Back to You

by Karen and LB
© 2002

Lance crawls into bed, too tired to think, too tired to move. He glances at the clock before closing his eyes--4:20. In the morning. He knows he reeks of cigarette smoke from the club but he's too tired to shower.

JC has been staring into the dark for hours, watching the numbers on the digital clock next to the bed change, growing more furious with every advancing numeral. He knows Lance thinks he's asleep, so he waits till Lance is really settled, maybe even on the verge of sleep. When he speaks, even though his voice is quiet, it sounds like a thunderclap in the silent room. "Have fun?"

The groan is almost as audible, even though it's muffled by the pillow in which Lance has buried his face. "Yes. And now I'd like to go to sleep."

"What do you do till four-fucking-thirty in the morning?"

"What the fuck's your problem? I was out. Having fun. Something you haven't been much of lately."

"Or maybe your idea of fun has changed."

"Oh yeah, going to clubs is such a new thing for me."

"You didn't used to go every night. You didn't used to stay out all night. You didn't used to make it clear that my presence was definitely not wanted."

"When did I ever say that?"

"When was the last time you asked me if I wanted to come? It's always 'me and Joey are going out,' and you're out the door."

"I see you all the time. Do we have to everything together?"

"How about anything? We might as well be strangers."

"When did you get so clingy, JC?"

"Clingy? Name the last time we did anything together."

"Why are you doing this now? We have to get up in a few hours and I need some sleep."

"Because if I wait, it will be 'why are you bringing this up now? That was days ago,' or whatever. You never want to deal with anything."

"I don't want to deal with you nagging me when I'm half asleep."

"Fine. You reek anyway. I'm going to sleep in the guestroom."

"Fine. Now I can get some sleep."

JC storms out of the room. He does go to the guest room, but his adrenalin is flowing and his fury keeps him awake.

When Lance awakens the next morning he's sprawled across the bed. This strikes him as odd, because usually there's someone else in the bed with him. Not just someone--JC. Then he remembers the fight and groans, dragging himself out of bed and into the shower. He's supposed to pick up his parents at the airport; they're flying in to attend the charity softball game the guys are playing today. Lance figures whatever's going on between him and JC will have to be dealt with later. "I'm going to get my parents," he calls out as he leaves, not bothering to see if JC wants to come with him.

JC has been waiting for Lance to leave so he can shower and dress in peace. He's very confused. How could things have gotten so bad? Is there anything left worth fighting for? The phone rings. JC, wearing one towel and rubbing his head with another, comes out of the bathroom and sits on the bed. "Hello?" A young man's voice answers. "Hello, is this Lance?"

JC's forehead creases. "No, he's not here. May I ask who's calling?"

"Yeah, this is Mark. I met him at Tabu last night. Could you just tell him I called and that I'm definitely interested."

Interested? "Yeah, I'll tell him." JC slams the phone back into its cradle and sits, silent and vulnerable in his towel, shivering. Then he jumps up, quickly throws on some clothes, and starts packing.

Lance returns a few hours later with his parents, after taking them out to lunch, to an empty house. He assumes JC has gone ahead to the stadium, checks his messages, and changes. His mother asks about JC, but he evades her by changing the subject. When Lance arrives at the stadium a short while later, he finds the rest of the guys in the locker room. "You didn't even wait for my parents," he says flatly to JC.

"That's okay. You can introduce them to your new boyfriend."

"What new boyfriend?"

"Too many of them to remember? Some guy named Mark called. Said to tell you he's 'interested.' That's when I started packing. I'll be back for the rest of my stuff soon."

"What? You're leaving? Just like that?"

"Why should I stay? We do nothing but fight. When you bother to talk to me at all."

"This is not the place to be having this discussion," Lance warns, his voice low and even when he realizes eyes are on them.

"Gonna blame this on me, too? It's never the right time or place for you. That's another reason I'm leaving."

Too angry to have a rational discussion, Lance throws his bag down. "Fine! Just run."

Justin clears his throat. "Uh, guys? We have a game to play?"

Lance turns away and starts undressing. Maybe whacking a softball is just what he needs right now. And he does take out his aggression on the field. Always the professionals, neither he nor JC ever let on to the fans that anything was amiss. They smile, pose for pictures, goof off with their teammates, sign autographs. For all anyone knows, they're all best friends. But once they leave the field, Lance showers quickly. "So who's coming to dinner with my parents?"

"You know I'm not turning down dinner," says Joey.

"I'm in," says Chris.

"I'm going out with my mom and Britney and her mom," says Justin.

JC silently packs up his belongings, elaborately ignoring the conversation bubbling around him.

Lance doesn't even bother asking. He knows the answer. And the guys know enough not to ask. So Lance, Joey, and Chris spend the evening with Lance's parents, who avoid the topic of his relationship with JC, until they get to his house, after leaving Chris and Joey. His mother presses him to talk about it. Lance tells her that it's over and leaves it at that. And although Diane worries, she knows Lance will talk when he's ready.

Jim and Diane leave a few days later, and it's then that Lance feels the first pang of regret. He's gathering up his dirty clothes to do a much-needed load of laundry when he finds one of JC's shirts mixed in with his own. It still smells like him, he discovers, as he brings the shirt to his nose. But then he remembers the harsh words they'd spoken only days ago and shoves the shirt back in the laundry basket. He'll return the shirt when he's good and ready.

Despite the breakup--Lance still can't believe it happened--neither boy lets his emotions interfere professionally. Sure, they're not as playful when performing as they usually are, and to the trained eye there's a sadness in their eyes in any photographs taken, but Lance, at least, has internalized his feelings. When he has to speak to JC it's with short, curt sentences.

Lance can tell when JC has been to the house. Things he'd become so used to seeing are no longer there--JC's toothbrush next to his, the stacks of sheet music, his portable keyboard. His favorite stuffed animal no longer sits on the bed, and while there's still a trace of JC's hair products in the air, it's fading with each passing day.

It takes JC a few days before he's ready to go back to Lance's house to gather the remainder of his things. He drives by a couple of times to make sure Lance's car isn't there and, with that assurance, lets himself into the silent, empty house. He walks slowly through the rooms, occasionally picking up an object, careful to take only what's his and leaving behind anything they purchased together.

When Lance parks his truck and sees JC's car in the driveway, his heart sinks. He's not ready for this--not ready to see him back here so soon. He considers driving away and leaving JC to do what he needs to do, but it's his house and he has a right to be here. With resolve, he turns the key in the lock and enters. "Don't forget your CDs," he says flatly, when he finds JC in the bedroom going through the drawers.

"Already packed," JC says, just as evenly. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

"I live here, remember?"

"I was trying to keep out of your way."

"You know, I never said you have to leave."

"You never gave me a reason to stay."

"Didn't think I needed to."

"So, what? I was supposed to stay so you could continue treating me like shit?"

"You want to play the martyr, you just go right ahead, JC. Whatever makes you happy."

"Can't we even talk about this without you calling me names?"

"So now you want to talk? While you're packing up your stuff?"

"I tried to talk to you before, but you wouldn't talk to me. What was I supposed to do?"

"You tried to talk to me when I was half asleep!"

"There have been other times. You know I'm not leaving because of one night. You do know that, right? Things have been falling apart for a while now."

It's true. It's just that neither of them has come right out and said it until now. "Yes."

"So, what happened?"

Lance shrugs and sits on the edge of the bed. "I don't know," he says a little sadly.

"You just decided you didn't like me anymore?"

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

"It's not that and you know it."

"Then tell me what it is!"

"I don't know!" I love you but I'm not IN love with you? "Maybe we've been together too long. Maybe we just need our space."

"So you can pick up other men at Tabu?"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"He called here, remember?"

"Who called here?"

"That guy. I told you. Mike? Mark?"

"What about him?"

"He called here. The last day I was here. Said he met you at Tabu. Said he was interested. Why are you acting like you never heard this stuff before?"

"Because it's the first time you sounded like a jealous boyfriend."

"It's the first time you gave me a reason to be."

"I'm not gonna even bother responding to that, if that's what you think." He gets up and is about to leave when he pauses in the doorway. "Just leave your key on the kitchen table."

"See? You're doing it again. Walking away. You haven't said one thing of substance. Every question you answered with a question. And now YOU decide the conversation is over."

"Well excuse me for not wanting to sit through a whole hour of you accusing me for something I didn't do."

"Then talk to me. Tell me what I'm missing."

"Nothing! Okay? It's over. You've made that pretty clear."

"You owe me this much!"

"I owe you? So that's what it's come to?"

"You owe me one damned conversation. You owe it to me to tell me what happened that made you hate me."

"I don't hate you! Right now, I just don't like you very much."

"Then tell me what happened. Give me that much."

"What happened is you started nagging me like all those girls we used to make fun of."

"I started nagging? Because I wanted to spend time with you once in a while?"

"Once in a while? It was like every night. I couldn't breathe without checking with you first."

"Like I ever stopped you from doing anything."

"No, you just made me feel guilty every time I did."

"And you made me feel like I was the last person you wanted to spend time with."

"Maybe if you weren't so clingy I'd spend more time with you." He knew the second he said it that it was a hurtful thing to say.

JC shoots Lance a pained look. "I guess I have my answer. We can't have this conversation without you calling me names."

Lance throws his hands up and leaves. JC's always been the more sensitive of the couple, but sometimes Lance wished he wouldn't be SO sensitive. No use saying goodbye--it's not like Lance won't still see JC. He just can't look at him now. Not with that sad, hurt expression on his face.

"For once in your life take responsibility," JC shouts after him. "It's easy for you to blame this all on me, but it takes two, Lance."

The last of JC's words trail after Lance as he shuts the front door behind him. They linger in the car like stale air as he drives around, and they remain in his head for the rest of the day. Later that night, the house empty, devoid of any of JC's belongings, Lance goes to the kitchen and finds a half-eaten pint of JC's ice cream in the freezer. He's about to dig in when he changes his mind and tosses it. No need to be reminded.

JC has several days to nurture his anger, since there are no rehearsals or sessions scheduled. His thoughts, his words pour out onto sheet after sheet of paper, but he hates the results and crumples each sheet as quickly as his pen finishes covering it. Finally, he has to come out of hiding for a rehearsal. He barely glances at his unshaven face as he gets ready, and by the time he pulls into the parking lot, his hands are shaking.

Lance is already there, goofing off with Joey and some of the band members, Joey on drums, Lance on keyboard, making up some silly song. He stops when JC walks in. His friend looks like crap--something Lance is not used to seeing. JC never looks like crap.

JC's eyes immediately seek Lance. It's involuntary, instinctive. They used to say they could find each other blindfolded in a crowd. He looks away as quickly as he can, moving into a corner to stretch.

Lance drinks his water quietly, pushing down the sadness, the yearning to touch JC. Right now, they have a job to do and that's what he's going to focus on. As they get down to business, Lance focuses on the new choreography they've just learned--until he accidentally collides into JC. "Sorry, dude," he mumbles, pushing away from JC.

JC hates that even that accidental collision arouses him, making him want more. He throws himself even harder into the choreography, the work that usually takes him out of himself, gives him relief. But now, he can't even lose himself. He's painfully conscious of exactly where Lance is every second.

Later, after they're done, Lance approaches JC. "Look, we have to work together, we're bound to . . . you know. It, um, doesn't have to mean anything."

JC looks at Lance coldly. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Can you for once finish a conversation? You came over here."

"I'm sorry I bothered you." He leaves without looking back, suddenly sorry for a lot more than that.

JC shakes his head sadly. He finally rises, collects his stuff, moving like an old man. He knows he has to find a way to work with Lance, but he has no idea what that's going to be.

Days pass. Sometimes, Lance comes close to laughing at something JC says, but he doesn't. He finds himself flip-flopping between missing JC and still being angry with him. Every time he starts to soften he remembers JC's accusation. How could he think he'd cheat on him? Where could he have gotten that idea?

Every day seems a little easier. JC simply ignores Lance as much as possible but doesn't make a big show of it. Then one day HE shows up. Mark.

They're just finishing up the second number when Lance sees Mark seated near the front. He grabs a towel and wipes his face. "Hey, dude!" he yells, hopping off the stage. "Let's go take a walk."

"Who's that?" Justin asks.

JC shrugs, watching intently as Lance and the strange guy walk out.

Lance returns 30 minutes later, laughing and clapping Mark on the back. He man-hugs him and watches him leave, then goes back to the stage, avoiding JC's steely gaze.

"So, who was that, dude?" Joey asks.

"Him? Oh, just someone I met at Tabu."

Joey raises his eyebrows. "So what was he doing here?"

"He wanted to talk. When did you get to be so nosy?"

"When did you get so defensive? We don't usually have people we don't all know dropping in on rehearsals is all."

"It just seems that everyone's making a big deal out of who I talk to."

Joey rolls his eyes. "This isn't everyone making a big deal. This is your best friend asking a question."

"His name is Mark. He's a friend."

JC has been listening carefully to the exchange, trying very hard to look as if he isn't, but at the sound of the name, he starts.

"Was that so hard?" Joey teases. "And the purpose of his visit?" he asks, with mock officiousness.

"Why do I feel like I'm on trial? All right! He wants to make movies. I told him I could hook him up."

"Sheesh, dude! If I took off for a half an hour in the middle of rehearsal with a strange chick, you'd be all over me."

"If you took off to be with a strange chick no one would question it. Unless she's really strange."

"Can we get back to work?" Justin asks, petulantly.

"Yeah. Now," Chris adds.

Lance can feel the daggers from JC's eyes boring into his back. It's uncanny how guilty JC makes him feel with just that look.

JC concentrates on his anger. It's the only way he can stay strong. If he allows himself to feel the pain, he'll start crying and never stop. So as he pulls himself up and takes his position for the next number, his mind repeats over and over: "How could he bring him here? Throwing it in my face. Could he be more obvious?"

More days pass as they get closer to the start of the tour. Lance wonders how they'll ever get through this. The anger is beginning to dull, but he still can't bring himself to say more than "hi" to JC.

JC spends more and more time by himself, too unhappy to seek company. At least the stuff he's writing now is starting to shape up into something he can use. That's his saving grace. Otherwise, he's numb. Wardrobe is furious with him, because at every fitting his costumes have to be taken in a little more. They scold him, but he just smiles, and agrees, and continues to forget to eat.

Lance focuses entirely on business--the group, his upcoming film projects, Meredith. Anything to take his mind off JC. Because every time he sees JC he finds himself missing him. The first few nights he slept alone Lance barely slept at all. He finally was able to get through the nights, but even now he'll wake up with his arm draped over JC's side of the bed.

Joey finally confronts JC. "Dude, you've got to pull yourself together."

JC looks at him. "I'm doing my job."

Joey smiles indulgently. "I'm talking about you, not onstage guy."

"Oh. Oh. I'm . . . trying. I am." Joey's good-hearted kindness makes JC feel like crying. "I . . . I don't know how."

"What the hell happened between you?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't talk to me. Except to tell me I'm a nag and clingy and a martyr."

"Lance said that? Our Lance?"

"Yeah. Look, Joey, I don't wanna put you in the middle or anything."

"I don't want to be in the middle. But you're my friend and I'm worried about you. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Not much. That bad?"

"That bad. You keep this up and you won't be able to stand up when the tour starts."

"I'm okay. I'm not, like, weak or anything."

"No, but if you stood behind a telephone pole we'd never see you. You should at least come over for dinner tonight. My mom'll cook you a big plate of spaghetti."

"I know your mom. A big plate of spaghetti is an appetizer to her."

"So you'll come?"

"Yeah, okay." JC pauses, almost managing a smile. "Thanks, Joey."

As promised, Phyllis throws together a feast, more than happy to put some meat on JC's bones. "So JC, what's going on with you and Lance?" she asks, adding another meatball to JC's already full plate.

"Phyllis, please, let him eat," says Joey, Sr.

"Nothing," JC mumbles. "Nothing's going on with me and Lance."

"Such a shame," sighs Phyllis. "You two made such a cute couple."

JC cringes and puts down his fork, not wanting to be rude to Joey's mom, but not wanting another bite, either.

"Oh, baby doll, it'll be all right, you'll see."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Believe it. Somehow, it'll all work out."

One day, Lance is signing some papers in his office when he comes across one of JC's bank statements. He could mail it, but that would be really cold. He has to go to the supermarket anyway, so he figures he'll just drop it off on his way. On the drive over, memories keep popping in his head: he and JC on vacation together in the Bahamas. Spending Christmas together. Surprising JC on his birthday with tickets to the Sting concert. Cooking dinner and making a mess. The stern looks JC would give him when he had too much to drink. The nagging about his social life. By the time he pulls into JC's driveway, he's pissed all over again. Pissed that things fell apart so quickly and easily.

JC opens the door and freezes, surprised. "Lance?"

"Um, hey. How's it going?" Lance says, almost shyly.

"I, um, okay I guess. Um, you?"

"Fine. Listen, I didn't come here to bother you. I found this bank statement in my office."

"Oh. Oh, thanks." JC puts out a hand for the envelope.

"Whatever. See you."

JC stares at the envelope in his hand as if he expects it to have some meaning. "Lance?"

Lance stops on his way to his truck and peers over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"I..." I what? I miss you? I still love you? I want you back? "I'll see you at rehearsal."

Lance nods, disappointed, confused that he's disappointed, and disappears inside the truck. He doesn't look back as he drives away, because he knows if he does he'll want to turn around.

Without even thinking, JC runs down the steps to the driveway as if he could grab the truck and hold it there, forcing Lance to talk to him, deal with him, acknowledge him.

The entire time he's at the grocery store, Lance is plagued with conflicting emotions. Seeing JC alone just made him want him all over again, but at the same time he's still so angry his boyfriend just up and left. Yes, he'd been clubbing a bit more than usual. Yes, maybe he hadn't been paying as much attention to JC as he used to, but maybe JC was being just a little too insecure about the whole thing. Was. It's over. And that knowledge brings on a whole new wave of hurt. For a long moment, Lance sits behind the wheel of his truck, bags in the back, and considers driving back to JC's. He's still undecided as he pulls out and heads toward the expressway, but he's so lost in thought that he doesn't see the other car speed through the intersection.

JC is confused. It seemed, for a moment there, like he and Lance might actually . . . talk. And he's so tired of being angry. And he misses his friend. Even if they're never . . . together again. He picks up and puts down his phone several times. The last time, it surprises him by ringing. He glances at the display. A local number, but an unfamiliar one. "Hello?"

"May I speak to JC Chasez, please?"

"This is him."

"I'm calling from Florida Hospital Emergency Room. A Mr. James Bass was brought in. Your name was listed as one of his contacts." Before JC hears another word, he's out the door.

Lance lays back on the small bed, the pain in his head and wrist now dulled by the pills. He was told the boy who hit him is fine, but that he, Lance, suffered a sprained wrist and a minor head injury. He's more concerned about his truck right now.

"Lance, how are you feeling?" the ER nurse appears with his chart.

"I'm fine, thanks. The pills really helped."

"We can't release you unless someone drives you home, so we called the number in your wallet. JC Chasez?"

Lance tries to sit up, but it just makes his head throb again. JC is the last person he wants to see right now. He's probably annoyed he got the call.

JC runs into the hospital's emergency room entrance and looks around wildly. He sees the desk and goes over quickly, waiting impatiently for someone to be free. "Lan-- James Bass?" he asks, breathlessly. "He was brought in after a car accident?"

The guy behind the desk taps a couple of keys on his computer. "Room 4. Down there." He indicates the direction with his thumb.

JC dashes to the indicated room, then pauses in the doorway. Lance is lying with his face turned away. One wrist is wrapped in bandages and a sling is draped over his shoulder. That's all JC can see. "Lance?" he says, softly, his voice breaking slightly.

Groggily, Lance turns his head and his heart melts when he sees the frantic expression on JC's face. "Hey. I didn't want them to call you. I didn't want to bother you. They said I can't go unless someone drives me home. I guess . . . I never got around to changing my contact information."

JC moves closer. "I'm glad you didn't. I'm glad they called me. Unless . . . if you'd rather have someone else, I could call them for you. Otherwise . . . I'm here for you."

"No, don't call anyone. I'll call my mom when we get--when I get home." He wants to hug JC right now--hug him for dropping everything, despite everything that's happened between them, and running here.

"So, you must be JC." A doctor enters, introduces himself, then addresses JC. "Lance can go home, but he'll need someone to watch him for a while. The X-rays don't show a concussion, but just keep an eye on him. If he gets nauseated or passes out, call us right away. Have him take two of these every four hours until the pain goes away. He can take off the sling tomorrow but he'll need to keep the wrist bandaged for at least a week."

JC nods solemnly. "Okay. I can do that." He pauses. "So, he's okay? The bump on the head and the wrist and he's gonna be all right?"

"He'll be fine. A couple days rest is all he needs now."

"A couple of days?" Lance chimes in. "We've got rehearsals."

"We can rearrange rehearsals. You know we can." JC pockets the pill bottle and looks from Lance to the doctor and back. "Ready to go?"

With a heavy sigh, Lance puts his feet on the floor and stands, not wanting JC to see any sign of weakness. He follows him out the door and to the parking lot. "Thanks for coming," he says finally.

"I was so scared," JC says, simply.

"I'm sorry." For everything.

JC opens the door for Lance. "Let's go home."

Lance doesn't correct JC, or protest. He complies, leaning his head back on the seat, quiet as he allows JC's competent driving skills to get him back to the house. "You don't have to stay," he says, as they enter.

"You heard the doctor. Someone has to. If you want someone else, I'll understand. But I'd like to."

"No, I don't want someone else. I . . . I want you."

JC smiles softly. "Good. Let's get you settled. And you can tell me what happened, if you want."

They retreat to the TV room, where Lance reclines on the couch. "Some kid ran a red light. I feel a little sorry for him--he just got his license. Looks like my truck's gonna be out of commission for a while."

"As long as you're not. Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine. How about you? You want something to eat? Drink? I could make us some sandwiches."

"You're not doing a thing, you hear me? Even if I have to tie you to the couch."

"Ooh, is that what you've been up to?"

"Kinda frisky for a wounded guy, aren't you?"

"Must be the drugs."

JC gently brushes Lance's hair back from the lump on his forehead. "Or the blow to the head."

Lance reaches up to touch his head but brushes JC's hand instead. "I must be delusional."

"Me too. I could have sworn you were happy to see me."

"Maybe we're both delusional. Or maybe not."

"Maybe not," JC whispers. He straightens and asks "You sure you don't want anything? A blanket? The TV on?"

"You, um, want to watch a movie? I could use a drink, and I'm sure you could, too. There's some bottled water in the refrigerator."

JC hands Lance the remote and heads off to the kitchen to get the water. He puts one bottle of water by Lance and settles himself in a chair, checking his watch to see how long until Lance should take his medication. "Oh," he says, suddenly remembering. "Do you want the phone? Do you want to call anyone?"

"Yes. I should call my mom before she finds out from someone else."

JC brings the phone over and hands it to Lance. "Do you want some privacy?" he asks.

"No, stay. Please." He calls his mother, and after 30 minutes is able to convince her to wait until next week when she was scheduled to come down anyway. He rolls his eyes at JC and smiles before hanging up. "She said she'd only stay home if you took care of me."

"How am I doing?"

"You're doing great." Lance stops, staring at his water bottle. "Listen, JC, I'm, um, really sorry about what happened."

"I am, too," JC says, finding a particular section of carpet fascinating.

"No, listen--I was a dick. I shouldn't have said all those things to you."

"I should have trusted you more."

"I shouldn't have left you alone so much."

"I shouldn't have blamed you so much."

"I shouldn't have given you a reason to."

"So we both screwed up. Can we fix it?"

"I'd like to try."

JC goes over to sit on the floor in front of Lance's couch. "Me, too. More than anything."

Lance touches JC's face, something he's wanted to do for weeks. "No more going out every night without you."

"No more complaining when you need to."

"And I'll tell you where I'm going."

JC smiles. "We'll just be SO perfect."

"No, see that's it--we shouldn't be perfect. We need to accept each other for who we are."

"It took me thinking that I might have really lost you to figure that out."

"You thought I was dead?"

"I didn't know. I didn't know how badly you were hurt. All I know is how scared I was. And how important it was to get to you."

"I'm sorry it took something like this to knock some sense into me."

JC lays his head on Lance's chest, carefully avoiding touching his injured arm. "We're okay, now."

"We will be. We can't change it overnight."

"But it's a good start."

"If I hadn't had the accident, would you be here?"

"My phone was in my hand when it rang with the hospital calling. I was going to call you."

"You were? I've been thinking about you, too. A lot."

"So maybe we were just both ready."

"And fate came along and banged me on the head."

JC lifts his head to look up at Lance. "Something like that. Speaking of your head, how does it feel? You want one of your pills?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a little sleepy."

"Then you should sleep. Maybe I can scrounge something up for dinner for when you wake up. Your fridge looked pretty empty. Anything you want?"

"We could just order a pizza. That way you don't have to cook."

"Okay. We'll do that. Now sleep." And sleep he does. Lance tries to keep his eyes open as long as he can, staring at JC, making sure he's really here and that this is all not just some strange dream, but he finally succumbs. A few hours later he awakens and tries to stretch, but the pain in his wrist reminds him why he's laying on the couch in the first place. He remembers JC coming to get him and looks around, but doesn't see him. "JC?"

JC comes running in from the kitchen. "Hey, you're awake."

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours. I would have woken you up soon. How do you feel?"

"Better. I didn't realize how tired I was." He yawns and stretches, but the sling gets in the way, so he starts to remove it.

"Not so fast. You're supposed to keep that on."

"It's annoying. And it's my wrist, not my whole arm."

"I know. But you want it to heal right, right?"

"It'll heal without this thing on. I can't do anything with it on."

"I'll wait on your hand and foot. Besides . . . " JC blushes. "You look really cute with it on."

"I look cute all trussed up, huh? And you'll be my personal slave? Are you sure YOU didn't get hit on the head?"

"Your mom expects me to take care of you."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"So you don't WANT a personal slave?"

"Oh, I do. If it means keeping this thing on, I'll do it."

"Good boy. Are you hungry? Do you want me to order the pizza?"

"Yeah, I am. Hey, did you call the guys? About rehearsal? Because I was thinking--I could do it. I'm feeling much better."

"Tomorrow is off. The next day, we're doing vocals only."

"What about the choreography?"

"We'll pick it up again in a couple of days."

"This sucks. It's only a sprain."

"Sprains can take a long time to heal, if you don't take care of them. You know that. Which reminds me. You should have ice on that."

"I'm fine, really. Just relax, Dr. Chasez. Let's order the pizza and watch a movie."

JC picks up the phone and calls their favorite pizza delivery place. "30 minutes. Just the amount of time you're supposed to ice. It's fate."

Lance groans. "Ever think of changing careers?"

"Yeah, but med school would be such a drag." JC trots out to the kitchen, where he has a supply of disposable ice-packs, delivered while Lance was sleeping. He cracks one as he walks back to Lance, then places it gently on the afflicted wrist. "You can go back to being Mr. Independent in a couple of days," JC says gently. "For now, just let me take care of you. Please?"

Seeing how sincere JC is and how much he needs to be needed, Lance complies. "Okay, but ONLY for a couple of days. You know, now that you mention it, I might need some help showering and stuff."

"Whatever you need. Now, what do you wanna watch?"

"Something funny." He tosses the clicker to JC as he begins to relax in JC's capable hands. It suddenly occurs to him how take-charge JC has been since he arrived at the hospital.

JC turns to the on-screen guide and they choose a movie that will be starting soon. "The pizza should be here pretty soon. What do you want to drink?"

"Just water. Look, I can get it."

JC stifles a protest. "Sure."

Lance manages to make it to the kitchen and back with no major incidents. "See? Perfectly fine. Just won't be able to play basketball for a few days."

"You can't play basketball anyway."

Lance tosses a pillow in JC's direction. "Gee, thanks. At least now I have an excuse."

The doorbell rings and JC goes to pay for the pizza. They sit together on the couch, companionably munching pizza and watching the movie.

Not long after taking his last bite, Lance finds himself dozing again. He falls sideways, his head landing on JC's shoulder.

JC carefully shifts Lance until his head is settled in JC's lap. He pulls an afghan off the couch back and spreads it over Lance. JC barely notices the rest of the movie. He sits quietly, watching Lance sleep and stroking the soft, spiky hair soothingly.

Lance wakes up when he hears the music from the next movie. When he realizes where he's lying his first instinct is to push away, but he doesn't. He remains there in the comfort of JC's lap. "So, um, I guess you'll be going home tonight?"

"Only if you want me to."

"I don't. I just don't want you to feel obligated. You wouldn't even be here if I hadn't gotten hit."

"You want me to leave?"

"No. I want you to stay. But I want it to be because we both want to."

"I'm here because I want to be."

Lance sits up so he's facing JC. "We wouldn't even be talking."

"I told you. I was gonna call you."

"Yeah, but would you be here now?"

"I don't know. But I do know that even if you getting hit gave us a push, how I feel about you doesn't depend on that."

"How do you feel?"

"I still love you. I never stopped. You can't be that angry at someone you don't love."

"I missed you so much."

"That's just what I was thinking when I was trying to work up the nerve to call you. That even if you didn't, you know, want me anymore, I needed my friend back."

"I'll always be your friend, no matter what. Even when I act like an asshole."

"Now, there's a quote for the next J-14 interview."

"Let's call them right now," Lance says, reaching for the phone with his good hand.

"No. They'll want to come over and take your picture looking all wounded."

"You're right. I look hideous."

"You do not. You look . . . beautiful."

"You're blind." Instead of reaching for the phone Lance touches JC's face. "Does this mean we're back together?" he asks quietly.

"I want it to."

"I think . . . ," Lance begins, but instead of talking he kisses JC.

JC reaches up with both hands to cradle Lance' head gently, tenderly. "Is that a yes?" he whispers when they finally part.

"That's a yes. I want you back, JC Chasez."

"I'm yours, Lance Bass."

Lance kisses JC again, as though it's their first kiss.

JC lets the feel, the scent, the taste of Lance flood his senses, leaving him almost dizzy, almost breathless.

"I have to take this off," Lance says, pushing gently away and fussing with the sling. "I want to be able to hold you."

JC helps Lance remove the sling and presses a kiss to the bandaged wrist. "Just be careful with it," he warns sweetly.

"Don't worry, what I'm planning to do won't hurt at all."

"Good. I don't ever want to hurt you again."

"You didn't. I hurt myself by letting you go."

JC brings his lips to Lance's again, kissing him with all the emotion he feels.

Lance pulls JC close, using his free hand, the kiss so familiar and new at the same time. There's no anger, no pain, only love and longing.

JC sinks down onto the couch, carefully bringing Lance with him, settling Lance on top of him.

After weeks of pent-up sexual frustration, Lance can barely contain himself, but he doesn't want to rush this moment. It's sweet and beautiful and he wants to make it a night they will both remember. He gently brushes the wild hair from JC's face, caressing his cheek as he gazes lovingly into JC's sparkling blue eyes.

JC smiles up at Lance, a smile that animates his entire face. He wraps his arms tightly around Lance in a grip that isn't possessive but rather protective and loving. Lance relaxes in JC's grip, as though JC's hug is the release he needed. He places soft kisses on JC's face--his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead--until he returns to JC's beckoning mouth, his hands traveling down JC's chest and under his shirt. JC shivers pleasurably under Lance's delicate and sensual touch. This, all of it, feels like home and he's deeply grateful that they both recognized that they needed to be together.

Lance's tongue explores JC's mouth, learning the taste and texture of JC all over again. His busy hands find JC's erect nipples, and he spends a generous amount of time toying with them, teasing them, lightly pinching the tight buds.

JC slips his hands under Lance's shirt, running light fingers over the smooth skin, feeling the smoothness disappear under the chill bumps his touch raises.

Lance rubs against JC's hands as the kiss intensifies, his breath catching in his throat. "Ohhh, darlin', I missed this so much."

"So much," JC agrees, pressing his mouth to Lance's sensitive neck. His hands slide lower, cupping Lance's ass and pulling him hard against his own body.

"I hated being without you," Lance says moving his body against JC, his erection evident.

"Let's never do this again. The fighting and breaking up part, I mean."

"Good, because if you meant this part I'd have to leave."

"Mmmmm," JC murmurs against Lance's throat. "More of this part."

"What--this?" Lance asks, tweaking JC's nipples. "Or this?" he purrs, pressing his crotch against JC's growing bulge.

JC grins and nips at Lance's ear. "Both."

"Ooo, this could take all night."

"You sure you're up to it, Injured Boy?"

"I still got one good hand." To demonstrate, Lance slides his uninjured hand from under JC's shirt and sits up, massaging JC's heat through his pants.

JC practically purrs. "That's a very talented hand."

"I trained it well. Of course, it's out of practice."

"We can practice as much as we want."

"Then let's start," Lance growls, straddling JC, flicking open his pants and encircling JC's erection with his hand.

"Ohhhhh," JC groans, lifting his hips in response to Lance's touch.

"Looks like something hasn't been used in a while. You know, if you don't use it, it shrivels up and falls off."

"Save me, Dr. Lance."

"Well, this procedure is very complex. It will take hours." He begins stroking JC's hardness, slowly and firmly.

"I trust you completely, doc."

"I'll have you cured before you know it." Now, he uses only his palm to rub the length of the hard shaft.

"I feel better already."

"Good. We're making progress. I think you're ready for the next treatment." Lance lays back down on top of JC, never taking his hand from the throbbing organ. He licks JC's neck, then kisses that same spot as he tugs gently at JC's shirt.

Wrapping one arm firmly around Lance, JC eases Lance's shirt up with the other, caressing the skin he uncovers with practiced strokes.

With a deep breath, Lance closes his eyes, shivering against the gentle touch he's longed for for weeks. He sits up slowly and starts to strip off his shirt, but his bandaged wrist gets in the way as the shirt is halfway off. He starts to giggle as he struggles to clear his head.

"Let me, babe." JC releases Lance from the shirt and kisses his injured wrist again.

"See, I need you now. You can't leave. I'll end up wearing the same clothes for a week."

"So, you only want me here to be your personal slave?" JC says, pouting teasingly.

"Depends. What else can you do?"

"I can sing you to sleep."

"Now you're talking." He leans down, kissing JC's face again, and whispers, "Take off your shirt."

JC complies, struggling a little to sit up enough to remove the garment. "Your next command, master?"

"Just lie there and look all sexy like that."

JC blushes and looks down, then hits Lance full blast with his most smouldering gaze.

Lance is completely speechless. The light from the TV flickers, casting moving shadows across JC's face, making his eyes appear as though they glow. Lance's arousal is impossible to contain now, and he moves off JC slowly, kneeling beside the couch and kissing JC softly. "Don't move a muscle." He's up and in the bathroom in seconds, and soon he has a tube of lube in his hands and is back beside JC. "Good, you're still here."

"I had my instructions."

Lance reaches inside JC's pants again and strokes gently. "I love a good listener."

"I love . . . a man who's good with his hands."

Lance starts to tug at JC's pants but gets frustrated when his one good hand can't accomplish the task. "Arrrrrr! I hate this."

"Shhh," JC soothes. "Give it a couple days. Until then, let me be your hands."

"Well, your hands can start by taking off your pants."

JC does as instructed, then gives Lance a look. "What about yours?"

Lance rises, unbuttoning his pants and trying to push them down over his hips. "They're stuck."

JC stills Lance's hands and pulls the pants down himself, running a quick, light hand over Lance's erection.

Lance sits on the couch, next to JC's outstretched legs, and reaches for the lubricant.

JC looks up at Lance, patiently, passionately. He reaches for Lance's erection again, but this time the touch isn't quick or light.

It's been so long since he's been touched there, Lance almost drops the lube. He takes a moment, savoring JC's hand on his hardness before shifting and coating himself with the slick gel and pouring a generous amount in his hand. He coaxes JC's knees up and stretches out on top, then slips his hand between the tight muscles of JC's ass. Closing his eyes, he kisses JC tenderly as he teases the puckered opening before slipping his fingers inside.

JC groans against Lance's mouth, needing his touch desperately. It feels like forever since they've been together, and JC relishes the slight pain as well as the pleasure.

Lance's fingers practically burn from the heat inside JC. He can tell by the tightness that JC hasn't been with anyone else since their breakup, and that causes a new wave of desire to wash over him. Soon, he removes his fingers and rests JC's feet on his shoulders. "I love you, JC," he says quietly before thrusting inside.

JC cries out exultantly as he's penetrated. He wraps his arms around Lance and pulls him closer, craving as much contact as humanly possible.

After weeks of being apart, Lance doesn't think he can hold back for very long. He thrusts hungrily, urgently, full of need and desire. Tears well up in his eyes as he realizes what he almost lost.

"Baby, don't," JC whispers, touching Lance's face.

"I--," Lance chokes, and before he can say more he comes, blinded by the ecstasy of being joined with his one true love.

Lance's almost frantic thrusts bring JC to the brink as well, and over it. JC says Lance's name over and over, beginning as a near shout and ending as a hoarse whisper. When they're finally still, he whispers, "I love you, too, Lance."

Lance rests his head on JC's chest, breathing in his delicious, musky scent. "We can't break up any more--it'll kill us."

JC nods. "No more breakups. But you know what that means--we have to talk about stuff, even when it's hard to."

That's the one thing Lance has trouble with. The one thing, and yet perhaps the most important thing. "I'll try. I promise."

"That's good enough for me."

Lance kisses JC's sweaty chest. "Let's just never go to bed mad, okay?"

"That goes both ways."

"Deal."

"Good. Speaking of bed . . . are you tired?"

Lance nods, his damp, spikey hair brushing JC's chin.

"Then let's go to bed."

Lance nods again and yawns but doesn't move.

"C'mon, babe. You're going to be sore enough from your accident without sleeping like this, too."

"Do I have to? You're so comfortable."

"Think how much more comfortable we'll be in your nice, big bed."

"OUR bed."

"Our bed," JC amends, kissing Lance's hair.

"Maybe we should buy a new one. Start over."

"We can go shopping tomorrow."

"So this could be the last night in our old bed. We better make the best of it."

"I like how you think."

"And I like you. A lot."

"You do?"

"I do. Does this mean we're married?"

"You know I would in a minute."

"Let's start with the bed first."

"Mmmmm. Bed."

"Boy, I'm glad I'm not dating Joey."

"Hey!"

"I said I was glad!" And to prove it, he stretches his neck and kisses JC.

"That's better." JC murmurs against Lance's lips.

And so they do finally make it to the bedroom. They brush their teeth and wash up. JC is in bed before Lance. Lance finally climbs in after him, too tired to think, too tired to move. He glances at the clock before closing his eyes--12:20. In the morning. His hand throbs and he knows he reeks from post-sex sweat but he's too tired to shower.

JC waits till Lance is really settled, maybe even on the verge of sleep. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, sounding like a caress in the silent room. "Love you."

The contented sigh is almost as audible, even though it's muffled by the pillow in which Lance has buried his face. "I love you, too."

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