The week had been the longest of JC’s life. Puttering around his house proved worse than thinking about things, and he’d spent a lot of time in his home studio, trying unsuccessfully to write something powerful. Something that in ten years he could look back on, no matter the outcome of the weekend, and know he poured his soul completely into.

And he recorded his voice, over and over again. He sang some lyrics explaining his motives -- just in case his voice was stolen from him and people didn’t understand.

Just in case the guys didn’t comprehend why he had been so selfish to fuck with N Sync’s future. But as he sat in his leather control chair, playing back the song he’d created, mostly for Lance, but also for them all, he cried inside -- hoping this was indeed the right thing. Praying that Lance would return the feelings that bubbled inside of him so violently.

And it was violent, JC decided as his fingers swept over the keys of his baby grand. Violent and unfair and he didn’t *want* them at all. It would be much easier to lie down with Bobbee night after night and make love to her -- stroke her hair and whisper ‘i love you’s’ that he actually meant. Words he found himself wanting to whisper to Lance.

Lance of all people. His fucking friend. It was more than insane. It was hurtful to him. A double edged sword that sliced through him. “Fucking SHIT!” JC screamed, swiping his sheet music to the floor. He paced, because he had no more patience to sit as time ticked away. His hand was continually grabbing at his throat, and his fingers were forever running lightly over his Adam’s Apple, touching the bump with newfound interest. Wondering what it might be like to have no voice. To not be able to sing in the shower, or whisper in the dead of night to his lover. To not be able to moan during orgasm, or talk during interviews.

But there would be no more interviews, he reminded himself as he wandered from the studio. No more interviews, no more N Sync.

Slowly, JC went up to his room to pack. To chose which items he would need to win Lance over. To keep his voice and win the chance of a lifetime.

****************

The plane ride was torturous, and JC fought the lengthy flight with several beers and headphones piping in his favorite Sting album. His eyes were shut and he was trying hard not to think of repercussions. As the plane touched down in New York, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He smelled danger -- fear. The devil or some shit. The old man who had come to play God with him.

A car awaited and swept him to the hotel. His palms were sweaty and his knee jiggled. The city whirred by in slow motion, and JC found himself staring blankly out at it.  People jogged by and cars jammed the roads, horns blared, and he was nauseous. Hiding under his sunglasses, he forced himself to think this was the right thing. The only logical thing, really. And he knew if he didn’t try, at least take this chance, he would never know.

God would watch over him.

He hoped.

Slipping out of the cab, he jumped as a few stray fans rushed him. And he wished he’d brought security with him. He was frazzled as he managed to scratch his name on a few papers, and pose half-heartedly for a photo.

Suddenly Lonnie was there, hauling his arm up the steps into the hotel. “Man, you ain’t supposed to be out with no security,” he scolded.

And JC merely nodded, because he knew it could all be over soon. Then there would be no need. Negative thoughts played with him, bringing him to the bad edge of the dream, and he was fighting, really fighting, to stay on the hopeful side.

The side where he gets the boy and his voice.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pushing his sunglasses over the mop of unruly hair he’d acquired.

“Hey, it’s your neck, little man,” Lonnie shrugged, meandering off.

JC looked around as he heard a voice giggle. A tinkly voice. A very delighted voice. A deep voice accompanied it, and his stomach fluttered.

“You’re here!” Lance cried, dragging Laura over by the hand.

“I’m here,” JC nodded, forcing a smile as Laura embraced him warmly. “How you doing?” he asked her, patting her back awkwardly.

Lance grabbed him next, pulling him in for a hug, and JC leaned in, savoring it. Holding Lance a moment more than necessary perhaps. Making sure he remembered each second. Just in case. “I’m freaked out,” Lance whispered in his ear. “Glad you’re here.”

When the embrace was broken, JC stared at Lance. “Why?” he wanted to know, and he rubbed at his stomach, trying to urge it to calm down, to give him a break. “Where’s Joe?”

“With his family. My parents are coming in soon.” Lance wrung his hands as he smiled. “Did you eat? Laura and I were gonna go get lunch. You wanna come?”

Laura nodded happily, linking her arm through JC’s. “Come on. Come with us. I haven’t seen you in so long. How’s Bobbee? Lance said she’s not coming.”

JC cringed, itched all over from the positively uncomfortable position he found himself in. He jerked away and swallowed thickly. “I’m tired,” he laughed, “So, I’m gonna pass.” He looked at Lance and thought, just maybe, he saw a crinkle of disappointment there. “Do you mind?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Hoping maybe Lance would say “Yes! Yes I mind. I missed you!”

But Lance just smiled disarmingly, and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “No, go on up. I’ll catch you later.”

And then he was gone, hand in hand with Laura, wandering out of the hotel with Lonnie as their shadow. JC slumped against the marble pillar that decorated the lobby, and sighed. He wanted to renege on the whole thing, find that crazy old man and call it all off.

He hadn’t signed anything, and surely this guy wouldn’t really take his voice. Slowly, JC straightened up, grabbing his bag and heading to check in, thinking maybe the man was using a metaphor. Maybe he was trying to teach him some kind of lesson.

As he fingered his room card, a chill swept over him, and he heard the echo of the old man in his head. Words that said it was no metaphor. Words that spelled out clearly the deal, and that if Lance was not won over, his voice would be gone.

For real.

*************

A soft knock on JC’s door several hours later pulled JC from his trance. Forced him to roll off the bed and wander through the suite. His eye pressed against the peep hole and he saw Lance’s face out there.

It was instant nausea again, bile that bit the back of his throat sickly. JC wiped his palms off on his jeans and unlatched the deadbolt, swinging the door open.

“Hey,” Lance said with a smile. “I brought you some Sushi from the place down the street.” He handed the bag to JC and moved inside.

JC was stunned, and he closed the door with a smile. “YOU at Sushi?” he questioned. “You hate Sushi.”

Lance flopped down on the couch and kicked his feet up. “Hell no, I did not!” He leaned his head back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Laura wanted it. So we went and I got chicken. I hate that slimy shit!”

JC laughed and sat beside Lance, placing the bag on the coffee table. “Yeah, I knew that.”

“So,” Lance said, folding his hands across his stomach. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Quiet fell over the posh suite and JC leaned back, mimicking Lance’s body. He longed to ask Lance about Laura, about their relationship. To feel it out and see exactly what he was up against. He had no chance, however, as Lance’s cell phone rang, breaking the moment.

Lance sat forward, and pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

JC stood up and gave Lance privacy. He headed to the window in the bedroom and stared out over the city, gazing at the buildings with disinterest. Not really caring where he was -- more focused on what he had to do. He was armed, he knew, with all kinds of tools to grab Lance, but it leant him little comfort. And the old man *had* said he’d take care of Laura ... whatever the hell that meant.

“Laura’s not feeling well,” Lance said, and JC spun around. Lance leaned up against the door of the bedroom, his forehead creased in concern. “Bad Sushi. Don’t eat it.”

“Oh, man,” JC said. “Is she okay?”

“Her stomach is wrecked,” he answered with a snort. “Not my week I guess.”

JC fiddled with his necklace as he moved toward Lance. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said. “Is she ... going tonight?”

Lance blinked up and raked his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. She said she’ll go to the premiere but probably skip the party later on.”

If JC wasn’t mistaking, there was no real sorrow there, in those jade eyes. A bit of regret, perhaps, that Laura was ill, but Lance certainly didn’t seem destroyed that his girlfriend wasn’t coming. Which almost make JC smirk.

But he didn’t.

Instead he laid his hand on Lance’s arm and nodded, understandingly. “Then it’s gotta be boys night out,” he chirped, swallowing all the fear he had. Pressing onward with everything and then some on the line.

Lance smiled, his dimple puckering near his cheek. “That it is my friend,” he laughed mischievously. “Boys night out!”


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