Nine.

Chris was pretty sure he was actually dying. This wasn't him exaggerating, as people claimed he often did, and it wasn't just in his head. He was pretty sure he was actually dying.

They had been on the road with Game On! for three weeks, and had three more left. He'd had a cold since they set out, and it hadn't gone away yet; in fact, it had gotten far worse. He couldn't sleep because his nose was too stuffed up, and every time he got comfortable he'd start coughing and wake himself up again. And he could barely sing—it came out nasal as it was. Keeping him awake for shows was mostly a matter of over the counter drugs (luckily, Sudafed had uppers) and gallons of herbal tea.

He was carrying tissues with him on stage, and didn't want to think about what CJ had taken to referring to as "snot dripping." Because he couldn't really stop in the middle of a dance to blow his nose.

It was disgusting.

But the tour was nearly sold out, so it wasn't like he had a choice, either.

He also was having trouble keeping down solids; he was throwing up more often than Richard had at the height of his anxiety problems. He subsisted mostly on tea, chicken soup (but only the broth—the chicken was too much) and toast. Which didn't give him a lot of energy to bounce around on stage. But again, Sudafed had speed, and he was an actor, and a performer.

Still, though. What he wouldn't have given for a day off. But Weisel was very clear on that: no days off, no canceled shows unless he was in the hospital. The only days they weren't on stage they were traveling, and he spent those days asleep on the bus, but it wasn't good sleep, due to the amount of jostling around from being on the road.

Chris was kind of hoping he'd end up in the hospital.

At least the other guys were being nice about it, he mused, as he lay in the dark, wishing he was asleep. They babied him and made fun of him, but even CJ had stopped bouncing around when he was in the room trying to sleep. (He suspected that Richard's mom must have threatened him with bodily harm, and for a change he was thankful.)

"Chris—hey, Chris? You awake?"

"No," Chris answered, as the door to his hotel room was pushed open. He groaned.

It was Alejandro, with a pill case and a cup of tea. "Sorry. I thought you might have drifted off. But if not, it's medicine time."

"Glee."

Alejandro chuckled and turned on the light. Chris winced, and Alejandro did too, but (Chris was upset to realize) it was from seeing him, not from the light. He sighed. "Do I look that bad?"

"You look like death on toast."

"Great."

"At least Weisel canceled the photographers."

"So no one will notice I'm a reanimated corpse."

"Exactly. Here." Alejandro set the handful of pills down on the bedside table and pressed the cup of tea into Chris's hand.

"What pills are those?"

Alejandro shrugged. "At this point, do you really care?"

"No." He took a drink of the tea. "Are any of them illegal?"

"Not so far as I know."

"Damn."

"Well…" Alejandro nodded towards them, and Chris sighed.

"Swallowing hurts my throat."

"So does breathing. They'll help."

"If you say so…" Chris groaned and reached for the pills. There were a whole variety of them; red and brown and yellow. He swallowed them one at a time, because he couldn't do it any more quickly, and leaned back against the wall of pillows that Alejandro and Richard had set up for him when he couldn't lie down.

"Um…" Alejandro cleared his throat. "Can I get you anything else?"

"A new nose?"

"I'll get right on that."

Chris groaned. "I feel awful. I think I'm losing weight."

Alejandro coughed politely. "Uh, no, really?"

"I was gonna weigh myself but I'm too tired. Do I look gaunt?"

"Um… You look tired. You've been sick for three weeks."

"I'm not gonna get better, am I?"

"What, ever? Don't be silly."

"Three weeks. I'm gonna die on this tour, Alex."

"At least then, you'd get some sleep."

"No kidding."

"I am kidding, Chris. We'll take care of you, okay?"

Chris sniffed. "You'd think they'd at least cancel the opening acts, when I can't move."

"You've been managing."

"I'm so tired, Alex." He didn't even sound whiny when he said it; he was too tired to whine. "And I ache everywhere. And I can't breath."

"I, uh." Alex paused. "I hope you don't mind. Rich and I called your mom. She's coming to visit."

"Mom?" Chris repeated.

"I hope that's okay…"

Chris nodded. "I want my mom," he mumbled. "Alex, I think I'm dying."

"You're not gonna die, okay?"

Chris nodded.

"So, uh… CJ and Nick and I went shopping."

"Yeah?"

"I found a t-shirt I almost bought for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It says 'jailbait'."

Chris laughed weakly. "Yeah, that's me. Why do you keep buying me girl's t-shirts?"

Alejandro shrugged. "I didn't actually get it… Next time I see one."

"They let you loose at the mall?"

"Well, with guards. I can't believe they made us bring security guards."

"We're famous."

"I'm not famous. You're famous."

Chris laughed again. "No one screamed when you walked by?"

"Someone asked me for your number."

"No, for real. You got fans, Alex."

Alejandro shrugged. "I guess."

"C'mon. Didn't anyone freak out when you walked by?"

"I figured it was for Nick."

"Alex, you're too modest."

Alejandro shrugged again.

"Come on, tell me. No one… Someone must have yelled for you."

"Well, I guess. There were a couple girls."

"Great!"

"Yeah, now if only I liked girls."

Chris laughed. "Come on, you gotta like it. When people love you. They don't even know you and they love you."

"I'd rather be loved by people I know."

"You are," Chris said. "I mean, you can have both, right? I mean… not me, 'cause I'm a diva."

"Chris, we love you."

"Then why won't Weisel cancel any of the shows?"

"'We' doesn't include smelly old fat men."

"Oh, harsh."

"True, though."

"Yeah. But you're the nice one."

"Yeah, I guess."

"I mean, you called my mom for me."

"Well, Richard—"

"Nuh uh, I'll bet it was your idea. Rich hates moms."

"Well… Okay, it was my idea, but… I was just worried about you. That's all."

"I do look like death on toast."

"I didn't mean that."

"Sure you did. 'Cause it's true. And you're honest."

"If I was honest, they wouldn't have been screaming girls."

"Yeah, but about the… the real things."

"That's not a real thing?"

"You know what I mean…" Chris took another drink of tea. "I'm tired."

"I'll let you sleep, then."

Chris shrugged. "If you wanna hang out for awhile… I'm sick of being alone all the time. Sleeping. I'm tired but I never get out of bed 'cept to go on stage…"

"And you pass out as soon as you're off." Alejandro shrugged. "I'll, uh, just sit down then, okay?" He hesitated, then pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat near Chris (though not near enough to inhale any of the germs, he hoped).

"Great. You wanna play cards or flip channels or something?"

"Whatever you want. You're the one who's sick."

Chris gave him a sickly smile. "Thanks, Alex."

Anya Ivanovitch was like a breath of fresh air, compared to Richard's mother. She laughed easily and was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and though her hair was starting to turn gray, it was hard to tell—it was already such a pale blond it was nearly white. She dropped her bag in the common room of the hotel suite they'd rented, smiled at the gathered boys, and declared, "Hello, nice to meet you, I hear my son is dying?"

"Rumors of his death are greatly exaggerated," Richard answered.

"Rich, good to see you again."

"Hey, Mrs. Ivanovitch. Uh… Have you met…"

"I've read all your profiles in Teen Beat," she answered. "Where's Chris?"

"Second room down the hall."

"Thanks. I'll get to know you boys later, I hope, but, well…"

They all kind of nodded, and Anya let herself out and down the hall.

Alejandro gave Richard a confused look. "Ivanovitch?" he repeated.

"Yep."

"Huh. I didn't know that."

"Get this—Chris's real name? Kristoff."

"I did not know that either." He paused. "That's the kind of thing you'd think I'd know."

"Yeah, fanboy," CJ said, jumping in. "I thought you knew everything."

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"Chris doesn't really publicize that he's," he finger quoted the word, "ethnic."

"You know, 'cause fans might have trouble saying his name," Nick added. "Or identifying with him."

"Remind me again why I agreed to do this?" Alejandro sighed.

"'Cause you wanted to be close to Chriiiiiiis—"

"Swifty. Shut up."

"I thought you guys agreed to only call me Swifty in interviews," CJ sulked.

"Then stop being annoying," Alejandro snapped back.

"Meow," Nick said.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "'Meow,"?" he quoted. "How is it possible that no one has noticed you're gay?"

"I'm a great actor," Nick answered, winking.

"You must be," Richard mumbled, then, "Come on, it's not nice to make fun of anyone's first puppy love experience. Be nice."

"Richard, please stop helping," Alejandro said.

"I just meant, it's cute that you like Chris, because, it's just adorable."

Alejandro stared at him.

"I mean, it's sweet."

Stare.

"In a good way."

Stare.

"I'll stop helping."

"Thank you."

"But," Nick noted, "you didn't deny—"

"Please stop," Alejandro sighed. "Please, okay?"

"Okay. None of us are going to tell him, Alejandro," Nick continued. "And he's way too oblivious to notice, so…"

"Yeah," Alejandro said. "I noticed that."

"Oh, honey, I didn't mean—"

"Please stop talking."

"Okay."

Alejandro looked at CJ. "Don't you start—"

"Hey, no, I got it. I'm cool. When you start yelling at people, I get the message. Jeez."

"I didn't yell."

"For you, it was yelling."

"Then stop talking about it."

"I will."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Fine."

There was a pause. "I do hope Chris's door was shut," Nick commented. "Anyone want to order pizza?"

"Oh, pizza! On it!" CJ bounced over to the phone, and Alejandro let out a deep breath.

"You okay?" Richard asked him quietly. He nodded in response. "Okay…" Richard shrugged. "To tell the truth, you deserve better."

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"Fine. But we're always here if—"

"Richard, you're helping again."

"Sorry."

"Mom, I don't feel good."

"No kidding," she answered, placing a hand on his forehead. "You have a fever."

"I've had a fever for two weeks."

"I see."

"I haven't been able to eat real food in… I don't know. Days. I tried to eat a slice of pizza a few days ago."

"That probably wasn't very smart."

"That's what Alex said. Then I puked."

"Lovely." She sighed. "Kristoff, what am I going to do with you?"

"Ground me so I can't go on stage? Please?"

"Wow, you don't want to go on stage, you must be dying."

"Mom, I'm serious. I'm so sick."

"I know, sweetie." She smiled over at him. "I'll talk to your manager."

"Thanks, Mom."

"So tell me, are you having fun?"

"Not lately."

"In general, Kristoff."

"I, uh… Yeah. I mean, it's great. The other guys are… Well, you know, guys."

"Do you get along with them?"

"Sometimes," he answered elusively. "They're nicer when I'm dying."

"So are you, to be fair," she shot back.

"Yeah, I guess. Mo-om."

"Don't whine at me, it doesn't work."

He pouted. "Fine. I won't ask for any more—"

A voice cut in at the door. "Tea?"

"Alejandro reads my mind sometimes," Chris said, and his mother tuned around to see Alejandro standing in the doorframe.

"Sorry for interrupting, but he's been guzzling that stuff about every hour on the hour, so…"

"Could you, Alex?"

"No problem, water's already heating."

Mrs. Ivanovitch glanced over at Chris, and then at Alejandro. "Well, I see my little boy's been taken care of," she said. "I didn't get to meet you properly before. Bumlets, they call you?"

"Only when they have to. It's, uh, Alejandro, mostly."

"Alejandro, good to meet you."

"You too, uh, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am, it makes me feel old," she chided. "What's the point of living vicariously through my famous son if you're just going to make me feel old?"

"Sorry."

"I'm kidding," she said. "That's more Virginia's thing."

"You know Ms. Alcott?"

She nodded. "We've met," she said, sounding vaguely disgusted.

"Uh," Chris said. "Yeah, Alejandro's been… Taking real good care of me."

"Except for when he let you try and eat pizza, it would seem."

"I did try to stop him," Alejandro said. "He's stubborn."

"Oh believe me, I know."'

"Mom, don't talk about—"

"He didn't like to wear clothes, when he was a toddler."

"Mom!"

"Or take baths."

"Mother!"

"For years, I was chasing him around with a diaper and a t-shirt. Years."

Alejandro laughed. "That's possibly the most adorable thing I've ever heard."

"Why don't we invite your mom over and have her tell stories about you?" Chris sulked.

"Because I was very well behaved."

"You would be."

Alejandro smiled, still half-laughing. "I'll go make your tea. Good to meet you, Mrs. Ivanovitch."

"And you too, Alejandro. Kristoff may be a stubborn pain in the rear sometimes, but I'm glad someone was looking out for him."

"Mooooooom."

Alejandro laughed and shut the door, leaving them to catch up with each other.

Mrs. Ivanovitch raised an eyebrow. "So he seems nice."

"Yeah…"

"No, that's all I was saying."

"Okay." Chris paused. "Why, what else were you implying?"

"Absolutely nothing, dear. So." She glanced at the box of tissues, the pill bottles, the empty mugs, and sighed. "This is what happens when I let my little boy tour without me."

"Mom, I'm old enough…"

"You're sure you don't want me here? Look at how close Virginia and Richard are."

"Richard hates her. We all kind of hate her."

She shrugged. "Well, she has all of your best interests in mind, I'm sure. Kristoff, sweetie, I just hate seeing you sick like this."

"I wouldn't be better if you were here."

"Please. Mothers always make these things better." She smiled.

"Well… I mean, I missed you. But Alejandro's been taking care of me…"

"Alejandro, I see." She nodded. "He seems like a good guy to have around."

"He's responsible. If that's what you mean."

"It wasn't, but that's all right. You're sick."

"Mom, what…?"

"Don't worry, dear. Do you want to sleep?"

"Yeah… kinda."

"Well, I'll send Alejandro in with tea, but tell him you're dozing off. In the meantime, why don't I go reacquaint myself with your manager?"

"Can I listen?"

"No, you're sleeping."

"Kick his ass, Mom."

"Don't swear, Kristoff." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'm here for three days. We'll catch up later."

He nodded. "'Night, Mom."

"Goodnight, dear."

She stood up and glanced down the hall at Alejandro, who was pouring water from a kettle into a mug. She walked over to him, and nodded. "Thank you," she said. "For dealing with him."

"He's my friend," Alejandro said. "And anyway, we need him, so…"

"Of course. Don't tell him that, though, it'll make his ego worse." She sighed. "You can see how raising him would be a challenge."

"I can imagine."

"He's going to rest for awhile—he appreciates the tea, though."

"It's no problem."

"If you'll excuse me, Alejandro, I have to yell at your manager."

"Can I listen?"

"Now, that's not very nice." She winked. "I'll try to make sure you can hear me through the door, though eavesdropping is a terrible habit."

He nodded. "Thanks."

"Well, you've been so nice to my boy." She nodded and strode purposefully down the hall, to the room Weisel had claimed as his office, knocked on the door, and let herself in. "Good evening."

"Mrs. Ivers, hi—"

"Ivanovitch, please, and don't you 'hi' me. My son—"

"He's recovering quite—"

"Poorly, I noticed, he's never sick for this long. I know, I'm his mother. That's why I was so surprised to hear you hadn't canceled any shows, since you clearly noticed how long it's taking him to get better."

"Well, we'd considered, but—"

"But it makes no sense at the early part of the tour, of course. You've got to make sure the fans have heard from other fans, so they know what to look forward to; it would be awful to cancel a show at the beginning, but now that we're halfway along, isn't it about time to think about it?"

"Well, I—"

"Will think about it, I'm so glad to hear that."

"Mrs. Ivers—"

"Ivanovitch."

"Whatever, the point is—"

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"The point is, we're not well enough established as a band to risk taking time off—"

"You'll ruin yourselves if your star passes out on stage. And just think of how the tabloids will react. I'd rather not read stories about my sixteen year old son's nonexistent drug habits."

"I—"

"Or anorexia; have you noticed how much weight he's lost? He's not a healthy boy."

"Yes, that's true, but the doctor said that all he really needs is rest, so—"

"So you'll cancel the next three shows so he can get it, lovely."

"So there's nothing I can do."

"That wasn't a request, Mister Weasel."

"That's Weisel."

"Whatever."

There was something that sounded like loud, raucous laugher from outside, followed by a round of shh!, and she smiled.

"The point, Mister Weasel, is that my son is very sick, and the doctor recommended he take time to recover; if he doesn't take such time, there will be talk within the industry about your management skills—not to mention discussion within the social workers' community about child labor laws. And I'm sure the Face Forward management would have some interesting words on the subject as well."

"You can not come in here and threaten—"

"When my sixteen year old son has been sick for three weeks, I can do whatever I damn well please. Now, are you going to cancel the next five shows, or should I start making phone calls?"

"Two."

"Three."

"Deal."

"Good." She nodded. "It was lovely getting to know you, I'll be here to take care of Kristoff for several days."

"Wonderful." He rolled his eyes.

She nodded curtly at him, and let herself out of the room—where someone immediately hugged her.

"You rock!"

"CJ, let her go."

"She rocks! Rich, why can't your mom be so cool?"

"CJ, she can't breathe."

"Oh." He let her go. "Sorry. That was awesome!"

She glanced at Alejandro. "I didn't realize I'd have an entourage waiting."

He shrugged. "I thought they might appreciate hearing it."

"Yes, well. I try not to be a stage mother, but I am still a mother. Is Kristoff sleeping?"

Alejandro nodded.

"Good, let's let him rest. So what do you boys do for fun, most nights?"

They exchanged looks. "Well," Richard said. "We sleep. We, uh, are kind of glad for the rest, too."

"Anything I can do, Rich. How's your mother?"

"Clinically insane."

"Glad to hear she's still doing well."

Nick closed the door to his room almost guiltily, locked it, and pulled out his cellphone. He had one missed call, and no message. He sighed. It wasn't surprising that there was no message, but still; it was nice to get a cheerful voicemail occasionally.

He hit the button to call back, and it rang twice before it was picked up.

"Nick?"

"Ryan? I called as soon as I could."

"I hear you guys are getting some time off, finally."

"Chris is dying. How're you? How's the recording going?"

"It was better before Tony tried to start writing lyrics. Pulitzer doesn't want to use them."

"No kidding."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really call to talk about Tony. Are you alone?"

"Sure am, baby."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too." Nick flopped down on his bed. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah." Ryan sighed from the other end of the line. "I want to see you."

"Same here, but we're touring."

"When you stop in New York, can we get together?"

"I'll see what I can do to sneak away."

"I can't wait. You're amazing."

"No, you're amazing."

"I think I'm falling for you."

"I know I'm falling for you."

"I have my pants down."

"Ooh, tell me more."