AN: Cause I've never done a Brian story and ya'll asked for one... Enjoy. Silence is golden. Feedback is platinum. inspiredthoughts@hotmail.com *************************** Cheers: Chapter One ************************ He slid onto the barstool gingerly, casting a furtive look around the mellow and darkened atmosphere of the bar of the five star hotel they were staying at in New York. “What can I get for you Mr. Littrell?” asked the bartender, a pretty, petite woman with long dark hair pulled in a high ponytail and wide set hazel eyes. “Fan?” he demanded with the wary dismay of one long lived in the spotlight. She laughed, a soft, surprisingly low sound that resembled a purr before shaking her head with a ready grin that was disarming and distanced all at the same time. “Just of the Top Forty, which usually amounts to being one in the same with you guys. I’d like to think of it more like Cheers, where everyone just knows your name…” That startled a tired chuckle from Brian as he peered at her with intent blue eyes. “Did the screaming girls with my name painted on their foreheads give it away?” She shrugged, the motion fluid, and winked. “The ones I saw had it scrawled across their breasts. What’ll you have?” “Shit, I dunno. Are you even old enough to be serving this stuff?” One dark brow raised at the silent challenge in his query and she reached to her back pocket before retrieving the much worn wallet. It flipped open as she tossed it on the counter to reveal a driver’s license identifying her as a twenty three year old Maureen Stills. “Call me Maury.” He shoved the wallet back at her, properly chastised. “Call me Brian.” “What’ll you have then Brian, now that we’ve been properly introduced. I like to know people’s names before I get them smashed.” He studied her with casual regard before flashing even, white teeth. “Don’t care, surprise me.” Maureen laughed again. “Brave man.” “Or just a foolish one.” A glass appeared on the counter, with warm amber liquid inside. “Try it out, house special.” Brian Littrell grabbed the glass and studied it solemnly for a moment before again casting his penetrating stare to the young woman behind the bar. She stared back, unintimidated. “Bottoms up.” It burned going down. He stayed for a few more drinks and watched, silent, as she served others, chatting, flirting, amiable with all the customers, both regular and mere hotel guests. No one approached him and he was grateful for the brief reprieve. Even Maury left him alone, which surprised him but probably shouldn’t have. She seemed like someone who was born to be a bartender and listen to others talk, to understand others when they talked. There was something honest and open and reserved all at the same time about her. Like she loved to help people, offer advice, hugs, another beer on the house, whatever it took to make someone happier, but she was also self possessed enough that she didn’t need her acts of kindness and generosity in order to be herself, to love herself. She touched other people without being touched. He found that sad and reassuring in equal measure. ****************************************************************************** Maybe the fact that she was so distanced was what brought him back the second night, after the concert and a thousand guests appearances and hosting TRL and signing a million autographs for screaming fans. She smiled and slid him a drink, her house special, as he climbed onto a vacant stool. The bar was more crowded than it had been the night before but it was by no means full. “Welcome back soldier,” Maury said with an easy smile by ways of a greeting. “How’d the show go?” He shrugged stiffly at the question and wondered why he hadn’t gone out with the other guys to a club, or at least a more trendy bar. There were better places to drink, but then again, there were worse. But at least it was quiet. And Maury seemed content to accept his silence amiably because she only nodded at his curt shrug before grabbing a polishing rag and starting to work on the counter top. Brian watched the circular motion of the rag with hypnotic fascination as he slowly sipped his drink. It tasted different from the night before and yet, essentially the same. It wasn’t until halfway through his third drink that he began to talk. “You know, its not the fans that I mind so much, or the paparazzi, or the tabloids, or the rumors and web sites and hate sites and the thousand other things that could make being a celebrity a nightmare. It’s the role. “Its like being stuck in the Young and the Restless only my character never dies or changes. I just am, the “Angel”, “Brother Brian”, devout and holy and bigoted all at the same time. “We all had our parts to play, to become, but it wasn’t supposed to be permanent. First it was Lou, then it was the fans and now, now I sometimes wonder if its ourselves that keep the façade up. We’ve all grown and changed so much over the years but we still stick to our one dimensional roles. Are they a sort of safety net? Or is it just easier to pretend? “But then sometimes I wonder if we aren’t pretending anymore. If maybe we’ve worn the masks so long we’ve become the monsters and that shouldn’t frighten me as much as it does but it just feels wrong to be able to become something, someone, so different without warning or knowledge. “Maybe I really am like they see me, maybe there isn’t any more of ME left, maybe all that I am is all the public knows. Maybe everything else has been worn and eaten and rotted away and its not that I don’t want to be a good person like they think I am, I just want to be a good person because I’ve chosen to be, not because I’ve said I was for so long everyone, including myself, started to believe the lie.” The words, once they started, chased after each other, half frantic, until he finished in a rush and sat, empty glass in hand, staring at the still quiet Maury, afraid and eager for her response. The rag stopped its circular motion and she looked up from the counter, hazel eyes firmly meeting blue before asking one very simple question. “Do you love yourself?” Brian blinked, taken back, but answered without thinking. “Yes.” Maureen Stills shrugged. “Then what does it matter who you are as long as you’re happy?” Brian blinked again, stunned, as his new favorite bartender slid his fourth drink across the counter.