NOTES AND DISCLAIMERS: So completely made up. For entertainment only. Sequel to West Virginia, helps to read that first. Thanks to Kel and Katie for incredibly helpful betas and thanks to G for the right push at the end.

WEST VIRGINIA 2: DIRTY SOUTH

Justin heard Lance plop onto Usher's couch and sigh. "And they say my house is garish."

Justin was standing by the fireplace, looking at the pictures of Usher with P. Diddy on the mantle. He looked over his shoulder at Lance. "Garish?"

"You know, garish. Outrageous, gaudy, tacky."

Justin rolled his eyes and turned back to the pictures. "I'm sure the people who say that have never seen your Dr. Seuss room, because, yo, that's gaudy and tacky."

"There's just, black lacquer everywhere." Lance sounded amazed. "It's what JC's house would've looked like in, like, 1986."

Justin laughed. "Usher's place didn't look anything like this on Cribs. His studio's fucking cool, though."

Justin was excited to be there. Hot-lanta, ATL, the Dirty South. He'd rented Usher's studio for three days, just to mess around with his own stuff, alone. Usher had offered, almost forced him to do it. Without Pharrell, Chad or Timbaland, anyway. He'd wanted to bring Trace because he thought Trace would get a kick out of Usher's Michael Jackson stuff, but Trace caught some, like, super-strain of the flu. He could barely walk from the couch to the bathroom, let alone fly, so Justin had ended up bringing Lance. Surly, ex-boyfriend Lance, who didn't seem to get a kick out of anything.

They'd started dating last year, after all of that horrible weird ski resort stuff. They'd never really talked about what happened in West Virginia, not to Joey or JC or Chris or anybody, because it was scary as fuck. Also, Justin didn't have the first idea how to explain that kind of stuff to his friends. The closest he'd come to telling anyone about it was his mom, and that was something he didn't want to do again.

So they didn't talk about it, with each other or anybody, and their relationship barely lasted four months. And they'd promised to stay friends, so dumb things like asking Lance to come with him to Atlanta happened. Justin hadn't told his mother about asking Lance because he knew she would say he did it to get Lance back.

But it was sort of okay, Justin kind of thought they could've made things work and he thought maybe he was still in love with Lance, but that wasn't the way things worked out and he was okay with that, mostly.

Justin had asked Lance to come along just to be polite, really. He'd asked Chris, but Chris didn't want to come because JC didn't want to come, and Joey was still being Mr. Family Man.

Justin had said, "Do you wanna?" in what he'd hoped wasn't an obvious tone, and Lance had shrugged and said, "Whatever."

So that was on Monday, and now it was Thursday and they were in Atlanta. The Dirty South.

Justin started walking down to the studio when he heard the buzzer from the door. "Wait up, did you order something?"

Lance shook his head. Justin shrugged and walked to the door. He looked at the security camera and saw a deliveryman, dreds peeking out from under his brown cap, holding a big bouquet of flowers. Justin frowned. He said into the speaker, "Hello?"

The deliveryman said, "Delivery, man. Flowers for a Lance Base?"

Justin snorted. "It's Bass, rhymes with ass. From who?" Fucking Lance, who was sending him flowers? Justin looked over his shoulder and glared at Lance. Lance was making a face like he was all innocent, no, no, no one would send him flowers.

"If you let me in, you can find out."

Justin didn't like taking deliveries. He'd had a hundred lectures about the way people get to you and he'd had those lectures because he'd had three separate stalkers that the security people regarded as definitely dangerous. All three were no longer an issue, but shit like that came back. Justin knew that. He said, "Why don't you just leave them there? Sorry, man, we're a little paranoid."

Suddenly the deliveryman threw down the flowers and Justin thought, GUN! GUN! as the deliveryman with the very very big gun started shooting at the door.

Justin must have screamed GUN! and not just thought it because Lance had crossed the room and crooked one arm around Justin's waist and pulled him away from the door. They grabbed hands and ran for the back of the house and all Justin could think of was Empire, that stupid fucking movie with John Leguizamo, and of that one scene when Fat Joe fired the gun that tore a hole in the bar bigger than a pumpkin.

Lance said, "How do we get out?"

Justin stumbled a little and looked over his shoulder. He heard gunshots and thought, Usher's gonna be so fucking pissed. He didn't say anything and Lance repeated, "Justin! How do we get out of the fucking house?"

"Uh, left, left! Here, this way." They rounded a corner. The fucking house was like a fucking maze. Justin didn't know his way around at all.

"What the hell's going on?" Lance said, breathless, and Justin knew he must be scared because Lance was still in perfect shape from training.

"I don't know!" They were still running, through the kitchen and they could finally see outside. "There was some Rastafarian or some shit at the door, some dude from Jamaica, and he had flowers and a gun. He looked --" Justin paused and pointed at the plate-glass window, at a figure in the yard. "Oh, shit, Lance, he looked like that guy."

Lance pulled Justin alongside the big silver refrigerator as bullets whizzed through the kitchen. "Who the fuck did Usher piss off? Irv Gotti?"

"They're not after Usher, yo." Justin clenched Lance's hand tightly. "The flower delivery guy asked for you."

Lance said, "Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck did I do?"

Justin hissed, "Well, fucking undo it. I don't think I should be getting shot twice in a lifetime, okay? I'm not a cop or something!"

Lance frowned and squeezed Justin's hand. "Do you think Usher has any guns?"

"Glueguns, maybe. Nail guns. Dude, he's a big gay R&B singer, he doesn't have guns! He has decorating things and dildos and gay porn! He --" Lance clapped his hand over Justin's mouth.

"Shut up. I get it." Lance crouched down and dragged Justin with him. "I can't exactly throw dildos at the big man with the GUN, Justin, and I can't threaten to bedazzle his dreds or something, so maybe we should think of a way to get out of this."

Justin pulled Lance's hand away. "Well, you know, this is a high class neighborhood, I bet security is on the way. Maybe if we just wait, they'll take care of it."

Lance nodded. "Okay --" and then they heard the door break down. The front door, Justin thought. Lance grabbed his arm and started running, Justin following blindly. They somehow found the door to the garage and Justin took the lead, pulling Lance to his car. They could still hear noises from the house while Justin dug in his pockets for his keys. He found them and held them up triumphantly.

"Let's get in the fucking car, Justin," Lance hissed as Justin unlocked the car and pushed open the passenger door so he could tug Lance in the car. Thank god Usher had left the keys for Justin. The car revved to life in two seconds and Justin slammed it into reverse and backed out of the garage as quickly as he could.

The radio came on when Justin started the car. Usher's own CD, of course, that stupid song about having it bad and it was louder than hell. Justin groped the wheel for the volume controls as he sped down the street, but couldn't find them.

"Turn it down, turn it down!" Justin whipped the car around a corner and Lance slapped at the console until the sound went dead. "Jesus, Lance, are they --"

Lance checked the mirrors. "I don't think so, I don't see any delivery vans."

"For serious, dude, what did you do?"

Lance leaned back against the seat. "Why do you fucking think this is my fault?"

"'Delivery for Lance Base,'" Justin said. "That's fucking why." He rubbed his forehead. "Goddamn, Usher's gonna be pissed at me."

"Then just tell him it's my fucking fault and he can be pissed at me, then."

There was a red light ahead and Justin slowed to a stop. "Why is this happening again? Why is this happening again?"

The back door of the car opened and someone got in. Justin whirled and said, "What the fuck? Lance, lock the fucking doors!"

Trevor, fucking Trevor from goddamn O-Town was sitting in the backseat. Lance took off his seat belt and started to lurch to the back, but Trevor pulled out a gun. Justin and Lance froze.

Trevor said, very calmly, "Keep going. You have a green light."

Justin accelerated. "What, what's going on?"

Trevor said, "I'm here to help."

"By pointing a gun at us?" Lance yelped.

"That was just to get your attention." Trevor put the gun down. Then he handed it, butt first to Lance. "You probably need that."

"Dude, why does someone from O-Town have a gun? How did you find us? What the holy fuck is going on?" Justin pulled over in a McDonald's parking lot.

Trevor glanced around and said, "This is okay for now." He paused. "Look, I'm here to help. Have you ever heard of the Yardies?"

Justin nodded. "Jamaican gang. I read about them in Maxim."

Lance snorted and shoved the gun in his belt. "You bought Maxim?"

"If y'all are going through the drive-thru," Trevor said from the back seat, "I'd love some hash browns."

"I bought it because of Christina." Justin eased the car into the drive-thru line.

Lance raised his eyebrows. "You bought Maxim because of naked Christina?"

Justin rolled his eyes. "And because of Michael Rosenbaum. And there was an article about gangs and things, and there was something about the Yardies."

"They're a Jamaican gang, Justin, you're right." Trevor leaned forward. "They're ruthless. And they're after Lance."

Justin turned on the car again and drove up to the drive-thru. Lance said, "Why? What the fuck did I ever do to the Yardies?"

"Nothing --"

Justin turned around and said, "Why, what the fuck is some guy from O-Town doing with a gun and knowing all this? Did fucking Jacob's monkey tell you this?"

Trevor sighed. "I'm a secret agent."

Lance and Justin both burst out laughing. Lance said, "Really? Is Dan, too? Or one of the two Mikes? Come on, Trevor. Really. No secret agent would let his name be on Liquid Dreams."

Trevor sighed again. "I really am. Dan's not. I mean, I'm the only one of the boybanders who, uh, does the work I do. That I know of."

"You're not a secret agent." Justin said.

Trevor said, "Yes, I am and we're not going to be able to get the food."

Lance said, "No, you're not and why can't we get food? The last time this happened it took us days to get food, I want some now."

Trevor unlocked the door and started to get out of the car. "Well, food will have to wait, we have to run. The Yardies chasing you are three cars behind us."

Justin glanced in the rearview and didn't see anything, but Trevor was halfway out of the car when Justin looked back again and Justin figured that was good enough. Lance and Trevor took off like shots out of the parking lot and Justin had to really run to catch up.

"Where are we going?" Lance asked.

"I stashed a car about five blocks that way," Trevor said, pointing. "We just have to get to it." He looked over his shoulder and the noise he made made Justin glad he hadn't turned around, too.

"There are two guys behind us and they have two more coming around the sides," Trevor said softly, increasing his pace. "They're hardcore. We're going up half a block and then turning left. The car's black, it's parked in front of a yellow house. Bass, use that gun if you have to. Justin, stay close to me. And just *run*."

Justin locked his eyes on Trevor's back but he couldn't miss the people standing around, the horns honking from the street. He'd left Usher's car in line, it would probably get towed. Usher was going to be so pissed. House trashed, car towed, man, Justin was going to face quite the bill when this was all settled. But Trevor had just gotten out of the car, like it was important. Maybe because they didn't want to be trapped in the car or something, in line with people in front of them and behind them. Secret agent shit was so complicated.

Also, Justin had to look like an idiot, running down the street with Trevor and Lance. There were loud sounds everywhere, the honks and their feet hitting ground and random bursts and snaps. A boom, and the street sign in front of Justin was vibrating, a black spot in the middle of an "O." Lance swore and Justin heard a shot go off, so close it had to be from Lance or they were all basically dead.

They were at the car and Trevor pushed on Justin's head, shoved him into the car. Justin ducked low and sat in the well, not the seat. Lance got in the passenger seat and then Trevor was peeling out of the parking spot. Justin could only see a slice of the sky from his spot in the backseat, but he also saw trees and sometimes part of houses. They were in a residential neighborhood now. "Where are we going?" Justin said. He sat up and leaned forward.

"We're going to a safe house," Trevor said, changing lanes. He popped the glove compartment open with the heel of his hand and it fell open at Lance's knees. He reached in and pulled out a gun and held it out for Justin. "You'll want this. AJ said you can shoot, if you absolutely have to."

"You talked to AJ?" Justin asked, sitting forward more and holding his hand on Lance's shoulder. Lance reached up and wrapped his fingers around Justin's. "I mean, our AJ, not McLean. Who is nice, but. You talked to our AJ?"

Trevor nodded. "He's the one who put me on you guys."

Lance chuckled a little. "He put you on us?"

"Assigned me to you, asked me to help you, et cetera." Trevor closed the glove compartment. "I worked undercover with the Yardies for almost a year, and AJ knew that. I met him once when I was doing promo stuff for O2 and later somebody I knew at the NSA mentioned that he wanted to talk with me again. We met in a bar and he told me they were after you. This was two days ago."

"He fucking knew our lives were at risk two days ago and he didn't do anything about it?" Lance sounded on the verge of hysteria.

"He did something about it," Trevor said soothingly. "He sent me." Lance's jaw relaxed. Trevor was good.

Trevor took them to a house somewhere in a neighborhood overgrown with trees and small houses close together. All the houses had porches, and it almost felt like home, real home, to Justin, but he didn't think about it for longer than a second. They went inside and Trevor went straight to the phone. Justin sat down next to Lance on the couch. Justin said, "Okay, so, um, they're after you, but what did you do to get some sicko Jamaican gang to want to kill you?"

Lance frowned. "Hi, I have no idea. Maybe they're just crazy. Maybe they didn't like my movie."

"I liked your movie," Justin muttered.

Lance just stared for a moment and then Trevor walked up. He said, "Lance didn't do anything to the Yardies. He did it to the Russian mafia."

Lance started sputtering but Trevor held up his hand. He continued, "It's complicated. Lance didn't really do anything. It was just a bribe not made, but they were pissed. They're very much about honor. At least, the ones you pissed you off. You didn't even know you were supposed to, but people talked about it. The Yardies are trying to expand their territory in the US, they wanted to do a favor for the Russian mafia, and the Russians offered 'em this. You know, killing you."

Lance was very, very pale. Justin reached over and rubbed the back of Lance's neck. Lance said, "So. If these guys don't get it done, then they send someone else?"

Trevor shrugged. "I bet not. It's not a big grudge, just a thing they threw to the Yardies. Yardies are fucking crazy, man. Their head guy, Mark Lambie, they think he's a juju man." Justin tried not to giggle. Juju man. Trevor said, "Dude, it's not funny. They're crazy motherfuckers. I spent a year working them undercover and trust me, no one wants them making more inroads in the US. Not even the Russian mafia."

Lance looked like he wanted to throw up. Justin wondered if he actually was going to throw up, in front of fucking Trevor, on the carpet in this nice little house. "How'd you get out?"

Trevor frowned. "What do you mean?"

Lance swallowed. "Of the Yardies. If they're so hardcore, why'd they let you out? Why didn't they kill you?"

Trevor raised his eyebrows. "They think they did."

Justin moved his hand down Lance's back and rubbed light circles in the middle of his spine. It always felt good when Justin was sick when he was a kid and his mother rubbed his back in that spot. "You faked your own death?"

"Not all on my own, but yeah. There was a whole big operation to get me out, and Ossie wasn't buying it, so we organized a war and Dylan Tee died."

"And you were Dylan Tee?"

Trevor nodded. "It was risky, but we pulled it off fine and ended up offing a handful of Yardies in the process, too. I got a promotion for that operation, actually." He looked proud.

"So you've been promoted from undercover gang member to babysitter to the pop stars?" Lance swallowed again. He looked awful.

"Do you want some water or something?" Justin asked and looked at Trevor, who took the hint and scurried off to the kitchen. He came back with a big bottle of Evian and Lance took a few shallow sips.

"You can make all the jokes you want, guys, but the bottom line is that the US Government trusted me to keep y'all alive and that's what I'm gonna do."

Lance looked down at his feet. Justin said, "So, what do we do now?"

Trevor said, "Wait."

Justin got bored pretty quickly just sitting there. Lance didn't look bored, he looked tired and scared shitless. Trevor just paced and kept his eyes on the windows and the door. After twenty minutes, Justin said, "Is there, um, videogames or something around here? A TV at least? This is very, you know, deep drama with all of us just sitting around, but it's pretty boring."

Trevor pointed to the next room where there was a TV. Justin grabbed Lance's hand and pulled him in there with him. Justin turned on MTV and then flipped to ESPN. No video games anywhere in the room and Justin sighed. Lance said, "Well, at least you were here so I'm not stuck alone with the boy wonder from O-Town." Lance crossed his arms.

Justin said, "It kinda sucks we broke up. You know? We could go make out until it was okay to leave."

Lance laughed. "Yeah, sure."

"What, we could."

"Well, yeah. But we don't have to be going out to do that. It could just be, you know, casual emergency situation sex."

Justin frowned. "I've sworn off that. It doesn't last and it hurts."

Lance looked nauseated again. "You were more than casual emergency situation sex."

Justin stared at the screen and turned up the volume. "I don't think I want to talk about this anymore."

Lance didn't say anything else and neither did Justin. They just watched SportsCenter until Trevor came in half an hour later. He was carrying a tray of Cokes and cheese and crackers.

"Eat up," he said, stuffing two into his mouth and popping open a can of Coke.

"If I'm dying tonight, there's no way in hell cheese and crackers is gonna be my last meal." Lance looked pissed and Justin thought, at least he's getting his sense of humor back.

"It's pretty much this or cereal," Trevor said, "and I thought we should save the cereal for breakfast."

Lance rolled his eyes but picked up some cheese and crackers. He took them apart and ate the crackers first, and then the cheese. "So how'd you get into the secret agent business?"

"I can't talk about it."

"Well, how'd you pick the O-Town assignment?" Lance popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. "Was it a trick?"

"It's a good way in," Trevor said easily. "You know, people recognize your face, you get in through the back door, you get to go to a lot more places than a regular person, without getting people suspicious about it. Granted, I've been on sabbatical for the past few months, but."

"But people recognizing your face, isn't that also a risk?" Lance picked at another cracker but didn't take a bite.

"Risk I'm willing to take. Benefits outweigh the risks, anyway." Trevor clapped Lance on the back and smiled.

They watched more TV and then when Justin stretched and yawned, Trevor said, "Okay, there's one bedroom upstairs. Y'all take the bed, I'll be on the chair."

"You can't sleep in a chair."

"That's pretty much the point."

Lance said, "I don't want to be protected by some sleep-deprived, um, person."

"Um, person?" Justin said.

"I couldn't think of a way to end that." Lance sighed. "I'm tired. Aren't you tired?"

Trevor shrugged. "I'm used to this. Being a pop star isn't as hard as being a secret agent, man. So, you know, you guys sleep."

They took off their shoes and pants and climbed into the bed. The sheets were a little stiff but they didn't smell, so Justin was grateful for that. After a few minutes of lying just a few inches apart, Lance sighed and rolled over, spooning up to Justin. It felt familiar and really nice.

"Where's your gun?"

Lance waved his hand in the air. "On the floor. By my pants."

"I think it should be up here. Like, under your pillow or something. In case we need it during the night."

Lance started to sit up, but Justin pushed him down gently. "I'll get it."

Lance yawned. "Okay. But be careful. Don't shoot yourself in your one good foot."

"Some of us are actually against guns." Justin leaned off the bed and grabbed the gun, then handed it to Lance.

"And some of us don't want to die." Justin crawled back into bed, next to Lance, and Lance sighed. "I'm fucking scared, Justin."

Justin reached for Lance's hand and squeezed it. "Me, too. Try to sleep. I'll stay up for a little in case something happens."

"Kay." Lance curled around Justin again. "Love you."

Justin fell asleep, he must have because he was blinking suddenly and the clock by the bed said it was 3 am. Justin whispered, "Trevor?" but all he heard was a light snore. He was scared, but not enough to wake up Trevor.

Lance whispered, "Shush, he's sleeping."

"Why aren't you?"

"I was. A little bit." Lance wrapped around Justin again, and his hand was rubbing Justin's stomach. It was comforting, not sexual, Justin thought.

"You should sleep."

"Well, I'm trying." Lance buried his head in Justin's shoulder. Justin was pretty sure Lance was giggling, not crying as his head shook.

"Are you, um, laughing?"

Lance whispered, "Yes. It's just pretty absurd."

"Yeah." Justin paused and covered Lance's hand on his stomach with his own. "Why did you dump me?"

"I didn't. We broke up. All mutual like. The tour was over, you'd broken up all the way with Brit, I had things to do, you had things to do. It was for the best and all that."

"Yeah." Justin sighed. "I miss you." He didn't hear Lance reply before he fell back asleep.

Justin woke up again and it was dark, Lance was grasping Justin's forearm hard. Lance whispered, "Trevor just got up and went downstairs. He made sure I had the gun first."

"Oh, god," Justin said. Justin rifled through the sheets.

Lance said, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I took off my jeans and my underwear, I hate sleeping in them. I don't wanna run out of here naked." Justin found his boxer-briefs and pulled them on. "Fuck, fuck, where are my jeans?"

There was another noise downstairs, something louder and sounding similar to a gunshot. Lance hissed, "Fuck your jeans!"

Justin tripped over his sneakers and then sat down quickly, pulling them on and tying them. "I'm gonna die in my fucking boxers. I'll be this century's answer to Elvis, without the overdose."

"Shut up!" Lance grabbed Justin's hand and pulled him towards the window.

"Wait, what? We're jumping?"

Lance pressed his lips together. There was another gun shot. Lance said, "Yeah. You first."

"God, I'm sorry we broke up, I didn't mean to hurt you, just, fuck, don't push me out a window."

Lance rolled his eyes and pulled up the window. He nudged Justin towards the window. "Look, I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to save you. Do you want to go downstairs?"

Justin bit his lip and shook his head. "No. Okay, I'll go first. I mean." He turned to Lance and kissed him quickly, then took a deep breath. "Okay."

Lance squeezed Justin's hand. Justin squeezed back and jumped.

He landed on the roof of a black car that he didn't recognize. He didn't think it was Trevor's car, so it had to belong to the Yardies. Justin jumped off the car so Lance would have somewhere to land and prayed that nobody was in the car.

Lance landed a minute later and jumped off the top of the car. He looked inside the car and then opened the side door. "Get the fuck in."

"What?" Justin exhaled and got in. He wasn't going to keep being the stupid one here. Lance could hot-wire cars, Justin knew that. He pulled up his leg and started rubbing his foot. It hurt. Maybe he'd landed wrong. Fuck.

The car revved to life and Lance said, "Ha! Take that." He backed up without looking and they ran over the lawn onto the street.

"Where are we going?" Justin tried to sound casual.

"I dunno, how do you feel about donuts?" Lance snorted. "Open the glove compartment, maybe you can get yourself a gun again."

"Woke up this morning, got myself a gun," Justin sang. "Are we really getting donuts?" Justin opened the glove compartment and money spilled out. "Donuts it is!"

Lance took a turn a little fast. "Well, I am hungry."

"Reign in the power, man, you don't want to get pulled over." Justin pulled the money onto his lap and started counting it. "I mean yeah, we're on the run from Jamaican gangsters, but we also stole a car. And I'm, you know, if I ever have to get arrested, I don't want to be free-ballin' in my mug shots."

"How much do we got?"

"Um," Justin said. He did a second count. "Two thousand dollars."

"Fuck. I wonder if that's what they got to kill me." Lance stared straight ahead.

"Dude, it costs way more than two thousand dollars to knock off a member of *NSYNC. This must be, like, runaround money."

Lance nodded. "Donuts. There must be a Dunkin Donuts around here." They pulled onto a main street. Justin looked at the people and then down at his skinny legs. Fuck, he wanted pants.

Justin grabbed Lance's thigh. "Dude, see that drug dealer over there? Stop there."

"You want some drugs? NOW?"

"He's my size. Buy his pants." Justin put a thousand dollars in Lance's lap. "I want pants."

Lance blinked. "You're giving him a grand for a pair of pants?"

"He's gonna be hustlin' in his tighty-whiteys, man, we gotta compensate the man for his trouble." Justin nudged Lance with his bare knee. "Go on. Please?"

Lance sighed dramatically and climbed out of the car. He stuffed his hands in his pockets before running across the street.

Justin figured Lance would be able to handle himself, what with the gun and all, so Justin twisted around and dug through the back seat. There was some duffel bag back there, full of bricks of weed. And sweaters. Justin picked a soft one and pulled it on.

He heard the door open and then Lance was there, tossing Justin a pair of pants and speeding away from the curb.

"Dude. Thank you," Justin said, toeing off his shoes and angling his hips to slide into the pants.

"Got you this, too," Lance said, and threw a baggie of pot in Justin's lap.

Justin grinned. "You're sweet. But there's a whole fuckload of that shit in the backseat."

Lance furrowed his brow. "I'm not smoking Yardie weed, Justin. You don't know what they cut that shit with. It's safer to buy it off the street." Lance craned his neck. "Now where's a fucking donut shop?"

Justin pointed at the large sign for Dunkin Donuts. Lance smirked and pulled into the street. They parked in front and Lance tucked his gun in the back of his jeans. "You ready?"

Justin nodded. "I want donuts." He stepped out and patted his pants. "Man, you got me big ass drug dealer pants. Like, were you buying for you?"

"I was buying from the person you pointed out to me." Lance opened the door and followed Justin. "Did you get everything you wanted from the car? Because I don't know if it'll still be there when we get out."

"You didn't lock the door?"

"No, Justin, I don't have the keys." Lance rolled his eyes.

They ordered crullers, jelly filled and three others Lance liked. Justin started eating his cruller and wiped his hands on his new pants. "Dude," Justin whispered. "There's still something in the pocket of these."

Lance licked powdered sugar off his lips and gulped coffee. "What is it?"

"I don't know, I can't tell." Justin felt the item through the fabric of the pants. "What if it's, like, a nuclear device?"

Lance sighed. "A nuclear device? In a drug dealer's pants? In Atlanta, Georgia?"

"It could be like in that DMX movie," Justin said, worried.

"Justin, if it's a nuclear device, I promise I won't shove it down your throat so it eats you from the inside out and makes you glow green." Lance took another big bite. "Just take it out of your fucking pocket and see what it is."

Justin made a face and gingerly put his hand in his pocket. He pulled out the object. "It's a knife."

"Good." Lance grabbed Justin's elbow and pulled him down into a booth. "Okay, we need to plan."

"We need to find Trevor, man." Justin drank some of his coffee. It sucked.

"Or I can find you," Trevor sighed and sank down next to Lance. "Y'all couldn't leave a note?"

"You're okay!" Justin reached across and gripped Trevor's shoulder. He noticed Trevor wincing. "You are okay, right?"

Trevor said, "A little bruised, nothing else. I took out two of them, but I think we're facing a force of about ten. And there'll be a leader."

Lance pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and opened it on the table. "Did they follow you?"

Trevor shook his head. "They're gonna be pissed that you stole their car, though."

Lance spooned ice from his cup into the handkerchief, then folded it up and handed it to Trevor. "Yeah, well, they're already pissed."

"Thanks." Trevor held the icepack against his shoulder. He looked at the table and picked up the knife with his free hand. "Son of a bitch."

"If your shoulder hurts that much, maybe we should get you some Ben-Gay," Justin said, licking his fingers.

"No, it's not -- Ben-Gay?" Trevor looked slightly irritated.

"Chris puts it on his knees every night," Lance said. "He swears by it."

"I wasn't talking about my shoulder. Unrelatedly, I never want to hear that little Ben-Gay anecdote again." Trevor shifted the icepack. "Where did you get this knife?"

"Funny story, that," Justin cleared his throat. "I used Yardie money to buy some pants off a street-corner drug-dealer and the knife was in the pocket."

Trevor held the knife up to the light and twisted it in his fingers. "This was my knife. When I was Dylan Tee, this was my knife."

Lance said, "Wow, that's fucked up. When you were in England? I mean, right, Yardies are in England, because that's what the article said. In Maxim."

"Yeah." Trevor looked around. "Okay, we gotta motor."

"I can hotwire the car again." Lance shoved some napkins in the bag of donuts.

Justin swallowed. "Do you see more of them? Have they found us again?" He stood up.

Trevor stood up and put the ice-pack on the table. "No, but it won't be hard. They can just ask the pantless drug dealer on the corner of Peachtree Street."

"Like they know I went out without pants." Justin snorted. He crossed his arms. He was so tired of feeling scared. "Dude, I wanna pee first." He walked back to the bathroom. Lance and Trevor were right behind him.

Justin walked into the bathroom. It smelled strongly of cologne. He unzipped his pants and stood in front of a urinal. He looked over his shoulder at Lance and Trevor. "Shouldn't one of you, like, stand guard or something?"

"Bro, why would we stand guard when we gotta piss?" Trevor pointed at the back of Lance's pants, toward his gun. Lance pulled it out at the same time Trevor pulled his out. Trevor looked hard at Justin. "Get ready," he mouthed, and Justin zipped up his pants again.

Trevor nodded toward one of the stalls. Lance stood on one side of it, gun in hand. Trevor stood in front of it and instructed Justin to stand on the other side. He wondered what the fuck was going on. He wished he had a weapon or something. He wondered what Trevor did with that knife.

Then it all happened at once, the guy coming out of the stall with a gun, pointed right at Justin, Lance grabbing the guy, Trevor grabbing him from the other side and Trevor hitting the guy on the side of the neck with his gun. The guy slumped. Justin backed against the wall and held the bags of donuts tight.

Trevor said, "I know you. You're Irvin. Man, you should've gotten out. You tell anyone? Anyone you found J?"

"I don't care about J, we want the blond fag!"

Justin thought that really, he was much more of a blond these days than Lance, and he was a fag, too. He figured no one wanted to hear that.

Lance stepped on the guy's fingers. He said, "I prefer queer, frankly. Did you tell anyone?"

"No." Lance ground his boot against Irvin's fingers. "I didn't tell anyone. I wanted to impress Lambie and take them down myself. I swear, mon."

"He's telling the truth," Trevor said to Lance. "He's too stupid to lie."

"Not so stupid, mon," Irvin said from the floor. "You're not dead, Dylan Tee, and I'll tell everyone. They'll kill you before the sun goes down."

Trevor knelt next to Irvin and pressed his thumb into the side of Irvin's neck. Irvin groaned. "You're not going to kill Lance because you won't have the chance. They're not going to kill me because I won't let you tell them." Trevor looked up. "Justin, watch the door."

Justin swallowed. Trevor was going to kill Irvin. Justin had been around dead people before; he'd seen people get shot in West Virginia. He took a deep breath and locked the bathroom door and heard the gunshot.

He shuddered. Lance's hand was on his back and he watched Trevor unlock the door. They started walking out slowly. Justin held on to the bag of donuts. Lance hissed, "You know, he killed lots of people. Remember that article you read? He was a bad man, Justin."

Justin nodded. "Where are we going?"

Trevor said, "To my car. I know, you have yours, but maybe something less recognizable. Something that isn't their car." Trevor pushed Lance into the backseat with Justin. "We gotta get out of town. I think we should go to Athens."

"Because Michael Stipe is an agent, too?" Justin heard his voice break.

"We have a safe house there. Atlanta's too hot, man." Trevor turned twice and headed for the highway.

Lance leaned against Justin's shoulder and sang, under his breath. "It's getting hot in herre..."

Justin laughed a little. He thought about Nelly and what he was probably doing now. He was probably smoking pot with Murphy Lee. Justin didn't really like Murphy Lee, but he would've given his left nut to be smoking pot with Murphy Lee and Nelly right now. But, he realized, he wouldn't want Lance to go through this alone. As horrible and scary and fucked up as it all was, he wouldn't really want to be anywhere else. He reached over and took Lance's hand.

Lance squeezed his hand. "So take off all your clothes." Lance grinned and nudged Justin's shoulder.

"Don't either of you take off your clothes. We have an hour drive here, and they could find us at any point." Trevor hissed and sped up. They were on the highway and it was still dark but getting lighter. Justin tried counting stars or something to distract him but there were too many lights. He couldn't see any stars.

Lance whispered, "We don't have to take off your clothes." He let go of Justin's hand and started unzipping Justin's pants. "Don't say anything."

Justin bit his lip as Lance started rubbing Justin's dick through his boxer-briefs. "Sssh, ssssssssh," Lance whispered. It was really hot in a sick way, right after killing some guy, and in this car and Lance with his soft, wicked hand. Up and down and pressing.

"I think," Justin said slowly, "I'm gonna try to take a nap."

"Good idea," Trevor said. "Rest up." He didn't look in the rear-view mirror.

Justin closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the seat. Lance hummed softly and kept moving his hand. Pressure, pressure, flick of the wrist, and Justin remembered the first time they had sex. Lance did it just right then, too.

Lance leaned over, fingering Justin's balls with his free hand. He nibbled on Justin's earlobe and whispered, "I think my butt's gettin' big."

Justin suppressed a laugh and bucked his hips. He came fast, all over the drug dealer's pants.

Lance reached into the bag of donuts and cleaned up Justin with the napkins. He balled up the dirty napkins and stuck them under the seat. Lance licked Justin's neck and then said, "Wanna donut?"

Justin blinked. "Oh, fuck yeah."

Trevor snorted. "Get me one, too, but, Lance, don't touch it with the same hand you just had on Justin's dick, okay?"

Lance blushed. "You saw that?"

"I'm a fucking secret agent, you think I'm fooled by 'I wanna nap?'" Trevor sped up again. "Gimme a fucking donut."

Justin blushed. Lance handed Trevor a donut and said, "Sorry."

"It's cool, man, it's cool." Trevor changed lanes and took a bite. "Love is a beautiful thing."

"Oh, we're not, uh," Lance stammered.

Trevor snorted. "You're not in love, you just give each other handjobs when you're on the run? I've seen this happen a million times, baby."

Justin crossed his arms, embarrassed and a little sad. "Just eat your goddamn donut."

Justin looked over at Lance who was covering his mouth. Trying not to giggle, Justin thought. Justin hated this. "Trevor, there's like, seven of these guys left? Can't we just tell the cops and hide out somewhere until they're all caught?"

"They're too tough for the cops." Trevor's eyes narrowed in the mirror. "We'll just pick 'em off until all ten are dead."

"When? Like, months from now? Dude, I have a tour. I'm on TOUR soon. I have to be in LA in two days for planning and rehearsals and shit like that. I just finished the overseas leg, all these tickets have been sold!"

Lance said, "Maybe Justin can just go back to LA. It's me they want."

"No, no. I'm not leaving you," Justin said. He turned to Lance and grabbed his hand again. "Just, if you have to kill all of them, couldn't we, I dunno, lure 'em all somewhere, and then you know, lock 'em in a cave or something?"

"Here's a thought." Trevor fairly snarled. "You keep your stupid cave ideas to yourself and I'll come up with an actual plan."

Lance blinked. "Wow. Am I ever sorry I made you that icepack."

Trevor sighed. "I don't mean to sound rude. I just, you guys have no fucking idea what we're dealing with here. We need to get Justin a weapon. I wish we had time to go to a shooting range, Lance, but --"

"I hunt," Lance said. "I don't need practice."

"Well, good," Trevor said, and motioned for Justin to take the wheel. "Because you're gonna have to prove yourself in about five seconds, here. Get up here." Justin climbed up front and sat in the driver's seat while Trevor straddled him and leaned out the window. Gunshots again.

Justin kept his eyes on the road. Even when Trevor bucked against him with each shot, even when a bullet caused a crack in the windshield, even when Lance grunted and shouted, "Fuck." Eyes on the road. He was really glad he'd peed in the Dunkin Donuts.

He spotted a sign and said, "I want the exit for Athens, right?"

Trevor said, "Yes, fucking yes, take the goddamned exit!"

Justin glanced to the side and then in the mirror. "Lance, Lance, are you okay?" He could see blood, there was blood.

Trevor jammed his foot on Justin's foot. "Lance is fine, take the fucking exit, faster!"

Justin controlled the turn and sped around the exit, another highway. He kept hearing shots. He said, "Lance? Can you just say something?"

"Shut the fuck up already, how's that?" Lance sounded irritated, like he was concentrating and he'd been interrupted. Justin thought, well, he probably had.

"Good enough." Justin took a second exit and then flipped on his left turn signal but turned right. He wanted to throw the Yardies off, if he could.

Trevor slid back into the car and Justin moved over to the passenger seat, then climbed back with Lance again. "Really, really, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Lance's arm was bleeding; he'd been grazed by a bullet. "Joey had it worse when he fucked up his leg. How'd you make out, Trevor?"

"All in one piece." Trevor kept driving but Justin could see him in the rear-view mirror and he looked concerned. "Justin, why don't you use some of the Dunkin Donuts napkins -- the clean ones -- to stop the bleeding?"

They reached a house on the outskirts of Athens, Justin assumed, a few minutes later. Trevor parked behind the house and led them inside. Justin made Lance sit down at the kitchen table and found a first aid kit under the sink. "I'll, you know, your wound."

"You know? Clean the fucking wound, okay?"

"God, you're all cranky." Justin cleaned off all the blood and tried not to blanch. It wasn't too bad, just a graze. But it was still angry and red.

"I got shot, you know, makes a person cranky. Also, it hurts. Also, did you bring in the donuts? I want a donut."

"In a second."

Trevor walked in the kitchen and opened the bag of donuts. He handed one to Lance and start munching on one himself. "The house is clean," Trevor said around a mouthful of jelly.

"You guys have maids come in?" Justin bit his lip. That was a stupid question.

"Generally it's those crime-scene people. You know, those contract companies who clean up crime scenes and shit." Trevor stood and poured himself a glass of milk. "Those guys are handy with the bleach, I tell you what."

"Should he get a tetanus shot or something?" Justin asked.

"Let me see it." Trevor leaned over Lance's gunshot wound. "You did a decent job cleaning it up, J. He'll be fine."

Lance took a bite of donut. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Steel Magnolias."

Justin said, "Shouldn't there be, like, 800 cops after us? I mean, that was our third gunfight. I hear shots, I live in Usher's neighborhood, I call the fucking cops."

"Yeah, but we've switched cars. Don't worry about it. We had an agent take care of the Usher part."

Lance put his head down. "I need to sleep."

"Good idea. Head upstairs." Justin took Lance's hand and pulled him up with him.

Justin said, "This time, I'm sleeping in my pants."

"Justin, they've got cum all over them." Lance sat down on the bed and toed off his shoes. "See if there's anything in the drawers or the closets."

Justin did, and found a lot of dress pants. Probably funeral clothes, he thought, and shuddered. He finally found a pair of jeans and put them on. They fit well enough.

When he turned around, Lance was still sitting on the bed. He was looking at his hands.

"Hey," Justin said.

"My mom's gonna have a heart attack when she hears I got shot." Lance laughed weakly.

"We're gonna be fine, you know." Justin crossed the room and knelt in front of Lance. "Trevor's not gonna let anything happen to us."

Lance raised his arm a little. "This happened."

"Yeah, and look how well you took care of yourself." Justin put his hands on Lance's face. "That's the worst that's going to happen. I promise."

Justin rested his head on Lance's lap. Lance patted Justin's head. He said, "God, I can't sleep. I'm tired, I'm tired and I can't sleep."

Justin said, "Okay." He looked up at Lance and smiled. He reached for Lance's belt and opened it.

"What? I, oh." Lance smiled and leaned back, resting on his hands and just watching. Justin kept smiling. He unzipped Lance's pants, opened them up. He pulled down Lance's underwear very slowly. He gripped the base of Lance's dick, already half-hard, and licked a little circle on the tip of Lance's dick. Lance shuddered. Justin widened the circle with his tongue around and around and around while Lance moaned. He moved his other hand just a little up and down, it was all warm and sweaty.
 
Lance started to move his hand toward Justin's head and Justin pulled back. "Keep your arm still, man, let the wound heal." He moved forward again and took Lance's dick in his mouth. In and out, in and out, and Lance started moaning.

His voice rumbled in Justin's chest like it always had, and Justin moved faster. He liked it when Lance sounded like that. He willed himself to just be in the moment and not think about the fact that he was having sex with his ex-boyfriend, that he was setting himself up for what would almost certainly be heartbreak.

Lance rumbled and rumbled and finally came.

Justin got up and went to the bathroom and snagged a washcloth. He cleaned Lance up and threw the washcloth into the laundry basket by the bed. Then he sat down next to Lance who was already curled on his side. "Do you want a blanket or something?"

Lance said, "Yeah." Justin pulled the blanket over both of them and stayed a few inches from Lance. Lance said, "Thanks, um, for everything."

"Yeah. You're welcome, but. You don't love me anymore, right? Like, let's just get that out in the open. All this sex has been nice, but I just. No more emergency situation adrenaline junkie sex. Not from you, it's just more than I can take."

Lance was really quiet. Justin said, "Are you asleep?"

"I'm not, I do."

"Um. I'm lost."

Lance moved closer and hugged Justin with his bandaged arm. "I'm not asleep, I do still love you. Um. That's what I meant."

"What the fuck?" Justin slid away and sat up in bed. "You love me now?"

"Wait, why is that bad?" Lance sat up, too, and looked at Justin. "Like, you love me, I love you, we're realizing it now, we're reuniting. Why is that bad?"

"Because you only love me when you think you're gonna die!" Justin thought he might start to cry and pawed at his eyes. "I love you all the time."

"I love you all the time, too, shithead. We broke up, remember? We broke up for no damn good reason and we were just over and you dated other people and --"

"You dated Freddy! I mean, come on," Justin held up his hands like a balance. "Alyssa Milano, Janet Jackson versus Freddy? I mean, how do you think that made me feel?"

"What? What does Freddy have to do with anything?"

"After me, there was that dork? It made me feel bad. Like, dude, sorry, but I'm better than him. And I know that sounds all arrogant, but it's true." Justin sniffled.

"Well, yeah, I'd never find anyone as good as you. I get it. But I did love you and I didn't love anyone I dated after you and it's not just because we're gonna die. Because we're not anyway."

"I'm supposed to be the one making you feel better about that," Justin said. He hated the way he sounded, all soap opera wife and shit.

Lance shrugged. "Stop being so fucking mad at me and we'll call that a start."

Justin grinned a little. "Okay. Right, a start. I mean, we're not totally back together or anything, because we're rushing. But. This is our start. You know, my special skills include running, too. Running for my life, but still."

"That's a skill not to be underestimated." Lance sat back down in bed and reached for Justin again. "I wanna go to sleep."

Trevor woke them up and didn't say anything about the way they were curled into each other. Justin thought that was nice. Then he thought Trevor probably saw his dick when they'd made out in the back of the car and he blushed again. Trevor said, "Let's go into town. I wanna flush these guys out. They might still be in Atlanta, but I bet they've figured out we're in Athens."

"So we should get in a firefight in town?" Justin blew on his coffee. "Cause, seriously, what? Is Michael Stipe a secret agent now, or the B-52s? Will they protect us?"

"The B-52s moved to New York." Trevor put sugar in his coffee. "Also, you already made that joke. You're obsessed with Michael Stipe, it's kinda scary, Justin. And I'll protect you. There's still six of them out there, don't forget. At least."

"So we walk around, look stupid?" Lance sighed.

"Pretty much."

Athens was nice, a little college town. There wasn't much happening at 10 a.m., but they got coffee and checked out a record store.

Justin thought about buying some CDs, but he figured they'd weigh him down when he was being chased through the wilds of Georgia by Jamaican gangsters, so he decided he could always come back for them later.

They ate breakfast at an outdoor cafe and Justin thought Athens was a pretty little place. Halfway through the meal Justin let his hand rest on Lance's thigh. He figured anyone around here wouldn't really care and he didn't really care if they did. Lance leaned over to kiss him, Trevor rolled his eyes at both of them, and Justin almost felt normal.

He turned and saw two women looking at them, and Justin felt stupid. Then he saw the women were holding hands so he just smiled. Trevor clapped his hand on the table and said, "Come on, we need to move on. I want to flush them out, not get an entire café shot up." After they'd walked for ten minutes, Trevor made Justin wait for five minutes while he and Lance ducked down an alley. Justin didn't ask. He just whistled and hummed and thought happy thoughts. Mostly about working things out all the way with Lance. Something real this time.

They'd been walking for about half hour and then Trevor whispered, "Go to the left. Down the alley."

Justin did what he was told, and tried not to pee his pants. An alley didn't seem like such a good idea to him at all, but he had to trust Trevor.

"Maybe I should walk in front of you," Lance whispered.

"Yeah, good answer. You're the fucking target."

"We've all got bulls-eyes on our chests, Justin," Lance said, and then Justin heard footsteps. Fast, hard, running footsteps.

"Over the fence," Trevor whispered. "Now."

Justin scrambled up the chain-link fence in front of him and didn't look over his shoulder. He was halfway up when he heard the first shot. He just went faster, up and up and then he jumped down. He landed wrong, his foot hurt like hell but he just limped and tried to run. Lance grabbed his arm hard and said, "Faster!"

"I hurt my foot, fucker," Justin said. Justin clung to Lance's arm and used him as a crutch. He saw Lance look over his shoulder and then Lance had his gun out and Justin looked forward. He heard even more shots, some close, some not. He was just looking straight ahead. Holding onto Lance, thinking one foot after the other. So he saw the dumpster pushed across the exit of the alley first.

"Get in it," Lance said.

"What? I'm not getting in the fucking dumpster."

"Trevor put it there, he told me, just get in it!" Lance helped boost Justin up and into the dumpster. It was sort of wet and cold, but at least it wasn't lined with garbage. Justin felt the dumpster move, so he carefully looked up over the edge and saw that Lance and Trevor were pushing it. They were shooting and pushing him down the street in a dumpster. Justin's mind boggled.

"There's a gun in there," Trevor said, "in that box. Open the box, take out the gun, and start pulling your weight."

"Nice choice of words," Justin said, but did as he was told. He'd fired a gun before. He didn't like it, but he'd rather shoot than get shot at. Or, really, he'd rather shoot than have someone kill Lance or Trevor.

He hefted the gun and peeked over the side. They'd stopped pushing the dumpster and it was just a fucking firefight. Justin hoped the cops would show up soon, he couldn't believe a freaking gunfight in a back alley was a normal thing in Athens at 11 a.m. Justin made sure he wasn't pointing towards Lance or Trevor and closed his eyes, then squeezed the trigger.

His arm hurt and he banged his hand on the dumpster. Then Lance said, "Okay, now, get out of there."

Trevor hissed, "Leave the gun, but wipe it off first. You're not safe carrying it."

Justin felt like screaming or crying but he just wiped the gun and threw it down. Then he lifted himself out of the dumpster and limped behind Trevor and Lance. "Are we done now?"

"Yes, and we need to get away before the cops come." Trevor took Justin's arm and helped him walk so they could get away faster. "Let's get to the car. We took out two, I think there's only four of them left now."

"Only four? Great. Because I'd love to do this a few more times." Justin hobbled as fast as he could.

"Could you not whine about it so much?" Trevor said as Lance grabbed onto Justin's other arm. "I came out of retirement for this shit."

"I hope they're paying you well," Lance muttered.

"Each day, my bank account grows fatter with the satisfaction that I'm keeping the two of you alive." Trevor opened a car door and pushed Justin inside. "Take off your shoe and elevate your foot."

Justin did as he was told. It was all he was good for anymore. "I want to sleep. I want this over." He sounded like a whiny bitch, but he didn't care. "My foot hurts, Lance got shot, people keep shooting at us and I didn't do anything."

"Yeah, deal with it." Trevor turned hard. "Life is hard. Bad shit happens. You're not dead yet, right? Shut up."

Lance rubbed Justin's leg up and down. He said, "It'll be okay, Justin."

Trevor just frowned. They got back to the safe house after about ten minutes of driving.

"Is there ice in the freezer?" Lance asked as they walked up the front steps.

Trevor nodded. "Yeah. There's a first-aid kit in the bathroom, too. There's probably an ace wrap in it."

Justin winced. "It hurts."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Trevor said, but more sympathetically than before. "Maybe we can find a bullet for you to bite on." He stepped up to the door, then paused. "They're here."

"Fuck." Justin whispered. "How can you tell?"

"Trust me," Trevor said, and then, "DUCK!"

Justin threw himself on the ground as he heard the shot. He clutched grass and tried to roll over. "What, what should I do?"

Lance said, "Stay down!" Justin craned his neck and watched Lance and Trevor, both half-crouching, shooting at the windows. A bullet whizzed by Justin's foot and he rolled closer to the house. He looked over his shoulder, Trevor and Lance were focused on the house. Justin raised himself up a little and crawled by the side of the house. Hopefully the bad guys couldn't see him. Justin kept crawling until he reached the back door. It was open. Justin peeked around the door. He could see one of the Yardies sitting at the kitchen table, methodically rolling a joint.

Justin had a totally clear shot. He wished he hadn't left that gun in the dumpster. Shooting the guy would probably call attention to him anyway. He kept down, like Lance told him, but he rolled over some leaves. They crackled, and the Yardie looked up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Justin thought. It all sort of happened in slow motion, the Yardie standing up, reaching for his piece, walking towards Justin. Justin scrambled to his feet. He hid behind a tree and jumped up, pulling off a low branch. The Yardie fired once, twice, and then Justin jumped out from behind the tree and brought the branch down on the Yardie's arm.

The Yardie screamed, dropping the gun. Justin hit him again, this time in the back of the head. The Yardie dropped to the ground. Justin poked him with the branch and when he didn't move, Justin picked up his gun and ran for the front of the house. He didn't realize his foot was hurting until he was in front of the house.

Lance and Trevor weren't there. Justin stayed low and went in through the open front door. He saw Lance crouched behind the stairwell. Lance hissed, "Get over here and get down. Where were you?"

"I went around back and took out one of the guys." Justin smiled.

"Well, good for you." Lance was shooting. "Trevor went upstairs."

Justin squeezed the trigger over and over and again and then the bullets stopped coming from the other side. Lance grabbed Justin's gun and popped something out. Lance said, "I'm reloading for you. Go check on that guy. He was in the living room. I'm gonna go upstairs."

Justin held his gun out straight as he walked into the living room. He saw the Yardie sprawled out on his stomach. Justin poked at the guy's foot. The Yardie was still breathing but he didn't do anything. Justin kept the gun in one hand and grabbed the sash on the curtains. He kept his knee on the guy's back and tied his hands.

"I guess I should go upstairs," Justin said quietly. "Kinda don't want to." He sighed. He stopped talking to himself.

Then he heard shots, coming fast from upstairs. He took off for the staircase and he heard Lance yelling Trevor's name. Lance sounded scared.

And then Lance yelled again, something Justin couldn't really understand. Then he smelled smoke and understood. Fire. There was a fire upstairs and Trevor and Lance were upstairs with it.

Justin ran outside. He saw smoke pouring out of the upper windows. "Lance!" He yelled. Lance came running out of the front door and knocked Justin down.

"Justin, god, stay down. There's still two of them up there. I think Trevor only got one and the fire started." Lance lifted himself up off Justin. "Get over there, by the car. Hide behind it." Lance looked over his shoulder. "I'm gonna, fuck. Where's Trevor?"

Trevor jumped out of a second-story window, a gun in each hand, firing madly as he fell. He hit the ground and rolled and rolled. Justin just stared. Trevor sprang up and said, "I think he's still in there!" He ran into the house.

Lance followed Trevor back into the house and Justin got up. He fell back down when his foot just gave out. Justin shuffled on his butt towards the house, the roof now nearly engulfed in flames. It had gone up really quick.

It seemed like hours until Lance came back out. It was hard to see him through the smoke but when Lance came out of the house, he was carrying Trevor over his shoulder.

Justin forgot about his foot and stumbled towards them. He saw blood, a lot of it. "What happened?"

"I got shot," Trevor said weakly. "You blind, J? I took out the guy who capped me, though."

"We've gotta get him to the hospital," Lance said, grimacing. "This has gone on long enough."

Justin looked over Lance's shoulder, over Trevor's ass and saw a form in the smoke. "Oh, fuck!"

Trevor reached into his pocket and threw the knife, one smooth motion, while he was still on Lance's shoulder. Justin heard the thunk and groan and the Yardie fell.

Trevor said, "Man, I am so about to pass out."

Lance said, "Fuck, what's, is that guy down? Are we safe?"

Justin grabbed Lance's gun without thinking and fired at the Yardie on the lawn. When the bullet hit, the Yardie didn't move. "He's down," Justin said.

"J, man, I am so proud." Trevor laughed weakly. "And I was getting on you earlier for being wimpy, I know, but son of a bitch, this hurts."

Lance knelt and lowered Trevor to the ground. Justin leaned forward and pulled off Trevor's belt, then tied it high above the gunshot wound in Trevor's thigh. He reached for Trevor's hand but Trevor waved him off. "I ain't that bad off, man," he said, and Justin smiled.

He looked at Lance, standing in the middle of the yard, covered in blood. Justin hoped it was all Trevor's, then felt like an asshole. He wasn't glad Trevor'd gotten shot, he wished to fuck Trevor would be okay, but he just hoped that Lance hadn't been shot, too.

Lance knelt down by Trevor and Justin. Justin patted Lance's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Lance coughed. "It's all his blood." Lance bit his lip. "We gotta go."

Justin moved around and put Trevor's arm around his own shoulders. "We'll get him there."

"No need for that, mon." Justin whirled around and saw the Yardie he'd brained standing behind them with a gun. "I'll just --"

He fell, just as Justin heard another shot go off, right by his head. Justin turned again, and there was someone who looked just like Brian Littrell. Holding a smoking gun.

And it was Brian Littrell. Justin thought he'd gone insane. Brian said, "I've been looking all over for you guys!"

Trevor passed out in Justin's arms.

*

Justin knocked once on the door to Trevor's hospital room and then stuck his head inside. "You decent?"

"Decent as a man can be in one of these paper gowns." Trevor smiled. "What'd you bring me this time?"

"Pepsi and a cheesesteak." Justin and Lance walked into the room and Justin placed the food on Trevor's bedside table.

"You're the best ever." Trevor sat up straighter. "You think they make good cheesesteak in Georgia?"

"You only like it because of the Fresh Prince anyway."

Trevor gave Lance the middle finger, but took a bite. "Not bad."

"So that's the old adage, huh? Feed a fever, overindulge a gunshot wound?" Justin turned and saw Brian Littrell standing in the doorway.

"Dude," Justin said. "You're, um. You're like Trevor." They hadn't seen Brian since yesterday and all the shooting.

"I'm more senior than Trevor," Brian said, smiling. "But, yeah, I'm an agent, too. I approved Trevor."

"Trevor said he was the only boybander secret agent," Lance said.

"That's what I thought," Trevor said.

"Well, you were wrong. Trevor wasn't supposed to know about me, and he didn't. I've been doing this work since I was recruited back in Germany."

Lance frowned. "Is there one of y'all in every band? Like, is Joey a fucking secret agent or something?"

Brian snorted. "I approved all of the entertainment types who got recruited after me. And I played basketball with y'all, none of you were really up to snuff. Sorry."

"I don't think I'd want a career as a secret agent anyway." Justin shuddered. "No offense."

"I don't know, J," Trevor said, mouth full. "I might have just been hallucinating, but didn't I see you shoot a Yardie last night? That was pretty secret agent-esque."

"He was already dead," Justin said. "I just, I got so tired of this shit, man, and then you were bleeding to death all over Lance, and I just snapped. It's definitely not something I'm proud of."

Brian walked up and put his arm around Justin's shoulder. "You defended the lives of your friends. You acted out of instinct to protect the ones you love. There's nothing to be ashamed of, Justin. You did well."

Justin was oddly comforted. "Thanks. But, I mean, what the fuck happened there? Like, Trevor's knife travels all the way here from England, ten people are dead and no one's questioned us and you found us. What the fuck is going on?"

"Nothing's going on now," Brian said. "It's all been taken care of. The agency Trevor and I work for has taken care of all the police questions. And only eight are dead, we found two alive and we've been questioning them. Us. They'll break soon. And it will be very helpful to our work in stopping the Yardies from hitting the US. And the knife? It wasn't supposed to end up where it did. We were planning to retrieve the knife from the Yardie who had taken it, didn't want it traced back to Trevor. But the Yardie lost it in a card game, to the drug dealer." Brian sat down on the edge of the bed. "Trevor's getting a raise."

Trevor smiled. "Good. And dude, could you also arrange for Jacob's monkey to just go the fuck away and get me a hot boyfriend? I'd like all those things."

"I suppose I could falsify some test results to show that he has mad cow disease or something." Brian grinned and stole one of Trevor's French fries. "And actually, I think I know someone who'd be just about perfect for you."

"You're gay?" Lance asked. "I mean, I didn't mean it to sound all, 'Like, oh, my God!' But you gave us so much crap about being together."

"I gave you crap about thinking I couldn't see you giving Justin a hand job while I was driving." Trevor winked at Brian. "I never gave you crap about being in love."

Brian sighed. "You're in love?"

Justin nodded. "Yes, we are." He grabbed Lance's hand. "We really are."

"And this time you won't break up in a few months?" Brian smiled.

Lance said, "So, wait, how much do you guys know?"

"We've been watching you since West Virginia. Frankly, most of it is just gossip I get from AJ which he gets from JC. But, you know, watching out for you. That's why we knew to pull Trevor out of his sabbatical --"

"Retirement. I retired." Trevor groaned.

"You were on sabbatical." Brian narrowed his eyes. He looked sort of scary like that. Justin could believe Brian was senior to Trevor.

"Okay, sabbatical it is." Trevor smiled. "With a raise."

"A nice raise." Brian patted Trevor's good leg.

Lance said, "And we are not going to break up. We tried that, it didn't work. I mean, I slept with girls and it was really not, you know, as good as Justin."

Brian said, "I like girls. I guess I'm alone in that in this room."

Justin said, "I like girls. I just like Lance more." He grinned at Lance.

Justin and Lance left after Trevor finished his sandwich. "Maybe you should get your gunshot wound looked at," Justin said when they were in the hall. "Like you said, your mom's gonna freak out when she finds out you took a bullet."

"I didn't take a bullet, Justin, it grazed me. And really, I'm fine." Lance leaned against the wall. "I meant what I said, you know, in Trevor's room. We're not going to break up. Because I love you."

Justin grinned. "I love you, too. And hey, if you ever do break up with me, I know firearms now. Not a threat, just saying."

"Yeah, your extensive knowledge is going to come in handy when Usher sees what happened to his house."

"Fuck, Usher." Justin still felt bad about that. "What are we gonna do?"

"Well, we could at least buy him a couch." Lance shrugged.

Justin nodded. "Okay. Ethan Allan?"

Lance nodded back. "Ethan Allan, it is."

THE END

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