Lance had no intention of pushing everyone away.  He just wanted a
chance to stand on his own, kind of.  But now he's alone and he
doesn't want to be, but he doesn't know how to apologize, or even
if he should.  He didn't actually do anything wrong.  And the
others know that.  They don't blame him at all.  They don't seem to
notice, actually.

So, Lance stands alone and strong and only lonely sometimes, like
when he thinks about it.  But mostly he's okay.  He's rich and
famous and gets laid regularly -- or could if he wanted to.  He's
hot and toned and smart and funny in an understated kind of way.

He also drinks too much and has a tendency to sleep with unsuitable
people when he's really lonely.  Or when he's cold, because people
are very warm.  So he's not perfect, but he never claimed to be. 
Still, he's absolutely certain that he did not marry the eighteen
year old prostitute proudly waving a Vegas marriage certificate on
MTV news.

First, he wasn't drunk last time he was in Vegas, and Lance would
have to be very drunk to marry an eighteen year old prostitute. 
Like comatose with drink.  Second, Lance wouldn't marry this girl,
because she's got a whiny voice and he hates that.  Third, what
little ass she has is not nice and round and perky.  Lance is an
ass man.  And that's that.  Well, and fourth, he's gay, but that
goes without saying.

Strictly without saying.

The group knows about Lance's 'marriage', of course.  They can't
really not know.  Even with NSYNC on hiatus and therefore there
technically not being a group to promote, they still are a part of
it and intend to come back to it.  Eventually.

"I say it's a publicity stunt," Chris says.  He's got Joey and JC
three-wayed on his phone; JC loves to talk, particularly if he
isn't paying for the conversation.

Joey snorts.  "No way.  He wouldn't stoop that low and even if he
did come up with something, he'd've told me about it.  He wouldn't
have just let it come out like this."

"Hmm," Chris says thoughtfully.  "You're right.  The Bassman is
more conniving than that.  He'd have had the press on it right from
the start."

"No," Joey says, "I meant--"

"Is it April?" JC asks.

"Pay attention to the conversation, Chasez," Chris says.

"Is it?" JC repeats.

Joey sighs.  "It's November.  And Chris, I meant that Lance isn't
that kind of guy."

"Yes, he most certainly is."

"Is not."

"Is so."

"So it can't be an April Fools thing," JC says.

Chris rolls his eyes.  With heavy sarcasm, he says, "Geez, Chasez. 
You think?"

"So it must be a cry for help."

"Help?" Chris asks disbelievingly.

"Help," JC says firmly.

"Help with *what*?  I mean, his wife has a criminal record and all,
but on the whole, she's considerably less sleazy than some of the
chicks Backstreet's dated.  And, y'know, she's a pro, so at least
you know up front that she's a skank."

"Chris!"  Joey's tone is sharp.

"What?  You think I'm not gonna tease him about this?"

"It's not Lance's fault that some stalker chick decided to pretend
to be married to him."

JC says, "You mean they're not really married?"

Chris rolls his eyes again.  "I don't think she's the kind of girl
Lance'd want to take home to meet his mother."

"Well, no.  Unless she's actually a transvestite in drag.  Then
Lance'd want to take him home to meet his father."

There's a moment's silence as both Chris and Joey collectively --
and silently -- decide to utterly ignore that.

"Look, Chris, all I'm saying is, this isn't his fault and making it
worse isn't gonna help things any."

"Making it worse is what friendship is all about.  Plus there's
Bass's little drinking problem."

"Like you don't have a pot problem."

Chris shrugs, not that Joey can see him.  "So what?  I get high, I
run around like an addled maniac and try to play board games I
don't understand and mock television shows in the privacy of my own
home, or RV, as the case may be, and that's that.  I definitely
don't go out in public and, y'know."

"You know *what*?" Joey asks menacingly.

"Look, I know you're Lance's best friend already, so cool it with
the mobster act.  You know as well as I do that the guy gets drunk
and starts hanging off anyone who'll let him.  He's real friendly
when he's drunk. And he seems to be drunk a lot more lately.  And
when was he last in Vegas?  Right after the space thing went down. 
Chances are, he really did marry the chick."

"He wouldn't," Joey says, but Chris can tell he isn't entirely
convinced.

"He could have.  It's not impossible.  The boy has a problem and us
pretending otherwise isn't gonna help."  Particularly not since
maybe they helped this happened by pretending otherwise for this
long.  Chris likes drunken Lance, likes him a lot, but he can't say
that this isn't within the realm of possibility.  Kind of like if
someone said that they had
evidence of one of the Backstreet Boys being a serial killer. 
They're okay guys, for the most part, and they have as little
privacy as he does, but it's still a possibility.

"Good," JC says.

"What?" Chris asks.

"You understand this best, Chris.  You can be the one to help
Lance."

"Huh?"

And it's settled.  Not without more arguing, because Chris doesn't
want to and Joey doesn't want him to.  But once JC makes up his
mind, that's where it stops.  Always has been, always will be.

~~~~

Lance waits.  The phone starts ringing and he answers the call from
Johnny and the one from his mom.  They're both pissed off, though
for different reasons.  Johnny's ticked over the publicity and
Lance's stupidity and the fact that they only way to get out of
this is to claim to have been drunk, and then come off as an
alcoholic.  Public sympathy for that bit is all used up, of course. 
AJ got there first.  Johnny always makes Lance feel like he should
have started drinking at seven instead of seventeen.  Diane is
ticked over the unsuitability of the marriage, and even more ticked
when Lance reminds her that he doesn't like girls, and would never
marry one.  Ever.  She then blames his drinking and says maybe he's
more himself drunk, if he was smart enough to marry a girl, even a
skanky one.

On second thought, they're pissed for the same reasons.

After that, though, Lance doesn't bother to answer his phone. 
There's no point.  More people yelling, or more people wanting an
interview or a comment.  Lance isn't awake enough for yelling,
drunk enough for an interview, or stupid enough for a comment.  The
drunk thing, that he can fix, though.

When the door bell rings, Lance answers with a glass of wine in his
hand.  "Hey, Chris," he says calmly.  The hysterics are over.  That
was during the Southern Comfort.  He's *all* better now.

"Jesus, Bass.  You never learn, do you?"  Chris pushes his way
inside.

There's not much real pushing involved.  Lance doesn't mind Chris
coming in.  He closes and locks the door.  "Get your own, 's in the
kitchen."  Lance flops back down on the couch, channel surfing for
continuous coverage of his 'wife'.

Chris follows Lance to the couch.  "Don't want any.  At least one
of us should be sober."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know.  So we don't wake up in the morning in Nevada
with a marriage certificate, maybe?"

"Heh.  At least that'd be believable.  Besides, there is no way in
*hell* I'm gonna wake up in the morning."

"Suicidal so soon?  Geez.  I knew you were gay, but I didn't know
you were *that* gay."

"I am quite that gay, thanks.  But I meant that I won't be awake
before noon, if I've even slept by noon."

"What I don't get," Chris says, feet up on the couch, "is why the
woman waited this long.  Her story's perfectly plausible -- hell,
we all bought it -- but why wait til now?  Why not just find a
lawyer and start seeing how much she could get out of that little
piece of paper?"

Lance shrugs.  "Dunno.  Maybe took her a while to find the money to
have my signature forged."

"So you're claiming you didn't do it."

"I didn't do it.  But I'm not claiming anything yet.  I'll wait for
Johnny to tell me what to claim."

"Oh, yeah, like that's going to work."  Chris wriggles his toes in
under Lance's thigh, getting comfortable.  "He's just as likely to
say, 'at least she's female' and try to dress her up and position
her in some sort of Julia Roberts-Pretty Woman scenario."

"Probably."

"And you're *okay* with this?"

"Not particularly."  Lance flips channels, watching the girl... her
name is Starlet.  She's still got no ass.

"Fake name," Chris says, looking at the TV.  "A halfway competent
lawyer could probably help you get off just on those grounds."

"I know.  If Johnny says so."

Chris' glance swivels back to Lance, eyes narrowing.  "Why is it
suddenly so important that you do what Johnny says?  He got
something on you or what?"

"Of course he does.  That's why he's the manager."

"No, he's the manager because we can work with him and he's useful
to us.  He's not the manager because he's blackmailing you or
whatever shit's going on here."

Lance shrugs and pulls his knees up to his chest.  "Why couldn't it
be a chick with an ass and no boobs?"

"Because that's what most people would call a guy.  Look, dickhead,
the point I'm trying to get across to you here is that you can get
out of this and, given that you have to get blind stinking drunk to
touch a girl, you should."

"I know what would be good for me.  That's not the point.  The
point is what's good for NSYNC.  There's no public sympathy left
here, Chris.  If I do something wrong, we're screwed.  Hiatus has
been too long.  They're ready to let us die."

"And?  Your point is?"

"I need NSYNC."

Chris looks at Lance.  Really looks at him.  Lance is slumped where
he sits -- he *is* drunk, after all -- but there's a certain sort
of pathetic conviction in the way Lance says that.  The drunkenness
just makes it that much more obvious how true it really is.  Which
is pretty damn sad.

"Lance," Chris says quietly.  "NSYNC already is over.  We've had
our day and then some.  It's the Js' turn now and when they're
done, maybe a reunion tour."

Lance blinks at the TV.  Then he turns and blinks at Chris.  It
takes a full minute for that to process.  "Well, why didn't
somebody *tell* me?" he wails.

Chris shrugs helplessly.  "Because it'd be like telling you that
you sing bass and have green eyes and like country music?  It's
obvious."

Lance nods and looks back at the TV.  "Oh.  I see."

"I thought you knew," Chris says.

"I didn't know.  I was probably drunk when you made the
announcement.  Though, like, probably not.  I remember shit when
I'm drunk."

"There wasn't an announcement.  Nobody needed to make one.  It's
just simple fact.  C can't launch his album until J's is winding
down.  When he does, he's gonna have to tour.  And J's not just
gonna hang around and do nothing.  He'll be working on a new album. 
And Joe'll be locked into another Broadway run or a movie or
whatever.  It'll end up being one thing after another and
eventually we'll be looking back, saying, whoa.  How did five years
go by so fast?"

Lance nods because, yeah, that makes a lot of sense.  "Are you
gonna get married now?"

"Uh, *what*?"

"When we were in Germany, we played truth or dare.  Justin and I
were all drunk and semi-conscious, and Joey asked you what you
wanted to do when NSYNC was over, whenever that was.  And you said
you'd get married for sure and maybe have kids.  Boys, not girls."

"I *must* have been drunk."  Chris pokes Lance with his toes.  "But
it's not possible.  Think about it.  I'd need someone *to* marry. 
And not all of us think of hookers as suitable mates."

Lance flinches at that, just a little.  "Well."

"So.  Now you know there's no reason to make Johnny happy.  Let's
get you out of this nightmare."

Lance laughs at that, long and hard.  Being married to a hooker is
not a nightmare.  Being without NSYNC is.

"Hey," Chris says, poking Lance again.  "I'm a funny guy, but not
that funny.  How drunk are you?  Do we need to continue this
discussion later when you're more sober?"

Lance stops laughing.  "I can't get that drunk."

"Pretend I don't know what you talking about and repeat that."

"If I'm conscious, you might as well assume I'll remember what
you're saying and that my responses will be typical.  I can't get
drunk enough for something to have to 'wait until I'm sober'.  Not
anymore."

"So what you're saying is, you couldn't have possibly married that
chick without knowing about it, because you can't get that drunk?"

"Yes, but I also wasn't drunk last time I was in Vegas."

"Hey.  I'm not saying I don't believe you.  I mean, I don't.  Or I
didn't anyway.  But that's not what I'm saying.  I wanna know why
you don't seem to want to get out of this fake marriage."

"I don't really care much, honestly."

"So you're just gonna stay married if no one stops you, and you're
gonna let this hooker have half of everything you own because you
don't *care* enough to do something about it?"  Chris shakes his
head.  "You're fucked in the head, Bass."

"Yes, I am fucked in the head, and no, I'm not going to let her
have half of anything.  I probably won't stay married to her,
either.  I just don't really feel like starting the fight right
now."

Chris nods and lies back.  "Okay.  I can see that.  Wait til things
die down a bit.  But..."  He shakes his head.  "Never mind."

"Really never mind, or the one where I'm supposed to pester you
until you tell me?"

"One of those anyway.  More like I'm trying to figure out what I
should be asking to get you to tell me what's really wrong here."

"It's kind of like... like coming home and finding all your
boyfriend's things gone and his key on the table.  And when you
tell people, they think you're stupid because everyone already knew
you'd broken up.  And you just didn't get the memo."

"This isn't about Scarlet Starlet anymore," Chris says.

"No."

"Maybe you should have sent us the memo that we were dating you."

"It's a metaphor.  Or a simile.  I'm not sure.  You know what I
meant, though.  Besides.  No one dates me.  Marries me, apparently,
but no dating."

"No one's dumping you, Bass.  C'mon.  I'm here, aren't I?"

Lance shakes his head a little, not in denial.  "Yeah, I didn't
mean it like..."  He breaks off with a sigh.  "It was just
something to say.  Sorry."  He presses the heels of his hands to
his eyes.  So Chris won't know he's trying not to cry, he goes
ahead and rubs his whole face before pulling his hands away.  "Are
you sure you don't want a drink?"

"Don't you think one of should be sober for the part where you
start wanting to climb all over someone?"

Lance feels his face stiffen like new leather.  "Good point."

Chris pokes Lance.  "That was a joke."

Lance nods.

Chris sighs.  He knew he should have argued harder.  He's so the
wrong person to talk to Lance about this.  Either JC or Joey would
have done a better job than this.  "Okay, Bass.  Get me drunk and
take advantage of me.  Whatever works for you."

"You'll end up an alcoholic, like me."

"Ah, but at least you admit you have a problem.  That's the first
step on the way to healing."

Lance hums noncommittally and drains his glass without a thought.

Chris takes the glass away from him.  "I'll just go get more,
okay?"

"Okay."

Chris takes the glass and heads to Lance's entirely too well
stocked bar.  The bottle of red's got the cork just sticking out of
the top, and he grabs it and refills the glass.

Then he finds the tequila and takes a couple of stiff shots.  He
doesn't feel capable of dealing with Lance in his present state of
mind.  Or rather, he's *tried* dealing with Lance and failed
miserably, meaning it's time to change tactics.

Chris caps the tequila and puts it back.  Then he strips off his
clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and returns to the
couch with the glass of wine.

"Here's yours," Chris says, handing it to Lance.  "I had some, so
don't bother nagging me."

Lance blinks.  Chris is naked.  "Thank you," he says quietly,
taking the glass.  Chris sits beside him.  Lance nervously sips his
wine.  There's a reason he's never, ever hit on his friends. 
They're too important to screw up with fucking.  He loves then too
much to subject them to... well, him.  Still, as soon as Chris
sits, Lance starts shivering.  He's cold, which is usually the cue
to find a partner and a bed.  He keeps his eyes on the TV and
shivers harder.

"You cold, Bass?" Chris asks, entirely casual.

Lance nods and sets his glass aside carefully.  "What are you
doing, Chris?" he asks, and his voice is as helpless as he feels.

"Asking a question.  Geez.  I didn't know it was a crime to be
concerned about you."

Lance looks at Chris, really looks at him.  And he's sexy and
strong, funny and smart.  His eyes are caring and Lance knows, just
knows that if he lets this go on, he can be wrapped up in that body
and that feeling.  It would be wonderful.  And in the morning, or
maybe a few mornings after, Chris will leave.  Lance can't take
that.  It would kill the few parts of him that aren't permanently
alcohol-numbed.  "Please, Chris.  Don't make yourself like me,
please.  Don't... don't do this."  The first tear rolls down his
cheek.  Lance brushes it away impatiently.

He brushes the tears from Lance's cheek.  "No idea what you're
talking about, Bass," Chris says gently.  He kinda thinks maybe he
knows, but whatever Lance is thinking, it's a sure bet that Chris
isn't trying to do that.  Getting naked was a sudden impulse.  One
of those wild ideas that just occur to him, but he knows are right. 
This one sure looks right.

Lance reaches up, helping Chris push the stubborn tears away.  "I'm
a slut, and you're not.  And... you were just hot, weren't you? 
You're not propositioning me, you're just naked because you raided
my..." he sniffs.  "tequila.  Damnit."  He shoves his palm across
his face again.

"I'm naked 'cause I thought it sounded like a good idea."  Chris
wraps an arm around Lance.  "I'm kinda surprised about the slut
thing though.  What's that all about?"

"Well, the good thing about me is that at least I know what I am. 
I'm an alcoholic, and I'm a slut, and I'm a failure."

"Wow," Chris says mildly.  "What would we ever do without you in
the group to be Mr. No Self Esteem Guy?  Yeah, you're probably an
alcoholic.  Wouldn't surprise me.  But you could do something about
that if matters to you.  Maybe you're a failure, maybe not. 
Depends on your definition.  Since you're not living out of the
back of a car, I'd say you aren't one yet, but I've got fucked up
standards about that kind of thing.  And, dude, as far as 'slut'
goes..."  Chris shakes his head.  "Did you not get the guy manual? 
Did we teach you nothing?  The more you score, the more of a stud
you are."

"That only applies if you're the one doing the fucking.  It's in
the manual, I checked with Joey."

Chris snorts.  "Whatever.  Your argument is ridiculous and nobody
who matters thinks any of that about you.  Other than you."

"Okay."

"So," Chris says, "are you cold?"

"Yeah."  Lance is still crying.  He can't seem to shut it off. 
He's either too drunk, or not drunk enough.  The one he can't fix,
so he picks up his glass and starts drinking.

Chris still has his arm around Lance.  There's no blankets
helpfully draped over the back of the couch here.  There are a
couple artfully arranged here and there, but they're the scratchy
decorative American Indian kind that wouldn't keep anyone warm.

There really isn't any other alternative.  So Chris asks.  "Wanna
go to bed?"

Lance shivers harder.  "No.  Not like this, no."

Chris rolls his eyes.  "Did I *say* I was gonna jump your bones? 
C'mon."

"I'll jump yours," Lance says, eyes wide and serious.

"And I don't have a problem with that."

"I do."

"Oh."  Chris raises his eyebrows.  "I probably shouldn't be asking
why it is that you'd be jumping me if you've got problems with
that.  But I will.  What the fuck is up with that?"

"Please remember that I'm drunk.  I can't think of a manly way to
say this.  But you're too fucking special for me to fuck you
drunk."

"Aw.  That's sweet.  C'mon.  Beddy-bye."

Lance leans his head on Chris's shoulder and cries because he's not
strong enough to say no again.

"Hey, hey.  Ssh."  Chris pulls Lance in close, cradling him. 
"Shit.  You're not supposed to be falling apart on me.  I'm
supposed to be making everything better.  Don't make JC get mean on
my ass now."

Lance starts kissing Chris's neck.  It tastes like tears and sweat
and sugar.  Kinda like Chris.

"See?" Chris says with a wry smile.  "Being in bed isn't a factor
as to whether you wanna come on to me.  You might as well be warm
at the same time."

Lance keeps crying and kissing until Chris's words sink in.  He
stands and waits for Chris.

Chris stands up, wraps his arm around Lance's waist and leads him
to the bedroom.

Lance lets Chris climb into the bed.  He strips down to skin before
walking around the other side to get in.  Actually, he doesn't
sleep nude when he's alone.  But he's not alone.

Chris tucks the blankets around Lance and sits down on the side of
the bed.  "Better?"

Lance looks up at Chris.  Chris looks down at him.  Lance blinks. 
Chris blinks.  "Better than what?"

"Do you feel warmer now?"  Chris pats the part of the blanket
that's over Lance's chest.

"Sort of."

"Good."

Lance nods.  "Um.  Now what?"  Maybe Chris is like the guy in
Huston, Tennessee, who wanted to watch Lance masturbate.

Chris shrugs.  "I dunno.  You go to sleep?  We talk more? 
Whatever."

Lance frowns.

Chris hums and waits patiently.

"I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?  You, me, talking.  You warm.  Me not
having sex with you, as per your wishes."

"Okay."

"Good."

"What are we talking about?" Lance asks.  Before Chris answers, he
sighs.  "Why did NSYNC stop and I didn't know?  And I don't like
it.  I didn't vote for that.  Who got to vote?"

Chris kinda wishes he could've had sex with Lance.  Cushion the
blow, as it were.  Oh, well.  At least Lance is drunk.  "You and
Justin, mostly.  You wanted to go to space and he wanted to go
solo.  We ended right then, really."

"It's my fault?" Lance asks, whispering as if that will make it
less real.

"Partly, yeah."

"My fault," Lance repeats, thinking it through.  "I'm sorry."

Chris' hand moves up to Lance's exposed shoulder and strokes it. 
"I don't mind.  Like I said, I got what I wanted out of this.  I
think the question is, do you forgive you?"

"No.  Never ever ever ever ever."

"That's harsh."

Lance shrugs, picking at the covers with shaking fingers.

"Guess you getting married is the least of your problems."

"No, it's okay.  I'll fix it.  The marriage thing."

"Good.  'Cause the plans I was thinking up to rescue you were
getting weirder and weirder.  Y'know, like getting a ring and
proposing on live TV."

"On Larry King?"

"I was thinking something people actually watch, but yeah, sure, if
you want."

"I was joking."

Chris nods.  He wasn't.  Not exactly.  But he gets that Lance is a
lot more fucked up than he'd thought.  "You tired enough to sleep?"

"I'm drunk enough to sleep.  Are, uh.  Are you gonna stay?"

"You don't really want me to, remember?"

"I want you to stay, but I don't wanna fuck you.  Not drunk and
sloppy and dirty like I am."

"This is normally the part where I say something about you being
gorgeous and try to get you to sleep with me anyway, but since you
don't wanna, I think maybe I better go get my clothes first."

Lance smiles a little.  "You should stay.  You should stay here and
sleep.  I'll even get up before noon to make you breakfast."

"Eh, don't go to any trouble for me.  Maybe I'd rather sleep in." 
Chris gets up and heads downstairs for his clothes.

Lance blacks out while still trying to set his alarm.

Chris comes back, dressed and ready to fend off drunken advances,
and Lance is asleep.

Story of his life, really.  He sighs and gets into bed with Lance
anyway.  Maybe it'll help.

Lance wakes in the middle of the night, heart pounding so hard he
can feel it in his toes.  The dream -- nightmare, really -- fades
slowly.  He'd killed them.  He'd killed them all, and then he
couldn't find them and didn't know why he'd done it.

Chris snuffles and moves away from the thing that's shaking the
bed.

Chris is alive.  Chris is in bed with him and alive.  These things
would be reassuring, if Lance didn't need to rush into the bathroom
to be sick.

The bed stops shaking.  Chris sighs and falls back to sleep.

Lance pisses, chugs water, tosses his cookies again, brushes his
teeth, chugs more water, and goes back to bed, curling tightly
against Chris's back.  He uses Chris like a charm against
nightmares, like a teddy bear.  It's strangely warm.  Lance isn't
cold right now.

Being curled around is good.  Chris surfaces into
half-consciousness.  "You okay?"

Lance nods.  "Yeah.  Are you?"

"Mm-hmm.  Tired."

"Go back to sleep."

Chris covers Lance's hand with his own and yawns.

When Chris's breathing evens out, Lance stays awake, listening and
thinking.  Just before dawn, he leaves Chris and calls the lawyers. 
Vegas wife will be gone by sunset.

Chris sleeps soundly once the bed stops moving.

Lance is still drunk.  He knows it.  It's nearly impossible not to
keep drinking, now that he's acknowledged it.  So he cleans.

Eventually Chris starts waking up.  "Lance?" he asks, and feels
around.  There's no one there, and he turns over and opens his
eyes.  Still no one there.  Damn.  He gets up and heads for the
bathroom.

Lance looks up from frantically scrubbing the tiles near the toilet
when Chris comes in.  "Hi."

"Move it, Ajax-boy.  I gotta piss."

Lance switches brushes and moves into the tub.

"I can still hear you scrubbing," Chris says, and pulls his dick
out.

"Yeah," Lance says.  "And I can hear you pissing."

Chris finishes up and tucks his dick away.  "Yeah, but I'm done. 
You're making me tired just listening to you.  Thought you were
going to sleep til noon."

Lance looks up with wide eyes.  "Had a bad dream."

"Coulda woke me up."

Lance just blinks.  The thought had never occurred to him.

"Well, I'm awake now.  Stop with the obsessive cleaning and come
tell Chris what the problem is."

Lance stills.  "Okay."

Chris waits for Lance to actually get out of the tub.

Lance steps out of the tub and herds Chris back to bed.  "Okay."

When they're back in bed, Chris turns on his side to watch Lance. 
"Okay.  You wanna go back to sleep or you wanna tell me about your
dream?"

"I dreamed I'd killed everyone I loved and I couldn't remember why
I did it.  I was in a long hall and behind every door was another
person I loved, dead, and I did it."

"I hate those kind of dreams."

"You dream that?"

"Something like that, yeah.  Not with the doors.  But with the
killing, definitely.  Sometimes it's the guys my mom shacked up
with, or my dad.  Usually, when I'm actually strangling them or
fighting them or running away, that's who it is.  Other times, it's
just about anyone.  Especially if they're blaming me for letting
them get killed."

Lance slides closer to Chris.  "I'm sorry I killed you."

Chris pats Lance's arm.  "I'm right here.  Nothing to be sorry
for."

"I'm sorry I killed NSYNC."

Chris sighs.  He figured it'd probably come around to that.  It's
going to keep coming around to it until Lance forgives himself. 
Even as an amateur psychologist, he can see that much.  "We went
along with it," he reminds Lance.  "You may not have realized what
your decision was leading to, but we did."

"You don't mind?" Lance asks.  Chris seems so calm.  He doesn't
seem sad at all.

"Nope.  I get that things end, and if it's gotta end, then I'm
happy with the way we've gone out.  Still on top, with everybody
knowing our names, and with plenty of chances to go back if we want
to."

"What will you do?"

"Haven't decided yet.  Lots of possibilities.  Golf, producing,
singing... it's all good.  I'm not ready to settle down to one
thing."

"No wife, then?"

"Seen me with any girls lately?  Not counting the pageant thing?"

"You say that like there aren't hundreds who'd love to just be near
you."

"You say that like there's hundreds I'd want to let near me."

"There's probably one.  Somewhere."  Lance sighs.  "I don't know,
Chris.  You're just too fucking nice to be alone.  It's not fair."

Chris snickers.  "I'm not nice.  Far from it.  And, dude.  You're
basing this off of something I said years ago while I was drunk. 
Things've changed a lot since then.  A lot."

"Oh.  I'm sorry, then.  For being presumptuous."

"Presume all you want, Bass.  You're one of a very small group of
people who've got the right."

Lance lays his head on Chris's shoulder.  "I miss you.  I'm awfully
lonely."

Chris wraps his arm around him.  "So tell me how much of this is
right.  You've been in love with all of us for practically forever
and if you're married to anyone, you're married to us.  And
yesterday you just found out Mommy and Daddy are getting a divorce
and it really is your fault and you don't know if anyone's ever
going to love you ever again."

Lance sniffs hard.  "Pretty much."

"Don't be stupid," Chris says affectionately.  "Maybe we're not
gonna be touring again any time soon, but we're still us.  We'll
still sing every so often.  And everybody still feels the same way. 
You won't get to spend hours resenting Joey's toe fungus or
listening to C going on and on about white wine versus red wine. 
But we're all still here, y'know."

"No, I didn't.  It hasn't been.  You haven't been here, and I know
I didn't ask you to be."

"Then ask, damnit.  Or just show up."

"Yeah."

Chris waits patiently for a while, but Lance doesn't say anything. 
"Um, whenever you're ready, Bass.  Just spit it out already."

"I don't know what to ask for."

"What do you want?  What do you need?  And if you don't have an
answer, I warn you, I'm gonna start making up stuff."

"I want to be NSYNC again," Lance says, then laughs.  It sound
bitter even to him.  He clears his throat before continuing.  "I
don't suppose I really need anything.  I'm rich.  I've got food and
a house."

"Please.  Spare me the speech about being grateful for what you
have.  I know that one backwards, forwards, sideways and I even got
it for Christmas a couple of times.  What about being NSYNC do you
need?"  Chris wonders why he's the only one of them who really
seems to think about these things.  Except maybe he isn't, because
JC's the one who insisted he come, and that kinda implies that,
even as spacey as he is, JC thinks about these things, too.

"I need to be something bigger and better than me.  And to be part
of why someone else is happy," Lance says.  This part is easy. 
He's thought about this part before.

"Okay, see?  Those are things that can actually be done."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep.  See, first we have to conquer your self-esteem thing. 
'Cause you seem to have this problem where you don't think being
you is a pretty damn good thing to be.  Then you need to get a
divorce so you can get married again to someone else."  Chris says
the last with a slightly insane smile.

Lance rolls his eyes.  "Chris!  It's not like I have a fiancee
waiting in the wings."

"Well, no.  You wouldn't want to marry a girl.  Obviously, it's got
to be a fiance.  The way I figure it, you have four choices.  We
need to set up one of those things where all of the potential
suitors compete for your hand in marriage."

Lance lifts up on an elbow, looking at Chris.  "What are you
talking about?"

"Geez, you're slow.  Obviously, we need to marry you off to one of
the rest of us.  Joey's the obvious choice, although you'd have the
bigamy thing going on, what with Kelly and all.  And then you and
J have that baby of the group rapport, and you'd be good for him,
what with the managing qualities and the incipient alcoholism. 
Then there's C.  Admittedly, you have to put up with the
personality.  But the body's it's housed it is pretty nice.  And,
yeah, me."

Lance ducks his head so he won't laugh in Chris's face or
accidentally incinerate him with an ill-timed glare.  "That's not
funny."

"It's not a joke.  Okay, well, it does sound kinda funny the way I
put it.  But I'm mostly serious.  We could play spin the bottle for
you."

Lance looks at Chris again.  "Don't do this to me, Chris.  It's
cruel."

"Huh?"

"Don't tease me like that.  It's never gonna happen, and I'm good
with that.  It took me seven years to get as good with that as I
am."

Chris pushes himself up on an elbow.  "What makes you think I'm
teasing?  I'll make a couple of phone calls and get the guys
together on this.  Court you all nice and proper."  He gets a
thoughtful look.  "Can't guarantee sex though.  But the bit about
being essential to someone else's happiness -- that I can do."

Lance looks at Chris for a very long time.  "You don't need to do
that.  See, I don't share, so Joey's out.  He loves Kelly too much. 
And I don't want the spotlight any more, so Justin's out.  And I
adore JC, but it wouldn't work.  I haven't got a romantic bone in
my body, and that's all he's got.  I'd break his heart a million
times over."

"I notice I'm not out."

"I don't know about you.  Sometimes you're perfect for me, and I
think I might be perfect for you.  And sometimes we're so
completely unsuitable that I can't imagine how we manage to be in
the same room without going up in flames.  Besides.  For all I know
you're straight."

"Hmph."  Chris snorts.  "This is me being offended over here. 
*Straight*?"

"You never said anything, or let me see anything, or implied
anything."

"Other than saying I was dating you, asking you to marry me,
hanging all over you, getting naked and offering myself to you, and
every other thing I've done over the past forever?"

"Yeah, other than that."

"Exactly my point.  And goody for me that you don't want any of the
others, 'cause you're fooling yourself if you think they wouldn't
love to have you.  Anybody would."

"Vegas hookers."

"Not so much my point, but yeah, even them."

"Chris, I'm still drunk," Lance says quietly.

Chris sighs.  "Fine."  He rolls over and gets out of bed. 
"Breakfast then."

Lance buries his face in the pillow Chris used all night.

Chris goes down and starts making phone calls along with toast.

After a few minutes, Lance get up, jerks off, changes and follows
the smell of toast.

By the time Chris is starting eggs, he's already knocked off Justin
and Joey and is on to the much harder task of JC.  JC he left for
last because of that.  It's a pain explaining anything to JC,
especially when Chris is convinced that JC already knows all of
this and is mostly playing dumb to cover the fact that C's been
matchmaking.

Lance finds Chris on the phone and cooking.  He frowns and sits
down.  His eyebrows hurt.

"Okay, C, gotta wrap this up.  You do so know what I mean, and
while I know this is all some sneaky plot on your part and I have
nothing against it, that doesn't mean that he doesn't deserve the
right to pretend to have a choice.  'Cause I know you and you would
never have flung me at him if you thought you were the better
choice."  Chris snorts.  "Oh, yeah.  Like I'm gonna buy that.  Just
put up or else.  That's what I'm saying.  Yeah, yeah.  Later."

Chris hangs up and turns to Lance.  "How do you want your eggs?"

"In alcohol," Lance says, laying his head on the table.  "What're
you talking to C about?"

"No alcohol for you today, buddy boy.  I want you sober at some
point today so you can stop disclaiming your actions.  And I was
talking to him about his proposal, of course."

"JC proposed?" Lance asks.  He's so damn confused.

"He's gonna."

"Wow."  Lance's eyes are wide.  "Are you gonna say yes?"

Chris rolls his eyes.  "You're getting scrambled.  Matches your
brains."

Lance takes that as a 'none-of-your-business' and keeps his mouth
shut.

"See, if you were sober, you'd not only remember our little
conversation last night, you'd also be yelling at me about it.  As
it is, I think maybe you better eat first."  Chris gets some plates
down and a few minutes later, delivers the eggs and toast.

Lance looks at the plate.  He should be polite and eat it, because
Chris made it.  But Lance doesn't actually eat breakfast very
often.  Or lunch.  "Um.  So, what am I supposed to remember?" he
asks, poking the eggs a little.

"Eat, eat, eat."

"I'm pretty sure *that's* not what I'm supposed to remember."

"Nope, that's what you're supposed to do.  If I tell you first,
you're gonna stalk off in a huff."

"Probably not.  I can't feel my ankles."  Lance sits up and starts
eating.  It's not like it matters, anyway, since he's gonna be sick
later.

Chris eats his eggs.  He had the toast earlier.  "Why can't you
feel your ankles?"

"They're drunker than the rest of me."

"Damn, Bass.  When you get drunk, you get seriously drunk.  We may
have to wait for the rest of this conversation until tomorrow."

"Like I said, you don't have to wait.  I'll remember everything."

Chris stops eating, pausing to just look at Lance.  "I'm not
worried about you remembering it.  Even if you don't seem to
remember what we talked about last night.  I'm worried about how
you're going to handle it.  I don't want you to use the excuse of
being drunk to run away from everything."

Lance rubs at his face hard.  "Chris.  I don't use being drunk as
an excuse to run away from things.  I use it for the things I can't
run away from."

"Well, this time you can't get drunk or run away."

"Okay."

"But I can wait until you're ready to hear all about it."

"All about *what*, Chris?"

Chris shakes his finger at Lance.  "None of your fancy mind tricks
are going to work on me, Bass.  You can't get me to spill all my
evil plans by just asking me what they are."

Lance laughs.  It's either laugh or yell.  Laughing hurts less.

Chris sticks his tongue out at Lance and crosses his eyes.

Lance reaches out and pokes Chris's tongue very lightly with his
fork.

Chris makes a face.  "Just for that, I think I'm going to offer
your father four cows instead of the usual five."

Lance smiles slightly.  "You know, I'm really okay.  You don't have
to keep up the joke."

"What joke?"

"The marrying me thing.  The Larry King thing."

"Oh, that.  That's not a joke."

"What do you mean?"

Chris sighs.  "This is really not going to help my case any.  I was
definitely not planning on doing this in the kitchen.  And
especially not while you're still under the influence.  Still."  He
stands up and comes around the table, kneeling at Lance's side.  He
takes one of Lance's hands after a bit of a struggle with Lance for
control.  Clearing his throat, Chris says, "Mr. Bass, I would be
greatly honored if you would consider spending your future with me,
with the option of sexual favors and the proviso that you have to
do something about the drinking thing."

Lance blinks.  "Chris... Chris, what on earth are you doing?  Never
mind, I know what.  Why?"  He reaches out with his free hand,
smoothing back Chris's hair.  "Chris, honey, don't...  C'mon,
you're joking, right?"

Chris huffs out his breath.  "While I admit this isn't exactly the
ideal setting for this, and I've been known to pull some really
wacky pranks in the past, I am utterly and completely serious. 
About this.  I reserve the right to be not-serious most of the
time."

Lance slides off his chair, sitting in front of Chris and tugging
until Chris climbs into his lap.  "Why?" he whispers into Chris's
hair.

"Why not?" Chris says, putting his head down on Lance's shoulder.

"I think we both know why not.  I need to know why."

"I have no idea why not.  And you said it yesterday.  And we knew
it before that.  You love us.  You need us.  We love you.  We want
you to be happy.  And marrying a hooker is a definite sign of
problems and not being happy.  So is drunken stupor.  The
solution's obvious.  But we can't share as well anymore because
we're all broken up and in separate places.  So.  It's really a
question of who can woo you best.  This is me pitching the woo." 
Chris makes kissing sounds.

Lance smiles against Chris's forehead, dropping warm kisses there
over and over again.  "I didn't marry her.  Didn't."

"Still.  It was a cry for help."  Chris grins to himself.

"How?"

"Well, I got here and you needed help.  So there."

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you really want to do this?"

"Yep."

"Me.  Forever.  I'm not your type, Chris."

"Well, you don't *have* to pick me.  I mean, I know I'm the best
choice, but I'm not the only choice."

"I'd pick you," Lance says quietly.  "I picked you a while ago, but
I didn't think that I had the right to ask you to pick me."

"You didn't think you had the right?  What the hell is that
supposed to mean?  I think I told you this earlier, but if you
really don't know, then it definitely bears repeating.  There's a
couple of people in this world that can have anything they want
from me.  You're one of them.  You have the right."

"Chris, Chris, Chris," Lance chants, face buried in Chris's hair. 
"I want you to stay with me, or let me stay with you."

"You sure?" Chris asks, hands coming around to hold Lance. 
"'Cause, y'know, I'm pretty sure I heard the fax machine a few
minutes ago, and it'd be rude not to at least look at Justin's
proposal."

"Justin's proposal?"

"Yep.  That's what I was doing earlier.  Calling everybody.  Justin
said he'd fax his over."

"Why would Justin propose?" Lance asks curiously.

Chris sits back and looks at Lance.  "Um.  Stop me when any of this
sounds familiar.  Because we love you and we want you and any of us
would have at any time if we thought you needed it, but we're
stupid and didn't realize it.  Or something.  You can also stop me
when I've lost all my testosterone and completely embarrassed
myself."

"But Justin doesn't love me," Lance says.  "Not like that."

"Define 'like that'."

"Like dating, like romantic."

"Oh.  Well, no, probably not.  But that's not the only kind of love
and all that."

"No.  No, I guess not."  Lance eases Chris off his lap and goes to
get the fax.  Not-romantic love.  Of course.

"See," Chris says, following him.  "The point is, everybody wants
you.  Just in different ways.  Me and JC are probably the only ones
who want the whole package like that."

Lance nods.  He swallows hard.  "C'll be unhappy if I don't choose
him?" he says, adding a questioning lilt at the end.

"Dude, make the choice that makes you happy.  One of these days you
really gotta start thinking about yourself."

"I don't want to be happy if it means making someone I care about
unhappy.  Or, at least not more unhappy."

Chris heaves a deep sigh.  "Well, I suppose you could just get
drunk and never leave the house and make no choices at all and be
miserable for the rest of your life."

"That was the de facto plan."

"That's a stupid plan."

"Yeah, I see that."

"Okay, then."

"Chris, I don't know if I can stop the drinking thing," Lance
admits.

"Because you don't want to or you can't?"

Lance considers.  "A little of both."

"That sucks."

"As in, I suck?"

"That, too.  More as in you being like this sucks."

"Again, as in my attitude, or the physical and mental dependence?"

"Attitude.  I don't give a damn what you're addicted to as long as
it isn't making you miserable.  And you're really damn miserable."

"Ah."  Lance nods a little.  And, yes, he is offended by having his
attitude called.  It pisses him off, even though he knows it
shouldn't and it's not Chris's fault Lance is a big lush.  "Uh. 
Well, like... I'll try."

Chris gives Lance a Yoda look.  "Do or do not.  There is no try."

Lance snickers.  "Dork."

"Duh."

Lance sighs.  "You think I can maybe have you, then?  And be good
for you, too."

"Yes, and maybe."

"No.  No maybes.  I won't risk fucking you up."

"You haven't managed to fuck me up yet.  I don't think you can do
it now."

"You haven't had to listen to me bitch, moan, toss my cookies, cry,
or scream as I come off liquor."

"Yeah, but I've put up with you do all of those things in the past
for other reasons.  Several dozen times."

"Actually, a couple of those times *were* for that reason," Lance
says thoughtfully.  "Though, yeah, not the full package.  Do that
in private."

"So there."

"So.  You wanna maybe let me come down for the next couple weeks,
then come back?" Lance asks.  "And before you go, can I kiss you?"

"No and yes."

"I... don't get it."

"I don't see why I have to go anywhere, and yes, you can kiss me."

"You have to go because it'll be really bad.  And, whoo!  Kissing." 
Lance nods firmly and drums his fingers on the edge of his desk.

"You think I can't take it?"

"I don't want you to have to take anything.  Especially not my
temper."  Lance shrugs.  "You realize, of course, that I'll have to
take you home to my father, eventually."

"Don't try to distract me with talk of your father.  I haven't
figured out yet how many cows I should offer him yet.  And, damnit,
if you don't want me, just say so already."

Lance looks down.  He takes a very deep breath, which makes his
head spin, proving that he is indeed still drunkish.  "I'm afraid
of what I'd do, how I could drive you away."

"You're missing the point, Bass.  Either that or you don't like me. 
Or something.  We've been together how long?  And you think you can
get rid of me, how?  Nuh-uh.  Not gonna happen."

"Fine," Lance says.  "Fine, stay.  And just tell me if you're
leaving for a while, please, 'cause I don't like it when people
just vanish.  And, uh.  I think I should be sober in a few hours."

Chris comes over to Lance and wraps his arms around him.  "Gonna
have to try harder than that to get rid of me.  I'm like a leech."

"No, you're not."  Lance holds Chris back, snuggling close.

"Am so.  I find poor unsuspecting fools and then prey upon them. 
Justin wised up so now I'm after you."

"I'm good with that."

Chris frowns and growls at Lance.  "What's up with you letting
yourself be used, huh?  That's just wrong."

Lance cowers, mostly in play.  Mostly.  "Hey, use me, abuse me, I'm
yours."

"You need a keeper, Bass," Chris says, nuzzling his cheek.

"Maybe.  You want the job?  The pay sucks and the hours suck and
the benefits mostly suck.  But you get undying gratitude."

"How many times do I gotta tell you?"

"You think I've got a fine ass?" Lance tries.

"Yep."

"I think you've got the best ass I've ever seen.  I knew I didn't
marry that hooker because she doesn't have an ass at all."

Chris laughs.  "Well, good.  'Cause, y'know.  My boobs suck."

Lance smiles and rubs his hand over Chris's chest.  "Boobs are
freaky."

"So, yeah.  I'm thinking I owe JC something for sending me here." 
Chris grins up at Lance.

"Everyone owes JC.  That's how his life works."

"Well, this time he deserves it.  "Cause, y'know, I'd go gay for
you, except I don't have to."

Lance frowns at that.  "Huh?"

"Uh, which part of that did you not understand?"

"You're not gonna be gay with me?"

"English isn't your first language, is it?"  Chris hasn't pulled
away from Lance, not even a fraction of an inch.  Fondly, he says,
"If I *had* to go gay to get you, I would.  But I don't have to,
'cause, y'know.  Already appreciating the Bass ass over here."

Lance takes Chris's hand and guides it around to his ass.  "It
appreciates you back."  He lays his head on Chris's shoulder and
tightens his arms around Chris's chest.  He sighs happily and
closes his eyes, finally relaxed.

Chris cradles Lance close and knows that it's all worth it.  Every
bit of it.