Thanks go to Letzan for beta-ing on 4.5 hours sleep, Kelilah, Cecilia, Allen, and Aly for picking out the good bits from the dregs of my first draft.

When she fell in love with Chris, Brit refused to hide it. To lie about it. She flew from London to California, where the guys were on tour, and she spent twenty minutes huddled in a janitor's closet in the Compaq Center, talking to Justin.

"I don't understand," Justin said, wiping at his eyes. His face was a mess, patches of red and purple. Blotchy. "Tell me what to do," he said. "I'll do it. Anything, baby, please."

"Let me go."

"But--"

"Justin. I just. I can't do this anymore."

His jaw locked. "Fine," he said. "Fine. You think I give a fuck? I don't need you."

"I know," Britney said.

"You think Chris is gonna fuck you? Is that it?"

"No. I don't think Chris is gonna fuck me. I think he's gonna hate me. I think we're going to walk out of this stupid closet, and I'm going to get in a limo and go to the airport and fly back to Europe, and you're going to tell them we broke up, and Chris is never going to speak to me again, except when the camera demands it."

She opened the door, and walked out, past the bodyguards, past the Play Room. Chris looked up from the X-Box, his eyes sharp on her back as she left.

She never looked back.

* * *

"It's because of you," Justin said later. Chris watched him, watched the bottle in Justin's hand, and the whiskey that threatened to spill onto the bedcovers.

Lonnie could pay the cleaning staff off later.

"J--"

"No, I know. You didn't. Force her, or nothing. Cheat. It's not your fault, I'm not sayin'. Just. It's because of you."

He knew.

"I know," Chris said.

* * *

Britney pulled the door of her hotel room open. She hadn't expected Chris -- she hadn't expected anyone. Maybe a bouquet of flowers from Justin, depending on his mood. If he had passed from Bye Bye Bye to I Want You Back.

"Why?" Chris asked.

Britney snorted. Chris stuck a foot in the doorway. She tried closing the door anyway, so he grabbed her wrist.

"Why?"

"If you flew all the way out here to play National Enquirer, I'm highly disappointed."

"He said it was because of me."

"He did."

"Britney."

"Christopher."

Chris squeezed her wrist. Britney twisted her arm around, pulling it free.

"Baby, One More Time was fictional, Chris."

Chris smiled, his eyes dark, sparkling. Trying to rile her. "That's not what Justin said," he told her.

He had always caught more flies with vinegar, anyway.

"That's why, exactly," Britney said.

"Because he talked about you? Brit, the boy was in love."

"The *boy* was. Nevermind. I can't do this, Chris. I can't possibly make you understand. He'll always be first, and I'll always be a fool."

Chris brushed her cheek with his thumb. "I didn't say that," he said.

"You don't have to."

"I meant the stupid part."

Britney smiled, tired. "I know what you meant. It doesn't change anything."

"No," Chris said. He pulled his foot away. "I wish it did," he said, and he even mostly meant it.

Britney closed the door and pretended she couldn't hear his footsteps, muffled by the carpeting outside her room.

* * *

"You gonna fuck her?" Justin asked. He was sprawled on the couch in the Quiet Room, his head in Chris' lap.

"Jealous?" Chris asked.

Justin laughed. "Over her, or you?"

"Either. Both." Chris rubbed a hand over Justin's stubble. It was coarser than Brit's cheek. Rougher. Justin could sting Chris by touching him; Britney had to rely on words.

"I dunno," Justin said. "Maybe."

"Then I won't," Chris said.

* * *

Britney was willing to wait.

She knew it would take time. Months. Years. Maybe never.

As long as Justin cared.

Chris was worth it, because he was Chris. Because he never complimented her unless she deserved it, and always told her when she didn't. Because he laughed in her face, sharp and bitter, a laugh she had learned from him. Because he called her outfits sluttish when they were, and railed at her training, and when she sang live, he told her after the applause died down that she was flat.

Because she loved him.

* * *

"You can," Justin said. "If you want."

Chris raised an eyebrow. If it were okay, Justin wouldn't have to tell him.

"I don't care," Justin said.

Chris nodded. "I'll keep it in mind."

"No, really, I mean. I know you don't love *her*, that it was all on her side, but you know. It's Brit, she's a. Quite a girl. And she's not my girl anymore, so she might as well be yours."

"I don't need a girl," Chris said.

"Kay," Justin said. "Just, you know. If it was me."

"If it were you," Chris said, "we wouldn't be talking about it." He made his second free throw, distracting Justin. When it was alright, he'd know without being told. And until then, he wasn't doing anything. Whether he loved her, or wanted to fuck her, or was looking to find out, it didn't matter.

Justin came first.

* * *

When Lance was in Russia and JC in LA and Joey in Brooklyn and Justin on tour, Chris showed up in Brit's hotel room again.

"Hey," he said.

Britney looked at him, silent, long enough to make him fidget.

"Can I?" he asked.

She moved aside, letting him in.

As if he hadn't been there already. As if she were in charge.

"Hey," she said.