Don't worry about what's going on, okay? They're all just after a story that'll sell magazines. It'll blow over in a few days. Nothing to worry about, promise. -- Call me. J

Johanna sighed as she closed the email. Nothing to worry about. Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one who was getting calls from every relative asking why a grainy picture of him was in a tabloid. He wasn't the one who'd been told to take a couple days off because people at work were gossiping. Nothing to worry about, she mimicked in her mind as she stared at her home page. Finally mustering the courage, she typed something into the search box.

It took a while to find what she was looking for. She was about to give up and actually go down to the corner and buy the magazine when she found a discussion board dedicated to NSYNC. Her brow furrowed when she realized she had to register before she would be allowed to view posts. Several unladylike grumbles came from her lips as she came up with an alias. Almost as an afterthought she put her location as North Carolina.

"Finally," she muttered when a message popped up informing her she was registered.

What she was looking for happened to be the first topic on the board. The scanned images appeared on her screen slowly. Justin helping Andrew onto a swing, both grinning. Justin carrying Andrew to the blanket, where she was waiting. The angle of the photo showed only her profile. Not enough for casual acquaintances to recognize her, but clear enough for her family and close friends to know who it was. She stared at the picture, remembering the moment. They had all been laughing at Andrew's stunts on the monkey bars. She could still hear Justin's laugh…

With a sigh she scrolled down. What she saw brought forth a gasp. The carriage they had ridden in. The man was so obviously Justin - the magazine had even blown up the detail of his JRT necklace as proof - and he was leaning close to her. Her face wasn't showing, but she could see her own red hair. She recognized her green knit cap. Her favorite black coat. Staring, she could even see the long-stemmed rose he'd given her, lying in her lap.

The last image had been taken while they kissed. The photographer had apparently zoomed in; Justin's hand in her hair, their lips together. Her fingers on his neck. Snow flying.

Shaking, she tore her gaze from the monitor when she heard Apollo's inquiring meow from her feet. He nudged her leg with his head before jumping up to curl in her lap. Grateful for the distraction she nuzzled him as he settled down. Then, his purr ringing in her ears, she began to read the comments.

- Who is she??

- Ugh she's lucky. I wish Justin would kiss ME in the snow!!

- She's f*ckin ugly. He must have been drunk!

- ^ Idiot, Justin never drinks!!

- ^ He does. I saw him. He was plastered after their show in Denver.

- "Who is she??" … Nobody I've seen. Is that her kid? Justin looks like he's having fun.

- Justin, plz dump her. You can do so much better.

- Ick, she's too fat. It says they had a picnic I think she musta ate all the food.

- Shamu! Lips off my man!

- I thought he was dating Britney??

Angrily she closed the browser window and pushed herself from the computer before reading anymore. Ignoring Apollo's yelp as he rolled to the floor she reached for the phone. Fully prepared to dial Cassidy's cell number and pour out her fears and worries. But, staring at the phone, she set it down with a sigh. Cassidy probably already knew. Cassidy would probably burst into the apartment in an hour or so full of questions and admonitions and teasing comments.

How could she have been so stupid? She should have known that Justin would have at least one or two paparazzi following him. Despite his striving to blend in, he stuck out. He was easy to spot if someone knew his face. Which of course most people did. She should have known something would go wrong after such a magical night.

Nothing to worry about.

Sniffling she picked the phone up again. Dialing the number of the one person she knew wouldn't chide her for her behavior. The one person she was sure would listen to everything and then offer sound advice.

"…Momma?"

/*/

Justin kept the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he paced the living room of the hotel suite. The curtains were open and gave a magnificent view of Los Angeles at night but he barely noticed. He had been grateful when everyone else opted to go out to a club. Trace had hesitated when Justin said he wanted to stay in. He'd finally managed to talk his friend into going with everyone else. He'd wanted to be alone for the conversation he was about to have.

He would have it. If she ever picked up the phone. It was on its twentieth ring when he turned to pace back to the windows. Twenty-first when he snatched a cold soda from the mini fridge. Twenty-second when he took his first sip. "Fucking come on and answer--"

"Hello?"

Relief washed over him when he heard her voice. He actually jumped in surprise, because he'd been certain she would never answer. But then he felt anger at her making him wait. "What took you so damn long to answer the phone?"

"…Excuse me? I just walked in the damn door to find that my cat has puked all over the fucking carpet and the phone wouldn't stop ringing and you're copping an attitude?"

"You didn't tell me you were going out today," he grunted. Childishly, he realized when he heard her irritated sigh. About to apologize, he stopped at her next words.

"I wasn't aware that you tongue-raping my throat suddenly gave you complete access to everything I do. I'm so sorry. I should have called and asked your permission before taking in a late movie with Danny. Is it okay with you if I take off my coat?"

"Johanna…"

"No really, I want to know. Maybe you want me to roast in my apartment. Because the fucking thermostat is set on eighty. Eighty! No damn wonder the cat's been sick. I've only been in here five minutes and already I feel like puking."

"Johanna," he whispered. "I'm sorry I snapped. I just…"

"You're just a guy. And guys think that women should be at their beck and call no matter what. Fucking typical." He heard a sharp sniffle in her voice. Sinking onto the nearest couch he stared at the drink in his hands. "I've had the day from hell, Justin. Everyone who knows me has been showing me those pictures. Somebody has started spreading around that it is me and at an audition this afternoon the woman had the nerve to ask me if I thought fucking a singer would further my career. What career? Slinging drinks for clubbers? Because she sure as hell couldn't be talking about my acting career. One commercial in two years does not make it a career. It makes me a fucking laughingstock. On top of that I broke my nail in the subway this afternoon and it still fucking hurts. My apartment is like a fucking cyclone hit it and I haven't sat down since lunch so my feet are killing me. And you decide to give me attitude over not telling you I was going out today?"

He cut in quickly when she paused for breath. "Johanna, I'm so sorry. If I'd known some asshole was out there taking pictures I wouldn't have taken you to the park. I had no idea some paparazzi jerk was hiding behind a tree." He sighed. "Not that I'm ashamed of you or anything. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable. I've seen and heard of so many celebrities who want a normal relationship and it ends up being fucked because of the media. I don't want that to happen to us. I can't make the pictures disappear. I can't make people stop being bitchy to you. All I can do is say I'm sorry."

"Justin," she sighed. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It's just… I really wanted that part and she honestly thought I was… God I wanted to bitch slap her."

"You should have."

"Sure. Then I'll have a reputation as being volatile as well as fucking you. Fun."

"Did you tell her that we didn't…?" he let his question hang. Not quite sure how to phrase it.

"No I didn't. It's none of her business. I simply told her that my personal life is private and should have no bearing on what I want to do professionally."

"…And?"

"…I go back next week to test for the director," she admitted.

"What's it for?"

"A spot on a sitcom. One episode with a callback for future episodes if they decide to pursue the storyline."

"Be sure and tell me when it's taped. I want to be there," he murmured. He couldn't put a finger on exactly why he wanted to watch her perform. She had told him during their first long telephone conversation about her goal to be an actress. And he knew that she could do it. If only someone gave her a chance.

"…Did I thank you for the flowers?" she asked hesitantly.

Justin's lips slid into a wide grin. "Did you like them?" he returned. Hoping the florist he'd had Johnny call for him had chosen the right ones.

"They're beautiful. How did you know I love daffodils? And they smell so good… Just like the ones my Grandma used to have all over her yard."

"Used to?" he repeated. He shifted on the couch, sprawling his legs down its length as he made himself comfortable.

"She had to move into the nursing home after Papa died. Without him around there wasn't anyone to do all the little things that crop up, y'know? She did try to do what she could but the house was too big and… Well my uncles are selfish bastards who preferred looking after their own needs than the needs of the woman who gave birth to them and took care of them until the day they got married." Johanna heaved a miserable sigh. "She hates the nursing home. Not that it's one of those places that's one step from being a hospital. It's almost a retirement village. But she has to check in and out with the person at the desk every time she comes home or leaves. She's not allowed to drive her car because they don't allow cars within the gates… She's miserable and I hate that I'm not close enough to take her in and let her live with me."

"Where is she?" Justin asked. He knew that Johanna was from somewhere in the South by the soft twang in her voice, but he'd never gotten around to asking her just where.

"Back home. Kentucky," she supplied.

"You're a Wildcat?" he groaned in disbelief, actually slapping a hand over his face.

She laughed softly as water ran in the background. "You have something against Wildcats?"

"Nope, not at all. Especially considering the Vols kicked their ass last year." He beamed with pride.

"Only by seven points, don't go into the fight song or anything," she snorted. "Hang on a second."

He mumbled a reply as the phone clattered. Shifting so he could reach his soda he listened to her talk to Apollo. Chastising him for puking on the carpet instead of in the kitchen. The cat merely mewed in response. Justin chuckled. She was one of the few people he knew who actually talked to their pet. Chris talked to Busta every chance he could; it was only a matter of time before the dog started talking back.

"Okay, I'm here. Remind me never to let that damn cat eat fish again."

"…Sure."

"How's the promo tour going?" she asked suddenly. "Aren't you out west somewhere?"

"LA. From here we go to Phoenix. Then Denver. Then Seattle. Then… I forget."

"When do you get to go home again?"

Without thinking he had slid off the couch and was moving to his room. He left the door open as he padded to the bed. "Couple weeks. Then I have a few days off before I come to New York again for the MTV thing for the launch of the album."

"Then what?"

"Then… No clue. Hopefully I have a couple days off in New York." He stretched across the bed, gathering a pillow to tuck under his head as he stared at the ceiling.

"Why's that?"

There was no teasing in her voice. None of that too sultry I-know-you-want-to-hook-up tone that always made him cringe when he'd heard it from others. Just a simple, innocent question. He smiled at the ceiling. "I was thinking you and I could get together for dinner or something. Maybe you could come to the hotel and we could catch a movie on TV?"

"You don't have a closet full of photographers do you? Because the last thing I want is to see pictures of myself in your bed…"

Justin's mouth worked silently for a long moment. His throat suddenly dry and constricted when he pictured her in his bed. Unbidden images of porcelain skin and auburn waves danced through his mind and he had to shake his head to clear them away.

"Are you there?"

"Yeah," he squeaked. Then, clearing his throat he managed a deeper, "Yeah. I'm here."

"You okay?"

"Fine. Just…" He scrambled for an excuse. "My throat's kind of sore."

"Awe. Doesn't an international pop star have a bevy of women he can call to bring him chicken soup?"

"It's only helpful if it's homemade. The women I could call would just sling a can into the room," he snorted.

"You just haven't found the right woman, Jerry. When you do, I'm sure she'll risk breaking a fingernail to make you chicken soup," she teased. "But you probably should get some rest. Drink some warm tea with honey. No soda, that only irritates. And if it still hurts in the morning drink warm tea with lemon and honey and get some mentholated cough drops or some of that medicated throat spray."

"…Okay, Mom," he consented with a chuckle.

"Ugh. Sorry. Andrew always gets sore throats, so I know what I'm talking about. Just take care of yourself, okay?" There was a hint of amusement in her voice. "Can't have all the twelve year olds crying because their idol can't sing."

"That would be a tragedy," he decided.

"The world as we know it would be finished. Or, ohmigod, they would all start worshipping some other blonde international pop star!"

"Don't say that," he groaned. "They may get urges."

"You're so vain," she teased with a laugh. "But get some rest, okay? It's what, close to midnight there?"

"Yeah…" he trailed, not bothering to look at the clock. "I'll call you tomorrow?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because if you don't want me to call you tomorrow, this is where you put in some lame excuse."

"I don't have any lame excuses, Jerry."

He was grinning again. He realized that he tended to do that a lot when he talked to her. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"That's better. And get some tea before you go to sleep. It'll help your throat."

"Will do. Take care, Johanna."

"Good night, Justin," she murmured.

He ended the call and continued to stare at the ceiling, unable to wipe the goofy smile from his face. Was she truly concerned about his health? Was that why she'd launched into a list of things for him to do to ease his sore throat? A sore throat he didn't really have…

With a sigh he climbed off the bed. He rubbed his neck wearily as he shuffled back into the living room. He would sit up and find a movie or something to watch until the others got back. He knew sleep wouldn't come so early.

But first, he found Lance's box of soothing tea. He managed to boil water on the hotplate in the kitchenette without catching anything on fire. He added honey and sipped the tea without complaint before collapsing onto the couch. Just so he could tell Johanna he had. Because he knew she would ask.

And when Trace, JC and Dana came into the suite hours later, all laughing and full of energy from the club they found Justin fast asleep with the TV off.