Pairing: Chris and Kevin
Words: crayon; conform; peer; broaden


Kevin disappeared on a Sunday, they figured out later.  No one
noticed at first; Kristin was in Los Angeles shooting a commercial,
and they didn't call each other every night.  It was three days
before anyone knew something was definitely wrong, and a little
longer than that before they were aware just *how* wrong.

Because people didn't disappear.  Not in their particular circle,
and not in this day and age.  There were records of everything and
people paid large amounts of money to make sure that they
*couldn't* disappear, and even if all of that weren't true, there
was the media and the fans to keep it from happening.

But it was true.  Sometime on Sunday, Kevin had left his house and
not returned, and no one knew where he was, or if he was all right.

MTV picked up the story about the same time the missing person
report was filed, and while it would seem that the whole world
knowing a famous person was missing would help in locating him, it
didn't.  Kevin was gone.  And he didn't come back.

****

Chris was out golfing.  He liked doing it; it was relaxing, and he
found that the majority of people he encountered on the course had
no idea who he was, nor would have cared if they did.  Lack of fame
wasn't necessarily something he wished for, but the occasional bit
of privacy was worth more than precious gems, even if it *was* hot
enough that a box of crayons would have melted.

He kinda wished he'd brought some along to try it.  It would have
been cool.

Definitely an improvement on his golf game.  He was really sucking
up the place today.

He hit another ball off into the trees, and winced.  Oh, yeah. 
Major suckage.  At least there was no one there with him to see it. 
Chris went after it.

There was a lump of shadow under one of the trees near the spot
where he thought he'd saw his ball go.  It resolved itself into the
ragged figure of what had to be a homeless man.  On the golf
course.  Chris felt helpless.  It was a situation he could
empathize with, all too well, but he never knew what to do about
those who weren't already trying to help themselves.  The ones who
were trying, those he knew how to help.  The ones who weren't, who
passed out under trees in places where doing so was only going to
get them admitted to a mental ward if they were lucky, and tossed
off the property violently if they weren't... those he didn't know
what to do with.

He approached cautiously.  "Hey, buddy..."

The guy looked up.  So he wasn't passed out, anyway.  He *was*,
though, dirty and unshaven, long hair falling lankly into a narrow,
sunken face.  Fairly young for... oh, hell.  No way was he seeing
who he thought he was seeing.  Chris knelt down and took a longer
look.  Fuck.  Kevin had gone missing like three states from there. 
What was he doing huddling under a tree on a golf course in
Orlando?

"Kevin?  Hey, don't panic or anything.  It's me, Chris. 
Kirkpatrick.  You all right?  You'be been missing a while.  People
are worried about you."

Chris kept babbling; wishing he'd dragged his bag closer to he
could grab his cell phone; there was no recognition whatsoever in
Kevin's eyes.  Nothing but a wary distrust of the person talking to
him.

****

"So anyway, it must have been the peer pressure, right?  Because,
y'know, that's why I got the mohawk.  Everyone's like, be hot, be
sexy, be a teen idol, and with that beauty pageant thing, it was
just too much.  Like having to conform, but to this whole other
image, to be this fucked up role model to people I don't even know
and I was, like, if I'm going to be a role model, I want to be a
role model for succeeding despite what you look like.  You know?"

He didn't.  Kevin -- and that was what the short, dark-haired guy
kept calling him, and it was as good a name as any -- didn't really
know much.

Didn't know who he was, where he was, or what he was doing there. 
Didn't know who the other man -- Chris, he thought the guy had said
-- was.  Didn't know what day it was.

He thought maybe Chris was harmless.  Less harmful than some of the
people he'd met, but not as helpful as some either.  Kevin had been
hitching rides and cadging food and shelter from people for as long
as his memory stretched -- days upon days, maybe a week, maybe two,
surely not a month -- and Chris was a safe kind of person.  He
thought.

Kevin was strong though.  And fast.  So he let Chris drive him
here, to this house, and feed him and talk to him.  He didn't know
what Chris wanted or when he was going to throw him out.  It didn't
matter.  There was no future; he had nowhere to go and nothing to
be.  It was all right to be talked at; he wasn't listening anyway
to anything other than the tone of the nervous, but somehow
reassuring voice.

"Really, it would do people good to broaden their horizons some --
let in a less conventional idea of what good-looking is.  I've been
trying to for a long time, really, if you think about it, with the
braids and the whacked out beard and the beads and the clothing
line, but no one ever seems to get it.  I mean, it's not like I
ever expected to be named People's Sexiest Man of the Year or
anything, but sex icon, here, hello?  Pop idol.  That's supposed to
mean something.  Maybe it doesn't count if your audience is 90%
female.  Still, expectations and all that.  Maybe I'm educating a
future generation of women to appreciate something other than
conventional male attractiveness.  Who knows?  Still it's a lot of
responsibility for one person.  It's a good thing I'm up to it
all."

The doorbell rang.  Kevin kept eating his sandwich, but turned his
head to keep an eye on the hallway in that direction.

"Be right back, man."

Chris jumped down from the kitchen counter and went in the
direction of the sound.  Kevin drank the milk.  A few minutes
later, Chris came back with two slightly built men of medium
height.  One was heavily tattooed and wearing a bandanna, the other
had long dark hair fastened back in a tie.  Kevin didn't know them. 
He didn't like the way they looked at him, hungrily, like they
wanted something from him.

"Hey, bro, it's good to see you."  The tattooed one reached out to
him, and Kevin pressed back against the counter, trying to avoid
the contact.  The tattooed man frowned.  "Kev?"

The other one looked at Chris, sadly.  "I guess you were right.  He
doesn't remember us."

The tattooed man backed off.  "Guess not.  Damnit.  How the fuck do
you forget almost fifteen years of your life?"

The long-haired man laid his hand on the tattooed guy's shoulder. 
"Calm down, AJ.  Getting mad won't help anything.  At least he's
back.  That's the important thing."

"Yeah.  Fuck."

"I know."  The long-haired one stuck out his hand.  "I'm Howie, by
the way.  It's good to meet you again, Kevin."

He looked at the hand, then, after a moment, shook it.  It seemed
like the right thing to do.  So, Howie and AJ.  Two more names, and
he didn't plan to remember them after he left this house.  Which
would probably be soon.  He'd eaten the sandwich.

Howie was talking to him.  "Kristin -- um, that's your wife, by way
-- is back at your place.  In Kentucky.  In case you showed up
there.  That's where Brian is, too.  Nick would have come, but he
couldn't leave L.A., and AJ and I have been here.  I'm glad.  Do
you have any idea what happened?  Did someone kidnap you?  Are you
okay?  God.  We've got to get Kristin here, or you there, and then
there's the police..."

"Um, Howie?" Chris said.  "I don't think he gets what you're
saying."

"Hey," AJ said, bristling.  "Back off, man.  We're here now; we'll
take care of it.  He's family."

"Yeah, but does he know that?"

They looked at him, and Kevin ducked his head.  He had to get out
of there.  Soon.  He was feeling pressured, and he didn't know why. 
They wanted something from him, and he didn't know what, because he
hadn't really gotten the words, but there was a tension in what the
Howie guy was saying that hadn't been in what Chris had said.

"I gotta go," he said abruptly.  "Thanks for the food," he said to
Chris, then got up.  AJ stood in his path, and he moved to detour
around him.  The other man got in front of him again.

"You aren't going anywhere, Kevin.  Not again.  Not when we just
got you back."

His jaw tightened.  He didn't know what they meant, 'just got him
back', but he understood being caged.  He wasn't going to let that
happen.  Kevin reached out and shoved the other man aside.

Chris got in his way.  Kevin put out his hands, just as Chris
raised his.  Kevin was confused.

"Hey, man," Chris said, "not trying to stop you here, but wait a
minute, okay?  Let me get you some money first, all right?  And
maybe you could listen for a second to what's going on before you
leave?"

He looked between Chris and the door.  The word 'money' was
convincing, but he didn't like the two new men, and he didn't like
the feeling that he was being forced to stay.

"We can talk outside, okay?"

"Chris," Howie hissed.  "There's probably press here by now."

Chris kept his eyes on Kevin.  "I don't think that's important,
Howie.  Not right now.  I think Kevin wants to leave, and I don't
think you should try to keep him here."

He relaxed a little more, but edged toward the door, away from AJ
and Howie.  He didn't like them.  He really didn't like them.

AJ grabbed Howie's arm and pulled him toward him.  "You do that,
Chris.  We'll catch up.  Since Kev doesn't seem to want us there."

"Okay," Chris said to AJ, then to Kevin, "let me get my wallet. 
Just a sec."

Kevin watched him walk over, grab his wallet, then Chris was back
by him, gesturing to the door.  "You can go first, if you want.  If
it makes you feel better."

It did.  He kept an eye on the other two men as he headed out the
door, and didn't relax until it was shut behind him.

Outside, Chris kept his distance.  "You know, they're trying to
help.  You used to live here.  We all know you, Kevin, even if you
don't know us, or if you don't want to know us.  I don't know what
your deal is right now.  If you're trying to run away, this isn't
the best place to run to or the right way to do it.  If you're
lost, then you should know, those guys in there care a lot about
you.  They've been scared, that's why they're acting like that. 
They want you back, that's all."

He shook his head.  Chris was talking, and he didn't care one way
or the other about that, except that those guys were inside, and he
wanted to get away before they came out.  His instincts were
screaming at him to leave, but he'd been promised money.  If the
door opened though, he was leaving, money or no money.

"Are you getting any of this?  'Cause I'm thinking, no.  And --
what the?"

Chris' voice rose all of a sudden as he stared at something behind
Kevin, and Kevin turned to see what was going on -- just as two
large men grabbed him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Chris asked.

Kevin struggled, and another set of arms grabbed him.

"Mr. McLean's orders, sir," someone said over his head.  Kevin
tried to kick and punch, but it was doing no good.  He was held
firmly, and after a minute, restraints were around his wrists and
he was kneeling on the ground, firm hands on his shoulders, holding
him down.

He looked up at Chris, feeling betrayed.  Why had the other man
called the police?  He wanted to say he hadn't done anything, but
he knew it wouldn't do any good.  He was nobody and nothing, and he
was in the wrong.

Howie and AJ came out the door.  Chris turned on them, "What the
fuck do you think you're doing?" Chris demanded.

AJ shrugged.  "He was going to leave, man.  And you were going to
let him.  Had to do something.  It's obvious that he doesn't know
what's going on."

"He needs help," Howie said.

"Yeah," Chris said, as Kevin was pulled to his feet and dragged
away.  "Real helpful.  You guys are great friends.  The best."

"Tough love, man," AJ said.  "He did it for me."

****

MTV covered the story of the miraculous return of the missing
Backstreet Boy.  Chris watched it on TV.  Kevin looked like one
miserable bastard in the footage, but then, to Chris, Kevin had
always looked like a miserable bastard.  He was reported to be
recovering from his ordeal in Kentucky with his family and friends. 
There was no mention of Chris having found him, or how or why it'd
all happened.

Chris hoped Kevin was okay.  He asked Johnny to get him Kevin's
number, then wadded it up and threw it away when he got it.  He
didn't know what he'd say anyway.  'Sorry, man, for not letting you
escape'?  'Sometimes, I've wished I could do the same thing'?

He bought a plane ticket to New York, and went to see Joey.  The
difference was, he had somewhere to run to.  Multiple someones, and
he'd feel better if they were all in the same room, breathing the
same air, and if he was sure JC and Justin were all right, and if
he could hold Lance down and noogie his head and be reassured that
the freaky Bass man was once again of this Earth, but Joey would
do.  Could be his anchor until Chris felt less like he'd abandoned
a drowning man.

But he left a key under the mat, and a hundred dollar bill.  Just
in case.  It was irrational because, gated community.  Security
alarms.  But still.  He'd failed Kevin once.  He didn't want to
fail him again.

Kevin never called.