Copyright September 14, 2001 by Matthew Haldeman-Time

Rating: PG

Pairing: Nick Carter/Drew Lachey/Brian Littrell

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise 98 Degrees and the Backstreet Boys are their own people.  The author has not met anyone here described, nor does the author mean to suggest that these people act this way in real life.  This writing is a work of fiction.  I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and the Savage Garden slashwriters.

Wherein we invade Drew's privacy, love Nick, and think about Brian's place in all of this.

Notice: Have you read "Destiny" Part Five?

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Aqua

        Mmm, belts...

        Nick slapped himself mentally and looked again.

        "Don't go through his things," Brian said.

        "You're right.  It's wrong to invade Drew's privacy," Nick said.  "Especially when he has such interesting stuff."

        Silence.

        "Interesting stuff?" Brian asked.

        "But you're right, it's wrong."  Nick started to close the drawer.  Then he remembered that he was talking to Brian, and Brian would, even if terribly curious, never look in here, never ask what the interesting stuff was.  Terrific.  Nick gave up and said, "It's just boxers and socks and belts.  And briefs.  And a notebook.  And a picture of you and me where I'm squinting, I think that was in Japan or something, I don't know how he got it.  And this, which-"

        Drew had gotten it years ago.  The photograph had been given to him, as a gift.  He was fresh from his first encounters with Nick Carter, that pretty, sexual young blond who sat on his sofa and changed his world.  He missed Nick, and was trying not to be confused, and wondered what would come of those first experiences.

        His brother and Jeff had been distracted by their own new relationship, but Justin Jeffre noticed Drew's need for reassurance.  Drew's anxieties vanished during long phone calls to Nick, but arose in quiet moments.

        Justin spent some time, some money, and some smooth talking, and presented Drew with an off-hand gift.  Nothing big, just something he'd picked up...

        It was a small photo album full of photographs of Nick Carter.

        There were maybe twenty shots altogether.  Nick performing, Nick being silly, Nick signing autographs, Nick sleeping.  Candid shots, professional shots, beautiful, young, vibrant, innocent Nick.

        There was one shot, one, of Nick with Brian.  Nick and Brian, their friendship and their love, their connection.  It was hidden in the middle of the album, literally hidden behind another photograph.

        Drew found it.

        He couldn't stop looking at it.  He could see the love between Brian and Nick, something that didn't need to be spoken, something that was understood.  He was sure that Brian and Nick had been lovers then, when the photograph was taken.  Anyone else looking at the picture would see two friends, mugging for the camera, enjoying the moment.  They could have been tourists, anybody.  But Drew saw the love.  The attraction.

        Brian and Nick had loved each other then.

        Did they still?

        Nick loved him.  Nick loved him, Drew.

        What if that love came to a close?  What if Nick moved on, to someone else?

        What if Brian...

        What if Brian wanted Nick back?

        He tried to pinpoint their exact ages.  He tried to figure out exactly where they were.  He memorized each detail: the sun in their eyes, the curve of Brian's smile, the tilt of Nick's head, the way Nick's arm was slung so carelessly, so easily, around Brian...

        He memorized what they were wearing.  When he saw a shirt like Brian's in a store, he felt warm with the recognition, yet guilty.

        The photograph cut them off at mid-thigh.  Drew found himself scrutinizing the picture, examining their crotches.  Realizing what he was doing, ashamed, he put the photograph away and told himself to grow up.

        No matter how many times he put it away, he always got it out again.

        He knew that Nick loved him.  He told himself to trust in that love.  He knew about life on the road, and he could only guess at how exaggerated everything was for the Backstreet Boys, but he didn't fear groupies or anyone else Nick might encounter.  He wasn't afraid of faceless strangers, or people Nick worked with on tour.

        He feared Brian.

        He was terrified of Brian.

        He knew that he shouldn't be.  But how could he not be afraid of that man?

        Brian had hurt Nick too badly.  Even if Brian wanted Nick back, Nick would never go.

        That argument only consoled Drew for about two minutes each time he tried to use it on himself.

        What it came down to was that Drew could not compete with Brian.  He didn't want to, in the first place.  But he knew that he couldn't.  What could he offer Nick that Brian couldn't?  Brian had every advantage.  Had a head start on Drew in every conceivable measure.

        Drew loved Nick.  Nick loved Drew.

        There were no photographs of Nick and Drew smiling, their arms around each other.

        He touched it.  Touched their faces.

        God, how he loved them.

        They were together again.  The way that they should be.

        They hadn't had to sacrifice him.

        Not yet.

        Someday, later...

        But for now, he was a part of it.

        There was something freeing, a lifted weight, now.  He could admit to things he'd hidden.  He could help Nick to rediscover that suffering love that Nick desperately needed.  He could help to heal Brian, to heal Nick, to let them reunite.

        He'd made love, oh, he'd made love to them.

        When he called Nick, he heard the difference.  There was more freedom in Nick now, too.  Less pain.  And he got to talk with Brian, too.  He could picture them, Brian on the phone, Nick curled up leaning against Brian adding commentary, Brian probably caressing Nick.

        Brian and Nick were together now.  Once more.  They belonged to each other.

        He'd done the right thing.

        Drew waited for the day when they were a little less excited.  A little less attentive.  He waited for the day that they took him for granted, that they sounded casual or even bored.

        The day never came.

        He kept waiting for it.

        He kept their photograph close, looked at it often.

        He had other mementos now.  Nick had pressed the sacred tube of lube into his hands, saying that he had to keep it for them.  Nick also had mailed him a pair of Brian's underwear.  Brian had written him a poem that was too private, too precious, to be made into a song heard by the public.

        He would see them again, soon.  Not soon enough.  But he would see them.  He ached with missing them.

        He knew that they felt the same.

        He placed the photograph in his dresser, in the back, under his socks.

        They were coming home.

        Home.

        To him.