Lance had no idea when it had started.

It probably hadn't started when he first noticed it.  These things
happened and, all in all, he didn't pay that much attention to
their fans.  The fans were like a huge mass.  You didn't see an
individual tree; you saw a forest.  You didn't see a blade of
grass; you saw a lawn.  You might see each one, but your mind
simplified it for you and made it into one thing because no one
could cope with that many individual objects.  Especially when they
all looked the same.

Okay, so most of the fans looked different from each other but, en
masse, they looked the same.

So when he first noticed it, it had to have been going on a lot
longer than that, but he hadn't noticed.  And he didn't really pick
up on a pattern right away -- it was just the first incident that
got him to pay attention.

It happened at a perfectly ordinary meet-and-greet.  The routine
was the same as it was every time.  Sit at a table, sign an
autograph, pass to the next guy down.  Lance was sandwiched between
Chris and Joey, with Justin and Chris the maximum distance apart,
in order to avoid potential trouble caused by boredom.

Lance'd signed approximately a million billion autographs and was
starting to get a little high on marker fumes when the next person
in line paused but nothing was passed for him to sign.  He looked
up.

She -- it was nearly always a she -- looked at him and smiled. 
"Thank you, Mr. Bass," she said.  "I hope you're happy."

The 'hope you're happy' part was said in a nice, not a sarcastic,
way.

"Um..." he said, startled.  "Didn't you want me to sign anything?"

She shook her head and smiled at him again, then backed out of
line.

Another girl immediately took her place and a photograph was shoved
in front of him.

Lance signed.

****

In the grand scheme of things, it was nothing.  Fans said things. 
A lot of the things they said were completely divorced from
reality.  They believed NSYNC had changed their lives, or brought
them to God or even saved their marriages.  Having done none of
these things directly, Lance mostly ignored it.  Even a mildly
neurotic person could go mad from believing themselves responsible
for all the things the fans claimed them to be responsible for.

And Lance was more than 'mildly' neurotic.

All in all, he didn't think much of the incident at the
meet-and-greet.  It just stuck in his head; a fan who didn't want
anything.  It was weird, yes, but not so weird as everything else.

He didn't say or do anything about it, not until it happened three
times more.  Once during a radio call-in, when the caller had told
him -- him, personally, not the other guys -- thank you and that
they hoped he was happy.  And twice at a concert; both times, he'd
caught sight of signs with the same message on them.

It was kind of freaky.  Usually the signs asked him to marry their
holder.  They rarely concerned themselves with his personal state
of happiness.  And it was even odder, the way all of these people
were assuming that he wasn't currently happy.

That is, if the incidents were caused by four different people and
not by the same person who was now stalking him.

'Stalking' in the sense that fans who followed their tour from date
to date was considered to be good for sales.  'Stalking' in the
sense that creepy and threatening messages were being left was not
considered to be good at all.  This didn't exactly fall into the
latter category.  The 'I hope you're happy' part could be taken as
a threat with the wrong tone behind it -- but both times Lance had
heard it spoken, it had been said in a nice way with every evidence
of well-wishes.

So he wasn't going to panic and alert their security.

What he did instead was tip Lonnie off to send someone out to give
the signholders a couple of backstage passes.  He figured that, if
he met them and had a chance to ask them why, that'd make it more
manageable.  He'd understand what was going on.

Except, when the passholders came backstage, they were someone else
entirely.  The guy had a Superman sign, and the other one -- a
14-year-old whose cleavage was entirely paper-based when viewed
from above -- was drooling over Justin and on the point of
screaming or wetting her pants.  Lance was equally unenthused about
both possibilities.  Joey's fan was at least capable of speech.

"No, man.  Didn't see any signs like that."

"How'd you get the pass?"

"Some girl.  During 'Bye, Bye, Bye'.  Totally blocked my view of
Supe and I was gonna scream, but then she shoved the pass at me and
said I'd appreciate it more and something like, um."  He screws up
his forehead.  "She said she didn't want to pretend she had a
personal connection to you guys when she didn't."  He shakes his
head.  "Crazy chick."

Lance felt chilled.  He knew fans, but he didn't know fans who
acted like this.

That night, he made a phone call.

He had to wait until they were back at the hotel and he had a land
line to call from.  He was paranoid about his cell phone
conversations being monitored.  Especially these phone calls.

"Hey, babe," came the relaxed answer from his boyfriend.

"You answer the phone that way for everyone?" Lance asked.

"Nah, but there's not a whole lotta people who're gonna be calling
me from that area code who've got this number.  And nobody sounds
like you."

"You said 'hey, babe' before I said anything."  Lance wasn't trying
to be accusing.  Not exactly.  The man was known for his
infidelity, but Lance had never had reason to doubt him.  Just
everyone else who'd come before AJ in his own life.

"You breathe sexy, babe.  I knew it was you."

Lance laid back on the bed and grinned at the ceiling.  AJ had a
way of deflating his anxieties just by existing.  "Glad you think
so."

"So, what's up?  Insane yet?"

"Not yet."

"But something's bugging you."

"Do I want to know how you know that?" Lance asked, frowning a
little.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line.  "You realize
this is the second time you've called me since you left, right?"

"No.  I didn't."  Lance thought about it.  He'd been gone how long? 
Counting when he'd left AJ in Los Angeles to start rehearsals, it
was going on... six weeks?  "I'm sorry."

"S'okay.  I know what it's like.  So.  Tell me.  Unless it's
something you don't want to talk about."

Lance took a deep breath.  "This is going to sound silly.  But
someone keeps telling me that they hope I'm happy."  He said it in
the same tone of voice that it had been said to him.

"Anyone I know?  An ex?"  AJ's voice was unworried, but still
showing concern for Lance.

"No.  That's what's so weird about it.  It's just random fans. 
Someone at a meet-and-greet.  Some signs at shows.  A call-in at a
radio show."

AJ didn't answer for a moment.  "Could be one of those campaigns. 
Y'know, where the fans come up with some idea and run with it."

Lance nodded.  "Like the FKA thing."

"FKA?"

"Fine Kirkpatrick Ass."

AJ snorted.  "Kirkpatrick probably thought that one up and paid
people to make signs."

"Believe it or not, people think he's sexy."

"I don't believe it."  AJ's tone turned gentle.  "You gonna tell me
what's bugging you about this?"

Lance squeezed his eyes shut.  "It's stupid.  I mean, it's just a
couple of fans and fans'll say anything.  But... the message here. 
Everybody *hoping* I'm happy.  They're not saying that they're glad
I'm happy, or even saying that they want me to be happy.  They're
saying that they *hope* I'm happy.  And that's what's so hard for
me.  Because it's like it's saying that it's really obvious, even
to the fans, that I'm not happy."

His boyfriend hummed to himself for over a minute.

If AJ had been totally silent, then Lance might have hung up,
thinking that the connection had dropped.  But AJ was humming to
himself, so Lance knew that AJ hadn't.

Finally, AJ asked, very quietly, "*Are* you happy?"

Lance sucked in his breath.  The question acquired all kinds of
other meanings when it was his boyfriend asking it.  The most
obvious of those being, 'Why don't I make you happy?'  "I..."

This time the silence was total.

Finally AJ said, "It's okay.  You don't have to say anything. 
Touring's crazy.  I get that."

Lance let out his breath.  "I'm not happy," he admitted.  "I'm
really not happy.  And I hate it that it's so obvious that everyone
can see it."

"Ssh, babe.  It's probably not obvious.  You know fans.  Don't take
it seriously."

"You're right," Lance said, feeling sad for no reason he could
understand.  AJ was right.  He knew that.  Taking fans seriously
was a quick route to a psychiatrist's couch.

Except, this time, the fans had a point.

"None of them want anything from me, you know that?  The girl at
the meet-and-greet didn't want an autograph.  The radio show
caller?  Didn't ask anything.  The people with the signs have been
in the front row, and they didn't try to touch me or hand me notes
or any of the usual stuff.  The two there tonight actually *gave
up* backstage passes.  I don't get it."

"Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna fly out.  Meet you at your next stop."

"What?"  Lance blinked, stunned.

"You're not happy.  I'm going to come out and see what I can do to
help you out with that."  AJ's voice wrapped around Lance, like a
hand stroking his hair.  "That's what I'm here for."

Lance reached out blindly for a pillow, pulling it toward him and
holding it tight.  "AJ?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Same back at you, babe.  See you soon."  And then he was gone.

AJ was too cool to say 'I love you' more than, oh, once or twice a
decade.  But there were other ways to say it, and dropping
everything to fly out and join the tour was one of them.  Lance
rolled over and hung up the phone.

He slept better that night.

AJ joined the tour two days later in Michigan.  Lance came back
from an interview to find AJ camped out on the sofa, watching TV.

"Hey, babe," AJ said, clicking the TV off with the remote.  He
stood up, walked forward and held his arms open.

Lance went into them, embracing AJ fiercely.  He took a deep
breath, head tilted down and face pressed against AJ's neck, then
let it out slowly.  "I'm glad you're here.  I missed you."

"Right here, babe."  AJ held Lance equally tight.  "Love you."

AJ didn't say that often.  It only made the words more precious.

Breathing more easily now, Lance let go and led AJ to the bed.

****

The signs changed at the next show.  Lance noticed the new set and
smiled.

This time, they read, 'Thank you, Mr. Bass.  Happy looks good on
you.'