For Jules (http://www.livejournal.com/users/gjstruthseeker), who
asked for Joey/Lance, and Christmas in New York City.


On The Twelfth Day of Christmas, by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)


Saturday, December 14
*a partridge in a pear tree*

Joey tugged the cap back down over his daughter's head.  The
two-year-old pushed at it, and he put her hands down by her side. 
"You need to wear the hat, Bri.  It's cold outside."

She frowned at him and fiddled at the straps as he tried to tie
them.  "No hat!"

"You need the hat so we can go see Santa."

"No hat.  Santa come here!" she said imperiously.

It was a good point.  Joey didn't know if he wanted to explain, or
if a two-year-old could understand, that it was part of the
experience of Christmas to go stand in line to see Santa and have
your picture taken with him.  He'd done it that way, and he wanted
Briahna to experience Christmas the same way he had, not like a pop
star's kid, with Santa coming when you called him.  'Cause, yeah,
you could buy off Santa, because Santa had his price just like
everybody else, but he didn't want Bri to know that, not yet.

Luckily, the phone rang.  Joey finished tying the cap's straps into
a bow under Bri's chin, and picked it up.

"Joey!" his mother said.  "Have you *seen* Lance?  He looks awful. 
Why haven't you had him out to the house yet for some good home
cooking?  He needs some feeding up and taking care of."

"Hi, Ma.  Listen, I got Bri this morning, and we're going to go see
Santa before the show."

"Oh, how cute.  Get me some pictures.  Lots of pictures."

"I will," he promised.

"So when's Lance coming out to the house?"

"I dunno, Ma."

"Joey," she said, lengthening out his name.

He hung his head even though she couldn't see him.  "I'll call him,
okay?"

"You'll call him today?"

"Today."

"Okay, but I want to see him here soon.  He doesn't look so good in
those pictures in the papers.  I don't think he's taking care of
himself and you know that boy will work himself into an early grave
if someone doesn't look after him."

"I promise, I'll call him today.  Tomorrow at the latest.  Look,
Ma, I gotta go."

"Okay, Joey.  Love you.  Put my grandbaby on the phone."

"Love you, too."  He gave the phone to Bri, who squealed, "Gramma!"
and giggled.

Girl stuff.

Joey waited while they talked, looking out the window at Central
Park.  He had a great view.  Wet, rainy.  The trees were green and
brown, a few golden-red leaves still grimly hanging on from fall. 
The only thing that looked Christmas-y about the scene were the
decorations hanging from the lamp-poles.

December in New York.  It really should be snowing.  One of the
things he'd looked forward to about spending Christmas in New York
City instead of in Orlando or on the road was having a Christmas
like he remembered from when he was a kid, with lots of snow and
ice, and Christmas music everywhere, and people busy and happy,
bustling about in winter gear.  Except it didn't look like that. 
It looked like Christmas in Seattle, or a dozen other places he'd
been when he'd rather have been a kid back at home with his folks.

He'd give it his best shot at making it a Christmas to remember
anyway.  There might not be any snow, but the most important parts
about Christmas and the Christmas spirit were love and the bit
about goodwill toward men.  Joey was pretty sure about that.


Sunday, December 15
*two turtledoves*

The alarm went off, scaring Joey out of sleep.  He rolled over and
slapped it off and then looked blearily at the numbers reading 4:00
a.m.  After some confused thought, he figured out that it was
Sunday and that he didn't have to be anywhere today except the
theater for the 2 p.m. matinee.  He didn't know why he'd set the
alarm the night before, but if he didn't have to get up, he wasn't
going to, not at 4 a.m. anyway.

He squinted at it, trying to read the settings by the light of the
clock face, and finally got it turned off.  He rolled back over and
pulled the covers up.  He felt like crap, but it was 4 a.m. 
Everyone felt like crap at 4 a.m.

The clanging of the church bells woke him up again, much later,
well after dawn.  Lots after dawn, in fact.  He groaned and got up. 
He still felt like crap, but even worse than before, and he
couldn't blame it on getting woken up too early now.  It felt like
a hangover, except he hadn't been drinking last night.  The bells
were too loud.  Sweet silver bells?  Hah!  They made his head hurt.

Joey shuffled into the bathroom, turned on the light and flinched. 
Ow.  Bright.  Got into the shower and flinched again.  Brr, cold.

Afterward, he toweled his hair dry fast and then wrapped the damp
towel around himself, shivering.  Cold.  It was very cold.

Getting another towel and getting drier didn't help.  He pulled on
socks, pants and underwear, then grabbed a turtleneck.  After a
second, he pulled out a sweater and put that on, too.  Better, but
not much.  He sneezed.

His head hurt, too, and, worst of all, there was a slight
scratchiness at the bottom of his throat.

Aw, heck.  He was getting a cold.  He didn't need a cold *now*. 
Not so close to the end of his run in RENT.  Just one more week and
it would've been okay.  Not right now.

He went into the kitchen and fumbled through the cupboards until he
found the box of lemon tea bags left over from JC's visit.  He
nuked a cup of water and dropped the bag into it.

Not today.  Not this week.

He went back into the bathroom and got the Advil out of the
medicine cabinet.  Took two, then looked for cold medication.  All
he had was the children's stuff, for Bri.  After thinking about it
for a minute, he shrugged and took that anyway.  Better than
nothing.

It was entirely possible to sing while feeling like you wanted to
run off stage and throw up.  It was even possible to sing while
throwing up between numbers.  It was a little harder to do it
during a sneezing fit, but a couple of real cold tabs should dry
his nose up fast.  He'd get the cab driver to make a stop on the
way into the Ned and pick some of those up.  However, it was
impossible to sing with no voice at all.

Church was letting out when he came down to meet the cab, scarf
tied protectively around his throat.  People in their best clothes,
bundled up against the cold and the wet.

Seeing the people dressed for church reminded him of midnight mass. 
He thought maybe he'd go to it on Christmas Eve.  It'd been
something he'd been skipping more years than not, but it was
another one of those things he'd done when he was a kid and then
stopped doing because sunny, warm Orlando was the absolute opposite
of seasonal and because he'd usually had other things he had to do
for NSYNC.  This year, though, he'd go.

He'd just gotten inside the theater, Dayquil tucked into his coat
pocket, when he was ambushed by Glenda, the matronly, round,
cheerful head of wardrobe.

"Joey-love," she said, holding out a box of chocolates, "be a dove
and try some of these."

Glenda was a British import and always calling people 'lamb' and
'love' and stuff like that.  On another day, he might have cooed at
her for the 'dove' comment and kissed her cheek.  Instead, he
smiled wanly.  "I dunno.  I'm not all that hungry."

She clucked her tongue.  "Are you feeling all right?"

He shrugged.

"Oh, no, you're not sick, are you?"  Glenda gave him a concerned
look.

The early morning scratchiness had grown into a soreness at the
roof of his mouth and the brief stabs of pain in his forehead had
settled into a steady throb.  The chill had passed too, and now he
was feeling too warm, but his head had still swam when he got out
of the cab and he felt weak and dizzy.

But if he let anyone *know* he felt like that... he rubbed his
aching forehead.  One lousy week was all he had left.  If he got
sick now, people would say he couldn't cut it.  All he had to do
was finish out this week and it'd be all right, but no.  A cold. 
On matinee day, no less.  Two shows, and a lot of the cast and crew
would go out for lunch in between the shows, but really, all he
wanted to do was curl up someplace dark and go back to sleep,
except that, if he did that, everyone would know he was sick, and
it was better to pretend to be well than to deal with the fall-out
of being sick.

Joey let his hand drop and pasted a large smile on his face.  "No,
I feel fine, couldn't be better."

He kept the smile up as he went through the door to the main
dressing room.  "How is everyone doing this fine day?" he asked in
a cheerful voice.  "Ready for Christmas yet?"

There was a chorus of replies, and he took off his coat.

When the box of candy came back around, Joey took two of the
chocolate and caramel-covered pecan Turtles.  Pretending to feel
well *did* make him feel a little bit better.  He'd get through
this day after all.


Monday, December 16
*three French hens*

Joey slept badly.  He'd taken two Benadryl and figured he'd pass
out immediately once his head hit the pillow.  But he hadn't.  He'd
been awake at 11 p.m., midnight, one a.m. and two a.m.  He'd
finally fallen asleep sometime after three a.m., and then he'd had
nightmares all night.

The nightmares were about the movie 'Scrooged', only all the ghosts
were Lance, and it was more the Dickens version than the Bill
Murray version, with Lance in Marley's chains, trying to balance
his checkbook, talk on his cell phone and run his business through
his laptop simultaneously, ignoring Bill Murray completely when he
tried to talk to him.  Joey wanted to sympathize, since Lance was
currently ignoring all of his phone calls and emails as well, but
he seemed to be apart from the dream, unable to interact with
anyone in it.

Lance-as-ghost-of-Christmas-past was the Lance who'd had a head too
big for his skinny little neck and a toothy 'aw, shucks' smile that
Joey hadn't seen on the real Lance in a long time.  Up until he
showed poor Bill the vision of Lance lying in that hospital bed
after his collapse from overwork and a bad heart.  Then the Ghost
of Christmas Past had the face of a slapped puppy, who didn't
understand why he'd been punished when he hadn't done anything
other than be a puppy.

The Ghost of Christmas Present was a hollow-eyed, grimly fit Lance
who showed up, then said he had to take a call and walked off.

Joey, who'd somehow turned into Bill Murray, spent the next however
long trying to chase him down.  For some reason, though, Lance
didn't actually have a phone in his hand.  *Joey* had Lance's
phone, and he was trying to catch Lance and give it back to him,
only he couldn't catch him and he would have *called* Lance and
told him to stop and wait, except that Joey had Lance's phone, so
of course, he couldn't call Lance.

He woke up before he met the Ghost of Christmas Future.

It was still early, and just barely light outside, a gray wet light
that encouraged going back to bed, except that there was no way
Joey was going back to bed now.  He'd rather be awake on too few
hours of sleep and sick than asleep and having dreams like that.

Besides, he didn't feel nearly so awful today as he had yesterday. 
His throat was still a little sore, but nothing bad.  A little more
coddling of it today and he should be okay.  He was relieved
really.

He got up, showered, dressed, and made himself a cup of tea.  Joey
hated the stuff, but if it helped, then he was all for it.

What a dream.  A classic Christmas tale, except Joey thought he was
supposed to feel better after something like that, not worse. 
Wasn't he supposed to have a renewed interest in helping people and
lots of energy and enthusiasm and Christmas spirit now?  He didn't. 
He felt like there was something really important that he was
supposed to be doing instead.

He drank his tea and looked out the window.  Man.  What a
nightmare.  And all about Lance.

Lance was looking really lousy lately.  Ever since he left for
Russia.  Joey hadn't seen him once since, either in person or in
pictures, where Lance looked like anything other than a cancer
patient who hadn't lost his hair yet.

And the bit in the dream about chasing Lance with the phone
reminded him uncomfortably of how Lance hadn't been returning any
of his calls since around about the same time.  That pained him,
that one of his friends, his *best* friend, didn't want to talk to
him.

Joey blinked.

Wait a minute.  He was supposed to call Lance!  That was why he'd
set his alarm so early yesterday.  To give him time to track Lance
down, because sure as really pretty girls already having big, tough
boyfriends, Lance wasn't going to be an easy man to find.  Or to
get a hold of once Joey had found him.  That was the problem,
really.  Since August, Joey had been tied to New York City.  He
couldn't spare the time to hunt Lance down and *make* him talk to
him, or *make* him take care of himself.  He wanted to, but he
couldn't.  Not until after December 21st, until after Christmas. 
Then Lance could run all he liked, but Joey would get him.

Except Joey's mother wanted him to do it now, before Christmas.

He went over to the phone, picked up, and dialed Chris' number.

"Yo," Chris said immediately.  "Give me two reasons to not kill you
for calling this early.  And I mean good reasons, not sucky ones,
Timberlake."

"One, you love me more than you love Justin.  Two, you're too lazy
to come all the way out to New York City to kick my ass yourself
and too cheap to pay someone else to do it."

"That's three reasons, and who says I love you anyway, calling this
early?  What's up, Joe?"

"So it's early.  You answered, you were awake."

"I'm sleep-talking.  I'm actually dreaming that you're three hot
French chicks and, ooh, yeah, baby, do *that* again."

"How is JC anyway?"

"Low blow, Fatone.  We'll make something of you yet.  For your
information, the last time I saw the fabulous Mr. Chasez, you were
licking him in the full view of God and everyone."

"I was licking the wax version of him," Joey corrected.

"Hah!  You can't deny it that easily.  There's pictures."

"Freak.  Don't be jealous.  He still loves you best."

"Of course he does.  I'm the cute one."

"No, you're the short one."

"Again, you reveal your secret jealousy of me and my superior
command of ze Frenchies."

"Whatever.  Listen, do you know where Lance is?"

"So have you made an appointment with an eye doctor yet, Joe?"

"Say what?"

"Because you *did* notice the Bass-man there with us at the wax
museum, right?  Or were you too busy making out with the closest
thing you're ever gonna get to the real Chasez?"

"At least I wasn't making out with myself."

"At least I have taste.  So?  You did see him, right?"

"I saw," Joey grumbled.  "But he wouldn't let me get close to him. 
Ran off as soon as they stopped taking pictures."

"I don't blame him.  Probably figured JC had you all het up and you
were gonna throw him to the ground and finally have your wicked way
with him.  And about damn time, too, I say."

"Chris.  This is serious."

There was a sigh from the other end of the phone.  "Serious is
boring."

"Chris..."

"Why's Bass avoiding you anyway?"

"'Cause he knows he looks like shit and if I got to him, he'd have
to do something about it."

"Oh, how horrible.  Joey's gonna mother me.  I better run away."

"Exactly.  So where is he?"

"No idea.  Wasn't he in Puerto Rico with Howie for that thing?"

"What thing?"

"That thing where that guy who's in that group got married to that
chick.  I'm not sure if she was in a thing or not.  *That* thing."

"Oh, yeah, like that really helps.  How about telling me where he
is now?"

"Don't have a clue," Chris said cheerfully.  "You tried JC or
Justin yet?"

"Chris, be serious."

"Oh, yeah.  Justin has his head so far up his ass lately he'd never
even notice if Lance came over, stole everything from his house,
then torched the place while singing Britney's Greatest Hits.  Both
of them."

"Um, Chris?"

"What?"

"You're not mad at J, are you?"

"Why?  Just because he abandoned his friends, his principles and
his good sense all at the same time, why ever would I be bitter? 
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a hot date with a French guy."

"A, JC isn't French, and B?"

"Yeah?"

"Isn't the wax museum gonna be kinda mad when they find out you
stole one of their exhibits for sexual purposes?"

"Jerk."  Chris hung up on him.

Joey put the phone back in its cradle, grinning, an expression that
faded as he thought about it.  Not because Chris was mad at him,
because he knew Chris wasn't, but because, if Chris didn't know
where Lance was, that left two possible ways to get a hold of him,
neither of which he was really looking forward to using.  One,
Jive, which was still trying to get Joey to agree to a post-RENT
series of appearances, and two, Lance's mother, who, he suspected,
didn't know either.  The way Lance looked, Diane would have held
him down and sat on him until he rested, too.  Or, well, maybe not
done *that*, because Mama Bass had never really needed physical
violence or the threat of it to get Lance -- or any of the rest of
them -- to snap into line.  A raised eyebrow, a gentle tone of
voice -- that was all Diane really needed.  No, she probably didn't
know either.

He sighed and finally called down to Florida and left a message for
Melinda, asking her to call him with Lance's whereabouts.

With any luck at all, he'd be out when she returned the call and
she'd have to talk to his answering machine.

As a matter of fact, this seemed like a really good time to catch
up on his Christmas shopping.  Joey grabbed his wallet and his
coat, and left.


Tuesday, December 17
*four calling birds*

His plan worked perfectly.  There'd been a message on his answering
machine when he got back, with the expected pleas that he up his
face time for NSYNC once his run with RENT was over and -- appended
at the end like an afterthought -- Lance's schedule of public
appearances for the rest of the week.

Which didn't really do him a lot of good, since he couldn't *go* to
any of those places.

Joey left another message on Lance's cell service and sent him an
email anyway even though he knew they'd probably be ignored like
every other message before them had, and scrutinized the list he'd
written down from Melinda's message.  Huh.  Who'd he know that'd be
going to these things?  Or, more importantly, who'd he know who
owed him a favor?

Hmm.

He made some more calls.  Lance wasn't going to get away from him
*that* easily.  It was the phone tree of doom.

Whistling, he sat down in the living room to wrap the presents he'd
picked up the day before.  He'd gotten several roll of traditional
Christmas wrapping paper in red-and-green, silver and gold and
stuff like that, a roll of Lilo and Stitch paper for Chris and Bri
and a roll of Star Wars paper for Steve.

Joey grinned while he wrapped, happily imagining everyone's
reactions to their gifts.  He loved this part of the season, too. 
He liked surprising people with stuff they'd wanted or needed but
hadn't, for whatever reason, gotten for themselves.  He'd learned
that from his mother, who'd taught him the art -- she kept a list
of things people mentioned throughout the year, like his aunt who'd
suddenly confessed a love of ceramic pigs while at a family
reunion, or his cousin's secret yen to try to press her own apples
for cider.  Stuff like that.  The important thing was making people
feel special by letting them know that you'd been paying attention
to what they liked and really wanted.  It had nothing to do with
how much money you had to spend and everything to do with how much
you cared about people.

He had gifts for Lance, too, already wrapped and sitting under the
tree.  Joey just hoped he'd have a chance to give them to him.


Wednesday, December 18
*five golden rings*

Wednesdays were his days off, unless they were doing a make-up
performance for RENT.  This Wednesday, he had off for real.

And when he had the day off for real, he also got a side benefit,
because Wednesdays were Briahna day.

They'd gone out and gotten Joey's Christmas tree together on the
Wednesday after Thanksgiving and decorated it together.  Bri had
put the star on the tree with some assistance from him; a star
because Briahna already was his angel.

This Wednesday, they were going to look at all the lights and
decorations around the city.  New York threw one heck of a party to
celebrate the holiday season, and they were going to ride around in
one of the horse-drawn carriages and look at everything.  Joey
thought Bri would love it.

Next Wednesday was Christmas.  Briahna was excited -- not so much
because she really had any idea what Christmas was or who Santa was
yet but more because everything was bright and cheerful and special
things seemed to happen every day.  Another year or two, and she
really would believe in Santa Claus, and hopefully would for at
least a couple of years after that.  Joey was excited, too.  Kelly
had Bri for Christmas Eve, and he got her on Christmas morning. 
Kelly was going to drop her off around 9 a.m., and all three of
them were going to unwrap presents at his place and then go over to
his parents' for Christmas dinner.  It was going to be the best
Christmas ever.

They were going to almost be like a real family, him and Kelly and
Bri, except that they weren't and probably wouldn't ever be.  It
wouldn't be right for him to marry Kelly, or anyone, as long as he
was still tied to NSYNC.  Because, in a way, being in NSYNC was
like already being married, and most people didn't get that.  Joey
didn't really try to explain it to anyone.  Kelly was probably the
only one who really *did* understand it out of everyone, but he
didn't dare tell anyone else.  He hadn't even told the other four,
but he thought maybe they knew already because that was the way a
good marriage worked, the way his parents' marriage worked.  Thank
God, NSYNC was mostly like a good marriage, 'cause if it was a bad
one, they'd still be stuck with it anyway, willy nilly, right down
to the legal requirements needed to get them all out of it should
they ever decide to separate, and who got custody of who, and the
part where you could love someone more than anything in the world,
know everything there was to know about them and still want to kill
them.  Or maybe it was all of those things that *kept* them from
killing each other.  Whichever.  It was still a five-fold bond and,
as long as it existed, however far apart they might all be, the
other guys were still first.

He and Briahna left a little before dark and got back just before
Bri's bedtime.  She was already nearly passed out, clinging to
Joey's shoulder as he carried her, but she was still burbling
happily against his neck.

"Horsie.  Big horsie.  *My* horsie."

"It *was* a nice horse," Joey said agreeably.  He just hoped Justin
or Chris never heard about that.  Justin would buy her a pony
without even thinking about it, and Chris would do it just to see
Joey scramble to find a place to put one.  The horse had been dark
brown and had stood there placidly while Joey held Briahna and she
patted at it.  Snug in her warm clothes, her eyes had shone
delightedly from under her knitted cap for the rest of the journey.

"Christmas?" she asked.

"Soon, honey.  Not tonight or tomorrow night, but soon."

"Christmas," she repeated as he carried her into her bedroom.  He
put her down on the bed and she sat there and watched him as he got
her jammies out.

"Uh huh.  It's gonna be Christmas soon.  And you'll get lots of
presents and we're going to go see your Gramma and Grampa and your
mommy," he told her, setting the jammies down next to her on the
bed.

"See Gramma!"

He chuckled and got her out of her outdoor clothes and into the
pajamas.  She was just starting to insist on 'helping', which
usually involved a lot of giggling and taking twice as long, but
she was pretty worn out tonight and content to let him undress and
redress her.

When her teeth had been brushed and bedtime story read, he kissed
her on the forehead and sat down in the rocking chair to watch her
fall asleep.  She went to sleep more easily when she knew he was
there.  Maybe if he had her all time, he wouldn't have time to do
it or she wouldn't need him to do it, but he hardly ever got to see
her and he thought maybe he needed it as much as she did, knowing
her daddy was there for her.

Joey watched her until he was sure she was deeply asleep, then he
tiptoed out and closed her door gently behind him.


Thursday, December 19
*six geese a-laying*

Joey was sitting on the couch reading the paper when his phone
rang.  "Hello?"

"So what's this important thing that you need to say to me that you
couldn't leave me a message about?"

Joey grinned into the phone.  "Lance!"

"Yeah, it's me.  I heard you wanted to talk to me.  So call your
dogs off and talk to me already."

"I don't have any dogs.  It's the rest of you who are dog people,
not me."

"You know what I mean.  Look.  If you have something to say, say
it.  I'm very busy right now."

"You're too busy.  You need to slow down some.  Get some rest,
y'know?"

"I get enough rest."

Joey shook his head, even though Lance couldn't see it.  "You're
not.  Anyone else would just be showing it more obviously.  Chris
would be running around in circles screaming 'I'm not tired, I'm
*not* tired!' like Briahna, but you..."

"I sleep," Lance said, a defensive edge in his voice.  "It's not
like I'm going to check into some celebrity drying out place
complaining of exhaustion.  I'm *fine*, Joey.  What do you want? 
What did you call me for?"

"I want--" he hesitated for a second, because this was probably the
one chance he was going to get to talk to Lance directly before
Christmas, and he realized that he *didn't* want what he thought he
wanted.  Yeah, sure, he wanted Lance to get some rest, but he
didn't trust Lance to take care of himself.  Joey's mother was the
one on the right track.  "I want you to come out here for
Christmas.  Spend it with us."

"A Fatone family Christmas?" Lance asked.  "Thank you, Joey, but I
already have plans."

"For what?  I bet you're not going to Mississippi."

"I said I have plans."  Lance's voice was cold and frosty, which
was a nice trick given how syrupy his drawl could make it.

"It's Christmas."

"I *know*."

"You're going to work through Christmas," Joey said flatly.

"Nothing we haven't done before."

"We're on break this year.  It's different.  C'mon, Lance, you need
your rest.  You don't need to do this to yourself."

"I don't know what you think I'm doing.  What I *am* doing is what
needs to be done."

"Lance..."

"You know what happened to the goose who laid the golden eggs,
Joey?  They killed it and cut it open to get at the eggs.  Only
then there weren't any more, because they didn't understand where
the eggs were actually coming from.  We can't stop publicity and
promotion this soon.  Not if we want to keep the public interested
in NSYNC, especially when we aren't producing anything new.  You
may not be committed to that, but I am."

"Lance..." he tried again, appalled, but he was cut off.

"Look, thanks for the invitation.  It was a nice thought.  But I
have work to do.  I'll see you when you get your act together.

And Lance hung up.

Joey stared at the phone for a long time before putting it back. 
That hadn't been any version of Lance he remembered.  That wasn't
his friend on the phone, not that bitter, unhappy man.

Except, maybe... he sighed.  He'd seen flashes of that in Lance
before.  During the lawsuit.  During the publicity rounds for 'On
The Line' when it'd become increasingly clear that the movie was
never going to go anywhere, that it would be dismissed and mocked
and that no one who wasn't already one of their fans would go to
see it.  He'd thought that version of Lance was gone though, when
Lance left for Russia, happy and excited.  Although -- Lance had
come back tired.  Defeated even.  But it still hadn't ever really
occurred to Joey that Lance had changed like this.

His friend had changed into Ebenezer Scrooge.

That was part of the problem.  Lance was his best friend, and
unlike the other guys, Joey really meant that.  The other guys
tended to collect friends who weren't NSYNC, who didn't have the
same pressures that they had to deal with, who weren't part of
their psychotic little family.

Except Joey, because Joey understood family.  He was probably the
only one who did, who had the right frame of reference for it.

Justin was the product of a broken home and Lynn was not so much
his mother sometimes as his hysterically over-protective
manager/guard dog.

JC was adopted.  Not special, and Joey didn't know if that was
because the Chasezes were naturally stilted and cold or if they
genuinely disapproved of JC.  There were some things that JC just
wouldn't talk about.  But it wasn't family, whatever it was.

Chris loved his, completely and utterly and with fierce
protectiveness, but couldn't bear to be around them.  They weren't
family anymore so much as concentrated guilt, a pane of glass that
Chris was always pressing his nose against.  He put the glass there
himself and sealed them in, gave them everything they could need or
want so his sisters didn't have to grow up like he had and so his
mother never needed anything, ever again -- but it was there and
Chris couldn't be part of them.  He was forever separate, marked by
what he'd done so that they didn't have to.  Joey admired him, but
he felt sorry for him, too.

Lance came the closest, but his family, despite the Southern
backdrop, was profoundly nuclear and, if the Chasezes were cold and
stilted, then Diane Bass was downright formal.  Joey had never
called her anything to her face but "ma'am" and "Miz Bass" because
it was just what you did with someone who carried the impression of
"lady" that strongly.

None of the guys had families like Joey's, where you went home for
the holidays and the house was full of people, cousins and aunts
and uncles and in-laws and little kids and noise everywhere and
everyone happy and bustling.  At their best, the group reminded him
of that.  At their worst, like now, separated across the country,
they reminded him more of the Chasez family, with JC's siblings,
who went home about as often as JC did -- which was to say, nearly
never -- and talked to each other more often that they did to their
parents, but still not very much.

Joey didn't really understand how to live like that, or why anyone
would want to, which was partly why he'd had Steve tour with them
for a while -- he didn't get why you *wouldn't* want your family
around if you loved them, and if you cared about them.  But
'family' meant different things to different people and Joey got
that.  He just wished his friends could share what he had.

He'd seen Lance in photos more than in person lately.  Lance looked
awful.  People were saying flattering things about his musculature,
his new slimness, but to Joey's eyes, he looked sick.  Sick in body
and in soul.  He'd sounded even worse on the phone just now.

What Lance needed, Joey thought, was someone to sit on him.  Make
him lay down and rest.  Get some sleep first of all, a full week of
sleep if need be, until the bags under his eyes disappeared at the
very least.  And then he needed to be cheered up and made much of
until the haggardness and the drawn, pushed look disappeared as
well.  Joey didn't know what to do about the ingrained bitterness,
but he could make a start, at least.

But Lance was refusing to be pinned down.  Was not, actually, even
listening to what Joey had to say.  Lance had a major advantage
over Joey right now.  Joey was tied to one place, unable to leave,
unable to go to where Lance was and force him to slow down.

He'd done that before.  After Lance's collapse.  Lance looked worse
now, to Joey's eyes, than he had then.  Joey had smothered him with
concern until even Lance had given in, sometimes with bemusement,
letting himself be taken care of.  Tucked blankets around him.  Fed
him.  Put him to bed sometimes, when Lance just would not get the
message that he needed to take it easy, when Lance was working off
of sheer, nervous exhaustion and unable to recognize his own
tiredness.

Lance was Joey's best friend.  His family, too, and more than
family.  Part of NSYNC and Briahna's godfather.  Linked
inextricably.  Joey wanted to surround Lance with warmth, cover him
in concern and blankets until Lance slept.  Cocoon him.  Protect
him.  Make him better.

But he couldn't, because Lance would not come to him and Joey could
not go to him.  Joey had always gone to Lance before.  Lance was
incapable of admitting to weakness, and Joey didn't think publicly
failing to go into space had made Lance any better at it.  "On The
Line" hadn't.  Joey's successes in the acting arena probably hadn't
helped either.  Lance wasn't so petty-minded as to blame Joey for
being successful -- and as much as Joey was proud that "My Big Fat
Greek Wedding" was *still* in the box office top ten, he knew he
had relatively little to do with that.  It was a good movie, he was
proud of it, he was happy about having done it -- but he'd felt the
same way about "On The Line".  So he didn't think anything of it,
but that didn't mean Lance didn't.  Lance.  It hurt to think about
him, hurt to know that his friend was hurting and that there was
nothing he could do about it.  Nothing until Lance finally admitted
to needing help, fixed it himself -- or collapsed again.  Joey was
afraid that, given Lance's current attitude, the last was probably
the most likely.

Things were screwed up and he didn't know how to make it better.

Joey moped.  How was he supposed to tell his mother that Lance
wouldn't be coming for Christmas?  She was gonna kill him.


Friday, December 20
*seven swans a-swimming*

Joey flipped through the television listings.  Aha!  'Rudolph and
Frosty's Christmas in July' was playing on the Family channel.  He
loved Christmas specials, particularly the Rudolph ones.  He turned
on the TV and went back to the listings.  'Rudolph's Shiny New
Year' was going to be on Sunday and again on Christmas Eve, and the
classic one, 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' would be playing on
Christmas.

Christmas.  That was kinda late for it to be showing.  He wasn't
sure why they were showing it then.  The movie was about Christmas
Eve and about Santa trying to get all the toys out and needing
Rudolph to help.  Showing it on Christmas didn't make any sense. 
Especially at 8 p.m.  That was Bri's bedtime.  She wasn't going to
get to see it, and it wasn't like there was any point to taping it
for after Christmas.

Hmph.

Oh, well.  It wasn't like the movie wasn't out on video or
anything.  He could rent it or buy it if he really wanted to see it
before then.  It just seemed kinda weird.

Lance's favorite Christmas movie was 'A Christmas Story', which
Chris wouldn't watch at all, because it reminded him too much of
how he'd actually grown up.  Joey thought the movie was kinda
funny, but nothing special.  It didn't capture the meaning of
Christmas to him, or the meaning of anything at all, except how the
holidays could drive some people crazy.  Maybe, for Lance, it was
about the struggle to get what you really wanted even when no one
else wanted you to have it or thought it was good for you.  That'd
almost make sense.  Or maybe he just thought it was good.

Joey didn't know.  It wasn't like he usually sat around and
consciously *analyzed* why he liked stuff.  JC did that, and
sometimes Chris, because Chris liked to know why things worked or
didn't work.  Joey just liked what he liked.  He didn't really
care, for instance, that Rudolph 'personified the Ugly Duckling
myth' or that it was 'a classic tale of abandonment and seeking
acceptance from one's peers', as JC and Chris had summed it up one
year when they were all on the road and crashed out in one of their
hotel rooms, drinking spiked egg nog and going through a Christmas
movie marathon to make up for not being able to spend the Christmas
season at home.

If all that was true and, really, the only part Joey got was the
bit about the Ugly Duckling, then Rudolph should be Lance's
favorite movie, not Joey's.  Because Lance was the one who hadn't
fit in, who'd been lost and unwanted.  He was the one who'd stepped
in for Jason at the last minute, who the Germans had tried to nix
their record deal over, the supposed liability who didn't belong,
except he did.  He always had, and NSYNC wouldn't *be* NSYNC
without Lance, who was proving everyone wrong now, who was the swan
he'd always been destined to be, the leader of Santa's little team
of reindeer, not a reject.  Except maybe Lance didn't know that,
given how hard he was struggling to overcome his perceived failure.

Maybe that was why Rudolph wasn't Lance's favorite.  Maybe Lance
was the only one who didn't know he was a swan.


Saturday, December 21
*eight maids a-milking*

The last day of his run in RENT fell on a Saturday.  The day of
weddings and new beginnings.

It'd been a good run, every bit as good as he'd wanted it to be. 
Joey thought maybe, if he ever came back to Broadway, he'd be
accepted as someone who actually *wanted* to act, not just as a
publicity stunt on two legs.

Heck, with this, Joey had even helped pave the way for others to do
the same thing.  Kevin Richardson was taking a spot in "Chicago"
without even a fraction of the fuss Joey had gone through.  Which
might be a good thing or a bad thing.  Joey'd heard that he was
worth $100,000 extra in ticket sales per week and that was a
significant amount.  The whole Kevin thing might just be an attempt
on the part of the promoters of "Chicago" to milk the boyband
cashcow phenomenon for all it was worth.

Joey wished Kevin good luck.  It wasn't easy proving yourself all
over again in a different profession, one with its own jealously
guarded hierarchy.

For himself, he was done for now.  Until the next time, whether it
was on Broadway or in the movies or whatever, because that much was
true -- acting was like a terminal disease.  You didn't get better
once you caught it.

The matinee went almost normally, because it wasn't the last
performance, it was the next-to-last.  There were telegrams of
congratulations waiting for him in the dressing room after the
afternoon show, as well as cards and several bouquets of flowers. 
Joey cheerfully distributed the flowers with a smile and a wink to
various female members of the crew, each of whom acted flattered in
their own way, giggling and blushing and thanking him.  The cards
and messages got tucked inside his coat pocket.

After a rollicking lunch where a lot of sparkling liquid was drunk
and many toasts were made, Joey found a few minutes to sit back and
go through the stack of messages.  His parents had sent one,
telling him how proud they were of him.  There were similar
messages from Justin and JC, and a card from Chris with a picture
of a woman milking a cow, the udders in her hand squirting milk all
over her face and, printed inside, "Thinking of You".  Underneath
that, in Chris' jagged handwriting, it said, "Wow.  Look at the
nipples on that one!".  Which was typical of Chris' way of thinking
and felt more genuine than a note of congratulations would have. 
From Lance, there was nothing.

Back at the theater, Glenda descended upon him bearing packages. 
"Joey, my fair chick!" she carolled.

He clucked at her and she grinned.

"Yes, yes, love, you're a treat.  Now, you know you're a natural
and I don't need to tell you that, but if it means anything coming
from an old warhorse like me, well then, you should know."

"It does," he said, wrapping her in a hug and picking her up off
the ground.  "And you're not old," he said, before setting her back
on her feet.

"Flatterer.  Now, here's some cookies to nibble on and a little
something to keep you warmer."

She handed him a brightly wrapped package and a tin.

Joey took the tin and tucked it under his arm and then opened the
package.  It was a hand-knitted scarf.  "Thank you."

"My pleasure, dear.  Here, now--" she took it from him and stood on
her tiptoes to wrap it around his neck.  Joey bent down to make it
easier and she kissed him on the cheek.

"My," she said, looking him over.  "Don't you look fine?"

He struck a pose, flexing his biceps, and she laughed.

"Don't eat all those cookies at once now, and give your dear old
friend Glenda a ring once in a while when you're in town."

"I will," he said, and hugged her again.  He was going to miss the
Nederlander and RENT a lot.

His send-off was touching.  Before the show, the cast and crew
presented him with a signed poster and best wishes.  Several of the
"serious" actors took him aside to tell him how much more they
respected him now than when he began, and it almost seemed like
most people missed him already.

After the show, after the final curtain call, a little girl in a
red crushed velvet dress with white tights, shiny black shoes and
a red bow in her dark brown hair solemnly presented him with a
bundle of roses.

Best wishes, best wishes, best wishes, and he couldn't get out of
being taken out to party the late night away, not that Joey exactly
*objected* to having a good time, except there was something that
felt off and strange and he didn't know what it was.

Well-wishers thronged the outside of the theater and it was just
like opening night all over again, except this time he could stay
a while to meet with the people there to see him.  Joey waved,
smiled and signed autographs until his elbow was jogged by someone
telling him he needed to get in the car *now*, and Joey excused
himself as politely as he could, giving the crowd one last wave
before leaving the theater for the last time.

The car was empty except for him, the bodyguard in the front seat
and the driver.   The rest of the cast and crew were probably
already at the club.

He'd much rather have been with them, jamming as many people as
possible into a cab and laughing.  But he wasn't one of them and
never would be.

The car stopped at a traffic light and Joey looked out the window
at the church nativity scene opposite him.

The stable was set up in the small fenced front lawn of the church. 
It was open fronted, with a rough blocky 'cradle' that really did
resemble a cradle more than a manger.  A bright light shone down
into it from above, like the star of Bethlehem, to illuminate the
baby within.  From this angle, he couldn't see the interior of the
cradle and he supposed that was probably the way the person who'd
set it up had wanted it to look.  Whoever had set it up had
declined to use tacky plastic figurines to represent the other
people present that night.  Instead, there were two real sheep
staring placidly from behind the metal bars of the church fence at
the traffic, and the manger, lit by the sole light.

The staging was exceedingly simple and very effective.  Joey stared
at the central piece with its sole light until the traffic light
changed and the car pulled away.


Sunday, December 22
*nine ladies dancing*

It was after midnight as the laughing, singing crowd weaved their
way down the sidewalk to the next club.

Joey sang along with them as they did dirty versions of Christmas
carols, including "Jingle Balls", "Deck the Halls" with sex toys,
and a version of "Up on the Housetop" that implied that the reason
Good Saint Nick was known as being quick had more to do with his
problems with premature ejaculation than years of practice at
getting up chimneys quickly.

It was a holly jolly group full of Christmas cheer that stopped in
front of the advertisement to point and hoot.

The advertisement was a full color picture of one of the club's
dancers.  A buxom blonde with "Brittany Spheres" emblazoned across
her ample endowments.

"Hey, it's the ex-girlfriend!"

"The evil ex!"

"Let's go boo and hiss her!"

"Yeah, right.  You aren't gonna boo and hiss her.  You're gonna
kiss her boobs."

"Close enough."

Joey laughed and let himself be pulled inside with the rest of the
happy, shouting and giggling throng.  "Not my girlfriend, man. 
Kelly woulda killed me, then her."

"Whipped!"  They made whip-cracking noises at him.

"House husband!" someone else said.

He grinned and paid his portion of the cover charge.  Kelly really
would have killed him, too, but mostly because she despised
Britney, more than because she was in the habit of telling Joey
what to do with his love life during the periods of time when they
weren't actively dating.

They eventually all made it inside and were stalled when one of the
men stopped dead at seeing the dancers on the stage.  "Oh, baby, oh
baby."

The dancers were all dressed in skimpy red and white Santa
costumes.

"I've been a very naughty boy, Santa!  Punish me!"

One of the women whapped him.  "You're gonna get your punishment up
close and personal if you don't watch it, Jimmy."

He waggled his eyebrows at her.  "Just the way I like it, baby."

Joey got a beer and settled down at a table with as many of the
others grouping around him as possible to watch the show.  The
dancers were pretty, talented and stayed clothed, which was a bonus
given that the group from RENT was mixed-gender.

One of the women, a stagehand, got up and, after a whispered
exchange involving folded bills, came back with one of the Mrs.
Clauses.  This Mrs. Claus was a sultry redhead with long, long legs
and a muscled midsection displayed between her red fur bikini top
and bottom.

"Ms. Spheres was busy," the stagehand explained.

Mrs. Claus smiled at Joey and popped a miniature candy cane into
her mouth, sucking on the end suggestively.  "If I sit on your
lap," she said, taking the candy cane out and twirling it between
her fingers, "you can tell me what you want for Christmas."

Joey, who knew a set-up when he saw one, patted his lap.  She
started to straddle him, but he shifted and she ended up sitting
sideways across his legs.

She grinned at him and leaned in close.  "So, have you been naughty
or nice?"  The word 'naughty' was accompanied by a grind down
against his thighs as she sucked the candy cane back in.

"Oh, I think I've been very, very good this year," Joey said.

"He has, he has!" someone said from the surrounding crowd.

"No, he hasn't!" someone else said.  "Give him a lump of coal!"

Mrs. Claus looked amused.  "I think I should find out how just good
he is.  What do you think?"

The crowd roared its approval, and she leaned in and planted a kiss
on his lips.

There were sustained catcalls from the rowdy group as the kiss went
on and on.  When Mrs. Claus leaned away, she sat the Santa hat she
was wearing on Joey's head.  "I think you're *very* good."

Joey grinned back at her.  "Told you so."

The stagehand who'd gotten Mrs. Claus to come over nudged Joey in
the side.  "Hey.  Joey.  Didn't you notice something about Mrs.
Claus there?"

Joey gave her a nice baffled look.  "What?  Like how pepperminty
fresh her breath was?"

A few of the more observant and less drunk partiers were already
snickering.

"No, something a little more important than that?"

"Like what?" Joey asked, eyebrows crooked in an expression of
confusion.

"So you didn't notice anything at all strange about Mrs. Claus
there?"

Joey looked back at the dancer sitting on his lap and did an
exaggerated double-take.  "Mrs. Claus!  My, what a big Adam's apple
you have!"

Nearly everyone laughed, while the few people who didn't know
they'd wandered into a drag club looked confused.

Mrs. Claus pecked Joey on his cheek.  "A very good boy.  Maybe
Santa will leave you something extra-special under your tree this
year."

"I sure hope so," Joey assured 'her' as the dancer climbed off his
lap and sauntered back to the stage.

"Joey, you big faker," the woman who'd hired Mrs. Claus said.  "You
knew all along.  And you still kissed him!  Her!"

Joey stuck out his tongue, proudly displaying the now melting
miniature candy-cane Mrs. Claus had been sucking on.

"You!"

He pulled his tongue back in and sucked on the candy cane with a
smug grin.  "Yup."

The laughing and cheering that followed was as much for Joey as
making fun of the stagehand who'd thought she could freak him out.

Joey just watched it all, smiling.


Monday, December 23
*ten lords a-leaping*

The phone was ringing as he came in the door.

Joey draped his coat over a chair and picked up the phone.  "Yeah?"

"Wow.  Try to sound less enthused, big guy."

Joey sighed and dropped down onto the couch.  "It's been a long
day.  I had stuff to do.  Face time, y'know?  Whaddaya want?"

"Aw, c'mon, I bet you were the sexiest ribbon cutter there."

"Ugh, don't even.  I was playing Santa for a bunch of kids.  It was
great, but I'm beat."

"What?  You didn't pick up any cute elves?"

"Nah," Joey said, getting into the spirit of a Chris-conversation. 
"They all reminded me too much of you."

"Oh, so what you're saying then is that you wanted to pick up on
all of them but you didn't have enough room in your sleigh to take
them all home so you decided to not break their hearts by just
choosing the lucky few?"

"No," Joey said, keeping his voice straight, "I didn't pick up on
any of them 'cause I knew none of them could possibly compare to
the original."

"Be still my beating heart.  Fatone, you big stud, take me now or
lose me forever."

"Guess I lose you forever then, 'cause I'm in New York and you're
wherever you are."

"Ahem.  About that..."

Joey's eyebrows raised.  "You're in New York?"

"No... I'm in Salt Lake.  At the airport, waiting for my flight."

"What are you doing in Salt Lake?"

"I'm tracking the sly and devious Bass to his lair, that's what I'm
doing.  I'm going to get him, by hook or by crook, and when I get
through with him, he's going to know what's good for him."

"Chris..."

"What?" Chris asked with an air of injured innocence.  "Don't you
want me to track Lance down?"

"No.  I don't.  Lance is..."  He paused.  "He's in a tough spot
right now.  And if he doesn't want our help, maybe we shouldn't be
forcing it on him.  Y'know?  And, plus.  I talked to him on the
phone on Thursday.  He's really serious about not wanting us around
right now."  Not wanting *him*, actually, but close enough for
Chris.

"Lance doesn't know what's good for him."

"Chris..." Joey said warningly.

"Don't worry, Joey," Chris said, cackling maniacally.  "I have a
plan."

"Oh, dear Lord."

"Hey!  It's a good plan!"

Joey had a sudden vision of Chris chasing Lance across the country,
leaping over all the obstacles Lance could throw in his path, and
shook his head to clear it.  "I dunno, Chris."

"Trust me.  I know what I'm doing."

That was the problem with Chris, Joey reflected.  He always thought
he knew what he was doing, and he was always trying to do something
completely impossible that no sane person would ever attempt.  And
frequently getting himself banged up in the process, because he
wasn't Superman, wasn't Aquaman or even the Tick's sidekick,
Arthur.  But the thing was, sometimes Chris succeeded.

"Okay, Chris," Joey conceded.  "I can't stop you.  But don't spend
too much time on it.  I don't want you ruining your Christmas
trying to do this.  'Cause, y'know, I think maybe what Lance needs
is time."

He didn't really mean that, but, well, he didn't know what else he
could give Lance.

"Like I said, trust me, Fatone."

Joey snorted.  "Yeah, sure.  No problem."

Chris laughed again and hung up.

He sighed and put the phone back.  He looked at the empty
apartment, at the Christmas tree with its lights off and the
presents sitting underneath it, all wrapped as neatly as Joey could
manage.  It looked very lonely.

Joey got up, plugged in the lights, then went into the kitchen and
stuck a bag of microwave popcorn into the microwave, then went to
hunt up some thread and a needle.  He was pretty sure there was an
emergency sewing kit tucked into the front of one of his suitcases.

He could string a popcorn garland together.  It was Christmas-y,
and it would give him something to do with his hands so he didn't
have to sit here and think about friends who wouldn't be there for
the holiday.


Tuesday, December 24
*eleven pipers piping*

Christmas Eve.  In just over ten hours, Kelly would be bringing
Briahna up, and then Christmas would start in earnest.

For now...

Joey looked out the window at Central Park.  The rain was falling
steadily, and had been for some time now.  There'd been more rain
than sun all day, and now that it was night, it was just rain.  He
could see the stark black outlines of the leafless trees and the
lighted buildings behind them.

*Yeah,* he thought.  *This is Christmas.*  Wet and cold and black.

It'd been years since he spent so much time in one place, and the
one thing he'd really wanted out of spending the holiday season in
New York City was snow.  He'd expected ice -- he remembered years
when every car was left the same uniform gray from the ice and snow
and muck splashed up from the streets.  But what he'd really hoped
for was snow.  Christmas was supposed to be white, supposed to be
about friends and family, about being bundled by the fire with hot
chocolate while everyone talked too loud and had a good time and
looked forward to opening presents.

But it was still raining, and it didn't look like that was going to
change in time for Christmas.

He was depressed, but that was because he was alone.  Tomorrow,
everything would be better.  He'd get to spend time with Kelly and
Briahna and his folks and all of his relatives, and then it would
feel like Christmas.  But for now...

It didn't feel very much like Christmas right now.  Not even
Briahna really believed in Santa yet.  He didn't know what everyone
else believed in, what Lance believed in, or if they believed in
anything at all.

He thought maybe he'd make some hot chocolate anyway, because just
having the hot chocolate might help him feel better.

As he got up to go into the kitchen, the intercom buzzed.

He went over to it and pressed the button.  "Yes?"

The doorman answered.  "Mr. Fatone, you have visitors.  Mr.
Kirkpatrick and a guest to see you."

Joey raised his eyebrows.  He hadn't known Chris was dating.  "Send
them up."

He went back into the kitchen and got out three cocoa packets. 
Chris liked hot chocolate, especially with marshmallows.  He had
time to put three mugs of water in the microwave, set the timer for
two minutes and get out the spoons before the doorbell rang.

Joey went out and threw it open with a smile.  "Chris!"

Chris was indeed standing in the hallway.  But the person with him
was not a girlfriend, but rather, someone Joey knew very well. 
Lance.

Chris grinned at him, standing on his doorstep, not coming inside. 
Lance hovered behind Chris, eyes on the ground, not looking up. 
"Merry Christmas, Fatone.  Don't say I never gave you anything."

He waved cheerfully at both of them and backed up.  When Lance
didn't move, Chris planted a hand in the center of his back and
pushed him at Joey.  "Well, go on.  Say 'hi'."

Lance cleared his throat.  Sheepishly, he said, "Um, hi?"

Chris shook his head and said in an exasperated voice, "He's not
gonna kill you, Bass."

Joey looked at Chris.  "Thanks, but I can take it from here."

"Okay, toodle-loo, kids.  Remember, don't do anything I wouldn't
do, especially if it involves open flames and toxic materials."  He
sauntered off down the hallway toward the elevator.

Joey stepped backward into his apartment.  "C'mon in.  I'm glad
you're here.  Really glad.  Really, really glad."

Lance laughed nervously.  "Yeah, well, I can tell," but picked up
his bags and followed him.  He stopped just inside the door and
waited for Joey to close it.  When the door finally closed behind
him, he said, "Time to pay the piper, I guess."

"Lance..."

"No, I mean... I was avoiding you, and Chris said--"

Joey took a quick step forward and wrapped Lance in a hug,
squeezing him tightly.  "You don't have to do anything or feel
anything or be sorry for anything.  You're here now, and that's
what matters."

"Thanks," Lance said, the word muffled against Joey's neck.

The microwave beeped and Joey remembered the cocoa.  He let go of
Lance.  "I started making hot chocolate when I heard Chris was
coming up.  You want some?"

"Sure, I suppose."

Joey dumped one of the cups of water out in the sink and set it
upside down in the drying rack.  He picked up the packets and
flipped them back and forth to settle the cocoa mix at the bottom
of them, then carefully ripped them open one at time, dropped their
contents into the cups and stirred them.

When he came back out, Lance had settled himself into the depths of
a chair in the corner where it would be awkward for Joey to talk to
him from.  He'd have to turn sideways on the couch just to see him. 
Joey settled it by pulling the footstool away from Lance's feet and
sitting down on it.  He handed Lance his cocoa.  "Hey."

"Thanks."  Lance took at it and stared into the depths of the mug.

Joey sipped at his.  Hot, hot, hot!  He blew on the surface and
took another sip.  A little better.

"I suppose I should explain."

Joey gave him an encouraging look and drank his cocoa.  He had
Lance here now, and not running away.  That was the important
thing.  He could take care of Lance at his leisure.  He didn't need
to pressure him now, because Lance obviously understood that the
time for trying to get away was over.  He wondered what Chris had
said to Lance.  *That* must've been one heck of a conversation.

"It's just... I'm tired of talking about it.  I'm tired of
*thinking* about it.  I'm tired of... I'm tired of everything.  I'm
sick of being me, of being here, but it all just keeps going on,
and I keep going on, and I don't know where it's going to end.  If
I'm ever going to feel normal again.  Are things ever going to be
okay again?"

"Yes."

Lance snorted a little and set the untouched cocoa down on a small
end table next to the chair.  "I wish I could believe you.  But
it's not that easy."  He slumped down in the chair, looking
defeated.

Joey said, earnestly, "It's not that hard.  Just let the people who
love you care about you, okay?"

"Is that what this is about?" Lance asked.

"Yeah, of course.  That's what it's always been about.  Didn't you
*know* that?" Joey asked, a little frustrated that, after all this
time, Lance could still not know that he was genuinely wanted and
liked for who he was.  Did he really think that Chris had tracked
him down and brought him here because he hated him or something? 
That Joey's mother had invited him out to the house to be *polite*?

"Oh.  Okay.  I guess I just never thought about it like that."

Joey shook his head.  "Lance, it's *always* been like that.  For a
long time."

"Well, like I said, I never realized."

"As long as you know now.  You do believe me now, right?"

"Yeah," Lance said.  "I believe you."

Then he surged up out of his chair, standing up to cross the brief
distance to Joey.

Joey asked, kinda startled, "Lance?"

"I get it.  I really get it now," Lance muttered, then bent over,
and kissed him.

Lance's mouth was urgent, lips demanding.  He had his leg between
Joey's knees and one of his hands was curling under the edge of
Joey's shirt before Joey had even really registered what Lance was
doing.

He might even have been a good kisser under more normal
circumstances.  Joey didn't know.  He was sorry that this was
probably the only time he was going to get to find out.

Turning his head to the side, Joey said, gently, "No, Lance.  That
wasn't that I meant."

"Oh."  Lance flushed, and pulled back, body stiff and hands fisted
at his sides.  His face was red with humiliation and he was looking
at the ground again.

"It's all right."

Lance laughed bitterly.  He was looking up again, but not at Joey. 
He raised one hand to the back of his neck, and rubbed at it,
looking tired.  "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is," Joey said firmly.  He stood up.  "Everything is going
to be all right from now on."

"You can't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't.  It isn't."  Lance's face was weighed down with
exhaustion, and the haggard desperation in his eyes was clearly
evident.

Joey took Lance's hand.  "It is, and it will be.  Now, it's late. 
Come to bed.  You need to get some sleep.  Kel's going to be here
early with Bri and then we're all opening presents before we go
over to the house for Christmas."

Lance looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Joey. 
"Joey?  What are you doing?  I don't understand."

"I know," he said soothingly.  "I know you don't.  It's okay,
Lance.  Come to bed."

He tugged on Lance's hand, and Lance followed him like a
sleepwalker into the bedroom.


Wednesday, December 25
*twelve drummers drumming*

Once Joey had gotten Lance into his bedroom, he hadn't wanted to
let Lance out; under the guise of getting dressed for bed, he'd put
a t-shirt and a pair of sweats in Lance's hands and pushed him
gently in the direction of the bathroom before going back out into
the other room to get his bag.  When he came back in, he knocked on
the bathroom door, then set it inside without looking to see what
Lance was doing.  He changed into the same thing, and then sat down
on the bed and waited.  The clock read 12:08.  It was officially
Christmas.

Lance came out a little while later, still looking lost.

Joey folded back the covers and patted the bed.

Lance came over and slid in.  Joey laid down on his side, then
reached out and hauled Lance over to him, holding him close against
his chest.

"This okay?" he asked.

"Um.  Yeah.  I suppose.  Joey, what are you doing?"

"Holding you."

It wasn't the first time he'd ever held Lance, but earlier, that
was the first time Lance had kissed him.  Joey stroked Lance's back
and waited.

After a long, long time, Lance began to relax against him as he
listened to the steady drum of Joey's heart, hands unclenching,
losing his stiffness.  After even a longer time, Lance began to cry
quietly into Joey's chest, fingers clenching at his shirt.

Joey just held him, running his hand up and down in long,
comforting sweeps, while Lance cried.

"I love you," Joey said when Lance had mostly stopped crying.

Lance didn't reply directly, but said instead, "I'm so tired."

"I know.  It's all right.  Go to sleep.  I'm here."

"I'm sorry.  That I.  Y'know."

"It's all right.  Really.  You don't have anything to be sorry for. 
I *love* you, Lance.  There's nothing you can do that'll change
that.  Ever."

Lance sniffled.  "You don't know that."

"I do."

"But you won't have sex with me."

It was the tired pliant of a child.  There were a dozen responses
he could make, like, does everyone you have sex with love you?  Or,
do you think I could possibly love you *more* somehow?  But Lance
didn't need logic right now.  Joey kissed the top of his head.  "I
don't need to.  You don't need me to.  I'm yours and I'm going to
love you forever."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Lance mumbled sleepily.

"No problem," Joey whispered back to him, and pressed another kiss
into his hair.

A while later, when Joey thought Lance was asleep, his head still
resting on Joey's shoulder, Lance stirred.

Into the safe darkness of the room, Lance said, "I'm sorry.  I
acted so badly and I didn't even bring you a gift.  I should have
brought you something."

Joey stroked Lance's hair.  "Doesn't matter.  I got the only thing
I really wanted."

"Yeah?  I didn't mess everything up?"

"Not even.  You made everything perfect.  'Cause all I wanted for
Christmas was you."

Lance snorted, and Joey grinned at him, even though Lance couldn't
see his expression.  He meant it, too, no matter how sappy it
sounded.

Over Lance's head, he could see the window.  Large white blobs were
floating gently past the glass, disappearing into the darkness.

"Hey," he said.  "I think it's starting to snow."


-the end-