It was pretty much inevitable that the recording ended up booked for Vegas. Panic was already there, and anytime Fall Out Boy was in the area there was almost inevitably a day off involved so Pete could go hang out with/harrass his proteges. The only possible obstacle was Nick's schedule.

"Oh wow." Nick said over the phone, sounding completely awed by the benevolence of the scheduling gods. "That's the week before the record comes out. We're back in the States the night before your show and we have like, three days off before we go back to New York for more insanity."

"So I should arrange to hijack Panic's studio time?"

"Yeah, go for it dawg. I mean, I'll be running on no sleep but wow is that not new."

"Cool."

About half an hour after bus call on the way to Vegas, Patrick's phone rings.

"Ready to record on no fucking sleep?" Nick asks, sounding tired.

"I've got about six hours to sleep." Patrick reminds him. "Unless you have other plans?"

"I wish. We just landed in New York. Gotta pass customs and then get on the flight to Vegas with two jokers who will probably give me the third degree the whole way there."

"Who's coming?" Patrick frowns. Nick and Brendon agreed to keep the number of people at the studio to a minimum. Pete's only allowed in because he'd pouted at spending that much time in Vegas without Ryan.

"AJ has a place in Vegas. He and Howie just happen to want to spend their two days of downtime there. And somehow they've arranged to check out your show tomorrow night. Tonight. Whatever."

"Um..."

"My advice? Throw Marcus at AJ and run."

"Nick, you're not exactly inspiring confidence, here."

"What, you're worried?" Nick sounds honestly confused. "Why?"

"Your bandmates are coming to Vegas for the express purpose of threatening me. I shouldn't be worried?"

"Well, first off, at least it's not Brian. And secondly, what the fuck, man? They'll say some shit, look threatening... well, Howie will try, he's not very good at it... and then we get on with our lives. It's not like you're actually going to do anything that would make them hunt you down, dude."

Patrick's speechless. It's about as close as Nick has ever gotten to "I trust you". Patrick's not going to go any further with that thought. In fact his brain's sort of stuck.

"I wish I could say the same for Pete, but um... he's sort of irrational sometimes. I'll hold him back though."

Nick manages to stumble into McCarran airport ahead of AJ and Howie, due mostly to the fact that he had booked his ticket separately, so they're three rows behind him. Also, less desperate to get the fuck off the plane, partly because those three rows didn't stop them harrassing him every five minutes.

He's met by a scruffy guy in a hoodie and jeans who looks vaguely familiar, holding a sign that reads "William Beckett".

"He's tall," was Patrick's only explanation when they'd agreed on the codename.

"Hey Nick. Jon Walker." This twigs something in the back of Nick's brain and while he's not awake enough to put all the dots together, he makes his best guess and assumes this guy is actually in Panic! at the Disco.

"Hi," he says, shaking Jon's hand and shouldering his knapsack. "Can we get out of here really fast before my guys find me and try to give you the third degree?" He's pretty sure Howie hasn't done any research yet and he might assume Jon is Patrick. Jon's even less deserving of a third degree than Patrick is so...

"Sure," Jon turns to lead the way. "Spencer's got the car running."

"Awesome."

Jon knows the airport well enough to get them out to Spencer's car in less than five minutes. Nick's phone is ringing by that point, but he feels justified in completely ignoring AJ. Jon loads Nick's luggage into the trunk and encourages Nick to nap in the back seat. Before making the attempt he texts Patrick.

Safe in Vegas. See you soon.

Nick has rehearsed this song a million times by himself, but when Panic very kindly urge him to sleep until Patrick shows up, he has to say no. If they don't rehearse together a couple of times, he's not going to be able to sing this in front of Patrick. No matter what else Patrick is, in this he's definitely an outsider. Just seeing the studio and knowing he's about to walk in there and sing this makes him wish he'd asked for one of the guys to be there, because they at least know, sort of, what this means.

"Hey," Brendon bumps his hip. Or tries to, he hits about mid-thigh. "Listen. I uh... wanted to thank you. For wanting to record it. I mean, I know I was a real asshole about it at first, but..."

Nick swallows hard. "No, it's okay. I just. You got the words down on paper. And if I could do that and some other idiot called me up all "I wanna record that dope song of yours" I'd hang up on him."

Brendon's laugh is harsh. "Is it stupid to still be pretty relieved my Mom will probably never know I wrote this?"

"Fuck no. You..." Oh god, he's going to tear up in a second and maybe he can't do this after all. "You've still got a chance, y'know? Don't... don't take that for granted, man." Not that Nick's given up, exactly. But every time he gives one of them a chance he knows he's being an idiot, and every time, they both prove him right. Yeah, he's totally not getting through today without at least one phone call to Kevin, or maybe Denise. Except Denise will make him cry. Dammit.

"So do you." Brendon's told Nick a little of what Ryan's deal is, so he doesn't take offense. Ryan is standing with his whole body screaming "I am not here, don't notice me" but his eyes are intense.

"I make as many chances as I can," is all he can say to that.

"Ok the therapy portion of today is supposed to take place in the studio." Spencer interrupts with all the timing of an excellent drummer. "Could we try getting in there before Nick falls over? Nick, coffee."

Wow, he can see why they keep this kid around.

By the time Patrick arrives, Nick's about two run-throughs past the point of needing a break. He's gone from refusing to acknowledge the engineer by facing Panic while he sings to focusing on the door beyond the glass almost to the exclusion of everything else. The second he sees a trucker hat coming in that door his headphones come off so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. He bounds through the door and descends on Patrick.

"Woah!" Patrick's probably unprepared for being literally swept off his feet but it's been too fucking long and with the subject of the song, Nick is going to need lots of hugs today.

"Hi," he says softly into Patrick's neck. Somewhere behind them the engineer has called a break and it's possible Pete Wentz is in the vicinity, but Nick's pretty much tuned everyone else out.

"Hey you," Patrick replies, equally gently. "Can I be back on the ground, please?"

Nick lowers him reluctantly, but once Patrick's feet touch the floor, his grip on Nick only tightens. "Yeah, that part you're not allowed to stop yet."

Eventually they do have to separate most of the way, but not without one very quick kiss - Nick's never been good with making out in public, and he knows Patrick likes an audience even less. Pete leads the chorus of "awww"s and fake gagging, but even he doesn't seem actively threatened, so Nick laughs with them.

"We brought breakfast!" Pete gestures expansively at Marcus, who is filling up the doorway, his arms full of McDonald's bags. "Oh, and Marcus wants to kill you for some reason, Nicky."

Nick groans and attempts to hide behind Patrick. "You saw the guest list for tonight, didn't you?"

"Part of my job." Marcus reminds him.

"For the record, totally not my idea. Please don't beat me up, Patrick wouldn't like it."

"What am I supposed to do when A.J. gets all up in Patrick's face, huh?"

"Swat him like a fly." Pete suggests gleefully. "You don't work for him anymore, you work for us."

"If you get Marcus to break our A.J., Brian's gonna kick your ass, Wentz."

"Pete, do not make me have to save your ass from Brian Littrell. There isn't enough money in the world." Marcus declares.

"Oh God, don't say that." Patrick warns. "He'll just take it as a challenge."

Watching Nick eat breakfast, Patrick can tell that he's tense. How much of it is post-promo tour, pre-album launch, lack of sleep tension and how much is entirely due to the song they're about to record, he has no idea. Nick hasn't said much to Patrick about what the song means to him. Patrick wishes he was better at backrubs or something.

"How much sleep did you get last night?" he asks.

Nick just shrugs. "An hour or two, I guess. I don't sleep too good on planes unless I'm sick. I got through an entire European promo tour without catching the deathflu, that's good enough for me."

"He's in good voice." Ryan confirms from where he's sharing a two-person couch with Pete and Brendon. "We've been rehearsing since he got here."

"What, an hour and a half ago?"

"Bout that."

Patrick reaches over to flick Nick's ear. "You dork. I know this is a small studio, but there's a couch here. You could have napped!"

"Told him that," Ryan says quickly. From Ryan it's almost defensive.

"I needed the rehearsal time." Is Nick's only explanation. Patrick is not used to this level of terseness from Nick. He opens his mouth to suggest that maybe Nick should call up one of his guys to come out, but Nick is giving him a please don't push this look, so he backs off.

Everyone's about finished their food, so Patrick stands up, stepping away from the boyfriend role a little and into the producer role. "Okay. Pete, you've had your time with your boys. Your options are - head out with Marcus and get back here to collect us for soundcheck, or wander the studio for the next... four hours."

"I can't sit and listen?" Pete protests "C'mon guys, I won't say anything."

"We have met you, Pete." Brendon says, sounding almost tentative, and definitely not as teasing as he would otherwise. It's the first thing Brendon's said since they arrived and that seems to occur to Pete. He sighs and pushes himself off the couch.

"Shouldn't have left Hemmy with Joe. I'm gonna knock every hour and make sure you fuckers are taking breaks, all right?"

"Yes boss." Jon salutes him.

"Let's go Marcus, I left some shit in the car."

As the door closes behind Marcus and Pete, Patrick looks at Nick. "Once more with you in with the band, or do you want to get in the vocal booth now?"

"One more in with them." Nick decides. "No offense to Geoff there, but I want you checking levels and stuff before we start."

"Of course." Patrick nods. Ryan leads the way back into the main studio, leaving Patrick alone with Geoff the engineer and about a million buttons. It's time to go to work.

Part of the problem with using an actual band as his session musicians is that they're not used to just adapting to the whims of whatever artist and producer they're working for. They have their own dynamics and way of doing things. If it wasn't for the fact that Ryan's a really good guitarist, Patrick would have thrown him out of the room half an hour ago. As it is, he's thinking about duct tape on his mouth.

"Ryan!" He interjects, jabbing at the PA. "Brendon was doing just fine in that section until you stopped playing."

"But Patrick, I really think..."

"Ryan..." Patrick rubs the bridge of his nose. "I know it feels like you're putting down a Panic! at the Disco track, but you're really, really not. You put this song aside because it's not a Panic song. You've got to trust me that I have a good idea of how to get the most out of this song. And one of the things I agree with you about it, is that it's never going to work as a Panic song."

Ryan's shoulders slump. His main difficulty, Patrick reflects, sympathizing a little, is in giving up control. He can take direction, when he did a solo for The Takeover, The Break's Over he'd laid down his part pretty quickly, all things considered. But Panic is very much Ryan's band, and here he is with that band, working on a song he didn't even help write, that's going on someone else's album. Somehow, Patrick doesn't think volunteering to lay down the guitar track himself would help anything.

"Okay guys. Let's take a break." Maybe one of the others will be able to get through to him without Patrick sitting there listening. "Be back here in fifteen minutes."

Geoff heads out for a smoke break and Nick comes in from the vocal booth.

"Don't be too hard on him," Nick advises, grabbing Geoff's empty chair. "They're getting there. They're just not professional session musicians. It's gonna take some time."

Patrick can't help sighing.

"Or I can give up my thing of doing it live, and we can have everyone lay down their parts separately. That would probably help too."

"No, I like the feel of it like this," Patrick argues. "It's a huge contrast to how we did the other tracks, which is the point, right? To do this, organic and like... from the heart?"

"Pretty much." Nick wheels back to the flat of water bottles on the floor and pulls out two. "It's like..." He hands Patrick the other bottle, considering his words. "For me, it's part of what the song's about. Probably a little for Brendon, too, but I think this is mostly me."

Patrick doesn't want to pry, but Nick seems almost ready to talk. "How come?" He asks, trying to sound casual. "I know for Brendon just making music the way he wants is part of what he's talking about with the song - breaking free of boundaries and everything."

"I know I've been sort of shutting down on you," Nick starts, looking apologetic. "I don't talk about my family's crap much. Too much of it ends up in the papers as it is, y'know?"

"Haven't really been looking," he admits. Not that he hasn't been tempted to just put "Nick Carter" or "Carter family" into Google and see what comes up, but he's managed to restrain himself so far. "I avoid most of the rags, it keeps me from feeling like I should lecture Pete for shit he probably hasn't even pulled anyway."

Nick's laugh is bitter. "See, the problem with my family is that most of it's true. We're so fucked up, you can't make this shit up."

He stands up, starts to pace for half a second before grabbing Patrick by the hand and hauling him over to one of the couches. Nick stretches out lengthwise and arranges Patrick on top of him. It's a nice position, but the tension in Nick's body and the slightly too-tight grip he has on Patrick don't allow Patrick any delusions that they're here to make out.

"My parents... well, mostly Mom, but Dad just sort of sat back and let her... always wanted at least one star in the family. I don't even remember how old I was when I started going for auditions, or when I got my first vocal coach." He snorted. "So if I was really rebelling, I'd quit music, go to college and like, become a doctor or something."

Patrick waited in silence, stroking Nick's forearm to let him know Patrick was paying attention.

"But Brendon's right. I can't... no matter how sick and twisted they were... and believe me, they were pretty sick and twisted sometimes... what they did made me. I took a lot from my Boys, and AJ lets me borrow his mom when I need her, but I still... I lost 40-something pounds and it doesn't seem real sometimes because the last time my Mom ever commented on my looks it was to hope to God I would stop being clumsy, grow out of my acne and lose the gut."

Sometime later, Patrick will take the time to get angry on Nick's behalf. Possibly he'll need to talk to AJ and Howie tonight. Right now, all he can deal with is that Nick's hurting and needs comfort. He twists a little in Nick's embrace, reaches up and kisses his cheek. Nick looks down and manages a weak smile before kissing Patrick's nose.

"So... I was going to explain about the music. Um. When Backstreet first started, all we had was a backing tape. It wasn't until like, our third album that we even had real instruments on most of the album tracks. Everything was computers this and digital that... it's no wonder we used to surprise the heck out of reporters and radio DJs when we just opened up and sang a cappella." Nick's smile breaks out, sunshine through the clouds. "But we always had that. The five of us can sing like nobody's business, man."

"I moved out of my parents' house before we recorded the third album, Millennium. So I guess when I think of them and music, what I really think of is all those digital, computerized tracks. Doing it like this, it's... doing it my way."

"How old were you?" Patrick asks into the silence.

Nick bites his lip. "Um. Younger than Spencer."

"Fuck, Nick." It's all he can say for a moment. Then, "If you can get your label to sign off on me as a producer, we'll do it all like this, okay?" It'll take a little longer, cost a lot more money, but it's something he can give Nick, and it's the least he deserves.

Nick doesn't know if it has anything to do with their little talk, but after Panic come back from their break, Patrick starts letting Nick talk to them when he wants a change in sound for this part or that part. It helps. Patrick's mostly been talking in music, Nick can talk about how he wants things to feel. It seems to help Panic let themselves try new stuff. It helps Nick too, gives him a little more control over how the song is going, makes it easier to let go and just sing. When Pete lets himself in without knocking to announce it's time for soundcheck and lunch, they've actually got two takes Nick thinks sounded like they could be keepers.

Patrick looks optimistic. "I'm calling a break for the day, guys. Nick and I will listen to what we've got tonight and then..."

"If we decide this one's in the can, would you guys mind doing a different track tomorrow?" Nick blurts. From what he said earlier, Patrick probably wouldn't mind too much...

Despite the earlier frustrations, the four boys exchange glances and then nod. "Yeah, sure." Brendon says.

"You have one in mind, Nick?" Patrick asks. "I can email them the track. Not," he says, looking threatening, "that I'm guaranteeing you're off the hook for this one yet."

"Safe Haven." Nick tells him. Patrick nods, understanding. It's their song from start to finish, the one about the ocean. Nick would happily give Patrick total credit for it, but Patrick was careful to use some of Nick's exact phrases, and Nick was the one who finally came up with the rhythm parts.

"Sure, okay. If this ends up on the internet, I'll kill each of you slowly, got it?"

"Yes sir, Mister Stump, sir!" Brendon snaps off some sort of salute before turning smartly on his heel and marching out the door.

Nick hangs off of Patrick, watching over his shoulder as he downloads the last of the day's work to his laptop. "Thanks," he mutters into his ear. He's been meaning to say it since Patrick made the arrangements for studio time for this track, the first time one of his solo tracks has seen the inside of a real studio since 2004.

"For what?" Patrick cocks his head at him, looking honestly confused, as if taking time out of his tour schedule to work with Nick is no big deal.

Nick squeezes him tight. "For being you."

Patrick smiles, and Nick knows he gets it. Then the smile transforms into a smirk. "You're just trying to rack up brownie points, so I don't kill you after your bandmates are through giving me the third degree tonight."

Nick laughs. "You got it, dawg."



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