasm, "Oh...yeah. Thanks."
Bryant didn't bother telling him he was being sarcastic. Instead he bade farewell to the security guards, and ushered Nick to the stairs. "We're going to take the stairs," the agent explained, "Because I've already battled the lobby, and it's going to be easier to take the employee entrance out the back into an alley way than it is to go through that. We've already got the OK from the desk, and they've moved a delivery truck in front of the kitchen door. If you go through there, the truck is going to deliver us two blocks away, where my car is waiting."
"Wow, you need to organize our escape routes more often," Nick commented. "You're good. Almost as good as the time they delivered us in a Fed Ex truck up in Toronto to a radio station..."
"I'm creative," Bryant replied flatly, "Ever ready to create a new and exciting way around the obvious." Nick nodded, unsure what he meant. "So, are you ready to begin training, Nick?"
Nick shrugged, "Yeah sure. Can't be too hard, right?"
"You'd be surprised," Bryant replied with a smile, "I know I was."
Nick looked up at him, "Are ya'll gonna work me to death?"
Bryant smiled as the two of them reached the base of the stairs and held the door opened for Nick, who neatly stepped through the door. "Well, I don't kow about to death. But at least really hard."
Nick sighed, "I'm already tired just thinking about it."
They slipped through the kitchen and onto the truck with no issues, and were delivered safely within ten minutes two blocks away from the hotel. Nick glanced back at the outpouring of fans that had gathered on the street to breathe after spending all day in the overpacked lobby before climbing into the car.
Agent Bryant quickly navigated his vehicle into traffic as Nick stared out the window. He watched as people trotted along the NYC streets, illuminated by neon flashing lights and shop front windows, all heading to their various destinations. A part of him felt remotely jealous of them all, wishing he were free to do whatever he wanted without worrying who was following him.
"Do you like your job?" Nick asked, suddenly turning.
"More than anything else," Bryant replied, he glanced over at Nick, "Do you like yours?"
Nick nodded. "Yes. Everything about it."
Bryant chuckled, "Even the crazy adoring fans?"
Nick laughed, smiling with a glimmer of affection in his eyes, "Especially the fans. It sounds crazy but I honestly adore them. More than they realize, too."
The agent nodded, "Well, that's good to hear. And sincere sounding, too. Most of you celebrities seem really two-faced."
"And most of you cops seem like assholes," Nick stated bluntly. He smirled, "Guess stereotypes ain't always right, huh?"
Officer Bryant laughed. "Guess not."
Nick smiled and turned back toward the window, contented to be making new friends on this little adventure at least. He'd already made friends with Gopher and Agent Bryant. Maybe this was the silver lining to the seriously dark storm cloud he'd become trapped under over the release weekend in New York.
"So, Nick," Officer Bryant's tone changed suddenly, and Nick turned to look at him. "Let's get this started now, while we're riding."
"OK."
"First of all, you've got to remember details. Everything they say. Detailed. Not patchy, not scrambled," he specified. "For instance, if they say 'Friday at 8pm at Simpson Pier', I don't want to hear from you anything like 'Friday evening at the docks'. I want exact detail."
"OK," Nick's brow furrowed.
"Next, you have to remember that you are not Nick Carter around these guys - You're Jack Taylor. You cannot respond when people call you Nick, no matter who it is - especially your fans."
"But the fans will ---"
"Be in danger if they approach you and stay around too long. You're to tell them that you are told you look just like Nick a lot and then dismiss them rapidly. Talking to them too long - as Nick or as Jack - will jeopardize you, them, and your bandmates." Bryant's voice was somber as he spoke. "Don't do that to the ones you love so much."
Nick swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded. "OK."
"Now Nick," Bryant said slowly, "I gather from your nature that you are a sympathetic person. You're very personable, and you try to please people. You don't accuse them, and you take people at face value. If people tell you that they'll change, you believe them."
Nick blinked at the thorough analysis of himself. "How'd you--"
"The way you treated Stacey in the hallway at the hotel. The way you are best buddies with Gopher already. The way you're treating me when we just met --- and that was after I kidnapped you." Nick smiled sheepishly. "It's a great quality when you're a star, like you are, but --- well... You're going to have to deny that part of you, Nick. These guys are cold blooded killers. They are professional terrorists, and they have the worst intentions. It does not matter what they tell you - and they will tell you things. They do not change, they cannot, and they will not. They do not deserve your sympathy. If you show them sympathy, Nick, they'll take it from you with no problem, and only kill you two weeks later instead. They do not care about you."
Nick's eyes widened, "But --"
Bryant held up his hand to silence Nick. "This mission has to be successful," he continued, "Or else too many things will go very, very wrong." He paused, letting that sink in, and spoke slowly so that Nick absorbed every bit of what he said, "They'd figure out eventually who you are, and, being men of cruel nature, they would torture the hell out of you. One by one, they'd destroy every person you loved in as horrible a way as they could to pierce your heart with each and every blow." Nick's face scrunched in anticipated pain. "I'm sorry to lay so much on your shoulders, Nick, but you have to understand how imperitive this is... It's not a joke, or a game, or a chance to play cops and robbers. This is real life... and these are real evil people."
Nick let out a shaky breath. "OK."
Agent Bryant turned on his blinker and pulled into a dark, underground parking garage that Nick hadn't even noticed was there - despite having walked or rode by it several times this week. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around.
"This is the NYPD garage, they have a training court inside," Bryant replied, "They said I could use it tonight. C'mon."
Nick clamboured out of the car as Bryant got out. He followed the officer into the building above, carrying his sweatshirt. Bryant led him through a series of heavy doors requiring a keyed in ID number for entry, and a maze of deserted halls - all painted a pale, sickly, creamy green color. Finally, Bryant pushed opened a door and reached for the light switch inside, flipping it on. The room lit up, illuminating a gymnasium filled with complicated looking equipment. Nick's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow."
"You sound overwhelmed," Bryant commented with a laugh. "That can only mean one of two things - either you're jealous of the equipment, or you're intimidated by it."
"I don't usually work out much," Nick admitted.
Bryant laughed, and patted Nick's tummy. "You don't say?"
Nick's hand lingered on one of the machines, "Where do we start?"
"Eager?"
Nick shook his head, "No. I just don't wanna be late."
"For tomorrow's activities?" Bryant asked.
"No," Nick replied, "For saving the world."
A smile crossed Bryant's face. "Well then, come with me and I'll get you fitted in a vest... then we'll play."
Bryant led Nick to a small equipment room in the far back corner of the gym. Nick followed him with a bit of excitement. If he was honest, he'd been looking forward to the vest. He'd always wanted one since he'd seent he scene in Dumb&Dumber when Harry had one.
The equipment room was filled to the brim with all kinds of coop cop stuff. Nick looked around himself, overwhelmed by it all. He was pretty shre he'd had a few dreams very similar to this when he was eight years old. Bryant reached for a bullet proof vest that hung on a long run in front of Nick. "Try this on."
Nick eagerly took the jacket, shrugging it on. "It's comfy," Nick said, then paused. "But it's heavy."
"OK. It's probably too big anyways," Bryant reached for another. "They fit snug under your shirt." It took a bit, but they finally found one that fit him just right.
Nick was obviously quite pleased with the vest as he stood in a mirror looking at himself in it gleefully. "I feel awesome... and invincible. Like freakin' Superman!"
The officer laughed, "Well, c'mon back down, Clark Kent. We've got a lot of work still." Nick followed Bryant back to the gym floor as he pulled his shirt on over his head again, concealing the vest perfectly. Bryant led him to a bench press by the far wall. Nick stared at it. Bryant smiled. Nick raised his eyebrow. "Time for the fun part, Carter."
He wasn't ENTIRELY sure, but Nick was pretty positive that it was illegal - at least in the United States - to torture anyone this way. Sweat beaded upon his brow and he felt like his muscles were about on fire. He groaned in pain as he hoisted the barbell up the last three inches to rest it in the niches where it belonged. He sat up, gasping for air, and grabbed at the water bottle by his side.
Bryant was leaning against the wall, watching. "Are you ready to put weights on it now?"
Nick looked at the barbell, weight free indeed, and shook his head. "No dawg, I'm good with that." He laughed, "Ain't like I'm gonna be hoisting anyone heavy or anything."
Bryant smiled, "Or will you?"
Nick looked at the empty bar, "Heavier than that thing?"
Bryant smiled, "That thing only weighs ten pounds."
Nick looked at it suspiciously, "Ten pounds? Yeah right." Bryant only nodded to answer. Nick thought about it a moment. "How much were you thinking of me doing?"
"More than ten."
"Well I know that, but like -- how much?"
"One... two... maybe even three."
"Pounds?" Nick asked hopefully.
Bryant laughed, "Hundred, Nick." He smirked, "You always this crazy?" Nick felt like he was deflating, and let out a long breath of air as he laid back down on the bench and closed his eyes. "Oh c'mon kiddo, I know you can do it." Nick shook his head in response. Bryant very quietly began sliding weights onto the ends of the bar. "Oh please, Nick. You're no wimp."
"Yeah I am," Nick replied with resignation.
Bryant paused for a moment, then came up with the words he needed. "What if it was your friend, and he needed help?" his voice was coy. He quickly racked his brain for a name. "What if it was Brian?"
Nick's eyes popped open. "Brian?"
"Yeah." Bryant noticed Nick's jaw flex and he knew he'd found Nick's motivation -- saving his friends. "Yeah, say Brian's hurt and he's gonna be killed if you don't carry him out. He can't walk, but you can carry him..... Or can't you?"
"I can," Nick snapped defensively. "Of course I can."
Bryant shook his head, "I don't believe you. You can't even lift up a little bar, Nick."
Angry that Bryant would question his ability to save Brian -- of ALL people, his BEST friend! practically his BROTHER! -- he heaved every bit of his strength into lifting the bar from it's niche as the officer stood over him. He lowered the bar to his chest, then lifted it slowly and returned it to it's place.
An amused smile played on Bryant's face as Nick performed the heroic act. When the barbell clanged into it's holders and Nick's arms dropped down to his sides, his face a sheen of sweat, Bryant knelt to be eye level with Nick. "How much does Brian weigh, Nick?" he asked.
Nick turned his head to look at him. "One... forty-four..." he panted.
Bryant nodded, "You just lifted one and a half of him."
Nick closed his eyes. "I thought... that.. he might've.. put on some weight."
Bryant laughed, then waved for Nick to get up. "C'mon you lazy ass, let's keep moving. It's almost midnight already."
Nick sat up reluctantly, wiggling his arms to make sure they were still attached to his body. "That was CRAZY, dawg," he announced as he regained his breath, "What if I couldn't have held it up, though?" he asked, a concerned look crossing his face.
"Guess I would've needed a new undercover agent," Bryant replied, smirking.
Nick laughed, "Yeah, well.... This saving the world shit is tough work."
Bryant patted Nick on the back encouragingly. "Ready for the treadmill?"
Nick sighed and leaned back down onto the bench. "Can I walk?"
"Nope. I wanna see you run like you were running for your life."
Nick covered his face. "I can't run."
"Imagine you were running after someone who kidnapped Brian---" Bryant began, but Nick interrupted him.
"No, I mean I don't run."
"Never would've guessed," Bryant commented with subtle sarcasm. "C'mon, Carter."
Nick got up slowly an waddled to the treadmill. "I run like a girl. No, not even THAT good. I run like a chicken that got hit by a truck after being tested at Proctor & Gamble so I'm all dizzy and deranged and shit. No, I run like.... Spongebob Squarepants." Bryant ignored his babble and motioned for Nick to get on the treadmill. "And furthermore," Nick added as he climbed on board the machine, "I think you're trying to kill me."
"Not yet," Bryant replied, punching buttons on the treadmill, "But after this comes the more dangerous part."
Nick looked at him with questioning eyes. "Dangerous?"
"Ever shot a gun before?" Bryant asked.
Nick thought a moment. "I've shot a paint ball gun. Once."
"Once?"
"Yeah..." he paused. "I shot my foot. They wouldn't let me do it again after that."
Bryant stared at him silently nodding a bit. "That's too bad."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Nick answered as the treadmill came to life below him and he stepped onto the belt. "Girls can be so mean sometimes."
Bryant blinked in surprise. "You were playing girls and got disqualified... at paintball...after shooting yourself." Nick nodded. The agent sighed loudly. "Well, then. This... this should be interesting."
Nick sat on a wooden bench in what looked like a giant locker room a few moments later. Through a large window he could see the indoor shooting range. The far wall was covered with targets, all numbered. They looked like they were about a million miles away, and Nick wondered how far away you had to stand to shoot from.
"Impressed?" Bryant asked, shrugging on his bulletproof vest over his shirt. Nick nodded. "Well, I'm going to get us out some guns and we'll see what you can do with a firearms, all righty?" Nick nodded again. Bryant laughed, got up, and stepped into a locked office, where he opened a gun cabinet and signed out two NYPD issued .45's.
When Bryant returned, he handed Nick the smaller of the two guns and led the way onto the vacated range. Nick held it in the palm of his hand like it was a baby bird, staring at it. The officer looked his own gun over, held it up in firing position a couple times, and began polishing it, waiting for Nick to absorb the gun's presence. When he felt Nick had been given enough time, he asked, "Well? You gonna make love to it or shoot it?"
Nick looked at him, breaking the trance with the gun. "Shoot it, of course.. yeah."
Bryant reached over, motioning for what Nick had to do. "First...you gotta cock it." Nick couldn't help it. He giggled. "What's funny?" Bryant looked at him questioningly.
"Nothing," Nick's voice came out wobbly, and he covered his mouth. He bit his lips to keep another laugh from escaping.
Bryant looeked at Nick, a serious look on his face (which only made Nick laugh harder). "You cock the gun... like this --" he ignored Nick's giggles and pulled the top of the gun towards himself, listened as it loaded, and let it go. "There ya go."
Nick turned the gun over to look at it, paused, then did as Bryant had done. "Now what?"
Bryant nodded toward the wall. "Now we find out how dangerous arming you is." Nick looked at the targets. "Number seven. Hit seven."
Nick squinted across the room at it, his tongue sticking out just a wee bit, aimed, and fired. The gun jolted backwards with the backfire - a sensation he hadn't been expecting - and surprised him, making him yelp loudly. The bullet flew from the gun, and hit the target dead on.... the number three target, that is.
Bryant whistled. "Wow. Only four targets off..." he raised an eyebrow. "So...basically anyone within a city block of where you're actually aiming is in trouble. Good to know." Nick laughed. Bryant held up his own gun. "Now I'll hit seven." He aimed, pulled the trigger, and this time Nick was surprised by the sound that echoed throughout the room - a rumbling that he hadn't noticed the first time in his shock of the backfire feeling - and he yelped again. True to his word, Bryant's bullet pierced the seventh target's core.
Nick's eyes widened. "Remind me to never piss you off."
Bryant laughed, "I wouldn't suggest it. C'mon, let's work on your aiming skills."
With a couple hours' practice, Bryant had Nick aiming quite well, and he'd managed to stop him from yelping every time he felt the backfire sensation or heard a gun go off. Nick felt like a big shot as Bryant helped him learn to lock and unlock the trigger quickly and safely. Then he certified Nick as a licensed gun holder, and gave him a holster that held the gun close to his shin, which was concealed by his baggy pants.
As 6:00 AM rolled around, Nick and Bryant were sitting in the NYPD cafeteria, talking about the case over huge mugs of coffee. Officer Bryant smiled, "You've done a good job here tonight, Nick," he told him. "You might think of being an honorary member again somrtime." They leughed. "I've never had to train anyone that quickly before," Bryant confessed.
Nick laughed, "Well, you did a good job."
"To us," Bryant declared, holding up his coffee high. Nick imitated the action and they clinked the two cups together joyfully.
"To us," Nick agreed.
They upended their cups, and as he was sipping, Nick's eyes fluttered upon the time on his watch. He quickly brought the cup down with a bang to the table. "Oh God." He stood up, panic gripping him.
"What?" Bryant looked up.
"Are we all set?" Nick asked, "I gotta get to GMA."
Bryant looked at his watch and his eyes widened, too. "Shit. I told Kevin I'd have you there early."
"No way that's gonna happen now," Nick said, grabbing his sweatshirt from the back of the chair, "I'll be lucky if I get there at all. Oh man, Johnny's gonna kill me! Not to mention Kev."
"Maybe --" Bryant replied, thinking a moment. He smiled. "Or maybe not." He suddenly leaped to his feet. "Come on, Nick!" He set off running for the door.
Nick blinked, staring after him. "Where are we going?"
"To GMA --- on time!" Bryant called back, disappearing around the door frame and into the hall. "Keep up!"
Nick hesitated, cursed, then ran after Bryant, reluctantly. "Dawg," he muttered to himself, "This all night training shit seriously sucks a whole really lot."
Saving the Day for Blondes (AKA How Nick Carter Became Involved in a Terrorist Mob, Quite By Accident Really!, And Thereby Managed To Save The World For The First Time Ever, Much To Kevin's Surprise.) by Pengi
