| Fury by destiny Joey huddled down under his light weight down jacket, cursing the New York winter with it's fucking snow and bitter cold, and damn, but his parent's made a wise choice taking them to Florida, because he was sure he would have killed himself by now up in this weather. He strolled along, his eyes cast downward, ignoring the banter of Lance and Justin beside him. How in God's name could they be so damn cheery in this cold? He snickered, thinking maybe all that southern heat had fried their brains or something. "Joey? Coffee?" Lance asked, blowing into his hands to keep warm. Justin hopped up and down, hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep them from freezing. "Yeah, whatever," Joey muttered, his voice garbled under the warmth of his scarf. Why the hell he'd agreed to come to NY was beyond him, and upstate no less. The weather was always worse here, always, only the two dumb asses next to him didn't know that. Or maybe they did, but just wanted to torment him. The three singers ducked into a small coffee house, wandering up to the counter. "It's so warm in here, I could fucking live here," Justin sighed, staring at the steaming mugs of coffee and hot cocoa. Lance nudged him, ever the polite man. "Justin, there're women present," he growled, hating when men cussed in front of women, especially women they didn't know. Justin responded by rolling his eyes. He looked at Joey who grinned back. "You can take the boy out of Mississippi..." he started. "..but you can't take to Mississippi outta the boy!" Joey continued, laughing. The woman behind the counter stared at them, shaking her head. The last thing she needed was three rowdy kids in here being loud and chanting obsurd things. "What can I get ya?" she asked, leaning her hands on the counter. "Three coffees," Lance answered, plucking a twenty from his wallet. The lady nodded and turned her back to pour the drinks. "So, Joe, you haven't said much. Isn't it beautiful here?" "You seem to forget that I used to live in NY, Lance. It's nothing new to me." Joey slipped his coat off, glancing around. "True, but you didn't live here. This is upstate." Joey snorted, like he didn't know that. God, whatever possessed him to get on that fucking plane from Florida where he was nice an warm and......oh yeah, and she was. The images came rushing back to him and his eyes clouded with memory. Justin caught it immediately. "Come on, let's grab a seat." He was trying to be helpful when Joey shoved him back, hard. Instinctively, he backed away, used to this little routine. "Christ," he hissed, banging his thigh into a table. Lance spun around to catch the move, and grimaced as Joey's face transformed. He'd hoped the little trip to upstate NY would help his mood swings, his tempermental changes, all the horrible epidsodes he'd gone through in Florida after the incident. Now, looking over at him, he knew that the personality changes were back, and Justin was the intended target this time. "Joey," he warned, making eye contact. "Not here." His deep voice was firm, and commanding, just the way JC's had been that night....ah, no use thinking about it now. There was nothing any of them could do now. Joey snapped his head up, and his eyes changed, softer. He reached out for Justin, a hand extended in apology. "I'm sorry," he said, knowing it was being said a lot. He wondered how much longer Lance and Justin would deal with him. Everyone else had given up already. Christ, two months and no one cared. Justin forced a smile, rubbing at the tender spot on his leg. He already had bruises over most of his body from Joey and his out of control rage, and he took it, because he had to, because Joey didn't mean it, he couldn't help it, and Lance had the same purply spots, and they loved Joey, they had to save him. Lance paid for the coffees and motioned for Justin and Joey to head back outside, not wanting to cause any more attention to themselves. If they were going to stay in this town for a while, well, it had to be under wraps, as much as possible. Lance stared out over the miles and miles of mountains that lined the horizon. It was so gorgeous and peaceful, and how could Joey still have boughts of rage here? He sipped his coffee, and they headed back down the road, back to Lance's friend's home. Lance inserted the key in the door, glad that his friend was out of town on business, giving them time to settle in, relax and familiarize themselves with the town. He shrugged his coat off and hung it on the hook, kicking his boots off on the welcome mat. The last thing he wanted was to drag mud and snow in her home. He frowned as Joey tramped in, and debated on whether or not to say something. He chose the first of his two choices, not wanting to see another fit of rage. He moved into the huge living room and bent down near the fireplace, his favorite thing in the world, throwing some logs on and kindling, hoping to get lost in the flames for a while. Justin followed Lance's lead, kicking his boots off as well, still chilled to the bone. God, NY was magestic, but cold, so cold it hurt. His fingertips were numb, and he stared at them, wondering if they were frost bitten. That would suck, really bad. He adjusted his bandana, glad he'd worn it, despite Lance's litte comment about it. Screw him, he had no sense of style anyway in his LL Bean flannel and jeans. Ha! What the hell was that? Little Lance the Lumberjack. He screwed up his face, not meaning to think mean thoughts, not when they were in the same boat because God knew they needed each other to deal with Joey and this rage. Christ, he wished there was a medication strong enough to dull that Italian temper when it flared. He touched his thigh and knew there would be a huge bruise there when he took his pants off. That was the deal when he accepted the trip with Lance. He knew he'd be on the end of Joey's temper. "Justin, grab me some of that newspaper?" Lance reached out his hand and was taken back when Joey grabbed his arm, twisting it hard. He yelped in pain, not expecting the sudden move, and it hurt, so bad, but he composed himself quickly, remembering what the therapist said. "Joey," he said evenly, biting back the pain, his eyes meeting Justin's briefly before catching the fury in Joey's. "Joey," he repeated, slowly, "Let me go." The pain was getting worse, and he wondered if his arm would snap, or worse, dislocate. He thought he'd faint if he had to see his arm twist unnaturally like the video of the alligator snapping the man's arm back on that show, ah, what the hell was the name of it, it escaped his mind. Joey grunted, his eyes glassy and his jaw set tightly, and he couldn't see Lance, it was her, not Lance, and he wanted to hurt her, fucking kill her like she killed him. The blood inside his body bubbled up as her face taunted him, and it was her arm he was twisting, and he wanted to rip it off her and beat her silly with it. "Joey, let me go." Lance winced a bit as the pain grew more intense, and Justin stood by, ready to jump in becasue if he had to see Lance's arm snap, he'd hit Joey, no matter what the goddamn therapist said. This was getting out of control. They were singers, for chrissakes, not therapists, and definately not punching bags. This little mental state of Joey's was starting to hurt. He realized just what JC had gone through that night.... Then, as suddenly as it came on, it was gone. Lance tumbled backwards, shaking his arm hard. He turned away to grimace, to scrunch his face up in horror and pain, and it hurt, worse than ever before. He inhaled sharpley, counting to ten before he was able to turn around. He hated this, truly, and Joey had almost taken his fucking arm off this time. When he turned back, Joey was sobbing into his hands, like usual, and he knew the headache would follow. He saw Justin wrap his arms around him, so he was free to assess the damage to his limb, the muscle that ached hotly, and the continued abuse his body took at the maniac's hands. No! He wasn't a maniac, Lance reasoned. He was Joey, the same guy who snuck him into clubs when he was still to young to get in, the same guy who gave him advice when his first post N Sync girlfriend dumped him for another more popular singer, and the same guy who attended his great aunt's funeral with him, even though it meant taking a red eye from Vancouver to Mississippi, and right back again to make the next round of shows. That's why he put up with it. Lance just hoped, no, prayed, that he'd get better. "Man, I'm sorry," Joey cried, slumping down into the couch. He still held his head in his hands, and feared looking into Lance's patient eyes, scared that he too would grow sick of this and leave him, just like everyone else did. They all took off just when he needed support most. Did they think it was easy dealing with what he had been dealt? His girlfriend, the fucking love of his life, killed his unborn baby. Killed it. Didn't ask, just did. He'd nearly killed her when she told him, with her cold eyes and icy heart. "It might not even have been yours anyway" wasn't that what she told him as she stood in their hotel room, just minutes before the bus left for the last show of the No Strings Attached tour. He'd frozen, unsure if he heard correctly. He was just getting used to the idea of being Joey Fatone, daddy, and was actually looking forward to it. Now this. His kid, gone, poof, like a ship in the fog. She'd killed it, without permission, without asking, or warning, or telling. He jumped on her before he knew what his body was doing, and he shook her hard, afraid of what his fists would do. And then there was JC, standing over him with horrified eyes and ripping at him. But his fury was too great, and he shoved JC hard, sending him to the floor, knocking his head into the wall, cracking it open. JC recovered from the stun he'd recieved, and been on him again, blood trickling down his head, and Joey remembered the blood, the eerie demonic look on JC's face. He'd backed off, leaving the room, too stunned to cry. Now, he was here, his last chance with Lance and Justin, the only two friends he had. And he was hurting them too, beating them down to nothing. The small scar on Justin's eye was a blurry memory. He'd hit him, with something, and Justin had cried, but not retaliated, and they didn't even know if he'd be able to ever see out of that eye. God was with him, thankfully, and his sight was okay. Lance tried to say 'it's okay' but the words died in his throat. He wasn't sure that it was okay anymore, and while the idea of spending time in this lovely upstate town was appealing, he honestly didn't think it would make a difference. He needed the medication program that the therapist had suggested. They'd tried to avoid it, convinced they could handle his anger and pain, but it ran too deep. Lance rubbed at his shoulder and arm, which were still on fire from the searing pain. "It's okay," Justin offered, his eyes wide. He didn't want to send Joey away. They'd already lost JC, now Joey? He couldn't handle that. Loosing JC was the hardest thing that ever happened to him, and he knew that Joey was the cause, but still, he hadn't remembered doing it. "Right Lance?" His face begged Lance for one more chance, just one. Lance shook his head and turned toward the small fire just starting to build. "It's not. God help me, Justin. It's not." He spun around and stared at Joey, who was red eyed and staring up at him, his eyes bleary. "Joey, man. I love you, more than you know, more than you can understand. I just can't do this. I'm not that strong." His voice cracked at his own words. Joey nodded. He understood. He hurt JC, permentley, and he might never, ever be okay again, laying in that facility, his body in some kind of altered state, and he'd done it. Him, Joey Fatone. There was no excuse, no reason, not even if his cheating whore of a girlfriend did kill his child. JC didn't deserve what he'd done to him that night. Pummeling him to a bloody pulp, right after a post tour appearance, right after he'd dyed his hair blonde to wash away the old Joey, turning cold and hard, hating everyone and everything, and all JC had said that night was 'maybe it's best'. Joey had turned on him, like a pit bull, and there was no one around to save the poor guy. Joey finally stopped, snapping into a reality, and was terrified at what he'd done. He didn't remember it too well, and all the fucking therapy in the world wouldn't erase what he took from the Chasez family. Lance rubbed his eyes and crossed the room, laying a hand on Joey's shoulder, telling him he was sorry. And it was the truth, he was. He knew Joey would need to be put away for a while, and he promised himself he'd go visit, hell, he'd even move closer if he had to. But his body couldn't take anymore. JC's listless body laying in the private facilty haunted him every night when he closed his eyes, and he knew Justin would be crushed. He was ripped in two when confronted with the fact that JC might never come back to the real world, and now the prospect of loosing Joey, well, he just hoped he understood. The soft sobs from Justin tore at Lance's heart as he picked up the phone and dialed Joey's therapist. He hated to do it, but there was no other choice. "Hi. This is Lance Bass." Pause. "Yeah, we're in NY. I failed. We're bringing him back right now." |