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In case there is any confusion: the following story is not real, nor do I intend for you to believe it. Seriously, don't. Pure, unadulterated fiction. Written for Fortune's Five Challenge, inspired by the fortune, "No one knows what he can do until he tries." Thanks to Faemovana for feedback and suggestons, and also to Ninjetti75 for a suggestion that fixed a problem with the story.
When Justin came to Chris and said, with a hesitation he hadn't shown in years, that he'd had some ideas for a solo album and he really wanted to give it a shot during the break, Chris had looked at him seriously and said, "You've got to go for it, man. It's the right time." Justin's answering grin had been more than a little relieved, and Chris had been forced to noogie his head to make things normal again. When Lance came to Chris, face white and hands actually shaking, babbling about Russia and space and "always wanted this, more than anything. It's space, Chris. Space. Oh, my God, I'm thinking about doing this. Am I crazy?", Chris had wrapped an arm around his neck and squeezed until he shut up and started breathing again. "Of course you're crazy," Chris said as comfortingly as he knew how. And even though his class had been watching the shuttle launch on the day the Challenger exploded, he smiled and said, "It's space, Bass. Bring me back a Martian." When Joey called Chris, excited about his chance to audition on Broadway, Chris just listened, and when Joey finally ran down, said, "It's the perfect part for you, man. You'll be great." There was silence on the other end of the line for a minute, and then Joey sighed. "Yeah, but what if I'm not? What if they take one look at the dumbass boybander who thinks he can act and laugh me out of the audition?" "Then you'll be the dumbass boybander who had the balls to try out for Broadway." Chris smacked his hand down on the couch cushion beside him since he couldn't reach the back of Joey's head. "The worst that happens is you get more time off. You can't punk out on this, Fatone. You owe me for all those years of having to listen to you yodeling fucking Simon and Garfunkel tunes in the shower." Joey's sigh had a more philosophical sound to it this time. "Well, it's not like I've never been laughed at before, right? It's in the contract." "Right under bad hair and cheesy lyrics," Chris agreed, and when Joey got the part, sent him a stack of Simon and Garfunkel CDs with an anatomically correct drawing of Joey, complete with star sunglasses and a marquee saying, "Congratulations to Broadway's newest Chris stuck the drawing Joey sent back--a clenched fist with middle finger upraised--on his refrigerator. When JC, three-quarters drunk and curled up against Chris's side in a way that made Chris glad they had decided to stay at JC's house instead of going to a club because God knew the rumors about them were bad enough as it was, murmured in Chris's ear that people kept bugging him about making a solo album, Chris just snorted and said, "Why the hell not?" JC drew back to frown at him, a look that would have been more effective if JC's eyes hadn't been trying to cross. Chris was hard-pressed not to snicker. "I'm on vacation." "So? You did that song with Dallas." JC shrugged, dropping his head back on Chris's shoulder. "That was just for fun." "Come on, you can't tell me you don't have any ideas. Half the songs in your notebook weren't written for *NSYNC." "No, but . . ." "But what?" JC sighed. "Don't want a circus. This is my vacation." Chris grinned. "Then don't let them make it into a circus. Do it your way. They want it so bad, make them take it on your terms." "Hmm. Maybe." "C." Chris slid his fingers into JC's hair, allowing himself that much because it felt so soft and he was more than a little drunk, too. And probably also a masochist. "Do you want to?" The silence stretched so long that Chris was starting to think JC had fallen asleep. Then, finally, "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do." "Then why the hell not?" JC snuggled closer, yawning against Chris's neck. "Why the hell not?" he agreed. When Chris came down off the high of his solo gig in Dallas and started talking to Ron and Ray about doing an album, he didn't tell anyone who wasn't going to be in the studio with him, not even his mom. Not at first, because it meant too much and because he wasn't sure he'd have the courage to go through with it. But he'd never been good at keeping things from his mom, so he finally dropped the idea into a conversation as casually as he could. As usual, he didn't fool her. She turned around from the counter where she was chopping vegetables for supper and gave him a sharp look. "What are you scared of?" she asked. Chris was fiddling with the salt shaker, tilting it to where it almost overbalanced and then catching it just in time. He shrugged, spinning the tiny glass bottle in a precarious circle. "Fucking it all up, I guess," he said finally. "Finding out I can't do it, I'm not good enough--" "Is that all?" His mom snorted and turned back to the vegetables. "Baby, you know better than I do how much of success in this business is hard work and how much is luck. You've never been scared to work your ass off and luck's pretty much out of your hands. Maybe it'll happen, maybe it won't. All you can do is give it your best shot, and as long as you do that, you don't have to worry about 'not good enough'." Which Chris knew, but apparently he needed to hear it anyway, because it wasn't that hard the call up Ron the next day and say, "Let's do it." Even so, telling the guys was still difficult. Chris wasn't sure he'd be able to forgive them if he saw doubt in their eyes. He couldn't bring himself to take the risk. But eventually the time came when he couldn't put off telling them any longer without facing questions he really didn't want to answer, not when the people he was talking to never got sucked in by his bullshit. Justin's yelp was so loud it probably did permanent damage to Chris's eardrums. ". . . hoping you'd give in," Justin was crowing when Chris finally got his hearing back. "Chris, that's awesome, dawg. When do I get to hear some tracks?" Lance gave him a long, hard look, then shook his head and smiled. "So you finally decided to do it. The last time we talked about it, you said you were just playing around." "As I recall, the last time we talked about it, neither of our minds were on talking." Chris waggled his eyebrows in case Lance wasn't getting his point. "And I'm not talking about the golf, either." Lance rolled his eyes. "You're about as subtle as a semi truck. And quit trying to change the subject. What made you decide to get serious about an album now?" "Me, serious? Bass, you wound me." Chris fell back against the sofa cushions, grabbing his chest. Lance didn't look impressed. Chris sighed. "I've got to do something, man. And maybe I'm crazy, but I think this thing could be good." "Of course you're crazy," Lance said automatically. "And what are you talking about, good? It'll be amazing." Joey slugged Chris in the arm and said, "It's about time, dude." Chris was forced to flip him off in retaliation, but subtly, since Briahna was demolishing a Lego tower only a couple of feet away. JC gave him a huge grin and wrapped him in a hug, whispering, "I'm so proud of you, man." Hugging him back, Chris tried to pretend that the words and the touch didn't make his stomach hurt. But what really made it all okay was talking to Justin a few weeks later, after Chris and the rest of the Monsters had started putting together some songs. Just before he hung up, Justin said in a not-quite-joking voice, "Just remember, man, you belong to us, first. They got to give you back when ya'll are done." When the insanity of the album release and the club tour was over, Chris found himself back in Orlando, exhausted but satisfied. The album had done reasonably well. The tour had been incredible, and Chris had had a blast with the rest of the Monsters. With the whirlwind of venues and after-parties, jam sessions and promotional appearances, late nights talking on the tour bus and mad dashes across the country for his nephew's baptism here, Joey's new play there, Lance's birthday celebration clear the fuck on the other coast, and then CFTC the weekend before the final week of the tour, Chris hadn't had much time to get introspective. After the morass of self-doubt he'd found himself in the year before, Chris was happy to throw himself into the storm and just live again. And then there was CFTC, which had been a mini-hurricane of activity in and of itself, complete with whiplash from switching from "Chris of LRM" to "Chris of *NSYNC" and back in such a short time. As tired as he'd been the whole weekend, it had been fun but somehow surreal. It had felt a lot like visiting his old elementary school after he'd moved on to junior high; everything was like he remembered it, but at a subtly different angle. Even then, he hadn't really had time to do more than notice the feeling and dash off to the next activity. In the quiet of his own home, however, thoughts just kept sneaking up to ambush him. It didn't help that he had pictures up everywhere--his mom and his sisters at various ages, the guys from the early days up to a shot of Joey and him backstage at Joey's play, a few of him and Ron, him and Ray, him and the rest of the Monsters at their album release. All the important factors in his life hanging on his walls, a constant reminder that eventually, he was going to have to make some decisions. 'Eventually' turned out to be four days, a case of beer and subsequent hangover, and two shattered lamps from trying to play miniature golf in his hall later. Chris wasn't any good at fence-sitting. He usually made a decision and acted on it, then dealt with the consequences later. It wasn't quite that simple this time; the decision wasn't just his to make. But his ass was aching, metaphorically speaking, and the truth was, he knew which way he wanted to jump. He just needed to get the other guys to pick a direction and let go of the damn rail. Indoor golf might have been bad for his furnishings, but it apparently had a stimulating affect on his creativity--or maybe it was just knocking his head on the end table when he was crawling around trying to pick up the glass from the broken picture of *NSYNC on their first trip to Germany. Chris was rubbing the lump on his forehead and cringing at his younger self's fashion sense when he realized what he needed to do. Abandoning the glass, he spent three hours on the internet, then put in a call to Gloria, who was Johnny's assistant but for whatever bizarre reason happened to like him and could be talked into doing assistant-y things for him. By the next afternoon, he had what he needed. In North Dakota, of all places; he could only thank God it wasn't the dead of winter. And finally, he typed up an email addressed to four people, containing a simple message: Road trip. My house, July 31. Just as he was ready to hit send, though, Chris paused, his stomach tightening with trepidation. Once he got this ball rolling, he wouldn't be able to stop it. Did he really want to take the chance that it wouldn't land where he needed it to? But when had he ever had a guarantee that anything would go his way? And when had he ever let that stop him? Taking a deep breath, Chris clicked the button, then went to see if he had any more alcohol. When all four of them showed up on the 31st, Chris couldn't help a brief flash of relief. Not coming would have been an answer in itself, but not one Chris wanted to live with. JC got there first, lugging the huge duffel he'd had since before they were famous in Europe. He gave Chris a long, searching look before hugging him, but didn't ask any questions other than, "So how was the tour?" Lance and Justin arrived at the same time a couple of hours later. Neither of them wanted to accept Chris's, "I'll tell you when we get there," but JC finally distracted them by sitting on Lance, propping his feet in Justin's lap, and talking ramblingly about a song idea he had until Justin got interested and Lance gave up. Chris had to admire JC's technique; not many people could out-stubborn Lance, but JC had bony elbows and wasn't afraid to use them. Chris wasn't quite sure why JC was siding with him instead of the others, since JC had to be as curious as they were. He could have just as easily been using the elbows on Chris to drag the purpose for the trip out of him. Whatever JC's reasons where, Chris wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He did order extra olives and onions on the pizza by way of thanks, even though watching Justin pick off the olives was guaranteed to drive Chris up the wall. Joey came in late, hugged everyone, rolled his eyes when Chris refused to explain why he was there, and demanded his fair share of the pizza and beer. Justin and Lance tried to recruit him for their scheme to blackmail Chris into spilling the beans, but Joey was more interested in showing off pictures of Briahna, most of them showing her with Joey or Kelly in a pool. "She's already swimming," Joey said proudly, propping his feet up on Chris's coffee table and nudging Lance with his shoulder for more room to sprawl out. "We got her lessons at the beginning of the summer. Now she thinks she's a fish." The next morning, Chris pestered them all out of bed before daylight, silencing Justin's incoherent curses with a cup of coffee and sending Lance to finish dragging JC out of bed, because Lance was the only one who could be trusted not to resort to dumping ice water on him after the first ten minutes. Joey dragged Justin down to the kitchen to feed him, leaving Chris time to finish packing and coax Lance out of the bathroom. "Dude, we'll be driving. No one's going to see your hair. Put a hat on it and let's go." Lance scowled. "I look like a demented hedgehog. Go away." Chris, who knew a losing battle when he saw one frowning at him in the mirror, went downstairs to con Joey out of some eggs. The sun had cleared the horizon by the time they were finally ready to leave. Chris took one last walk around the house, making sure he hadn't left anything on that was likely to explode, overflow, or catch fire while he was gone. Satisfied, he grabbed his bag and went to join the others, pausing to lock the front door. As he turned back to them, he paused again, something catching in his chest. He'd rented a van for the trip, even though he had an SUV that would have carried all of them. The van was roomier, though, and reminded him of the cross-country trips they'd taken trying to promote the band when they were first starting. Joey was leaning against the side, his arms folded as he watched Lance fiddle with his Palm Pilot. Lance said something that made Joey laugh, the sound reaching the front steps and making Chris smile reflexively. At the front of the van, Justin was draped against JC's back, looking like he was about to fall asleep standing up. JC was looking through the CD case he'd set on the hood of the van and didn't seem to notice that Justin was using him as a vertical bed. They didn't look any different than Chris had seen them thousands of times before, on thousands of other mornings when they were waiting to get started. He'd never made a point to remember those times; they hadn't seemed like anything special. But today, with the thought in the back of his mind that it might be the last time he saw them like this, he wanted to memorize the image. Just in case. At that moment, JC looked up and smiled as he noticed Chris. Something inside of Chris relaxed at the sight, the simple pleasure at the morning and the company he could see in JC's expression. With a sigh, Chris started down the steps toward them. Chris was the best at fitting many bags into a small space, so he left the others to sort out the seating arrangements while he got their luggage into the back of the van. The usual negotiations were made simpler by the fact that Justin didn't have an opinion as long as he got to be horizontal and JC had called dibs on the music selection and therefore got the passenger seat by default. Chris listened idly as Joey bribed Lance to get the back, leaving Lance to share the middle with Justin. By the time Chris climbed in to the driver's seat, Justin had made himself comfortable with his feet propped against the wall and his head in Lance's lap, Lance was poking at his Palm, and Joey--judging by the snores--was already passed out. JC was still hunting through the CD case. It wasn't until they were on the expressway that JC finally chose a disk. Chris recognized the song as one of Jamiroquai's. It could have been worse. JC wasn't kidding when he said he'd listen to anything. Even after all these years, he still tried to "broaden the horizons" of his band mates, no matter how often they tried to convince him that their horizons were more than broad enough. "So," JC settled back in the seat, pulling out his sunglasses. "Road trip, huh?" Chris had known his curiosity would get the better of him sooner or later. "Yep." "Couldn't get enough of touring?" Chris shrugged. "Something like that." JC tugged the sunglasses down and looked over the rims at Chris. "And you're not going to tell us where you're taking us?" "Nope." JC gave him a lazy grin. "Sounds good to me, cat. Just as long as we're not headed to L.A., 'cause me and Lance and Justin just flew in from there, and that would be fucked up." Which, of course, made Chris wish for a moment that they were going to L.A., just to see whose head exploded first, but he pushed the feeling down and shook his head. "No, definitely not L.A." "'s all cool, then." Settling his glasses back on his nose, JC leaned back and propped one foot on the dash. "Wake me up when we get there." Chris thought about how long the drive ahead of them was and grinned. "Sure thing, C. Have a nice nap." Within a couple of miles, JC was breathing in a slow, even pattern that Chris knew well from years of sharing rooms and even beds when money was tight. Asleep, JC looked more like the kid that plastered himself to Chris because Chris was always warm and less like the pop god he'd turned into. Chris kind of missed the kid, whom he'd been able to love with an uncomplicated affection that was nothing like the hopeless ache he felt now whenever he let himself think of JC as anything more than his band mate. He could place the exact moment when he'd realized that he'd fallen in love with JC. The actual falling in love had come earlier, somewhere during PopOdyssey when he'd started to notice how JC had somehow grown centered and sure of himself and happy. Chris had been intrigued. The more time he spent with JC trying to find out what JC's secret was, the more he found himself wanting to spend more time with JC. But he hadn't really understood what his subconscious was doing to him until that day during the Celebrity tour when they'd been taking a break from their sound-check while JC talked to one of the sound guys about something Chris wasn't paying attention to because it was hot and he'd stayed out too late the night before. Sitting on the edge of the stage, drinking some water and watching JC like he found himself doing more and more, he was knocked breathless when JC looked up, caught his eye, and flashed him a distracted smile. He's gorgeous, Chris had thought, followed closely by, I'm in love with him. He'd spent the next several minutes trying frantically to figure out all the ways he was wrong. He couldn't be in love with JC. He loved JC, sure, but like a best friend, a brother, not like he wanted to have hot, dirty sex--and the way his cock jumped at that thought sent him mentally scrambling off in a different direction. JC was his polar opposite, all zen and art and kindness, while Chris was uptight and practical and prickly and bounced off walls. Except JC, when he got going on something he loved, could have a manic energy that rivaled Chris's, and Chris had found during the past year or so that sometimes JC's ability to be still helped him relax, too. And the very foreignness of JC's self-confidence drew Chris like a moth to a flame. Only, he made himself remember, the flame was under glass, and moths who didn't let themselves get distracted by other lights would beat themselves to death trying to reach the unattainable one. JC simply wasn't attracted to people like Chris; he always chose the slender, exotic, supermodel types that were about as far from Chris as a person could be and still be in the same species. But he never sticks with them long, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. It sounded annoyingly like Lance. Maybe none of them have what he needs. Chris gave the voice a mental smack. He didn't have anything JC needed. JC was finally coming into himself. If Chris loved him, how could he even think about burdening him with all the shit that went with loving Chris? If there was one thing Chris had learned, it was that love came with sacrifice. Loving JC meant pushing that love so far away that most of the time, Chris could just forget it was there and be the friend JC was used to. Except sometimes, like now, he slipped. He let himself think of JC as more than a friend, and the ache that caused sent him scrambling to push his feelings back into the box where they usually hid. Friendship was enough, he told himself, and the friendship they had was something he wouldn't give up for anything in the world. The fact that he was lying to himself about one of those thoughts wasn't something he let himself dwell on. Shaking his head slightly, Chris put the thoughts behind him and turned his attention back to the road. He had a more important issue to deal with at the end of this journey, and it wouldn't be made easier if he spent the whole trip mooning over someone he couldn't have. Glancing up, he caught Lance's eyes on him in the rearview mirror. They were studying him gravely, seeing more than Chris wanted them to see. Chris frowned and looked away. "Hey, Bass, make yourself useful and find me some change for this toll." Thankfully, Lance started digging through his pockets without comment. Chris suspected that an agreement had been made to humor him. He'd kept them on the road all day, with only short breaks for gas and restrooms; even lunch had been drive-through McDonald's. The lack of complaints and threats of bodily harm was enough to tip him off that something was up, even if the looks the guys were shooting each other behind his back hadn't clued him in. Agreement or not, everyone's patience was wearing thin by the time they hit Chattanooga. A hundred-mile discussion about whether Wonder Woman could kick Xena's ass had devolved into "Name That Annoying Commercial Jingle." Lance had won the cussing contest hands-down thanks to his unfair use of Russian, although JC got bonus points for a couple of Puerto Rican terms he claimed to have picked up from Howie Dorough. Chris made a mental note never to ask what the circumstances were. Justin had declared his 44 oz. soda cup to be a basketball hoop and made JC hold it while he, Joey, and Lance tried to see who could get the most free-throws with basketballs made from wadded up scraps of a McDonald's bag. Lance, naturally, hit JC more often than the cup, but Joey managed a ricochet off the rearview mirror that tied him with Justin before Chris had to threaten to stuff the basketballs and hoop where the sun didn't shine if they didn't quit interfering with his field of vision. The argument that ensued ranged from Chris's driving ability to the relative merits of Michael Jordan vs. Shaq, with a pit stop at whether Lance, Justin, or JC was more responsible for picking up the balls of paper that hadn't made it in the cup. Then they hit the outskirts of Chattanooga and Chris pulled over for gas even though he had more than a quarter of a tank. The gas station was virtually empty, aside from a couple of old men in overalls sitting in folding chairs with a checkerboard between them who wouldn't care if a pop group walked off some energy in their parking lot. "Ten minutes," Chris said, ignoring the groans from behind him, and slid out of the van. He winced as his feet hit the pavement and both his knees seized at once. The days when he could sit in one position for nine hours were long gone--actually, he'd never been able to sit in one position for much more than nine minutes, but that was because it drove him stir-crazy, not because his knees were fucked up. How ironic was it that people had been telling him to quit squirming for his entire life, and now that he was finally old enough that he might actually be able to sit still, trying to do so crippled him? By the time he'd gassed up the van, JC was wandering back toward him with a bottle of water in one hand. He leaned against the side of the van and offered the bottle to Chris, then proceeded to stretch his back at an angle that made Chris think of traction. And other dirty thoughts, but he quickly yanked his mind back into safe territory "Getting old," JC said cheerfully when he'd de-pretzelled himself. "Remember when we used to do this all the time? You and me driving in that old van that was held together with duct tape and spit." "At least with the morons in the back, we didn't have to worry about running out of the spit," Chris agreed, taking a swallow of the water before handing it back. "And somehow we'd pile out after five hours of driving and have the energy to put on a show." "Sucks to be old," Justin broke in as he walked up, slapping Chris on the back with way too much enthusiasm. "Good thing I'm not. Listen, Great Leader of the Pack, you got a plan for stopping tonight, or are we just going to drive till we fall asleep and run off the road and die?" Chris frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I was aiming more for the second option, but--" "Told you he had a plan," Justin said to JC. JC rolled his eyes and tilted his head back to take a drink of his water, almost draining the bottle. The movement was so graceful that Chris had to look away. Justin, as usual, was a good distraction. "Any suggestions, Oversized Runt of the Litter? I'd like to make another hundred miles or so before we stop tonight." "That'd put us near Nashville, maybe thirty minutes or so out. Mom and Paul are gone on a cruise for the next two weeks, but they wouldn't care if we crashed at their house for the night." Justin gave him a look that was both more serious and more perceptive than Chris was comfortable with. "Want me to drive?" Pride warred with the ache in his knees and lost. "You man enough to handle my van?" "This mommy car? I think I can manage." Chris tossed him the keys and went to take a leak, trying not to limp as much as he wanted to as he walked across the pavement. Lynn's house had three "guest" rooms, if you counted Justin's still-furnished-like-he'd-never-left room. Chris left the others to fight over the beds and offered to take one of the couches in the family room, partially because he was the shortest, and mostly because the thought of going up and down the stairs several times wasn't appealing. They ordered in Chinese and took turns in the shower while they were waiting for the food, then settled in the family room to watch movies while they ate. Chris tried to stretch his legs out without being to obvious. Next to him on the couch, JC sighed and poked him in the ribs. "There's plenty of room, cat. Put your feet up." Once again pride lost out. Chris swung his legs up, intending to prop his knees on a cushion, but JC grabbed his feet and pulled them across his own lap. Chris's protest died a sudden death as JC started massaging the muscles above his right knee with a gentle, sure touch. "You got something for the pain?" JC asked after a few minutes, quietly enough that the others wouldn't hear over the TV. Chris shrugged. "In my bag, but it knocks me out." "And that's bad how? You won't sleep at all if you don't take something." The truth of that statement didn't actually make Chris feel any better. He had a strong urge to cross his arms over his chest and mutter, "I can take care of myself," but only just managed to stop himself when it occurred to him that he wasn't five anymore. And also, it was kind of nice that someone gave a shit whether he was feeling okay. Besides, JC was staring him down with an expression that said he'd be happy to get Joey to sit on Chris until he took the pills if Chris didn't cooperate on his own, which was powerful incentive in itself. For a guy who claimed to be laid back, JC was remarkably determined once he'd set his mind to something. Once he'd taken the pills, the long hours on the road and the soothing pressure of JC's fingers on the muscles around his knees combined with the medication to leave him drifting. The sound of the TV and the other guys' voices were too far away to bother paying attention to, but it was still comforting to know they were there. At one point, he thought maybe he felt something warm settle over him and a light touch to his forehead, but it could also have been a dream. He thought at first that the smell of coffee was a dream, as well, but once he'd pried his eyes open, he found Joey on the edge of the couch beside him, waving a cup under his nose. "Urgh," Chris said. Thankfully, Joey could translate that into, "Coffee. Gimme. Now." Grinning, he handed Chris the cup once Chris had struggled upright. "Dude, Justin was easier to get up this morning than you," Joey said after Chris had drained the cup. "I thought you wanted to get on the road early." "Fuck." Chris pushed past him and stumbled to the bathroom, vaguely pleased to notice that his knees were working normally again. The drive that day was much like the first. As the green trees and hills of Tennessee gave way to the flatter farms of Illinois, Chris had to pull out his map and the directions he'd printed off the internet, but one gas station pretty much looked like another and the heated debate over whether Superman or Wolverine would be more likely to survive the end of the world sounded, in the end, a lot like Wonder Woman vs. Xena the day before. After lunch, which was drive-through Taco Bell somewhere in Illinois, Chris handed the keys to Joey, told him to head for Rockford, and crashed out in the back for a couple of hours with his feet up on his duffel bag. When he woke up, it was to the rumble of his band mates' voices and what sounded like Journey in the background. For a moment, he just wanted to cling to the familiar noise while he still could, but eventually the words intruded. " . . . pretty much over," JC was saying. "It wasn't serious, anyway. We were just hanging out, having a good time." "How is it you're always just hanging out, but you still end up having more sex than the rest of us put together?" Justin asked, baffled admiration in his voice. Somehow Justin had never quite figured out how hot sex could be when it was all about the easy ebb and flow of friendship and enjoyment and not the burning fire of love. For Justin, everything was romance and relationships and intense focus on the goal. It was probably a good thing that he hadn't learned that particular lesson, Chris had thought more than once. Justin would have been miserable every time the tide turned and pulled his lover away. Justin didn't let go of things easily. "It's all in the technique, cat." JC sounded amused. "Dude's got skills," Joey agreed. "I taught him everything he knows. Hey, someone wake Chris up and find out where the fuck do we go from here? We'll be in Rockford in a couple of minutes." Chris yawned and batted at the hand that came over the seat to shake him. "You seen a sign for Highway 51 yet? You want to get on it going north." Justin snorted. "If we go much farther north, we'll be in Canada." "I hear it's nice this time of year," Chris said blandly as he sat up. Justin had swapped seats with JC earlier in the day; now, he was sitting almost backward so that he could talk to JC and Lance. Chris could only hope they wouldn't have to stop suddenly. Justin frowned at Chris. "What the fuck is in Canada?" His eyes widened. "Oh, shit, don't tell me. You committed some sort of horrible crime and you're trying to escape the police and we're all going to be accessories, right? That's it, isn't it. What did you do, kill O-Town?" "I think they did that to themselves," Joey muttered. Lance looked up from his Palm, which he had been poking at industriously. Chris suspected porn. It would be just like Bass to keep it to himself. Chris made a mental note to get his hands on the Palm at some point when Lance couldn't find out and kill him for it. "We have an extradition treaty with Canada, doofus," Lance drawled. "If you want to get away from the law, you have to go to South America or something." "Trust you to know that," Chris said, leaning out of the way as Lance reached back to smack him. "What?" "I'm not the doofus here," Justin protested. "Chris is the one trying to escape to Canada. I'd find a better place than that to hide out." "Only because you're scared the Canadians will throw things at you." Chris ducked the--thankfully empty--water bottle Justin had chucked at him. "Although if their aim is as bad as yours, the safest place you could be is right in front of them." "Asshole." Justin crossed his arms across his chest. "At least my hideout is cooler than yours." "It is not! Your hideout puts the lame in 'lame'. My hideout is--" "Non-existent," Lance interrupted. "You know you're talking about places that don't exist, don't you?" Chris frowned. "I could have a hideout." Justin grinned. "Yeah, in Canada, where you'll freeze your balls off and the police will catch you when you go to the doctor to get them sewn back on." "Fucker." "Dickhead." "Asswipe." "So, J," JC interrupted smoothly, "how're things with you and Cameron lately?" Chris sniffed. That wasn't playing fair. The one thing Justin liked more than a good argument was gossip, especially when the gossip involved Justin. But since JC had stolen Chris's source of entertainment, Chris felt fully justified in leaning forward to blow on the back of JC's neck until he squirmed. Justin sighed. "I don't know, man. I thought we were working things out, but after CFTC, we were right back at her being stifled and me doing everything wrong. Which, apparently, I'm good at." "Trust me, everything you do is wrong. Doesn't matter if it was right yesterday. Today, it's wrong," Joey said, his voice dripping direfully. "I'm telling you, man, women don't think like normal people." Chris snorted, and then, liking the way it made JC's hair poof up, snorted again. JC shook his head, though whether it was at Chris or Joey, Chris wasn't sure. "Fatone, you are the happiest married man this side of Nick Lachey," Chris said, smoothing the poofed hair down and then twisting it around his finger. The light from the window picked up red and gold glints that disappeared when Chris tried to rub his thumb over them. "You're not fooling anyone." "You ever been around Kelly when she's on the rag?" Chris shuddered. "I hope to never know the answer to that question. You're sick, you know that?" "No, just married. It's warped me forever." Joey didn't sound too upset about that fact, although Chris would have gladly argued that he'd been warped long before he got married if JC hadn't picked that moment to reach back and grab Chris's hand. "Quit tying knots in my hair." The thought actually hadn't occurred to Chris, but he filed it away for later. "Cameron didn't used to be like that," Justin continued. "It used to be everything was fun. Even when we had an argument, it wasn't a big deal. Now, everything's big. I don't know what I'm supposed to do to fix it." But he'd keep trying, Chris thought, until it either worked or blew up in his face, because that was who Justin was. "Maybe just sit back and let it be. Let what's going to happen, happen," JC said, still holding Chris's hand in a grip that only looked relaxed. For such a skinny guy, he was strong. "And what if what happens is she breaks up with me, and she wouldn't have if I'd done something to hang on to her? How fucked is it to lose her 'cause I don't even try to keep her?" "As long as you're not miserable, baby," JC said softly, then reached out with one bare foot to nudge Justin's knee. "It'll work out, J. You'll figure it out." Justin ducked his head for a moment as he reached out to pat JC's foot. A second later, JC squealed and jerked his foot back, hiding it safely under Lance's thigh. "That tickled, you fucker." As Justin cackled, Chris took advantage of the distraction to yank his fingers free. He couldn't help but think that there was something fundamentally wrong with the thought of JC being such a muscleman. It violated some principle of the universe; he was sure of it. Making a mental note to look into weight training, he reached across the seat to flick JC's ear, just so JC would know he hadn't been vanquished yet. And also to distract himself from visions of JC's mutant strength pinning him to the bed, the muscles in JC's arms gleaming with sweat as they strained . . . Shit. "You people are boring," he declared, throwing himself back against the seat. "I should have taken O-Town with me. At least Trevor knows how to have fun." "Hah! I told you he had an O-Town obsession!" Justin crowed gleefully. "It's a hard job, but somebody's got to do it." Chris sighed. "What kind of world would we live in if someone didn't still worship the ground upon which Ashley Angel deigns to tread?" "A much saner one," Lance muttered. "Come on, Bass, didn't you worship at the alter of Angel once or twice yourself?" Lance snorted. "Asshole wouldn't leave me alone for weeks after you gave him my number." "That wasn't me," Chris protested, even though he kind of wished it had been. "Talk to Joey. He's the one that had the bet with Trevor on how long you would hold out." "I did not," Joey said, then yelped when Lance leaned forward and smacked the back of his head. "Hey, driving here. And anyway, I didn't have a bet about how long you could hold out. It was totally about how soon Ashley would give up. I had faith in you, man." "That makes me feel so much better." "Come on, Bass, it could be worse," Chris comforted, leaning over the seat and mussing Lance's hair. "He could have given your number to Jacob." "But then I'd have had to kill him," Lance said pleasantly. "Think of all the bad publicity." "At least you know not to run away to Canada." Justin smirked. "I bet Ashley would be happy to run away with you wherever you went." "Trapped in a Third World country with Ashley Angel." Chris grinned. "The stuff epic love stories are made of." Lance shook his head. "You are a sick, sick man, Kirkpatrick. Believe me, if I ever run away to a Third World country, Ashley Angel will not be the one I'm there with." "Yeah, right, South America wouldn't be the same without Jesse the Love God." Justin was still smirking, but it faded quickly when Lance shot him a look that Chris, even from the back seat, could see had lost its amusement. "We broke up." "Oh, baby," JC said softly, reaching for Lance. Lance didn't pull away, but he did stiffen and turn back to his Palm, obviously blocking out the conversation. Sighing, JC leaned back, not pushing the issue. Chris watched the little exchange, torn between the urge to smack Lance and the even stronger urge to hug him. Lance didn't let himself fall easily, but he had been in love with Jesse; that much had been obvious every time Chris saw them together. From the brittle way Lance was holding himself, Chris could only assume the break-up hadn't been his idea. As the silence grew heavy, Joey's eyes caught Chris's in the rearview mirror. Did you know? they asked. No, you? Fuck. Fix it. But before Chris could jump in, Justin leaned precariously forward and grabbed the PDA, risking life and limb to get Lance's attention. "I'm sorry, dawg," he said. Maybe because it was Justin--who had never liked Jesse and never tried to hide that from Lance, who nevertheless sounded completely sincere and very gentle--Lance relaxed. "It's been coming for a while. I thought we could fix it, but . . ." He shrugged. "I guess not." "That truly sucks, man," Joey said. "But you could have said something." Lance just shrugged again, but when JC reached for him again, he let himself be pulled into a one-armed hug. Chris reached over the seat to squeeze his shoulder. "What me to beat him up for you, Bass?" Lance looked tempted for a moment, then shook his head. "No, but if you could lean on the doofus over there a little bit so he gives me back my Palm . . ." Chris looked over at Justin and could actually feel his own eyes light up. "Dude, now's our chance. Check that thing for porn." Chris made Joey pull up in front of an economy motel outside Tomah, Wisconsin, partially because it was nicer than a lot of places he'd stayed and he saw no reason to waste money, and partially because he wanted to see the looks on Justin and Lance's faces. He wasn't disappointed. Lance's eyebrows looked like they were trying to crawl up and join his hair; Justin gave Chris a long look, opened his mouth, shut it, frowned at the motel sign, opened his mouth again, and then jumped when JC elbowed him in the ribs. Chris could practically see the wheels turning in both their minds. JC and Joey, on the other hand, took the whole thing in stride. They were both good at that, Joey because there were only a few things he took seriously and JC because he was a strong believer in going with the flow. Chris figured that it was thanks to their influence that he hadn't been strapped naked to the top of the van until he spilled where they were going and why. He'd seen the looks Lance and Justin were giving him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. Remembering those looks, Chris opted for a "suite" of two double beds and a pull-out couch rather than separate rooms. It was more in keeping with the spirit of the trip, anyway, and also made Lance's eyebrows do the crawling thing again. All in all, Chris was in a good mood by the time they had unloaded their bags and were ready to settle down to the important task of finding supper. Later than night, Justin and JC were squabbling amiably over the remote while Joey talked on the phone with Kelly and Briahna. Chris was sitting on the bed next to Lance, bouncing slightly as he considered tackling the two on the other bed. He was pretty sure he could wrest the remote away and flip to a channel that had something decent on it before JC and Justin could rally their forces. If nothing else, the fight would burn off some of his energy. After sleeping away part of the afternoon, Chris thought it was possible he might have to crawl out of his skin if he didn't do something. Seconds before he launched himself across the space between the beds, Lance grabbed the back of his shirt. "If I'm going to sleep with you, you're going to have to calm down," Lance said, a mix of exasperation and amusement in his voice. "Oooh, Lance, are you propositioning me?" Chris batted his eyes, doing his best southern belle. "Be still, my heart." "Freak." Lance tugged at Chris's shirt as he stood up. "Come on, let's go for a walk." "Oh, I see." Chris nodded his head wisely. "You're going to lure me off and have your wicked way with me in private. Too bad, guys, looks like you don't get a free show tonight." Justin flipped him off, JC gave him a lazy grin, and Joey ignored him completely. Lance sighed and dragged him out the door. The night was cool in comparison to Florida. Chris shoved his hands into his pockets as he and Lance made their way across the parking lot toward the residential street that ran along side the motel. Taking a deep breath, he could feel some of the antsy energy drain from his body. Lance seemed content to walk in silence, so Chris just followed as he walked past houses with lights glowing softly in the growing darkness. After several blocks, they came upon a park with the playground lit by streetlights. "Hey, look, a merry-go-round." Lance jogged over to the toy and swung his legs over the bars. "Come on, man, push me." "What are you, three?" Chris asked, aggravated that Lance had beat him to it. "Four sisters, Bass. I did my merry-go-round time." Lance grinned over his shoulder. "But now there's a whole new generation. You've got to keep your hand in." "More like throw my back out, with you on there." "Come on, you big baby. Get on and I'll push." That was more like it. Chris hopped on, straddling the bars and leaning backward as far as he could. Lance gave the merry-go-round a hard shove and ran with it, making it spin faster and faster until the lights spun before Chris's eyes. Several minutes later, they were both lying on at the bottom of the merry-go-round, Lance breathing heavily and Chris contemplating throwing up. The merry-go-round still drifted in circles, helped along by gentle pushes from Chris's foot. "I remember riding on these when I was a kid," Lance said after a while. "We used to dare each other to jump off when it was going at top speed and see who could land the farthest away." "Yeah, and if you could clear the sand, everyone thought you were cool." "And if you broke an arm or a leg in the process, you were even cooler." "As long as you didn't cry." "Yeah." Lance sighed. "Hasn't changed much." "Nope. Now there's just more sand to jump over." Chris turned his head so that he could see Lance's profile. From so close, it was all shadows and odd angles, hard to recognize as being Lance at all. "So what's the deal with Jesse?" Lance grew silent, turning his face away. Chris resisted the urge to poke at him, having learned over the years that an annoyed Lance was not a talkative Lance. He occupied himself by counting the cricket chirps--two hundred thirty-one--until Lance started talking. "I don't know," he said tiredly. "He said we were 'growing in different directions,' whatever the hell that means." Chris snorted. "Means he's an idiot." "I thought--" "What?" "I thought he felt the same way about me as I felt about him." Lance laughed, the sound grating. "I was thinking about buying a house together. He was thinking about a little red-headed twink from his last photo shoot." If it had been one of the other guys, Chris would have pulled him into a hug. But it was Lance, so Chris just waited until Lance's fingers slid cautiously between his own. "The offer to kick his ass still stands," Chris said quietly. He was relieved when Lance laughed. "It's tempting, but we really don't need the bad press." Lance sighed, then made a sound that was suspiciously close to a sniffle. Chris pretended not to notice. After a few minutes, Lance continued, "What about you? You managed to miss the whole True Confessions thing this afternoon. This whole trip isn't an attempt to hide from a spurned lover or something, is it?" "Shit, Bass, you've got to quit reading your mom's romance novels." Chris snickered, then pressed his free hand to his forehead and sighed dramatically. "Besides, you know our hot, passionate affair ruined me for anyone but you." Lance laughed. "Oh, yeah? Then how do you explain the hot, passionate affair you had with Ray while you were on tour?" "I was overcome by the romance of the road?" Chris tried hopefully, then had to squirm quickly out of the way of Lance's poking fingers. "Damn it, Bass, that tickles. Anyway, Ray was just fun. Neither of us are looking for anything serious." "Taking a page from C's book, huh?" Chris flashed on a warm, lazy smile and strong arms wrapped around him, and firmly pushed the thought aside. "Well, someday I want to move past 'just fun,' but other than that, yeah. Hanging out and having lots of sex is a good thing." "I think C wants to move past 'just fun,' too. He just hasn't found the right person yet." Chris sighed. "Story of all our lives, huh?" "Except Joey." "Except Joey. How'd he get to be such a lucky bastard?" "Good, clean living?" Chris suggested, then yelped as Lance's fingers found his ribs again. "Damn it, Bass!" Chris was comfortably asleep, curled up against Lance's back, when a disturbance in the force roused him. Or, more accurately, someone shaking Lance's shoulder and hissing, "Lance, you awake?" Chris was still debating on smacking the hisser when Lance mumbled, "Justin, you fucker, I was asleep. What the hell do you want?" "I couldn't sleep. I need to talk to you. Scoot over." "Wait till morning." "Come on, dawg, I'll be up all night." Lance's sigh was big enough to shake Chris, but he still pushed himself back until he was almost squashing Chris. The bed bounced as Justin climbed in. "This had better be important." "I was thinking about earlier today," Justin whispered. "When you said you and Jesse broke up." Lance sighed again. "J, it's three in the morning." "I know, but--" "What?" "I know I didn't make it easy for you guys. I was kind of an ass to Jesse, and it'd be really fucked if I messed you guys up. I didn't like him, but he wasn't a bad person." Chris, feeling Lance stiffen, opened his mouth to say something distracting, then shut it abruptly as Lance squeezed the arm Chris had somehow wrapped around his waist. "Trust me, J, what messed us up had nothing to do with you." Lance's voice was desert-dry. Justin sighed. "I'm sorry." Lance shifted. "For what?" "For giving you shit about him. Because you're not happy without him." Justin's voice had gotten a bit louder; Chris could hear him take a deep breath and start again more quietly. "Any chance you two can work this out?" "I doubt it." Something in Lance's voice almost made Chris interrupt. He was stopped by a tiny bit of squirming and the feeling of an arm that could only be Justin's coming around Lance's shoulders just above Chris's head. "I always thought--" Justin hesitated. "You and Chris seemed pretty happy for a little while there." Lance's fingers dug into Chris's arm hard enough to leave bruises. He sounded both amused and a little angry as he asked, "Is that why you didn't like Jesse? You thought I was cheating on Chris?" "He was so unhappy when you guys got back from Thailand, and he wouldn't tell me why. I just thought--" "He was unhappy because he saw you and JC doing your own things and loving it, and he didn't know if he had it in him to do the same thing. And he didn't tell you because it would have sounded like he was upset that you'd done well instead of just trying to figure out his own place in the world, and he loves you too much to do that to you." The silence stretched. Chris stayed still because he strongly suspected Lance would break his arm if he even twitched, and because he wasn't sure if he wanted to smack Justin or apologize to him. Thailand had been a mini-vacation from the depression that had been threatening to suck him under, but he'd thought he'd done a better job of hiding it from people. "Fuck," Justin whispered finally. "I suck on all sorts of levels, don't I." Lance sighed. "No, baby, only a few." The way Lance jerked, Chris had to assume Justin had poked him. The grasshopper had learned well. Grinning, Chris relaxed and tried to go back to sleep. "Hey, Lance?" "Shut up, Justin. And go back to your own bed." "You think you and Chris might--" Chris suspected he might need to be offended by how quickly Lance started laughing, his body shaking with the effort of keeping it silent. "J, please. We'd survive about ten minutes." Lance was rubbing the back of Chris's hand in gentle circles, although whether he was apologizing for the craters he'd no doubt left in Chris's arm or for his words, Chris couldn't tell. "He needs someone flexible enough to go with his flow, and I need--" "Someone who loves you as much as we do," Justin whispered when Lance fell silent. "A little time to myself," Lance whispered back. "No more men for a while." "As long as you're not miserable." Lance snorted. "You sound like JC." "He's not nearly as flaky as he looks." "I heard that." JC's sleepy whisper floated out of the darkness, and Chris had to bite down hard on his cheek to keep from laughing. "Justin, you fucker, shut up and get back over here. It's cold." "And I need sleep before Chris gets us up at some God-forsaken hour in the morning," Lance added. Then, softer, "Love you too, J." The next morning, Chris and Joey went to get coffee and donuts while the other three bitched and moaned their way out of bed. Down the road in the opposite direction of the park, there was a convenience store with a sign that could be seen from the hotel parking lot. The morning air had the same refreshing bite to it that had been present the night before, and Chris nearly bounced with the energy of a brand new day. Joey walked more sedately, but even he was whistling under his breath. "Everything okay at home?" Chris asked after a couple of blocks, even though he knew that if it hadn't been, Joey would have been on his way to the nearest airport. "Yeah, everything's fine. Kelly said to tell you hi and no strippers or she's going to do something horrible to you. Briahna sang the whole ABC song without forgetting the 'QRS' part." Joey laughed, shaking his head. "And the whole time, I'm thinking my little girl's a genius, like she's the only kid on earth to sing that damn song. Man, what's happened to me?" "You've lost your mind, Daddy." Chris patted him on the back. "But in a good way." Joey sighed. "I never would have thought I'd choose an evening with a four year old over a strip club, but . . . God, Chris, she's just so into everything, so excited when she figures out something new. And she wants to make sure I see what she does, like it's not as much fun if Daddy isn't there." Chris grinned. "Doesn't sound that bad to me." "It's not. It's pretty fucking great, actually." The conversation dropped as they reached the convenience store. Chris got coffee while Joey raided the donut bin. The clerk, a sleepy-eyed woman about the age of Chris's mother, didn't give them a second look as she rang up their purchases. She did pull out a small, flat cardboard box for Chris to carry all the coffee cups in, and she smiled when Chris thanked her. Outside, Joey said, "We've been talking about another baby." Chris didn't spill the coffee. He was proud of himself. "Dude, give a guy some warning." Rebalancing the coffee box, Chris shot Joey a hard look, seeing the mixture of uncertainty and pride and fear lingering in his eyes. "You don't sound too sure." Joey shrugged. "I don't know. I want another kid, definitely, but Kelly and I are really good right now, and Briahna's only got another year before she's in school. I'm kind of enjoying just spending time with my two girls." "What about Kelly?" "I think the idea of Briahna in kindergarten is a little hard for her to deal with. And one of her friends just had a baby, so she's been thinking about it. I don't know how serious she is about it being now, though." Joey sighed, then grinned. "Man, I sound just like my dad and his friends when I was growing up. When the hell did I get old?" Chris snorted. "If you're old, I'm ancient. Thanks a lot, Fatone." "You're welcome, Kirkpatrick. Any time." Hampered by the coffee box, Chris couldn't smack Joey the way he deserved, so he settled for sticking out his tongue. Joey rolled his eyes and Chris laughed, and nothing really had changed at all. Justin was waiting outside the motel room for them, leaning sleepily on a support pole with his trucker hat pulled down low over his forehead. His eyes lit up as he spotted the coffee. "Thank God," he said fervently, reaching for a cup. Chris couldn't help but smirk. "I figured you'd still be trying to sleep." Justin rolled his eyes. "With Miss Clairol and Paul Mitchell in there? It'd be easier to sleep through a Grateful Dead concert." Laughing, Joey took the coffee box from Chris. "If one of you will get the door, I'll go dose them with some caffeine and sugar so they don't scare the locals when they come out." Chris snagged his own cup and opened the door for Joey, then stepped back to join Justin, who was sipping his coffee with a look of mild ecstasy on his face. It was sort of like watching porn--or, more specifically, like watching Justin watch porn. Which was too disturbing a thought for that hour in the morning, and Chris ended up scalding his tongue in an effort to distract himself from it. "Shit!" "It's hot," Justin said helpfully. "Try drinking it slowly." Chris glared, but he didn't seem to notice. "Listen, Chris." Justin bit his lip, a sign of nervousness Chris hadn't seen in a long time. Remembering the conversation between Lance and Justin early that morning, Chris braced himself. Justin took a deep breath. "If you're, like, having money issues or whatever, you know I'm totally there for you. Whatever I've got is yours, too, you know?" That came from so far out of left field that Chris could only gape at him until what he was trying to say finally penetrated. "You think that's why we're making this trip?" Justin flushed, but threw a pointed look over his shoulder at the motel. "Those are not exactly five-star digs, dawg. Which is totally fine if that's what you want, but if it's all you can afford--well, it's just not, not as long as I've got anything at all." The urge to laugh warred with the urge to be offended, but both finally lost out to a mixture of pride and affection. He reached up to noogie the back of Justin's head, being careful to knock his hat off-kilter in the process. "My money's safe and sound and invested wisely. Mostly," he added for the sake of honesty. "But thanks, J." Adjusting his hat, Justin gave him a smile that didn't reach troubled eyes and slung an arm over his shoulder. "I meant what I said. Anything you need--" The need to smack him was growing stronger; luckily for Justin, Chris was a master of self-control. Mostly. Sometimes. "Justin, I swear on the grave of Otis Redding, I'm fine. Now, why don't we go get the prima donnas and Joey and hit the road?" Justin gave him a searching look, then sighed. "Fine. Just remember the offer's there." Chris was pretty sure he'd never, ever forget, but he managed not to say that as he followed Justin back into the motel room. Inside, Joey was stuffing the last of his belongings into his bag, and Lance and JC were sitting on the couch, sipping their coffee. Both of them gave Chris such odd looks when he came in that he wondered if they'd set Justin up to the conversation outside. He decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, if only because it was too nice a morning to kill them. "Ready to go, ladies?" he asked blandly. "Go back to sleep, maybe," Lance grumbled as he pushed himself up and went to grab his bags. "You better be glad I like you, Kirkpatrick." "I'm thrilled, really." JC was still staring at him in a way that made Chris both uneasy and glad his pants weren't too tight. How the hell did the man manage to look so fucking hot at this hour of the morning? Even Justin looked like death warmed over. But JC somehow managed to work the half-asleep look. Chris shook himself out of his thoughts and forced a grin. "You coming, C?" He could have kicked himself for his choice of words. Thankfully, JC took them at face value, smiling as he stood gracefully and hooked an arm around Chris's neck. "Thanks for the coffee, cat. You're a life-saver." He didn't let go until they were at the van. Chris had never been so glad to climb into a driver's seat in his life. The thing about North Dakota was, there wasn't anything there. Once they left Grand Forks, the towns got fewer and farther between. The countryside was stunning, but Chris was enough of a city boy that the lack of urban or even suburban anything made him just a little uneasy. If the van broke down, it was going to be a long walk to the nearest tow truck. But they were finally nearing their destination, so Chris couldn't really complain. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the other guys. "So who thinks Chris joined a neo-Nazi cult and is bringing us in as ritual sacrifices?" Lance asked in a deceptively pleasant voice sometime in the late afternoon. Chris frowned. He was willing to cut some slack due to the long hours they'd spent driving and the fact that they seemed to have left civilization behind sometime after lunch, but really, that was going too far. "Fuck you, Bass. You know damn well I'd sell you all to the crazy teenies before I'd ever let you be used for a ritual sacrifice. I'm not letting you go for free." "That is just so reassuring, dawg," Justin said from the passenger seat. "And so is the fact that we're in the middle of nowhere, where our bodies won't be found for decades. I can't tell you how comforting that is." "Shut up, freak, we'll be there in about two hours." "There where?" "There there. Where we're going." Chris could only grin in satisfaction as the van went silent--aside from the frantic rustling of maps as they all tried to figure out what they were two hours from. Justin's muttered, "I told you we were going to Canada," was like music to his ears. But absolutely nothing compared to the expressions on their faces when he pulled up in front of the small, white, two-bedroom house in Munich, North Dakota, and said, "Okay, guys, we're here." "But where are we?" Variations on that question had been asked for the last hour, to the point where Chris had pulled out his well-creased and coffee-stained map, drawn a huge circle around Munich, and shoved it under first Justin's, then Lance's and JC's noses. Joey just seemed to be finding the whole thing hilarious, particularly when they got inside and found the house furnished and the refrigerator full. "Just how long have you been planning this?" he asked Chris while the other three were still wandering around with befuddled looks on their faces. Honesty compelled Chris to admit, "It was Gloria." "You better be giving her one hell of a Christmas present." "No shit." Even so, Chris couldn't help but feel a little proud as he looked at the culmination of his plans. Getting the previous owner to sell the house--a rental that had stood empty for over six months before Chris had made an offer--hadn't been that difficult. Figuring out how to make the house habitable by the time they got there was a little tougher. Luckily, the previous owner and his wife had been willing, for an extra five thousand, to take delivery of the furniture and appliances Chris had ordered and get them set up, and to stock the refrigerator and pantry with essential groceries. Chris considered it money well spent. "Why here, though?" JC asked later, when they had heated up the frozen pizzas that were in the freezer and were sitting in the living room on the comfortable, if slightly too flowery, new couches. "This town doesn't look like it has a hundred people in it. What's so special that we had to drive three days to get here?" "A little over two hundred and thirty, actually," Chris said. He'd looked it up on the internet. "It's a metropolis," Lance said dryly. "Why. Are. We. Here." Stalling for time, Chris took a bite of his pizza and chewed slowly. He'd known this moment had come, but now that it was here, he wasn't sure he was ready. "Munich." It was JC, sitting on the long couch between Lance and Joey. He looked at Chris with narrowed eyes. "It's because we played Munich so many times, right? But why not just go to Germany? It'd probably be faster than driving here." "Score one for Chasez," Chris said, and took a deep breath. "You guys know what tomorrow is?" "Thursday?" Justin asked doubtfully. "Besides that, dumbass." "August fourth." Lance frowned. "Which is four days before C's birthday, and also the day Joey went into the hospital with pneumonia during PopOdyssey and the day we signed with RCA in 1996." "How do you do that?" Joey asked, shaking his head. "I don't even remember what day that was. Or what month, for that matter." Lance shrugged. "I just do. Shut up and let Chris get to the point." "Nine years ago tomorrow, we signed with RCA. And if you don't count CFTC, we haven't performed together in over two years." Chris looked around at each of them, seeing the tension grow in their eyes as they realized where he was going. "We've talked about it a lot, but we've never come to a final decision. But it's time, guys. Either we need to make a commitment to when we're doing the next album, or we need to decide it's over." The silence was heavy enough to cut through. Chris just waited, watching his words sink in, bracing himself for whatever came next. "Do you want it to be over?" Justin asked finally. His voice sounded calm, but if he'd clenched his fists any tighter, he would have broken his own knuckles. Chris resisted the urge to grab him; he was a grown man now. He had to be able to handle this on his own, because he very well could be soon. "I didn't say that. I want to know what you all think. If you're ready to try again, or if you need to do your own thing." He paused for a moment, making sure they were all looking at him before he continued. "We're in Munich, North Dakota, because our first performance after we signed with RCA was in Munich, and mostly because there's a snowball's chance in hell that we'll ever come back to this town again in our lives. Whatever we decide here, we can leave here. No hard feelings, no blame, no regrets. We make a decision we can all live with, and then we go home. And it just seemed kind of appropriate that we make our decision on the fourth, since that's when we got our official start. So think about it tonight, and tomorrow, we'll talk, okay?" And he stood up and went to bed, not because he was tired--he really didn't expect to sleep much that night--but because he'd never been able to stand seeing any of them with fear in their eyes. The morning of the fourth came with a brilliant red sunrise that Chris, unfortunately, was awake to see. The only saving graces were the jar of instant coffee he'd found in the pantry and the front porch swing that faced the glowing sky. Crimson had faded to tangerine and mauve by the time Chris heard the front door open. He pulled his feet up to let JC sit next to him, tucking his bare toes under JC's leg to warm them up. JC rocked with him in silence for several minutes before he finally turned to look at Chris. "That was pretty intense yesterday," he said quietly. "You made Justin, Joey, and Lance all lose their bets." Chris raised an eyebrow as he sipped at his coffee. "Lance was sure you were going to tell us you were coming out, Justin's latest theory was some kind of incurable disease, and Joey figured you had either gotten someone pregnant or were going to become a Buddhist monk." JC shrugged. "I think they were running out of ideas at that point." "What about you?" JC studied him long enough that Chris was ready to squirm. "I figured you'd tell me when you were ready." Reaching down, he started to rub Chris's ankle gently with his thumb. "You would, right?" Something in JC's voice made Chris uneasy, like they were heading into territory he hadn't even known was there. He frowned, searching JC's eyes for a clue, but he didn't have a name for whatever he was seeing there. "I told you all, last night," he answered finally. "Although it's nice to know those morons have so much faith in me. And I am out." JC shook his head. "To the press. At least no one thought you were going into rehab." "That's comforting. I can't tell you how much it warms my heart." "Be nice. What do you expect when you're being all secretive?" Chris sighed. "You think this was a dumb idea?" JC shrugged. "Well, I don't know why we had to drive when we could have flown into Fargo, but the trip was kind of fun. It's been a long time since we've all shoved ourselves into a van and went anywhere. It was easier when Justin was shorter, though." "That's not what I meant." "I know." They rocked in silence for a while, JC reaching over a few times to grab Chris's coffee. Chris thought about telling him to get his own, but it was nice to just sit there with him, and Chris didn't want to ruin the moment. "I think you were right," JC said finally. "I don't know that the decision had to be made now, but it did have to be made. We can't be in limbo forever." Chris had been considering chickening out and doing just that, but he didn't say so. He'd started this ball rolling; the least he could do now was stick around and pay for the damages. "Either way, it's been pretty incredible, hasn't it?" he said. "Nine years ago, I never would have dreamed--" JC gave his ankle a shake. "You sound like it's all over." "You don't think so?" Chris asked. He actually didn't know what to think, his hopes warring with his fears until he was so muddled he didn't dare expect anything. JC smiled. "Baby, whatever decision we make, it won't really be over. We'll always be us, even if we're not *NSYNC anymore." Chris looked at the sky, where the colorful hues had faded to an ordinary yellowish-gray, and wished he could share JC's faith. After spending part of the day exploring Munich--which didn't take long, given that the town was less than a mile across in any direction--and talking to some of the locals, Chris finally reached a point where he had avoided his band mates for as long as possible. He'd wanted to give them some space to think and to talk things over, but there was just a limit on how much a stranger could do in a town that size. A little past noon, he finally made his way back to the house. Joey and Justin were in the living room, sprawled on the couches as they watched a soap opera. Neither Lance nor JC were in sight, although the closed door of the master bedroom suggested where at least one of them had gone. Chris dropped down into a recliner, frowning at the TV screen. "Does that chick really think that guy's interested in her?" he asked after a minute. "I think she's trying to seduce him into killing someone," Joey answered. "Or maybe steal something?" "Or kidnap someone," Justin suggested. "I don't know. There was a lot of crying a few minutes ago, so it was kind of hard to keep track." "Huh." Chris watched for a few more minutes. "This is really kind of fucked up." "I don't know, I kind of liked the bit where the one guy with the big hair was all, 'That can't be my baby! I had a sex change operation three years ago!'" Justin's imitation was alarmingly accurate. Lance's eyebrows did the crawling thing as he walked out of the bedroom just as Justin delivered the last line. "Something you need to tell us, J?" "Only that I won't be able to carry your baby after all, Lance. As much as it breaks my heart, medical science just hasn't progressed far enough." Coming up behind Lance, JC quirked an eyebrow at Justin. "You are a very strange man." "My mama always said, 'it takes one to know one'." Chris sat back and let the squabbling go on around him, enjoying the familiarity of it without listening too closely so that he wouldn't feel the need to smack the participants. But eventually, he noticed that they'd all gotten quiet. He looked around to find the TV off and four pairs of eyes on him. "So," he said, and then stopped, because what else could he say? Justin was watching him intently from the nearest couch, one hand clutching Lance's arm in what Chris suspected was an unconscious grip. He couldn't remember the last time Justin had needed to hold on to one of them for courage, or the last time Lance had let himself show so much true nervousness. JC had joined Joey on the other couch and was leaning against him. Outsiders might have thought they were relaxed, but Chris could see the tension in both their eyes and hovering at the corners of their mouths. For a moment, he felt alone, separated from the rest of the group, and he wished desperately that he had someone to hold on to, too. Then he reminded himself that he'd chosen his chair, literally and figuratively; he might as well suck it up and sit in it. "Whatever we say, we leave here," he said after the silence had stretched as long as he could stand it. "Who wants to go first?" He wasn't surprised when Justin spoke up, although he was a little bit surprised by his answer. "I'm not ready to quit," Justin said, his voice more sure than his expression. "I'm not ready to give up my solo stuff, either, and I don't think it's fair to ask that of any of us. As long as we can work out a schedule to do our own thing, maybe take time off between tours or something, I vote to keep going." Lance was nodding. "I don't think we can keep up the pace we set when we were kids, but I don't think we have to anymore. I want to go out there and have fun with it again." The tension Chris had been carrying around for days was shifting, morphing into something that might have been the start of happiness. But when he looked at Joey, it started to turn once more into dread. "Briahna's starting school in a year," Joey said almost helplessly. "I don't want to be gone every night when she comes home." "So we tour in the summer. Briahna and Kelly can come with you." Lance leaned forward. "It's not all or nothing, Joey. We can work it out." "The important question," Chris said, "is, do you want to keep going? Or are you ready to quit? Truth, Fatone. Either way, it'll be okay." Joey sighed, pressing his fingers to his eyes. As the silence grew, Chris could feel his heart beating harder and harder until he started to wonder if he was going to make the whole production moot by having a heart attack. "I'm not ready to quit," Joey said at last. "I'm not, but I can't let this hurt my family." "Then we'll work it out," Chris promised. "JC?" JC looked around at all of them, his eyes lingering on Lance, and then even longer on Chris. Finally, he stood up, walked across to the recliner, and grabbed Chris's hand. "Come with me." Confused, Chris followed him into the master bedroom, distractedly noticing the rather nice cherry bed set that had been set up in there. Then JC shut the door behind them, and all coherent thought fled Chris's mind as JC pushed him up against the door and kissed him. No, kissed was too simple a term, because Chris felt whatever this was all the way down to his toes. His fingers dug into JC's waist of their own accord, pulling JC closer, before sanity came back with a rush and he jerked his head away. "What the hell was that?" JC had one hand on his chest, keeping him against the door, but the other came up to run a finger along his jaw. "Everyone else has demands. This is mine." Chris shivered. He'd seen JC look at a few people like that. He'd never expected to be one of them. "What is?" Somehow he kept his voice from shaking. "I've wanted you since we were a couple of scrawny kids dreaming about getting a record deal, but I always knew I wasn't your type. Not exciting enough, not funny enough, so I didn't even try." JC grinned, a strange mixture of affection and wryness and hunger that stole Chris's breath. "Until Lance the Yenta decided we were both hopeless and told me you'd felt the same way about me since before the hiatus, and I decided we'd been stupid long enough." Chris made a mental note to kill Lance. And possibly himself. "I don't want you, C." At JC's raised eyebrow, he added miserably, "Okay, I do. But I don't just want to hang out and have hot sex." Listening to himself, he wondered why the hell he could never leave well enough alone. "Okay, I do. But I want more than that, and it's okay that you don't, but I just can't do that. Okay?" JC kissed him again. This one was a kiss for sure, as gentle as it was passionate, and if it hadn't hurt so much, Chris would have never wanted it to end. "I want two things," JC said firmly, his lips still hovering over Chris's. "One, I want to love you and make you happy, and to have you love me the same way. And two, I want to sing on stage with you and Justin and Joey and Lance until we're so old we have to do the entire show sitting down. And, I want you to answer one question for me." "That's three things," Chris said, but JC was no doubt depending on his natural curiosity, because he waited until Chris caved and asked, "What question?" JC smiled, his eyes glinting with gentle humor as he said the same words Chris had used when JC was thinking of going solo. "Why the hell not?" |
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