12:30 AM
"And in other news, The Backstreet Boys have finally rescheduled the rest of the Canadian tour they missed a couple weeks back. If you kept your ticket, you're in luck - you can turn it in at any Ticketmaster location for a new one." The new dates flashed on the screen over some footage from Quit Playing Games. Lina glanced at her ticket, still intact and lying on top of her hard drive.
"Should I?" she asked the empty room. Tickets for the original Toronto concert had sold out in an hour, long before the fateful crash. She didn't always go to the local show, she'd only been to three Backstreet concerts, but whenever Nick was in town, she had always paid him a visit, or vice versa. But now..
Lina? Nick's voice tickled at the edge of her mind, tempting her to let him in.
Lina? It was tentative, worried and a little scared. Please, just tell me why.
She kept silent, knowing a reply, no matter how quick, would tell him everything.
What happened? he persisted. Are you okay? Did it have something to do with the accident? I don't remember much, but I think that's the last time we talked. Did I say something stupid? Please answer me. Maybe I could actually deal with this if I knew *why*.
He changed tactics, trying to tease it out of her, I won't stop asking until you tell me. You know I'm a stubborn ass.
Lina fought back tears, wishing it didn't feel so good to hear his voice again. She wanted to break down and let him in again, hear him say she was wrong, that there was always a place for her in his life. But it had taken him two months. Two months where he had nothing to tell her, nothing to share with her. Two months, when he used to need to chat at least once a day, waking her up at odd hours to tell her things no one else would understand.
Those two months proved her right. With five someone elses who understood, there was no place for her, except as a team member. She had a great relationship with Suzanne, Jacob and the rest of the team, but with Nick? He'd realise it was useless about a year from now if she let him back in. Nick was stubborn that way. A year of feeling useless, of things slowly going sour...
Lina, we need to talk.
She threw up a sheild, blocking him out as completely as she could. It hurt, but it was all she could do.
A.J. woke to the sound of his doorbell and Bear's frantic yipping. Groggily, he sat up, swung his feet over the side of the bed and dangled them uselessly.
"Carter!" he groaned. With a yawn, he inspected the distance between his bed and the ground. "Move, Bear." The little dog trotted out of the way obligingly. "Geronimo!" He landed catlike on the ground. The doorbell rang again. "Coming, coming."
He grabbed a random wifebeater and pulled it on, checking to make sure that, yes he had slept in his boxers and no, they hadn't floated to the ceiling. Satisfied he was halfway presentable, A.J. scooped up Bear and headed for the front door.
"If this is a fan, I swear to God I'm going to kill them," he muttered at his pet. "I do *not* get up before noon on a Sunday." Bear barked in a show of indignant support. Or maybe he was just barking at the randomly floating pieces of furniture they passed.
The bell rang once more before they finally made it to the door. It was Howie. "Dammit, D!"
"Morning!" Howie refused to be put down. "I thought I'd take you out to Sunday brunch."
"What happened to Sunday brunch at the Dorough household?" A.J. asked, still not letting his visitor into the house.
"Oh that was hours ago," he was informed breezily.
"D, it's..." A.J. squinted at his friend's watch. "It's barely 11:30."
"Uh huh. Our brunch was at nine."
"Ugh."
"Now, aren't you at least going to invite me in while you get changed? This is a free meal here, Bone. You never turn those down."
"Sure..." Bear barked and A.J. looked at the little dog. "Oh, right. Maybe you shouldn't. I got furniture floating all over the place. Might give you hives or something."
"Wha..."
"Nick's crashing here for a while. He has nightmares and gravity goes poof!"
"He's having problems?" Howie's cheerful face creased with concern.
"You have no idea." A.J. shook his head.
"Well, I want to come in anyway. Mindi said I really only had problems with direct contact," he grinned, "And even a brunch with you doesn't usually involve alcohol."
"Huh?" It took him a second. "Oh, yeah." Howie was allergic to psychic energy, but so far his major symptom was a very low tolerance for alcohol after being exposed. "Funny."
"If you were awake you would have laughed."
"If you had rang the bell at a decent time, I would've been awake. Come in already."