SUMMARY: NSYNC/X-Men.  People want to kill NSYNC for doing a benefit
for mutant rights.  NSYNC finds help.

ARCHIVE:  Please.  As often as possible and wherever you like.


The Backup Singers, by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)


The threat arrived on plain white paper, neatly typed, with nothing
to mark it as extraordinary in any way, but that didn't mean they
took it any less seriously.

Unless NSYNC declined to perform at the upcoming benefit for mutant
rights, they would die.

That was all it said.  It was unsigned and, after so many hands had
been over it, fairly untraceable.  The envelope it had come in had
been lost, and there was nothing to show the police, if it was
something they even wanted to take to the police at this point.

"So," Chris said, turning the note over in his hands, "what are we
going to do about this?"

JC looked at him like he was crazy.  "Perform, of course.  This is
important.  It's.  We can't let someone making anonymous threats
stop us.  It's right.  The benefit."

Chris sighed.  Lance intervened.  "I think what Chris means is,
what are we going to do other than that?"  He turned to Johnny. 
"Have threats been made against anyone other than us?"

Johnny shrugged.  "No one's talking, but at least three of the
other acts have pulled out.  This is something we have to take
seriously, guys."

"Seriously?" Justin asked.  "It's just your average death threat. 
You didn't even call the cops.  We get how many of these each time
we do a tour?"

Johnny shrugged again.  "About five on average.  But, listen, this
isn't your average issue here.  It's a mutant rights benefit.  A
lot of people have strong anti-mutant feelings.  A lot of your fans
even.  I'm not just talking the Friends of Humanity."

"Terrorist bastards."

He gave Chris a reproving look.  "If you do this concert, you're
going to lose some of your fanbase.  I know we've talked about this
before, but it matters--"

"And maybe we lose some of our fanbase," JC said, "but maybe we
make others think about what they're doing, hating people because
of how they're born."

"Some of those people," Chris said drily, "can level your house by
looking at it."

"And some of them are just like you and me, only they look
different."

"You already look different.  Grown men do not wear 'Hello, Kitty'
t-shirts."

JC ignored him.  "Maybe we lose some people, but it's important
that we take a stand.  If we can't do what's right, how are they
supposed to?  We can't let being afraid stand in our way.  Fear is
exactly what this is all about.  Fear of the different and the
unusual.  We have to do this concert.  It's our responsibility as
artists, as celebrities.  We need to do this to demonstrate to
others what it means to be men and be strong."

Chris jumped to his feet, applauding.  "Bravo!  Bravo!  You sold
me.  No, no," he said, when it looked like JC was going to say
something, "say no more.  One more word would spoil it.  Johnny, we
absolutely must do this concert.  It's our duty.  Our lives, our
fortunes, our sacred honor is at stake."

Lance pulled Chris back onto the couch.  "Sit down.  No one ever
suggested we not do the concert.  I meant, what do we want to do in
the way of extra security?  This could be considerably more serious
than the kind of thing Sexual Chocolate normally handles.  Even
more serious than something the police normally handle."

"Well," Joey said.  "I know this guy who knows a guy..."

****

As the day of the concert approached, the threats grew more
numerous and more worrisome.  It was clear that there was a very
real danger, and the police had indeed been notified.  Not that
they'd promised much help.

"Sorry," one of them had said shrugging.  "But until they actually
do something, they haven't broken the law.  And it's not like you
have a lot to go on here."

Johnny didn't tell the guys about that.  Or about the one who'd
said that there wasn't much to choose from between mutants and
'faggot boybanders'.  They'd all heard that kind of stuff often
enough already.  Instead, he contacted Joey's friend, who gave him
a name.  A semi-secret mutant team who dealt with mutant problems. 
Who'd stopped Magneto from taking over the world a few times and
done undercover work with the Friends of Humanity.  Who were
privately funded and not for hire, but were amenable to working for
a good cause.

He didn't tell the guys about that part; Lance didn't trust anyone
who couldn't be bought and JC didn't trust anyone who could. 
Handling the guys made for a very interesting time on occasion.

But these X-Men were willing to help, and his sources told him they
could be trusted, and that was really what mattered in the end,
especially given that the latest threat had been accompanied by a
sheaf of photos that could only have been shot from the inside of
his house.  Someone had already breached his security, and Johnny
didn't know whether to be wary of an invisible mutant or someone on
his grounds staff.  Some of the photos had been mutilated.  It was
clear to him, at least, what the person sending them intended, and
he didn't want his guys getting hurt.  Now or ever.

****

"This is a really bad idea," Chris said, sitting with the rest of
NSYNC and Scott Summers, the leader of this 'X-Men' operation. 
"There's no way anyone could ever pass for us.  Our fans know us
too well.  And this is televised.  It'll be up close and personal. 
Not from a distance or anything.  Plus, we're performing that
night.  There's just no way anyone, no matter who they are, can
pull off pretending to be us under those circumstances.  Just no
way."

Scott might have given him an impassive look -- it was impossible
to tell through the visor.  It was the same look he'd given him
when Chris had made fun of his codename, 'Cyclops'.  Chris didn't
seem any more impressed now than he had then.  "We have a device
called an image inducer which should take care of that.  Rest
assured, we can duplicate all of your appearances perfectly.  My
team can go to the benefit as NSYNC and the person or persons who
are threatening you will never know the difference between you and
us.  It will work."

"Yeah, but it's more than just looking like us.  The way we act. 
The way we *sing*.  You *do* know we're a singing group, right?"

The first of the X-Men returned to the room, coming from the hands
of two hastily summoned wardrobe and make-up people who'd been
sworn to secrecy.  Bobby, a lanky brunette who'd been introduced as
Iceman, adjusted one of Justin's bandannas on his head and struck
a pose.  "Hey, I'm the big star now.  You all will have to worship
and respect me."

Logan, aka Wolverine, a short stocky dark-haired man followed him,
arms crossed and a surly expression on his face.  He'd given in on
the beads and the Fu shirt, but he'd nearly taken Wardrobe's head
off when she'd suggested the cigar was just a smidgeon out of
character if he wanted to be Chris.  "You just keep tellin'
yourself that, Popsicle."

"I am, I am!  Aren't I, Gambit?"

"Aren't you what, mon ami?"  Gambit asked.  The tall Cajun was very
nearly JC's physical double, even without an image inducer,
although his hair was red rather than brown.  He was running his
fingers through the new haircut Makeup had insisted on, even though
he'd tried to explain the image inducer would take care of it. 
Makeup had been too enthralled by his hair to respond to any charm
he could exert to keep her away from it.

"I'm the star!  Me me me me me me me!"

Warren, a blonde man in a business suit who was incongruously known
as Angel, strolled in, followed by Hank.  "What's Bobby going on
about now?  Can we just get down to business already?"

Lance looked at them and at Chris.  "I don't know.  They sound
pretty good to me."

"Indubitably."

The others might sound good, but that word coming from a seven-foot
tall furry blue creature wearing a Superman T-shirt was just wrong. 
Hank's codename had made immediate sense to everyone except Justin;
'Beast' being an appropriate appellation for a seven-foot
blue-furred creature.  Justin had immediately shouted out 'Cookie
Monster' and been sat on by Joey.

"Okay," Chris said grudgingly.  "Maybe you'll do.  But him," he
poked a thumb in Hank's direction, "he should just keep his mouth
shut."

Bobby laughed.  "Fat chance of that ever happening."

Hank aimed a swat at Bobby, who dodged, and Joey laughed.  "Yeah,
they'll do all right."

****

"The hard part," Lance said, "is the dancing.  Don't worry about
the singing.  You can lip sync it."  He didn't like saying those
words, but it had to be him who said them, because JC was
practically curled up in pain at the whole notion of *not*
performing at one of their concerts.  Lance was the only one they
trusted to be able to handle the discussion rationally, because it
was hard for all of them to let a bunch of rank amateurs go up
there and pretend that they were NSYNC.  They'd worked damn hard
for that name and for their reputation.  "We don't, of course,"
Lance continued, smiling smugly, "but other people do, no names
being named."

"Britney," Justin coughed into his hands.

"So it's not like everyone doesn't know how it's done.  If anyone
catches on, we'll just say that there was a sound problem with the
mikes that we couldn't get fixed in time and that we'd rather give
the fans a great recorded performance than a mediocre live one."

There were some raised eyebrows from the X-Men.  Gambit was the one
who spoke what they were thinking.  "Methinks the gentleman doth
protest too much."

"What, you think we can't sing?"  Lance laughed a little and looked
at his group mates.  "Chorus of 'Promise', two bars?"

"Three?"

He nodded.  Justin hummed a pitch.  They sang.

"Any questions?" Lance asked even more smugly when they were done. 
They were the best they were at what they did, and what they did
was extremely nice.  The X-Men didn't have any questions.  "Any
smart remarks?  Didn't think so.  Anyway.  The hard part isn't the
singing, it's the dancing, the routines.  Can you people even
dance?"

There was a moment of conferring among the X-Men, then some short
demonstrations.  It turned out that Gambit danced almost as well as
JC, if not in JC's particular manner, and was certainly the best of
the bunch.  Hank and Warren knew ballroom and not much more.  Logan
knew ballroom and country.  Bobby, on the other hand, insisted on
"working my moves", as he put it.

The X-Men watched Bobby flailing about, thrusting his hands up and
doing some weird foot stomping before Logan spoke for them all. 
"That ain't dancin'."

"Hey!" Bobby protested.  "Watch it.  I'm a pop star now.  You can't
talk to your lord and master that way."

"I'm not that egotistical," Justin said, sotto voce to Chris.

"No, you're not," Chris agreed.  "You're worse."

Justin leapt on him, but the X-Men were ignoring them.

"He has a point, my hyperactive friend," Hank said, agreeing with
Bobby.  "It more closely resembles the movements of someone
experiencing seizures than actual dancing..."

There was a cough from the NSYNC contingent, then snickers which
turned into open laughter.  Joey was cracking up.  Justin stopped
pummeling Chris to laugh hysterically.  "Oh, man, you've *got* to
show them one of our concerts.  C'mon."

Thirty minutes later, having been exposed to footage from the Pop
Odyssey tour, Logan sat back and announced definitively, "I still
say, that ain't dancin'."

Warren jabbed Bobby in the ribs.  "But it *is* what Bobby was
doing."

Justin snickered.

"Which leads me to believe something's up.  Spill, Bobster."

Bobby held up his hands defensively.  "Okay, okay.  Jubilee gave me
a few pointers.  Maybe a lot of pointers.  She also made me promise
to get autographs.  And smuggle her in my luggage.  But the
airholes weren't big enough."

"Cheater," Warren said.

"Still ain't dancin'," Logan said.

"I'm afraid I must concur with my hirsute colleague.  That
exhibition does not resemble any form of dancing of which I am
aware."

Gambit was kneeling on the floor, staring intently at the paused
video from up close.  He jabbed a finger at the still image of the
crowd.  "But it appeals to the femmes, non?"

"Why can't he be me?" Joey complained to JC.  "I'm like that. 
You're the smart one, not me."

"I think you're smart," JC said, and curled against Joey's side.

****

Dance practice was deemed to be the single most important item in
getting the X-Men ready to play NSYNC at the awards benefit.  Wade
had been staying with Johnny already, working up a new set of moves
for the show.  It'd just be a different set of guys learning them.

"And this," Joey said with a flourish, sweeping open the door to
the windowless practice room, "is hell.  Welcome to it, and I'm
glad it's you and not me."

"I'm not," JC said.

"That's because you're nuts," Joey informed him solemnly.  "That,"
he said, pointing at Wade, who was stretching by the mirrors that
covered one wall, "is Satan himself."

Logan snarled, and flashed across the room to pin Wade against the
wall, claws snicking out to press against Wade's throat.

"Um, hello?  I was kidding about the Satan thing?  He's our
choreographer.  Yes, he's evil, and he deserves to die, and I have
to congratulate you for figuring that out on such short
acquaintance, but most people wait a couple of hours before
threatening to kill him.  Plus, y'know, lawsuits."

Logan didn't take his gaze off Wade.  "He ain't a choreographer,
bub.  You can fool the eye, but you can't fool the nose.  C'mon,
Wade.  Show the nice people who you really are."

"But I hate performing under pressure.  It gives me a rash."

"You're gonna have worse problems than a rash in a minute, bub."

"Pushy, pushy.  I think you don't love me anymore, Wolvie."

"Never did.  *Now*, Wade."

"Oh, all right.  Spoilsport."  Wade reached down and fumbled with
his belt.  A second later, their choreographer was gone, and the
form dangling at the end of Logan's claws was wearing red and black
spandex, with a truly impressive arsenal of weaponry slung around
his shoulders.

"Deadpool!" Bobby said.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

Joey raised his eyebrows.  "He's as crazy as Wade if he was going
to dance in that get-up."

"Wade is crazy," Logan said.

"Uh, duh?  I know that.  Been working with the guy for a while now. 
He's a maniac.  Not the red pajama suit machine gun-toting kind of
maniac, but still a maniac."

"Um," Bobby said, "I think he means Deadpool.  Wade Wilson."

"Oh."

JC looked interested.  "Do you think they're related?"

****

There was some confusion over what to do with Deadpool.  Scott took
charge of him and ushered him off into a side-room.  It had been
explained to NSYNC that Deadpool was a mercenary and that his
presence here and his discovery might mean that the threat was
over.  Or it might not, since Deadpool was indeed a mercenary and
thus very certainly working *for* someone.

In lieu of dance practice, the X-Men and NSYNC split into pairs to
get better knowledge of how each of their counterparts acted.  It
might be useful, it might be worthless.  It was impossible to say
yet.

It went pretty much as anyone with a gram of sense could have
predicted if they'd bothered to think about it for more than five
seconds.  Unfortunately, Scott was already occupied, and while
Johnny was nominally a voice of responsibility, he was also the
kind of thinker who equated having sold ten million albums with
NSYNC's having ten million fans, as though no one would buy both
"No Strings Attached" and "Celebrity", or ever buy them twice, much
less buy them for the purposes of skeet shooting.

Justin came running in to the room Lance was occupying with his
counterpart, Angel.  "Lance, do something, or I swear I'm gonna
kill him."

Lance looked up from the computer screen he and Warren had been
bent over.  The coffee prices in Uruguay were particularly
intriguing this time of year.  "What?  Where's Chris?  Why aren't
you bothering him instead?  Justin, this is important..."

"I don't know where Chris is.  *Laaaance*."

"What'd Bobby do now?" Warren asked in a long-suffering voice. 
"Ice down your pants?  Ice your food?  Make a ten-foot high ice
sculpture of you in the nude?"

"I didn't do it, nobody saw me do it, you can't prove anything,"
Bobby said, popping into the room.  "Besides, it was funny."

"You always think it's funny," Warren said.

"That's because it *is* always funny," Bobby said reasonably. 
"Every time.  Besides, there's nothing else to do.  Wolverine snuck
out for a beer and you don't want to know what Remy's up to."

As Logan's attraction for beer was as inevitable, or more
inevitable, than the rising of the sun, Warren didn't bother
commenting on it.  "What's Gambit doing now?"

"JC."

Lance choked.  Justin shouted, "I knew it!  That narcissistic
bastard!"

"Which one?" Bobby inquired curiously.

"Never mind which one," Warren said.  "Go bother Hank.  He's used
to putting up with you."

"I can't find him."

Warren looked at Lance.  "Oh.  Um... If he's still with Joey, check
the movie room.  Joey can't resist getting a new victim to watch
'Superman' with him."

Justin shuddered.  "Anything but that.  I still have nightmares
about Richard Pryor."

Bobby looked at Justin speculatively.  "Richard Pryor?  Y'know,
I've got all his TV appearances on tape somewhere.  There's this
one where..."

Justin ran.

Warren clicked his tongue reprovingly.  "That was just mean.  You
do not."

Bobby cackled.  "He doesn't know that."

He left, presumably to chase Justin down.

Lance looked at Warren.  "I'd say something here, but y'know, I
think Justin deserves him."

"I feel sorry for you."

"I feel sorry for Bobby if Justin decides to stop running and start
retaliating."

"Don't.  It's about time he got a taste of his own medicine."

"Speaking of medicine, what do you think of Pfizer's last quarterly
earnings report?"

****

Joey had been uncomfortable at first at the notion of spending time
alone with Hank.  Not because he was seven feet tall and furry. 
No.  Joey'd worked with weirder, and dressed up as weirder.  Even
if it wasn't a mask, and Joey knew that it wasn't, Hank still
wasn't that strange.  Or rather, it wasn't the strangeness that was
bothering him.

It was how smart Hank was.

He didn't normally think of himself as stupid.  Joey knew he wasn't
necessarily the sharpest guy on the block, but ordinarily, it
didn't bug him.  He had his own strengths, and so what if being
really really intellectual wasn't one of them?  Nobody he knew
cared about that.  He understood people, and in the long run, that
mattered a whole heck of a lot more.

Except sometimes he came up against his academic shortcomings, and
this was one of those times.  After they'd been paired off, he'd
spent five minutes just glancing between Hank and the floor trying
to figure out what to say to him that didn't sound completely
retarded.  He couldn't think of anything to say to someone who
probably studied nuclear physics for fun.

For lack of any other common ground, Joey had fallen back on one of
his staples and taken Hank to Johnny's movie room.  "'Superman'?"
Joey offered, holding up the case for the video.

"If it is all the same to you, my dear fellow, I would just as soon
pass on that intriguing treat.  It loses some of its appeal as
entertainment when you must pursue the same occupation in mundane
life."

"Ah."  Joey scratched his head.  He kinda got that.  He looked
through the movie selection and picked up 'Showgirls'.  "Half-naked
chicks?" he offered.

"Excellent," Hank replied.  "A most felicitous suggestion."

Joey popped the movie in.  Lance would have hit him for even
suggesting they watch 'Showgirls'.  Hank was kinda cool, even with
the huge vocabulary.  "Want something to eat?  We got..." he opened
the cabinet that hid the movie snacks.  "Popcorn, Twinkies, chips,
soda pop, M&Ms..."

"Some of everything, perhaps?"

He grinned and started grabbing.  That was something else. 
Everyone was nearly always on some freaky diet.  Justin with his
macrobiotics, Lance with his no carbs, fruit only thing, JC with
his tofu shakes -- Chris was the only one who didn't start ragging
on him when he brought the junk food out.

Yeah, Hank was a really cool guy.

****

The interrogation of Deadpool lasted about three hours.  At the end
of it, Scott called the X-Men together, told them they were
leaving, and, well, left.  Not without some disappointment on
various people's parts, or throwing up on Chris' part, who'd tried
to match Logan drink for drink and, unfortunately, succeeded.

Of Deadpool, there was no sign.  He'd been somehow disposed of, and
none of the NSYNC group wanted to ask how.

The real Wade turned up the next day, appearing out of nowhere on
Johnny's front lawn.

"I was tied up," he said.  "There was this old blind lady and we
watched Richard Simmons.  It was horrible."

No one believed him.  About it being horrible, that was.  In their
collective opinion, minus Justin, there was no torture too horrible
to inflict upon Wade.  He'd already been made to watch 'Superman'
six times, which was still less than Lance's record of 14, but
considered to be a fairly good showing for someone who'd been with
them for so short a time.

Arrangements for the awards show kicked into high gear.  They were
going as themselves and that was good.  No one would have any
reason to think they didn't do their own music, because they'd be
singing for real.

The day of the benefit was sunny.  It was being held in New York. 
NSYNC entered just before Backstreet, which was a social faux pas
of the highest order.  They ended up forced to stand together at
one point to take pictures.

After the photos, when they had a second to themselves, Justin made
a face.  "Ew.  Kevin drooled on me."

"And this is different from normal how?" Lance asked
disinterestedly.

"He wants you, Jup," Chris said.

Justin smacked Chris on the back of the head then held his arm out
to Lance.  There was a large viscous blob on it.  "If he always
drools like this, he needs rabies shots, man."

"Ew."

"That's what I said."

"Y'know..." Chris got a speculative look on his face.

"What?"

"JC," Chris said, "go hit on AJ."

JC raised his eyebrows, but moved obediently enough after the
leopard print cowboy hat disappearing into the crowd.

"Dude, what'd you do that for?  You know AJ.  You know JC.  You
know what's going to happen."

"Maybe.  Wait and see."

JC came back very quickly.  "He, um..."

"What?"

"He called me a namby-pamby cocksucking fag."

Lance, Justin and Joey's heads swiveled toward JC.

"He did not."

"I'm gonna kill that fucker."

"*AJ*?" Lance asked incredulously, last of all, "He's one of the
biggest cocksuckers here.  I should know."

Justin halted in his path toward murdering AJ.  "He is not."

"Is so."

"Then what the hell is he on?"

"I don't think he's on anything," Chris said.  "I don't think
that's really AJ."

"Oh, shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

****

This wasn't anything they'd planned for, but if there was one thing
they were really good at over the years, it was the credo of 'the
show must go on'.  Improvising around goof-ups, mistakes and
miscues was a way of life for them.  Foul play was really only a
variation on a theme.

Lance had his cell phone in his pocket and Warren's number on speed
dial.  "For stock tips," he said defensively, when Chris looked at
him.

The X-Men were alerted that something was wrong and, unlike the
police, who Lance didn't even bother trying to call, they seemed to
take that seriously.  Of course, unlike the police, they were aware
of what image inducers could do.

It was only a question of whether they could get there in time, but
the show must go on, and NSYNC was onstage before they'd seen any
sign of rescue.

Onstage and dancing to new choreography for "Pop" and wondering
when and how the attack would come and just what the hell they were
supposed to do about it.

It came near the end of the song.  Justin noticed it first, 'Kevin'
stalking toward the stage.  Awards shows didn't have the same kind
of security a concert did, and Kevin wasn't a fan.  He'd have no
trouble getting through.

And he was big and scary and he looked like Kevin, but that was all
the drooling freak had in common with Kevin.  Justin was quite sure
he didn't want Kevin to reach the stage.

He saw motion past him, in the crowd.  Probably the rest of the
'Backstreet Boys' supporting him.

They were going to die on national television.  His head went down
and his hands went up and Justin didn't stop singing.  If he was
going out, he was going out good.  Not flat and not running away. 
Perfectly on key, in step and in time.  NSYNC for life.

Didn't seem to be much point to running away, anyway.  He'd tried
it with Bobby, back when the X-Men had been staying with Johnny. 
Bobby'd caught him easily with that 'ice slide' of his, and Justin
had no idea what these guys could do.  Probably more and better.

Kevin was on the steps, and what the hell?  Lonnie was trying to
stop him.

Justin had to turn his head, had to look away because it was part
of the choreography, and he prayed that Lonnie would still be
there, still be alive when he looked back.  He knew Sexual
Chocolate would give their lives for him and the group, but that
didn't mean he liked the idea or that he'd ever thought it might
come to that.

Stomp, turn, stomp, spin, and he was looking around again, and what
the hell?

Standing where Lonnie had been was a familiar red and black figure,
wielding two swords and 'Kevin' went down.  Screaming now.  The
audience had just seen a Backstreet Boy die, but screaming was par
for the course for a concert and the sound levels from the mikes
had been adjusted accordingly before the show ever started.  The
screams would have to get a lot louder to penetrate.  Until the
cameras changed angles, no one would notice, and he kept going,
kept dancing, because that was what he did, and he knew the guys
were following along behind him without even looking.

Thrust, stomp, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kevin get
up, shimmer, and turn into a large man with a mane of blonde hair. 
A figure more feline than human.  Oh, yeah.  That was a bad guy.

A bad guy, and if they stopped dancing right now, all the cameras,
all eyes would be on him, on that, and Justin understood.

Understood suddenly what it was all about, and it wasn't even
remotely about killing NSYNC.

Maybe about making someone think that they were going to be killed,
but really it was about the mutant rights benefit.  About showing
everyone here and now that mutants were dangerous and evil by
having them *attempt* to murder a major pop group onstage for the
cameras.  Success wasn't necessary.  What was necessary was that
the cameras get a good view of it.

They probably had.  They had that Deadpool guy slicing up Kevin
Richardson and Kevin Richardson turning into a beast, and... oh,
hell.  Four more Backstreet Boys converging on the stage.  This was
going to play well.  Real well.

He had no idea how they were going to get out of this.  If they
were going to get out of this.  If they were going to live, and if
the country was going to think less of mutants as result.

Justin had never thought of his death as a political statement, but
it sure looked like it was going to be one.

The Backstreet Boys mounted the stage, separate from the ersatz
Kevin who was still fighting Deadpool.  They spread out in front of
NSYNC, and as one, dropped their fake appearances.

The new four looked deadly and dangerous.  Mutants themselves, he
had no doubt of that.

*Keep dancing,* he willed the others, not stopping singing, not
pausing in his own movements.  *The show must go on.*

****

They were sitting in Johnny's movie room, all safe and sound,
watching the footage shot of the benefit concert from two days
earlier.  The X-Men and NSYNC were seated together, everyone
dressed informally.  Of Deadpool, there was no sign.  The mercenary
had taken his check from Johnny and left, but not before depositing
a gift-wrapped package of exercise tapes on Johnny's desk with a
note, 'To Wade, From Al'.

"I have to admit," Scott said, looking at the screen, "I have a lot
of respect for how you kept going.  That's the only reason you
pulled it off, you know.  If you hadn't, people might have
panicked.  Probably would have panicked.  But you kept going, and
so they believed it was just part of the show.  I admire that.  Not
many people could have done that, particularly knowing what they
faced."

"It was Justin mostly," Joey said.  "I didn't know what was going
on until after it was over."

"And inertia," Chris said.

"Habit," Lance added.  "I gotta admit though, I'm surprised people
bought the story that it was just a publicity stunt.  It's amazing
what people will believe."

"Well, with the Backstreet Boys backing us up and the X-Men here
hauling the bad guys off in their super secret spy plane, it's not
like there was anything else left that the press *could* say,"
Chris said.  "J *was* cool though with the not freaking out.  I'm
too conditioned after all these years.  If everyone else isn't
freaking out, I can't freak out either, 'cause then I'd be out of
sync."

"Where *is* Justin?" JC asked, looking around.  "I haven't seen him
since you got here."

"For that matter, where is Robert?" Hank added.

"They're probably killing each other," Warren said.  "Leave them
alone.  It's good for them."

"Amen," Lance said.

Logan grinned, popped the tab of his beer and didn't say anything.

****

Bobby wiped his mouth and looked up, smirking.  "Okay, so now what
do you think?"

"Yeah, that was good.  I'm not saying that was *bad* or anything. 
But it could be better."

"You wanna put your money where your mouth is?  Or your mouth where
your mouth is?"

Justin would.

-the end-