When Patrick wakes up, he finds that the lounge is already occupied. Someone dressed in a blue hoodie and dark jeans is curled up sideways on the seat with a sketchbook and an iPod, making rapid strokes with a pencil. The shoulders are too broad to be Pete, forget that it would be spiky words in a notebook, not soft lines on heavy paper. Patrick pours himself a coffee and joins the stranger. The headphones come off, the head comes up and... oh.

"Hey." Nick says, his smile slow and quiet, but still bright as sunrise. "Didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't. What's that?"

Nick ducks his head and tucks into himself a little more and Jesus, no wonder he can fit in a bunk if he can make himself practically disappear like that. For a moment Patrick thinks he's crossed a line already, broken an unspoken rule. Then Nick turns the book to face him.

Nick's got a guarded look to him, so Patrick treats it with care. He puts down his coffee and takes the book gingerly, with both hands. The sketch is unfinished, but the subject matter is pretty obvious. It's a marine landscape, with seagulls in the air and a pelican perched on a branch sticking out of the water. He flips back to find dolphins, islands, (the Keys?), a fishing boat, and one submarine sketch populated with coral, seaweed and various fish-type lifeforms.

"Cool." It's about as expressive as Patrick can get without a full cup of coffee in him. Nick nods his acknowledgement and takes it back.

"I just..." He shrugs. "I'm no good with words, not about this, man. I went out on the boat last weekend for a few hours with a mic." He taps his headphones. "Got like, a nature sounds track."

This is new and familiar at the same time. "Wait here." Patrick scrambles up and goes back to his bedroom. It looks like Andy's already up and out somewhere. He grabs his little voice recorder, sticks it in the pocket of his hoodie and turns it on.

Nick has gone back to his sketch, but he looks less immersed in it than he was when Patrick first got up. Patrick tops up his coffee and settles back down next to him, Nick's toes against his thigh. "Tell me about it."

"About what?"

"What it means to you, out there. Chicago's not totally landlocked or anything, but I didn't grow up around boats and stuff like you did."

"It's..." Nick's head goes back against the wall. Patrick watches the shadows and light from the window play across his face. "God, it's... everything. I could live out there, you know? Doesn't matter what I feel like when I cast off from the marina, by the time I'm out there on my own, with the sun and the wind and the boat rocking under me... Nothing else matters, you know?"

Patrick doesn't exactly, but he can see it in Nick's face. He makes an encouraging noise and lets Nick talk. By the time he's ready for breakfast, he's got enough to start with. He turns off the recorder and lays it on the table. Nick stares.

"You... asshole genius." He laughs. "You want a copy of my nature sounds, too?"

"Wouldn't hurt. We'll get you set up on the iPod network later." Patrick stands and starts the search for footwear.

"Cool. Breakfast?"

"That's the plan."

"I'm buying."

Nick's arm is heavy and warm around Patrick's shoulders as they wander away from the bus in search of food. Patrick considers visiting the other bus to see who's up, but a quick check of his watch confirms it's only 10:30, and it's in his and Nick's best interests to keep all his bandmates in a good mood today.

Which reminds him. "Hey, did you meet Andy?"

"He didn't introduce himself, but he did give me a quick run-down of the bus rules." Nick squints at him. "You never said you were a vegetarian."

"Why? You have some sort of bias against working with vegetarians?"

"No, but it does mean we can't get seafood tonight."

"I can't. I don't care what Andy told you, you don't have to go veggie the whole time you're here." Andy isn't usually militant about his veganism, but possibly when confronted with a stranger at ass o'clock he might have gone off.

"Yeah, but there's this great little place I know up here. I was going to drag you to it post-show, but I don't think they serve anything that isn't dead animal." Is Nick... Nick is pouting at him.

"You haven't even been here half an hour and you're pulling diva fits on me? That's cold, man." Patrick is suddenly glad that Nick's a tall fucker, or he might have given in to the urge to pet him. He's fairly sure it's too early in their working relationship for that.

"Hey, I got here two hours ago, asshole. I was just nice enough to let you have your beauty sleep." Nick swoops down to deliver a noisy, wet kiss on Patrick's cheek.

"Oh. Well, then, by all means. Diva away." Clearly working with Pete for six years has allowed Patrick's mouth to develop some kind of auto-pilot in this sort of situation. Also, Nick's rules for physical contact in a working relationship are different than Patrick's. Huh.

"I will. Where's the damn exit, anyway? Food is out there waiting for us."

"Let's find the entrance." Patrick suggests, deciding to ignore the incident for the moment. Sometimes it works with Pete. "Someone in the production office usually has a map."

"Right, right." They find a door propped open and duck inside to investigate.

"Hey, there's our security guy..." And Patrick is blanking on his name again. It's been three months, he really shouldn't be this bad...

"Marcus?" Nick lets go of Patrick completely. Marcus, which is actually the guy's name, looks up. "Holy crap!"

For a big guy, Nick Carter can move incredibly fast. Also, Marcus doesn't even stagger when attacked by approximately two hundred pounds of enthusiastic Backstreet Boy, which is a good thing to know.

"Hey dude!" Nick says after untangling himself. "Johnny told us we couldn't have you for the new tour. He didn't say you'd be here!"

"I didn't want you crazy people stalking me, Carter." Marcus tells him. "And then I checked the visitor list last night and your name showed up. What the hell, man?"

"I'm working with Patrick. New solo album." Nick explains. "Hey, if you're here... can I go out and watch the show from the front?"

The big man shakes his head, but looks amused. "You live to give me heart attacks."

"Aw, I wouldn't if it wasn't you. I trust you, man. You're a lifesaver." He bounces a little on the soles of his feet. "Hey, Patrick! Has Marcus saved your life yet?"

"Hey, I behave myself." Patrick protests. "We keep him around to save Pete from rabid fans." Or possibly to save the fans from Pete. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"You don't have rabid fans?" Nick cocks his head, looking a bit like a confused puppy. "That ain't right. Guy like you's gotta have plenty."

"Oh he does." Marcus assures him with a tone of long-suffering. "He just doesn't go off the stage to meet any of them like some crazy dudes I could mention."

Nick just grins. "Hey, admit it man, you miss me."

"I'll say this much for Pete - he's lighter. Crazier, but lighter."

From the fond look on Marcus' face, it's clearly an innocent comment, but the light goes out of Nick immediately. "Yeah. Hey, um. Have you had breakfast? Patrick and I need to find food."

Marcus suggests a place about a block away, and calls one of the other security guards to shadow them. Usually Patrick sneaks out without, but he's suddenly aware he's with a bonafide teen idol and maybe security's a good idea. Nick pulls up the hood of his hoodie as they leave the arena.

Patrick sort of wants to ask what was up with that last part of the conversation, but even if Nick has no apparent physical boundaries (as demonstrated by the fact that his hand is back on Patrick's shoulder, relocated there from on top of Patrick's hat after some swatting), he does seem to have a few conversational boundaries. Patrick lets it go for the moment, but when Nick tries to get away with ordering just fruit for breakfast, he rolls his eyes and throws sweetener packets at him until he changes his order.

For all that Nick spends most of his time on Patrick's bus that day, it sure doesn't feel like being on tour. It feels a hell of a lot like being in studio. Except, there's a bed in the recording area.

"How do you sleep in here?" Nick demands. "There's so much stuff! Aren't you paranoid something's going to like, fall over and brain you in your sleep?"

"Hmm?" Patrick looks around at the chaos as if he's never seen it before. "Hasn't yet. Everything's pretty well attached."

They've discussed tracks over the phone a lot, but doing it in person is different, better. In person, he gets to lean over Patrick's shoulder and jab a finger at the computer screen. He gets to watch Patrick get red in the face and flail his arms a little when they're arguing. He gets to see Patrick go from considering to really fucking intensely focused when he decides to make a change, or play around with some suggestion so he can hear what Nick's talking about. Nick likes intensity. It's sexy.

That's sort of a side note in his brain though, because they're too busy working to really flirt. The best thing about being here in person is the sense that Patrick gets it, that they're partners in crime, or some shit like that, is fucking quadrupled. Patrick's kind of deadpan on the phone a lot, although Nick's gotten used to figuring him out. In person, he can really see that Patrick likes what they're doing, that he's not just being professional about it, he really thinks Nick's got something here. Not only that, Patrick seems to think Nick can do even better. It's pretty cool.

"And seriously, I'm not sure I can even work on this one with you until you completely rewrite the lyrics, because you're rhyming girl with girl, dude. I can't even begin to tell you how totally awesome that is not...What?"

"I didn't say anything." When you're caught staring, act innocent.

"True, but you're grinning at me." Patrick says, edging away a little. "I haven't survived on tours this long without knowing that grinning like that is usually bad."

"Aw. You're my favourite producer in the whole wide world, dawg." Nick tackles Patrick into a bearhug. The noise Patrick makes is part "oof!" and part giggle.

"Okay, okay." Patrick says, when Nick lets up enough to let him breathe. "I know this mood. It's time for a break. Let's see what catering's got for lunch, and then I'll introduce you to Gym Class Heroes. You can tell them how much you love me for this album and they can tell you how much they love me for their album. I'll have my own fanclub. It'll be great."

Nick gets all the way off Patrick and checks his watch. "Back to work after soundcheck?" He has actually looked at the call sheet.

"Soundcheck isn't until... oh. Yeah, I guess so." Patrick blinks at the time before shutting down his laptop.

"Great. Lead the way, oh most genius producer."

Pete is late to soundcheck, delayed by some journalist or other who had shown up late enough that Pete had almost refused to speak with her. Everyone's ready, Andy fiddling with his kit, Joe picking out a tune as he paces. Patrick's done about seven mic checks, just straight "Check, one, two... sibiliance" and there's something funky going on with his monitors, but he can't quantify it without hearing everyone else play. Nick has settled himself at the front of the stage, his long legs dangling, body half turned to watch Patrick.

"Why couldn't you be a bass player?" Patrick grumps at him.

"Sorry dude." His body language is apologetic, but his blue eyes snap with laughter. "Drums or rhythm. Lead if you don't need me to be awesome. Does Andy play bass?"

"No!" Andy protests from the back, whether objecting to the idea of playing bass or just someone else playing his drums, Patrick can't tell.

"You play bass, Patrick." Joe drawls out, apparently in the role of Captain Obvious this afternoon.

"I also play trombone. How exactly does this help right now?" He bitches.

"Um," Nick volunteers, hauling himself up. "I play rhythm. Gimme."

Patrick backs away instinctively. Nick sticks his hands in his pockets.

"Do you even know any of our stuff?"

"I can do Thanks for the Memories." Nick shrugs. "Or you could just wait for Pete. It's been half an hour already, I'm sure she couldn't keep him too much longer."

Patrick rolls his eyes and concedes, handing off his instrument. "One song."

"Gotcha. Oh for..." Nick wrestles with the strap, eventually settling things so he isn't being strangled. He takes Pete's place. "Hey," Now he's talking to their FOH. "Does it help any if I check the mic?"

"Knock yourself out," comes the reply through the monitors. Patrick hears the hum that means Pete's mic is open.

Nick strums experimentally a few times, getting a feel for Patrick's instrument, then looks over at Andy. He nods along with the count and starts into it.

Patrick counts an extra bar or two to settle himself before starting into the vocals. He's thinking a little more than usual, not relying on muscle memory nearly as much as he would be with his guitar. This is maybe why he doesn't cotton on to the fact that Nick is doing the low harmony until "in case God doesn't show".

It's weird, but in a good way. Nick's good with the guitar, but definitely better on vocals, and it's fun to have someone to trade back and forth with, to look up and catch Nick's eye, put a little more attitude in it, challenge him. When they get to the drum break, Nick moves over to Patrick's mic and they finish the song like that, singing right in each other's space.

Joe hits the last chord and Nick is grinning down at him. Patrick grins right back, giddy. They stand there in silence for a second until a dry cough breaks the moment. "Gone half an hour and you fuckers are looking for a replacement."

"Yeah, yeah." Patrick turns away to roll his eyes at Pete. "Here, have your bass back, asshole."

"Figure out what's wrong with your monitors yet?" A tech asks. Patrick can honestly say he wasn't paying any attention whatsoever to the monitors.

Nick grabs a bottle of water and resumes his place on the edge of the stage. "C'mon Wentz. I've heard so much about your legendary stage presence. Entertain me."

"I think Patrick's doing most of the entertaining today," Pete shoots back. Patrick ducks his head. Pete's letting off steam, he's being pointed, not mean, but it still hits the mark. He is playing up to Nick, at least a little. Hopefully it's rolling right by him.

When he glances at Nick again, Nick makes a face and winks at him. Okay, possibly not right by him. But maybe that's not a bad thing after all.

After sort of crashing soundcheck, Nick gets even more buzzed about seeing the actual concert. He manages not to let it distract him too much in the hours between soundcheck and when Patrick decides to move backstage.

However, once they arrive backstage, Nick risks getting lost in order to hunt down Marcus. Marcus groans when he sees Nick coming. It's possible Marcus has known him a little too long.

"Nick, I don't care how good you promise to be, you're staying backstage."

"But Marcus..." Reverting to his teenage whining habits only really happens around people who knew him as a teenager, which doesn't make them any less embarrassing.

"No. With my luck, Pete will take a flying leap to go crowd surfing, kick you in the head, and I'll have to choose which one of you dies."

"I could..."

"If I let you out front, you would not be anywhere I couldn't reach out and grab you, which puts you right where Pete could and probably would kick you in the head, so don't even talk to me, Carter."

Whining is clearly not going to work. Instead, Nick pulls out his phone. He isn't actually getting any bars inside the arena, but it's not like he couldn't walk out to the buses. "So, I was thinking that AJ hasn't heard the latest news."

Marcus stills. "You are a sneaky little mofo."

"I practice." Nick bares his teeth. The first opener hasn't even gone onstage yet, AJ could totally find a flight and be here before Marcus is contractually allowed to go anywhere else. Nick is pretty sure Marcus could do his job with AJ surgically attached to him, but Fall Out Boy probably wouldn't appreciate that. Also, Brian would probably raise hell if AJ defected before their tour.

"Have a heart, man. I really do not think I could survive having you that close to a mob of teenage girls for an entire concert."

Ok, so it's not necessarily Nick's idea of a good time, either, even if the Backstreet fans are a lot less teenage these days. It would probably give him flashbacks. "Just the first few songs."

"You'll follow everything I say?"

"I'll be an angel."

"I'm going to regret this..."

"Thanks!" Nick pounces just long enough to kiss and run. It takes him less time than he would have thought to relocate Patrick. Maybe he's played in this place before?

All the bands on the tour seem fairly nice, and nod greetings when Patrick introduces him around. ("Hey guys, this is Nick, Nick this is... " not being maybe the most informative introduction Patrick could give, but Nick appreciates that he doesn't have to defend himself to anyone.) But as he's listening to them talk and joke, he edges closer and closer to Patrick. It's more than the idea that this scene is not his scene. It's the overwhelming feeling that man, he's old.

He's used to teasing Patrick about how much more road experience or time in the music business he has over Patrick, but this is just... weird. A lot of them are Patrick's age, and compared to Patrick they're just starting out. At Patrick's age, Nick had four albums, a Greatest Hits record and his first solo album under his belt, not to mention years and years of hard touring, contract negotiations and personal meltdowns (for him and all of his friends). And there's a little deja vu there too, of being the person in the room that no one would listen to if he spoke up with a little advice. Except this time it's not because he's underage or barely legal, it's because most of them genuinely have no clue who he is.

When a debate starts up about what precisely makes a sellout, Nick must make some sound, or maybe his hold on Patrick tightens a little, because Patrick looks up at him. His expression goes from mild interest to sympathy pretty quickly, and he leads the way out to the Fall Out Boy dressing room.

"They mean well," Patrick says, although Nick can tell he's not one hundred percent sure what's gotten under Nick's skin.

"That's... yeah. Just tell me I'm too young to retire."

Patrick laughs at him. "You're younger than Pete, and he's still going."

Nick flops down onto a couch. "Yeah, that's really reassuring, thanks Yoda."

"Retire you cannot," Pete opines from a corner. "Cry, teenage girls would."

Nick and Patrick exchange looks. "Don't encourage him," Patrick advises, but Nick's gone already, giggling helplessly into a cushion.

When the fit passes, he manages to rouse himself long enough to find the drinks. He debates over a Coke and a Red Bull, knowing that without something in his system he's not going to be able to stay up with Patrick while the stage adrenaline wears off. Really, caffeine and sugar is an old standby and he goes with that, snagging a water as well and absently wondering if there's any chance at Pixy Stix.

Pete is on the phone, Joe and Andy are in the middle of a wickedly vicious video game competition, being cheered on by various people, and Patrick is noodling on a guitar. It's no wonder the guy's a brilliant producer, he never seems to do anything that doesn't involve music. Nick watches him, content to be the outsider to this smaller group. It's not his group after all, he should be the outsider here.

He watches as "killing time" gives way to pre-show ritual. Patrick starts first, bringing out the facial thing that he's already warned Nick about. It's mildly weirder than Howie's sacred tea, but the point is the same. Patrick's already in stage clothes, but Nick is soon treated to the sight of other half-naked guys wandering around. Andy's ink is seriously cool, a riot of colour that Nick wants to go up and study. When he brings out the practice head and starts drumming, Nick finds a convenient spot to watch, fascinated. Patrick is wandering around singing show tunes and random R&B stuff, and Nick doesn't even realize he's harmonizing until Patrick is practically singing in his ear. He looks amused, but says nothing, just keeps singing away.

Eventually, Marcus knocks on the door. He looks long-suffering already, so Nick just heads in his direction without comment. He makes sure his pass is visible, but still partially tucked inside his hoodie so no one can accidentally choke him. Along the corridors and up the stairs and woah, the crowd is loud. Marcus hands him earplugs without comment and ushers him into the space between the barricade and the stage.

Nick's impressions of the four songs he's allowed to stay out front for are jumbled and chaotic. Joe is a freakin' tornado out onstage. Andy's aggressive and contained and intense, a blur of arms and legs and wild hair. Pete is... Pete Wentz, and fuck if there's a better way to describe him. But Patrick... Safely out of Patrick's line of sight, and pretty sure Patrick is barely aware he's in the audience, Nick can let his inner fanboy out. Patrick has intensity and presence in spades, not to mention a voice Nick would kill for. He's not quite fourteen years old enough to think Patrick's sweat is sexy, he knows what that shit feels like, but it's more evidence that Patrick's putting his all into this and that is totally sexy.

Eventually Marcus shoves him backstage and Nick has to come down off the concert high enough that the techs don't look at him funny while he watches the rest of the show. When he's thinking straight, the one thing that keeps going through his mind is "I have to share a bus with that? I am so dead."



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