Adjusting

"I think they got back together the day after the Grammy's." Chris paused mid-gossip. "Hold up, Joe. One of the lovebirds has just emerged from the nest."

JC stuck his tongue out at Chris. "Hey, Joe! Hey, Lance!" He yelled toward the phone.

Chris rolled his eyes. "That delicate whisper you just heard was your esteemed bandmate wishing you greetings and salutations."

JC wandered over to the breakfast bar, grabbing two plates. Knowing that when Justin joined them he'd be hungry. Chris went back to his conversation. JC listened with half an ear.

"It's like they're honeymooning," muttered Chris. "They've been so lovey dovey the last four days. If I was a diabetic I'd of od'd on the sugar."

JC turned, pelting the older man with a handful of Cheerios for that comment.

Chris tried to catch a few of them in his mouth. He coughed, sitting up when one slid down the wrong pipe.

JC snickered; his eyes brightened as the hotel's dining room's doors swung open and Justin entered. Narrowing sharply in the next second as he saw who followed Justin into the room.

Chris turned to see what had put that look on JC's face. He frowned as well, catching sight of Britney. The home-wrecker, thought Chris. For a second he wished Lance was here. He'd scratch her eyes out. A muffled yelling caught his attention, and he abruptly remembered Joe was still on the phone. "Britney's here," hissed Chris, by way of explanation before hanging up. He wondered if it'd look crass if he oh so casually wandered in the couple's direction. The sorrow in JC's eyes decided him, as he stood up. Without a care in the world, he sauntered toward the couple. "Hello, infant. Brit. Might I ask what brings you here this fine morning?

Britney lifted annoyed brown eyes to Chris. "Trying to have a conversation with my boyfriend whom I haven't seen in or talked to in days."

Chris glanced between the two, then plopped down on a chair between them. He gave Britney an innocent grin, that she glared at. Oh, he'd understood the hint, he'd just chosen to ignore it.

"Well isn't that special," Chris crowed. Eyes searching out JC in the room. His bandmate had slunk toward the exit, leaving behind the plates he'd gathered. Chris was not going to let him, let Brit chase him off. "Hey Jayce, aren't you gonna eat with us?"

JC paused halfway out the door. "I don't feel so good, Chris. I think I'm gonna go take a nap," he said, hurrying out the door. Chris turned a dark eye on Justin.

"Uh, Brit." Justin said, pushing away from the table. "I'm gonna make sure he's okay. I'll be right back." Justin rushed from the room.

Chris waited, maybe half a second before following. He arrived just as the pair was entering the elevator. JC's angry hiss carried over the sounds of the busy lobby, "You said you were breaking up." The elevator doors closed on the rest of the conversation.

Chris grimaced, as worry tried to worm its way back into his head. He shoved it aside, all he had to do was get rid of the home-wrecker. Things would be cool then. With an evil grin, Chris headed back to the dining room.

---

The elevator ride was made in silence. JC moved down the hallway, ghost silent. He could feel Justin behind him. But he didn't say another word until they'd gotten into the room. JC stood in the center of the room, head down, trying to breathe. "You said you were breaking up with her. You promised me."

Justin slinked up behind JC, arms sliding around his waist. JC stiffened, trying to ignore the body pressed to his. The feeling of being caged. "I am baby. It's just now is not a good time. We've got too much media attention--"

JC broke away, pushing at the hands trying to hold him still. "So you lied. You still care more about your image than me."

"Oh, baby. No." Justin reached for JC, who batted the hands away again.

"Don't," he growled. JC paced the room angrily. He could feel Justin's eyes on him.

"Listen to me, Jayce. Now is just not the time. Too much attention on Brit and me as a couple. But I swear as soon as the month's over, I'll break it off."

JC spun around, eyes blazing. "Oh tell me, you are not saying what I think you're saying. That you don't intend to spend our first Valentine back together with her."

"Jayce," started Justin.

JC threw his hands up, turning away. "Oh, fuck you!"

Justin lunged forward, snatching his wrist, yanking him around. He pulled until JC was pressed up against him again.

JC didn't resist; he let Justin haul him around. No, he was to busy trying to silence the voice in his head. The one that sounded suspiciously like EmfuckingEm, whispering about bruises and spiral fractures. Justin's voice droned on in his ear, as he tried his damnedest to shove the voice back into the shadows it had sprung from. This was nothing like what the rapper had said. It wasn't. Caught up in his thoughts it took him a minute to realize Justin was still speaking. He forced himself to pay attention.

"...this is the last time, I promise. If you want I'll go downstairs and get rid of her right now."

JC took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Justin had a point. And relationships were about compromise. So no matter how much he wanted to rail against this he wouldn't. He could let this go. It was only another month. Then Justin was his and his alone. "You'll get rid of her?"

"Right now, baby." Justin insisted, pressing kisses to the curve of JC's throat.

JC let himself be placated. "Fine. But you owe me."

Justin smacked a loud, wet kiss to the back of his neck. "And your gonna get it, I swear." He grinned. "Be right back," he said, disappearing out the door.

---

Chris mused silently as Britney fumed across from him. He looked her up and down slowly. "Hmm, who dressed you today. Was it Satan?" he asked in his best Church Lady voice.

Britney gave a fake laugh, and ground her teeth harder. She looked ready to commit murder and he'd just gotten started. He was the master. A few more minutes and she'd be ready to head for the hills. Or the nearest bar. Now what should he do? He had so many lovely tricks in his repertoire. He shifted, and a stray Cheerio from earlier tumbled to the floor. He didn't even try to curb the wicked grin that slid onto his face. "Hey, Bri-ti-nay," he said slowly, deliberately mispronouncing her name, and followed it up with a tossed Cheerio.

Britney huffed turning around in her chair. "Really, Chris. Do you have to be so childish?"

Chris cocked his head, as if deep in thought. "Yes. So, Bri-ti-nay. Wha's this thang with you and Timba-timba-timbalake?" he asked, tossing another piece of cereal.

Britney frowned, shaking it out of her hair. "Must you imitate that ass of a v.j. from MTV? He annoys me nearly as much as you."

Chris smirked, effortlessly shrugging off the insult. "I must. I must. So, Bri-ti-nay. Whas up?" He paused, switching effortlessly to his Church Lady voice. "Are you having relations? What would make you do such a thing? Could it be Satan?"

This was followed by another Cheerio.

Britney growled plucking this one out of her bodice, and flinging it at Chris. "Goddamnit, Chris! If you don't cut this shit out, I'm leaving."

Chris blinked, slowly. "Oh, don't go. Bri-ti-nay." His eyes glittered with barely concealed amusement. Another Cheerio.

Britney shot to her feet glaring at the older man. Chris stood as well, smirk firmly in place. Her eyes narrowed, and she bit back another curse. With a dignified sniff she spun around and stalked off.

"Bye! Bye! Bye!" called Chris, as he started his version of the 'superiority dance'.

Chris froze as the dining room's door swung open, just as Britney reached it. He muttered darkly beneath his breath as Justin entered then just as quickly left with Britney.

Around midnight, JC finally gave up and went to bed. Justin wasn't going to be back tonight.

---

Proof groaned dropping his head onto the mixing board. It was the weekend and were they out partying? Hell, no. Em had their asses in the studio. Never mind it was only eight am. It was the principal of the thing. Besides it was too early for this shit. If he hadn't known better he'd have sworn Em was on the rag.

Em switched between glaring at and coaxing the sound board beneath his hands. It was stubbornly refusing to give him the beats he wanted. He took a deep breath, knowing he was possibly, maybe, slightly feeling a tad bit guilty. And it was pissing him off. There was no reason he should be. He'd tried to talk to Chasez. Oh, yeah. Asking him what the fuck was wrong with him, and calling him a coward were great incentives to talk, snorted Marshall. Okay, he had to admit if only to himself; he could have handled that better.

Proof glanced around Em who appeared to be arguing with the sound board. Moving as quietly as he could he eased back, until he was out of Em's sight. He motioned to Bizarre to toss him his bag. Half a minute later he had it, another half a minute, his stash was out and being rolled. He got ready to light up, and nearly dropped it when Em's voice boomed out across the room.

"What the fuck I tell y'all? Dre want's this shit cut like yesterday."

Proof looked Em up and down slowly. "Damn, nigga. When was the last time you got laid?"

Em glared, "When was the last time yo' mama was in town?"

Laughter echoed through the studio as Proof launched himself at Em. "No you didn't, nigga."

After a minute of tussling, with neither getting the upper-hand, the two broke apart. Proof held the joint out to Em. "Here, you need this more than me."

Em slowly took the joint. He shouldn't. They really needed to get started on this new album. But... fuck it. "Just one, guys. Then work."

Everyone nodded eagerly.

Four joints a piece, later; the group lay sprawled around the lounge, waiting for the food to arrive. Em flipped on the TV, then dropped back to the couch.

Muttering as MTV logo appeared on the screen, followed shortly by N'sync. "Goddamn don't they get tired of Timberfuck," growled Em, digging the remote out of the cushions. He hit the button. When it didn't work, he stared at it for several long minutes as if he could make it work by will power alone.

Proof finally glanced over at him. "Change the damn channel."

Em flung the remote aside in disgust. "Dre didn't replace the fucking batteries." Everyone groaned. No one got off their ass to change it manually though. The thought never occurred to them. When the food delivery arrived, MTV was still playing in the background. However, it was the last thing on the crew's mind as they chowed down.

Not until yet again Em's buzz was fucked by the jackass of a v.j, the strident braying of, 'Aw! Dude the fuh? Your wrist?'

Em snapped to attention. Or at least his eyes focused on the screen. It was the kid. Em's eyes followed the panning camera down to the kid's wrist. It was swollen, an ugly yellow-green. Em knew it hadn't been that way last week. He watched Chasez slide it under his arm as the camera panned back. "Nearly fell of the stage. Justin caught me by my wrist."

Em rolled his eyes. Did no one else hear this shit? Was he the only one with fucking eyes? Chasez sounded like some fucking Lifetime movie bitch. "Yeah, right. Timberfuck saved your dumb-ass."

Kon rolled onto his back, staring over at Em. "What is your problem with Timberlake?"

Em sneered. "Other than the fact that he's a punk-ass faggot boy-bander?"

Kon sighed, "Yes. Other than that."

Em's gaze narrowed. "He's an arrogant, spoiled, no talent having, little bitch ass for starters."

Kon nodded, solemnly. "Okay. And Chasez?"

"He's a dumb-ass," muttered Em, eyes fixed on the screen. "A fucking dumb-ass."

Proof snorted, "Dumbass."

"Yep," confirmed Em, "Duuummb-ass. Dumb-aaaasss."

For the next ten minutes the crew meditated on the suddenly fascinating word. Each giving their own varied, and unique spin on it's pronunciation.

Dre stood in the door, watching them for a good five of those minutes. Moving into the room, he nudged Proof with his foot. "Ain't you muthafuckers supposed to be working?"

Proof blinked up from where he lay still sprawled on the floor. "It's Em's fault. He said we could have one."