Pairing: Lance and Justin
Words: nozzle; ice scraper; communicative; diabolic


It's just as well that Lance isn't feeling particularly
communicative.

He doesn't think there's a word in the English language for what
he's feeling.  For the humiliation and foolishness and self-hate. 
It isn't that Lance is a coward exactly.  But he's always been
cautious about expressing his concerns about anything dealing with
the group.  From the initial problems getting him accepted by BMG,
to his collapse with heart problems, to his instigating the hiatus
so he could go into space -- and then nothing coming of it except
everyone going their separate ways.  He's a serious bad luck charm.

So he'd psyched himself up for this conversation with Justin.  This
facedown where he makes it clear that either they get back together
as a group or Lance walks permanently.  It's a bluff, of course. 
Lance doesn't want to lose even the pale remnants of what was once
NSYNC.

But in all his preparation for the conversation, he hadn't thought
of this.

Lance had expected Justin to refuse to join back up.  To have
reasons about solo albums or delaying tactics and conditions.  He
had counter-arguments for those, including his big bluff.

But he'd never expected Justin to just nod and say that he'd
already been talking to JC and Chris about the same thing and that
they've set a tentative date to get back into the studio and that
if he ever read his email these days, he'd already know about it.

Sometimes, Justin is almost diabolical.

When Chris answers his phone, it's two a.m. and he's not expecting
what he gets.  The slurring voice in his ear is a surprise.  But
the bigger surprise is that it's Lance and he's on Chris's front
lawn.

"Chris," Lance asks conversationally, or what he thinks is
conversationally.  He knows he's gone way past drunk.  But since
that was what he wanted -- to slide past drunk and land solidly in
the middle of painless, without going over into nausea -- it
doesn't bother him.  "Why do you have an ice scraper in your car?"

"Because I was raised up North, Lance," Chris says, stumbling down
the stairs to let Lance in.

"But you live in the South," Lance says.

Chris opens the door.  "Get in here, Lance."

Lance swings around.  "Chris!"

"Lance!"  Chris waves Lance through the door.

"Is Justin here?" Lance asks suspiciously.

"No, he's not.  Just you and me, buddy."

"Good."  Lance moves toward the door.  Just the thought of Justin
makes him feel ashamed again.  "I hate myself."

Chris pulls Lance in and pushes him onto the couch.  "Why?"

"Because.  We're getting back together."

"Why does that make you hate yourself?  Personally, I'm really
fucking relieved."

"Yes, but I wanted us to."

"And we are.  Why should you hate yourself?"  Chris sits next to
Lance and puts his arm over the younger man's shoulders.  "C'mere,
tell Uncle Chris all about it."

Lance snorts at the idea of Chris as his uncle.  "Yeah, right.  And
you don't know.  About Justin 'n me.  What we talked about."

"What did you talk about?" Chris asks, doggedly pursuing the point.

"The group!  Getting back together.  I gave him an ultimatum.  We
get back together or else I go and don't come back at all."

"But we *are* getting back together."

"Exactly!" Lance says, only it comes out more like, 'Zaclee'.  At
least Chris isn't cracking up.  It's pretty funny -- if you aren't
Lance.  "That's what I told him an' he said I should read my email
'cause he'd already set it all up an' I'm the only one who doesn't
know."

"Well, Joey doesn't know."

"Prob'ly didn't read his email either."  Lance croaks out a bitter
half-laugh.

Chris sighs.  "I knew I should have called you myself," he says
softly.  "Lance, baby.  I missed you a lot."

"Missed you, too," Lance says.  It seems like an ideal time to lie
down in Chris' lap, so he does.

Chris strokes Lance's hair and flips the blanket off the back of
the couch down to cover them.  "We're together again, though." 
Lance's breathing is already slowing down.  Chris turns off the
lamp and closes his eyes.

"You don't get it," Lance says quietly.

Chris keeps stroking Lance's hair.  When he answers, his voice is
soft and thoughtful.  "No.  But it's enough for me to know you feel
bad about it.  It's enough for me to know you're unhappy.  I want
you happy always.  Tonight, all I can give you is someone to hold
you and watch you sleep.  Tomorrow, when we're both fully awake and
fully sober, I'll find something more significant to do for you."

Lance turns on his side and wraps his arm around Chris' waist. 
~Bad, evil.  Hate me.~  "Okay."

Chris tucks the blanket around Lance's shoulders.  "We all make
mistakes, Lance.  We all make fools of ourselves.  I'm actually
glad you did this.  Otherwise, I never would have know that you
*really* wanted to come back.  I don't like feeling like I'm
forcing you to do things.  Like leave your family, go to Germany,
freeze, get out of your sick bed and dance."

"You're not forcing me," Lance says, hugging Chris' waist tighter. 
"You're the good part.  The best part.  You and Joey and everyone
and being together and singing and everything."

"Yeah.  You're the best part for me, too, kiddo."

Lance lolls his head back and pries his eyelids apart to look at
Chris.  "Me?"

"Yep.  Shh, now.  Sleep it off."

"'kay."

Chris drifts into an uneasy sleep soon after Lance's breathing
evens out.

Lance doesn't sleep very soundly when he's drunk.  He wakes up
sometime after dawn and staggers to the bathroom.  When he gets
back, Chris is still on the couch, but lying there with his neck at
such an uncomfortable angle that Lance can't see how he can
possibly be asleep.  "Chris," Lance says quietly.  "Wake up.  You
need to go to bed."

Chris finally lets out his held breath and moves.  He was just on
the edge of falling asleep again, but now he's awake.  "You coming
with me, Lance?"

Lance hesitates.  "I feel like shit Chris.  And I'm not gonna sleep
easy.  I'll be tossing and turning."

"So what?"

Lance nods.  "Okay."

"Good."  Second verse, same as the first.  But in bed, this time.

Lance doesn't climb in close to Chris.  He doesn't want to lose
Chris any more sleep than he has to.

Chris carefully tucks the blankets against Lance's shoulders and
lays right next to him.  "Try to rest, okay?"

Lance tucks his hand around Chris' arm, feeling cared for.  "This
another memo I didn't get?"

"Nah.  This is one of those top-secret memos you write and never
send because you just care too much about what people will say in
reply."

"Should've told me anyway."

"Maybe.  Probably.  I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not.  Smarter 'n me.  You knew, at least."  Lance
yawns.

Chris stretches and kisses Lance lightly.  "Whiskey, Lance?"

"No, thanks."

Chris laughs.  "I mean, next time, you should drink something I
like, so I can kiss you longer."

Lance burrows into Chris, seeking warmth.  "Wouldn't've cared if
they'd put a nozzle in my mouth and poured it in.  Just wanted to
be numb."

Chris holds Lance tightly.  "We'll talk about that later.  Just
sleep now."

Lance nods.

Chris nods back.