Nick covered his eyes and cowered in the backseat of the stretch Hummer that belonged to The Boss as it lay idling in an empty parking lot by the docks. He struggled against the ropes that bound his hands behind his back and began to mentally tick off the mistakes he'd made throughout the day, leading to this monumentously impossibly bad situation...
Bryant rushed on ahead of Nick through the NYPD headquarters, as Nick galloped along behind, trying to keep up. Nick's gait was slow and lopsided, his legs weak after all the running he'd already done on the treadmill during the night. He was tired: he was sure he could sleep on a sea of tacks. Bryant rushed into the parking garage, clicking the remote entry for his cruiser, and climbed in as Nick skidded around the back end of the vehicle. They slammed their doors, and flung their seatbelts on. In the silence that followed as both men collected their breaths, Nick looked to the officer. "What're we doing?" he panted.
Bryant didn't reply. Instead, he put the car into gear, stomped on the gas pedal, and flipped the switch on his emergency lights. Nick suddeny was sure he knew what it was like to fly. Bryan turned on his siren and whipped out of the garage, barely slowing to enter the traffic of downtown New York during rush hour. Nick absently wondered if cops could get tickets for reckless driving: apparently not since he didn't look too nervous. He would've asked, but he didn't want a ticket for reckless talking, so he thought better of it.
The cruiser flew through downtown Manhattan, and Nick caught flashing glimpses of the scenery as they soared by it. He wasn't usually one for getting carsick, but this vehicle was all but airbound over every little pothole (and there was about a million of them!). Clearly, Officer Bryant had been a huge fan of the Dukes of Hazard, Nick decided, bracing himself against the door. When Bryant glanced over, he chuckled. "What's the matter, Nick?" he aked, "Don't ya'll drive like this out in LA?"
Nick, pale, shook his head. "Nuh-uh. And when they do, it's OK cos everyone's already too drunk to care."
Bryant smirked, "They cared about you, or so I read at Smoking Gun."
Nick narrowed his eyes at the officer, "Okay, 'nuff wise cracks outta you, mister." He'd tried to imitate Bryant's gruff Brooklyn accent and had failed miserably.
That only made the officer laugh all the harder. "Ya learn to drive like a nut after a while in this city. You have to or you'd never get out of your driveway in the morning. Now time for the real fancy footwork." He sped up. Nick closed his eyes and for the first time found value in Brian's advice to pray.
Finally, Bryan was forced to apply the brakes as a traffic light had turned red and cross traffic was moving. The car screeched as it came to a halt, several feet over the stop line, and Bryant slammed his hands against the wheel. "Dude, it's OK," Nick said, thankful that he was living still. "So what if I'm a few minutes late?"
"Late?" Bryant glared, "You're not gonna be late." Quickly, he snatched up his transmitter, flipping it on and hissed into his radio. "Police escort for a celebrity going to Times from HQ - over."
"Copy that - we got you covered," came the grainy response. Instantly every light as far as Nick could see clicked green.
"SWEET!" He exclaimed. He looked at the radio. "Dude, how much for one of those things??"
Moments later, the cruiser shrieked as Bryant cut the wheel and skid into Times Square outside of the GMA studios. On a large TV screen on the outside of the building, the newscasters were talking and big letters spelled out "BACKSTREET BOYS PERFORM.... NEXT!!!!!!!"
"We're almost there, and just in time by the looks," Bryant crowed as he drove off the street and onto a pavillion beside the studio, rushing past fans. Looming ahead of them was the giant outdoor stage.
Nick ducked down, "What're you thinking?! There's fans, they're gonna see me!"
Bryant laughed, "No you won't, Agent Carter. Trust me." He slammed on the gas, lurching Nick foward once more.
The car reeled around the side of the stage and came to a loud and abrupt halt behind it, practically spinning out and reversing direction from sheer velocity. Nick made a mental note to never, ever, ever whine about never getting to go on roller coasters again: he'd never need another one as long as he had Bryant as a friend. The fans around the stage stared and whispered among each other, glancing at the car. For the most part, though nobody really noticed. It was just another day in Times Square. Clearly, Bryant had done this a few times.
Nick watched as Bryant leaped from the cruiser, full of energy, and galloped to a back door of the studios, waving for Nick to follow. Nick climbed out of the car and wobbled after him, his knees felt like gelitan. He rubbed them and took a long shaky breath. When they reached the door, however, and Officer Bryant reached to open it, he found that it was locked. Nick raised an eyebrow. The officer quickly pulled his cell from his pocket, and smiled proudly. "Hey Kevin? I've got your bandmate out here, at Gate 11A."
"You're very efficient," Nick stated, looking at his watch as Bryant hung up. "I'm right on time. Very impressive."
"Don't try this at home, kids," Bryant quipped.
Nick laughed, "I wouldn't DREAM to, no worries there."
A few moments later, Kevin opened the door with a security guard and a geeky looking studio employee beside him. He looked relieved to say the least when he looked upon them. "Oh I'm glad ya'll decided to come," he joked, "We have like a MINUTE to get you wired up, Nick."
"He already is pretty wired," Bryant answered.
Kevin looked confused, "What?"
"He's hyper..." Bryant said.
Nick laughed, patting Bryant on the shoulder, "Wired for the MICROPHONE." He winked. "Looks like it's your turn to be trained now."
Relatively, Nick thought, it'd been a really good day, for the morning anyways. They'd done their appearances, released the new album, got positive feedback from all the fans and attended a release party at the record company's headquarters. The fans had been smiling and appreciative of everything, and it'd made Nick feel warm and fuzzy inside.
But now, Nick realized, he may never get to feel that way again. In fact, he though, looking around the inside of the Hummer, he may never get to feel ANYTHING again. If only he hadn't gone to get the damn french fries.......
Brian, Nick, AJ, Kevin, Howie and The Gopher - who'd insisted upon going along to the GMA taping - sat in the back of the limo as they headed back to the hotel. Nick was talking excitedly, and the guys were all half asleep. Nick was clearly overtired himself, and acting highly emotional most of the day, but the fellas had been forgiving of his overactive waterworks and harsh snapbacks. Gopher sat listening, and was probably the only one of the six of them that was really alert at all.
The limo sailed past a large sign for a McDonald's in downtown. Nick slammed his hands palm-down against the window. "FRIES! YES! Let's stop!"
Brian, snapped back to awareness by Nick's hand slamming, raised his eyebrows. "What're you crazy? We don't even have security in here with us anymore, Nick." Gopher leaned forward, intently listening.
"Ni but I want fries," Nick replied, pouting. "Dude, what could POSSIBLY go wrong? It's frickin' french fries."
Kevin shook his head. "No."
"C'mon! I want'em so bad," Nick pleaded.
"You didn't even care about them five seconds ago," Howie pointed out.
"You don't need them," Kevin's voice was stern.
"I've been working my ass off this week," Nick retorted, his voice angry, "Is it really so much to ask to stop for some fricking french fries?"
Kevin raised an eyebrow as Nick crossed his arms sullenly. "Wow, could we be a little more diva?"
"Dawg, don't even start with me," Nick growled, "I'm under a ton of pressure."
"So are WE," Kevin practically shouted. The others looked at each other with 'uhoh' faces on as the argument began to develop into a full on blow out.
Nick was steaming. "Not as much as ME."
"Are you kidding?" Kevin's face was an interesting shade of red now, "We've been looking after you, trying to keep you in line and protect you."
"You didn't even BELIEVE ME," Nick shouted, "And now I'm saving the WHOLE WORLD SINGLE HANDEDLY, and NOW you wanna act like you've been behind me all along, when all's I want is some freaking french fries from McDonalds!"
Kevin glowered. "You are NOT saving the damn world. You aren't even saving youself or anyone else. You wouldn't be able to Nick. I love you like a brother Nick, but you can't do this. You're barely capable of putting your socks on in the morning, much less saving the world."
Nick looked wounded a moment, as though Kevin had cut him deeply. He paused, then respornded, "I'm NOT a baby, Kevin."
The limo was silent a moment as everyone digested the outbursts that had proceeded the moment. The three Boys not involved and Gopher all exchanged uncomfortable glances. Finally, Kevin spoke. "Then stop acting like one."
Four heads snapped to see how Nick would react.
"Then stop treating me like one," Nick hurled back at him, "I'm NOT acting like a baby."
"You ARE Nick," Kevin said, exasperated, "You're throwing a shit fit over McDonald's. Now shut up."
Nick leaned back sullenly and crossed his arms over his chest, angry with Kevin. Kevin, too, leaned back and the discussion was then over. But everyone was too busy trying not to meet one another's eyes, unsure what to say to one another. Because of their diverted eyes, nobody noticed as Gopher pulled out his cell phone, and began to dial.
When they reached the hotel and stepped off the elevator on their floor, for the first time since Gopher had showed up the Boys split up into their own rooms, with the Gopher, naturally, following Nick. Kevin and Nick both slammed their doors behind them, angry with the other still, while the other three discreetly closed theirs, making sure the awkwardness stayed out in the hallway.
Gopher watched as Nick flung himself onto the nearest of the two full sized beds with a groan of anguish. Nick kicked his sneakers off and curled up into a ball by the headboard, sighing with agitation repeatedly, and punching the pillows as he mumbled angrily to himself. Gopher hung back a few moments, letting Nick blow some steam, and contemplating how to use this moment to his advantage. Finally, he'd formulated the plan as best he could, and he spoke up.
"Too bad the way Kevin treats you," he stated flatly, "I mean jeez, that guy's something else, right?" Nick ignored him, staring instead at the blinking digital numbers on the alarm clock. Gopher laughed, "Control issues much? He's GOT to be compensating for something -- if you know what I mean?"
Nick shook his head, "I'm not a baby. He acts like I'm a baby, like I'm a stupid kid."
Clearly Nick didn't get the irony of the words he was saying in comparison to the way he was acting.
Gopher paused a moment, letting those words settle, then said, "So prove him wrong, then."
"How, smart ass?" Nick snapped back, "I've been trying to show him I'm not thirteen anymore for like -- well, since I turned fourteen, I guess."
Gopher shrugged, "Show him you ain't gonna take his shit anymore, I mean he's not the boss of you. C'mon dude, you're like not even close to having to listen to that guy. You're old enough to make your own choices. Nobody can tell you that you can't go get a fry at McDonald's, Nick."
"Yeah, well..." Nick rubbed his knees and sighed, "I dunno."
"Nick, you can't prove Kevin wrong if you lay there sulking all night," Gopher pointed out. "You should go."
"Go?" Nick perked up, interested.
Gopher nodded, "Yeah, man. Go... Go get the fries, and come back here and rub them all in Kevin's bossy, anal face."
Nick's eyes lit up, "Ya think so? Really?"
"Most definitely," Gopher responded, "Well maybe not literally rub them in his face, that would be nasty, and you wouldn't be able to eat them." He smiled, "There's a McDonalds like right across the street and over two blocks. I saw it when we were riding... after the big blow out."
Nick hesitated a moment, "You really think he'd get the message?"
"He'll see you don't have to listen to him anymore," Gopher replied, smirking, "And I think that's the message, isn't it? Plus... you get the fries."
Nick looked at the window, a million pictures of his more rebellious moments playing in his mind. He gnawed on his lower lip and thought about the magnitude of the action, in the long run anyway. Kevin maybe would listen to him more. Maybe they'd finaly release a REAL rock album out of the deal. Maybe... Maybe.... Nick looked at Gohpher. "Two blocks and acoss the street, you said?"
After Nick left, Gopher waited until he received the confirmation text message, and then he stood up, and walked into the hallway of the hotel. Calmly, he walked up to the Kevin's room door and took a deep breath before throwing himself against it, and banging frantically, shouting for Kevin to open up. It only took a few seconds before Kevin whipped the door opened to face a panting, worried looking Gopher. "What's the matter?" Kevin asked, his eyes widening as he opened the door further.
"It's Nick," Gopher gasped, "He's gone!"
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
