Justin ran his hand through his hair as he walked down the corridor leading from the stage to his dressing room. A white terry cloth towel hung unevenly from his neck, one end gripped in his right hand.

He heard the crackle of a radio behind him and Lonnie’s gruff voice answering the page.

"What," the large man said into his headset. It wasn’t a question, but a statement daring the speaker to waste his time. Justin could picture the heavy, set expression on his guard’s face without turning around.

There was a long pause in which Justin could almost hear the tiny voice on the other end, but not quite. Then Lonnie said something unexpected, not the words per se, but the actual show of emotion in his voice.

"Okay, I’ll tell him."

There was a click as the radio was shut off.

"Timba-lake," Lonnie said as he took two large strides to catch up to Justin. "Britney’s lawyer was here while you were on stage."

Justin nodded, but kept his face carefully neutral. His only show of emotion was the increased whiteness of his knuckles.

It wasn’t a surprise that Miranda had dropped by; Justin had been expecting it for days, as had his lawyer. Justin’s lawyer talked to Miranda more than Justin talked to Britney nowadays.

"She left a rather large envelope in your dressing room," Lonnie continued.

Justin nodded again. He grabbed the other end of the towel in his left fist and evened the cloth out around his neck.

"We just wanted to warn you," Lonnie said. The large man seemed uncertain. "Just so, you know, it wouldn’t be a surprise."

Justin stopped and turned towards his guard. "Lonnie. I sincerely doubt anything dealing with Britney could be a surprise anymore." He turned and began walking again.

The large black man nodded once and fell back into step two large paces behind Justin.

"Now, Elizabeth." TV Chris emphasized the name as he stalked the audience. "Isn’t it true that that is not your real name?"

The small woman sitting in the lone chair on stage nodded.

The audience gasped.

"What is your name?" TV Chris asked. He moved closer to the stage like a lion hunting its prey.

"I can’t tell you," the woman whimpered.

"But it’s not a woman’s name, is it?" TV Chris asked.

The woman shook her head. The audience gasped.

"Why can’t you tell us your name?" TV Chris asked with a grin halfway between friendly and satanic on his face.

"Because I’ll be killed," the woman said. She huddled into her chair.

The audience gasped.

"And why is that?" TV Chris persisted.

"Because I know too much," the woman wailed. She dissolved into tears. "I know too much."

TV Chris smiled. The audience gasped.

"So let me get this straight," TV Chris said. He paced the aisles. "You were a man," he watched the woman nod, "who was a spy," he watched the woman nod again and dab at her eyes, "who is now a woman." The woman nodded a third time. "And you are now a woman," TV Chris continued, "because you quote knew too much."

The woman nodded and dissolved into a fresh batch of tears. The audience gasped. TV Chris smiled even wider.

"So if this is true," TV Chris said. "You’re putting yourself in great danger by being here today. Isn’t that true Elizabeth?"

The woman nodded gravely and blew her nose. "It is."

The audience went "ooh."

TV Chris went "ooh."

Joey smiled as he leaned towards the TV. He was always amazed at the new depths Chris sank to every day.

"And why are you putting yourself in this danger?" Chris asked.

"Because," Elizabeth began. She wiped her eyes smearing her eye shadow and mascara. "I never got a chance to tell my wife what happened."

The audience said, "oh my god."

TV Chris said, "oh my god."

Joey laughed.

"And you want to tell her?" TV Chris asked.

The woman nodded.

"Well, Elizabeth, your wife is here today. Can we show her backstage?"

The screen split showing a woman pacing a back room.

The audience dissolved into helpless chatter.

Joey looked at his watch. He stood up.

"And we’ll bring her out after this break," TV Chris said. He turned to the camera. "Be sure to stay tuned to ‘I was a spy, but I was forced to leave my family and have a sex change because I knew too much.’"

Right on cue the knock hit Joey’s door. "Mr. Fatone."

"Okay," he yelled. He pushed the power button on the TV as he walked to the door. He stepped out into the hallway and followed the stagehand to the wings of the set.

"And now," Bob, a former pro basketball player, said with a smile to the camera. "I’m pleased to welcome Joe Fatone, the spokesperson for the ‘Easy Spackle-Splice and Dice-O-Matic.’"

The audience clapped politely as Joey came on stage.

Bob smiled with the warmness that only a stage smile could create. "Hey, Joe."

"Hey, Bob," Joey said. "Good to see you again." He’d never seen the man before in his life.

Bob turned towards the audience and the cameras. "I was just telling all of our friends here that you could tell them so much more about the ‘Easy Spackle-Splice and Dice-O-Matic’ than I could."

"I sure can," Joey said. He showed his teeth with the smile. "Not only am I the spokesperson for the ‘Easy Spackle-Splice and Dice-O-Matic’, I’m a satisfied customer. It was one of the best purchases I ever made."

"How much does this little girl cost?" Bob asked. He patted the top of the machine. "With everything she does…"

"When I tell you the price you’re all going to be amazed," Joey said. "You’ll be getting these babies for everyone you know."

"Don’t keep us in suspense," Bob said. "How much? 100? 200?"

"Only 51.98 plus shipping and handling," Joey said. His teeth gleamed. "Two easy installments of 25.99."

"Wow," Bob said. "That’s amazing. I can’t believe how cheap that is. Why don’t you tell these people what she does?"

"Sure," Joey said. "The name only begins to describe what this baby does. It splices anything, it dices so fast your food won’t know what hit it. And for those do-it-yourself types, you couldn’t ask for a better spackler."

"Wow," Bob said. "It sounds like the only thing she doesn’t do is walk the dog."

"Just about," Joey said. His smile was strained, but only for an instant. There was a lot he wished the small machine fixed. His career first of all.

His eyes slid down the body of the woman sitting on the corner of his desk, and then back up, stopping at the left hand. Circling the ring finger was that piece of metal.

"Lance," Meredith said. "Babe, you aren’t listening to me."

Lance jerked his eyes back up to her face and smiled tiredly. "Sorry, hun, it’s been a long day."

"Yeah," Meredith said. "It has been." She stood up and walked around to the other side of the desk. "I’m going to tell Tony to make you go on vacation."

"I’m fine, Mer," Lance said with a look of mock fear on his face. "Don’t tell your husband on me."

"He’s the only one who can make you slow down," Meredith said. She twisted the band on her finger and smiled slightly.

Lance inwardly grimaced. "If I’d known he was going to turn into a male version of you I never would have signed him," he said with a semi-joking laugh.

"Yes, you would have," Meredith said. "You would have because you see talent where no one else does."

"Not recently," Lance mumbled, but continued speaking before Meredith could open her mouth. "I might have signed him, but I never would have signed him on as a partner." He leaned forward and looked at the papers on his desk. "I think we’re done for today. Go home to your husband."

"Only if you go home, too," Meredith said. "Megan misses you when you work so much. And try to get some sleep. She’s been telling me you hardly sleep at all."

"I sleep," Lance said. He crossed his fingers loosely as he said it. He hadn’t truly slept in days, weeks even.

"Come on, babe." Meredith walked back to Lance’s side of the desk, extended her hand, and when he grabbed it, pulled him to his feet. "I don’t want to see you in this office until after the doors open for real.  No using your key to get in early, or any of that shit, okay?"

Lance nodded, though again they both knew he was lying. "Whatever you say, Mer."

"Shoot. Me. Now." JC held his head in his hands and massaged his temples, trying to assuage the pounding throb. He looked up, ice blue eyes dulled with pain. He leaned towards the microphone and pressed the on button. "Stop. Please. Just stop."

The two teenagers looked up from the music in their hands.

"But—," one began.

"No," JC said. "We’re just pretending if any of us think this is going to get any better today."

The girls nodded in agreement. JC could tell their voices were tired.

"Tomorrow," JC said. "And if either of you drink again the night before recording, I quit. Don’t think I can’t tell. I know what it does to the singing voice."

At least one of the girls had the grace to blush. These girls were considered to be among the best of the new faces of pop music. At least according to the fans. And their manager. And them. JC had his doubts. And listening to them struggle through his song for the second day in a row, he didn’t think he was wrong. They didn’t have what it took to go all the way to the top and stay there. They didn’t have the discipline, or the tight leash that had kept ‘N SYNC on top.

His head throbbed with a new intensity.

"What time tomorrow?" the second girl asked- the one who hadn’t had the courtesy to blush.

"Eight," JC said. "Go home, go to bed, and be ready to work tomorrow. We’re way behind."

The second girl looked ready to protest- eight was early- but the first girl spoke first.

"Fine, Josh, we’ll be here." She hopped off the stool and nearly dragged her companion with her out the door.

JC turned off the microphone and looked at the recording equipment and the sound board. These girls were butchering his song and there was nothing he could do about it but send them home.

In his day he never would have put up with any of the fooling around those girls did.

In his day music was just plain better.

"In my day--" JC said with a grin. "Goddamn, I’m getting old."

Justin shut the door of the hotel room. It was drab and impersonal, but that was the only way he’d have it. Britney had been the one to decorate their house when they’d first bought it. Her taste had been immaculate.

Now every tastefully decorated room reminded him of her. He walked through the dark room and sat down on the bed, staring at the ground he couldn’t see for a minute--or maybe an hour--before he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.

The room was flooded with a yellow, cheery light. He was tempted to turn the light back off. He needed to read the letter in his hand first though. There was a thick stack of papers in the envelope.

It was what she wanted out of the life they’d spent four years together building--not to mention the three years dating, and six years of previous friendship.

He was prepared to give her everything she wanted, provided the division wasn’t too unfair. He wanted his money, his clothes, and Xander, the two-year old Yorkie Britney had insisted on buying. She could have Jewel, the yippy little bitch, but Xander was Justin’s, had always been Justin’s, and always would be Justin’s. It had been settled the first time he fell asleep in Justin’s lap.

He opened the envelope, not caring that the paper tore down the front. He pulled out the papers and flipped through them until he saw the list of what she wanted.

He mouthed the items silently, picturing them in his brain.

"Jewel and Xander," he mouthed. His eyes stopped and he felt his blood pump through his veins. "Damn her."

Getting up off the bed, he walked to the mini bar and opened one of the small bottles. He downed it in one gulp, not even looking at the label. The liquor was smooth as it made it’s way to his stomach, it’s flame merely igniting his blood more.

Stalking back to his bed he picked up the phone and dialed a number he knew all too well. At one time he’d dialed it out of desperation to hear Britney’s voice, now his thoughts were only filled with malice.

He wasn’t surprised when no one answered the phone. The answering machine picked up.

"Hey, this is Brit," Britney’s voice was clear and musical on the machine. "I’m not here right now, so leave me a message and I’ll get back to you. If this is Justin, you know you aren’t supposed to be calling this line."

There was a beep.

"Britney Jean," Justin said loudly into the phone. "If you’re there pick up." He waited but no one picked up. "We discussed the dogs, B. Please take that little rat you call a dog, but Xander’s coming with me. You agreed, B." He hung up the phone. "For better for worse, my ass."

He went back to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. He turned on the TV and began flipping channels. Hearing a familiar voice he stopped.

Chris was met with a glare when he walked through the back door of his house and into the kitchen.

"I was the spy who had to leave my family and have a sex change because I knew too much?" Dani asked. Her arms were crossed underneath her breasts and she had a dry expression on her face. "That’s Pulitzer material."

Chris looked at his wife before he turned to the cupboards and pulled out a glass.

"I don’t choose the stories, babe," Chris said. He picked up the glass and walked to the kitchen sink. He filled it and took a long swallow. "The producers do."

"You have some control, babe," Dani said. "Your contract’s going to be up in a month. Demand quality programming."

"There’s nothing wrong with the show," Chris said. He set the glass and on the counter harder than he needed to.

"I won’t let your daughter watch," Dani said. She moved her hands to her hips. "There’s something wrong when your talk show is rated right behind the old Springer reruns for sleaze content."

Chris walked up to Dani and wrapped his arms around her. Her head fit neatly over his shoulder.

"I like doing this, Dan," he said. "And it keeps me home with you and Carly. You like that right?"

Dani nodded feebly against his shoulder.

"I could still be in ‘N SYNC," Chris said. "Then I’d never be home. This is better than that, right?"

"I guess," Dani said weakly. She pulled away from Chris and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. I’m going to read a few more contracts. Meet you in bed in an hour?"

"Sure thing," Chris said. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Dani said. She walked out of the kitchen.

Chris walked back over to the sink and rinsed out his glass. He walked back to the door and turned out the light. Moving along the shag carpet he walked to the living room and collapsed on the couch. He grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on. He changed the channel, pushing the number higher and higher.

He stopped when he saw a familiar face.

Lance looked at the dark light fixture on the outside of the house. Megan never remembered to leave the light on for him.

He always wondered if it was symbolic of everything that was wrong in their relationship.

Which was a lot, when he actually thought about it. Meredith wasn’t even the first thing that came to his mind.

He fumbled in his pocket for the key to the front door. Pulling it out he leaned towards the knob, his eyes searching for the especially dark darkness that would show the slot the key was meant to go in. After a few minutes of fumbling the key slipped in. He turned it and pushed the door open.

The entry hall was dark as he walked into the house. He closed the door and bolted it behind him. He moved into the hallway, and was about ready to go up the stairs when he saw the light in the den. He changed the angle of his direction so that he ended up at the open doorway. Megan was curled up on the couch--her body entirely encased in an afghan blanket.

"Guess what I’m watching?" she asked, not looking away from the TV.

Lance looked at the TV. He didn’t feel like playing games. He was tired and Meredith had told him to go to bed. "Tell me," he said.

"Joey," Megan said. She sent a gleaming smile back over her shoulder at Lance.

Lance looked at the screen and saw Joey on the screen patting an awkward looking piece of machinery in front of him.

"I didn’t recognize him at first," Megan said. "But I’d remember that voice anywhere."

"Yeah," Lance said. "It’s him alright."

"Come sit," Megan commanded. She sat forward. "I fell like I haven’t seen you in days."

"It’s been pretty bad recently," Lance said. "With Mer’s new record coming out."

"I would be so jealous if she weren’t totally devoted to Tony," Megan said. She kissed Lance’s chin lightly. "But I know your heart belongs to me."

"Yeah," Lance said. His eyes moved back to the screen. "I’ve been wondering what Joe was up to."

"Infomercials," Megan said. "Who would have thought?"

"He was supposed to be the great ah-ctor," Lance said.

"I know," Megan giggled. "I was so in love with him. I always thought I’d end up with him out of all the members of ‘N SYNC."

"You did, huh?" Lance asked. His arms tightened protectively around her.

"Uh-huh," Megan said. "But I met you first."

"Thank god," Lance said. He knew he wasn’t exactly lying. His attention went back to the TV screen. "I can’t believe he’s doing infomercials."

"Chris is doing that sleazy talk show," Megan pointed out.

"But the ‘Easy Spackle-Splice and Dice-O-Matic?" Lance asked.

"It sounds sort of useful," Megan said. She cocked her head to one side.

"Everyone should have one of these babies," TV Joey said. "You’ll never be able to find a better gift."

"And all for 51.98," TV Bob said. "Wow."

"Do you ever wish you were still in contact with the guys?" Megan asked. Her voice was softer, more caring than it had been in weeks.

"No," Lance said. It was a lie, and this time they both knew it. "It brings back too many memories." That wasn’t a lie.

"Maybe you should look them up," Megan said.

Lance focused his eyes back on the TV and carefully shook his head.

"Whatever happened to us?" he asked softly.

"’N SYNC grew up," Megan said. "You guys picked a good time to end it."

"Did we?" Lance asked. "We were at the top of the world, Meg. Look at us now."

"’N SYNC couldn’t last forever," Megan said. She cuddled into Lance. "Everyone knew that."

"Yeah," Lance said. But we could have tried, he thought.

"Shoot. Me. Now." JC sat at the bar, a cigarette between his lips and a pitcher of beer in front of him.

"Why?" Joey asked from his place on the stool beside JC.

"These girls," JC said. He lifted his beer to his lips, but stopped when he realized the cigarette was still there. He took it out of his mouth and ground it into the ashtray. "The girls I’m working with," he clarified.

"Yeah," Joey prompted. He took the pitcher in front of JC and refilled his glass.

"They think they’re such hot shit," JC continued. "But they have the respect for the music."

"Sounds familiar," Joey said with a small grin. "Look how far we made it."

"But our manager kept us in line," JC said. "Johnny didn’t put up with a quarter of the shit their manager puts up with."

"The world is made up of lots of groups who didn’t have Johnny for a manager," Joey said.

"The music was what mattered when we were doing this," JC said. "Now… These girls… They woke up one morning and said, ‘Oh! We have talent! Let’s go get signed and make a record!’ and then, ‘Oh my god! Our record was obscenely successful! We’re popular! Let’s make another one!’"

"So?" Joey asked.

"So they aren’t working for it," JC said. "We worked for it."

"And now I’m doing infomercials," Joey said. "Lot of good the hard work did me."

"You know what I mean," JC said. "We worked to get where we were."

"Were is the operative word," Joey said. "We aren’t ‘N SYNC anymore, Jace."

They fell into silence. JC lit another cigarette.

"You know, I still think in five parts when I compose," JC said.

"You do?" Joey asked. "But you don’t write five part."

"But I could," JC said. "It’s still there. The style, the beat."

"The 2000 style, Jace?" Joey asked. "That’s old now. It plays on the oldies station."

"I know," JC said. "But don’t you ever wish we could go back?"

"All the time," Joey said. "’N SYNC’s only a memory though. Our fans are all out of college, Jace. They have kids now."

"I know," JC said.

This time the silence was unbroken.

"So call this number now," TV Bob said. He smiled for the camera. "When you do you’ll not only receive the ‘Easy Spackle-Splice and Dice-O-Matic,’ but this handy cleaning solution to keep her looking her finest."

"I couldn’t live my life without this machine," TV Joey said. "And once you get one, you’ll see why. So order now, and pay two easy installments of 25.99 and shipping and handling."

Chris flipped off the TV and stared at the blank screen. He flipped off the light and sat in the darkness for a few moments.

"Whatever happened to us?" he asked softly.

Across the country, from a bar in LA, to a ranch style home in Orlando, to a hotel room in Dallas, four voices echoed the thought silently.