| FATES 7 |
| Back at the hotel, Lance and Justin sat happily in Lance's room munching on a Chinese food feast. Mike had sent his assistant out for the best in the city. "So," Justin said, grabbing for another egg roll, "I guess you're not playing in the charity event huh?" Lance took a long sip of his ice tea and shook his head. "Nope, I can't. Thank God!" he smiled. "No fool for me this year." A loud knock at the door made the two look up. "It's us, can we come in." Lance looked at Justin. "You know, they're gonna be pissed that we got to chow down Chinese food. They probably got crap from the promotional people." Justin laughed and went to the door. "Too bad, so sad!" He swung it open, allowing their three friends entrance to the room. "Come on in," he grinned, chomping on his egg roll. Joey frowned. "Chinese food? Man!" Chris sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing the lo mein. "Who got this for you?" he complained lightly. Lance passed him the small white container. "Help yourself." Joey rubbed his stomach. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" JC stood next to Lance, a concerned look etched in his face. "What did the hospital say?" Lance wiped his mouth with a napkin, and handed over the rest of his sweet and sour chicken to Joey. "Well, apparantly it's not the flu, it's exhaustion, so I can only do shows, nothing else. I'm basically grounded." He let out a small laugh, trying to hide his nervousness. He still wasn't sure what the hell was going on with his body, but he didn't want to shirk his group responsibilities. That wasn't his style. Joey shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth. "So no interviews, nothing?" he asked. "Nope. Nothing. I get to veg!" He stretched out, putting his hands behind his head, and leaned back. Suddenly, Justin clutched at his stomach, in mock illness. "Uggh, I caught whatever he has. I need rest too." JC shook his head, not liking the lightness that filled the room. "You guys do realize that this is all going to get out? It's going to be blown up in the media, and they'll hound Lance." He stared hard at his group mates, none of whom seemed overly concerned. "Hello?" Lance flipped through the channels on the tv. "Man, there's nothing we can do about it. I have to rest. Let them say whatever they want. We do have publicists, JC. They can handle it." A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and tiredness crept over him. It had been a long and stressful day, and all he wanted to do was close his eyes, and get some sleep. JC sat down and rocked back and forth. "Remember, we don't lie to our fans. That means the truth, Lance, okay?" Lance nodded, and bit back his annoyance. Of course he wasn't going to lie, what did JC think? "That's fine," he stated, "But you know I am human. I am allowed to get sick." "Ease up, Josh," Justin grinned. "He just wants to get out of playing ball!" Lance tossed a pillow at him. "Shut up!" he cried, thinking in the back of his mind that maybe that was it. Maybe his mind was playing his body into being sick. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the clock. It was still early, but his body was shutting down. "Do you guys mind if I kick you all out?" he asked, hesitant to let them know how wiped out he really was. JC stood up and pulled at Chris and Joey, who were still occupied stuffing their faces. "No, get some sleep," he ordered, pushing his friends to the door. "We'll all meet for breakfast in the morning and set up a plan of attack." Absentmindedly, he cleaned up some of the Chinese food mess and motioned for Justin to leave. "Thanks," Lance said sleepily. "I'm sure I'll be much better in the morning." He waited for the door to click shut before turning off the light, and drifting off immediately. His body rested, but his mind didn't. It dreamed continuously through the night, all about his mystery girl. Lance awoke at 3 am, his body drenched in a clammy sweat. He bolted straight up, panic searing through his body. Something was a miss, but he didn't know what. Quickly, he reached for his cell phone and checked for new messages, thinking maybe something was wrong with his family. When he discovered nothing new, he allowed himself to take a deep breathe, and tried to recall his dreams. "Damn," he groaned, pushing his sweaty hair back. "What the hell was I dreaming about?" He thought about calling one of the guys, but didn't trust that any of them would keep their cool. He didn't know what he'd say anyway. His tee shirt and boxers clung to him, damp with perspiration. He ripped the shirt off, tossing it to the corner of the room. Wearily, he got up and headed for the bathroom. A cool shower was in his mind, and the thought of scrubbing the nightmare away. Whatever it was, it eluded him now. Once he was done, he put on fresh boxers, and climbed back into bed on the other side, carefully avoiding the dampness on the sheets. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach, and he curled up into a ball, huddling down, praying for the feeling to pass. He was scared, and wanted someone to be with him, tell him he'd be alright. He shut his eyes tightly, and pressed back the tears, rocking himself into another phase of sleep. |