It was a tiny out of the way church that Lance had brought him on their first trip to New York City all those years ago -- a monument to the way life used to be. Constructed of stone with handcrafted pews, it’s age shone through with a beauty that still took JC’s breath away. He remembered slipping out with Lance in the chilly September air, and wandering the streets of the city. He recalled how they had laughed, thinking that they’d gotten away with something -- how big and bad they felt slithering through the avenues. How easy it had been since they were unknown. Lance had spotted the church off the beaten path, and his eyes lit up. “Come on,” he’d said, leading the way. JC had followed, not out of any religious obligation, but out of intrigue for the history surrounding the building. They had tugged the huge mahogany door open and crept inside. JC had studied the walls in wonder, and the beamed ceiling -- and he’d marveled at the stained glass that decorated the area behind the alter, as well as the hand carved cross on the wall. But Lance -- Lance had immediately gone to the candles, kneeling down on the padded bench. Hanging back in wonder, JC mused at how intent Lance was, how he seemed to center so perfectly, forsaking the previous deviant attitude. Gone was the smiling face of a teenager, and the need to find trouble. Instead, he knelt quietly, serenely. JC thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And now, as he made his return to that same church, his mind lead him down that same path -- through the same door, to the same spot near the candles. He knelt, as Lance had all those years before, and he bowed his head. It was obvious, suddenly, that it had been that day -- those few hours -- that changed JC’s life. That was the day his feelings for Lance had begun. While he’d become expert in shoving them down, and ignoring them, they had always been there. His hand trembled as he reached out to light a candle and pray. There was nothing more he could do other than beg for forgiveness -- from himself and the heavens. Not many choices lined his life as his knees pressed into the soft cushion, and he wasn’t exactly sure *what* he was supposed to be saying .. if there was some protocol he needed to follow. A useless feeling washed over his body as he knelt there, an utterly powerless rock-like burn settled in his gut. He blinked and stared at his hands, and wondered if he’d been so wrong to want love that he had been blinded temporarily. Because surely he couldn’t be punished forever just for thinking with his heart. He barely noticed the tears, nor did he noticed Lance come in and hug him. It was a blurry dream as people touched him, and wide eyes stared at him. Somewhere in the haze, he managed to make out Lance’s face -- back at the hotel maybe. And standing directly beside him was a mop of blonde hair, and a delicate hand rubbing the back of Lance’s neck. The clarity hurt and JC slumped into a place where voices were mere murmurs and pokes were barely felt. Where he was whisked off to the first of many hospital visits. Because everyone wanted to know what happened to JC Chasez ... and his voice. ********** “Come on JC,” Justin said, shoving his shoulder. “Get up, man. Your momma’s been calling for the past hour!” JC opened his eyes slowly and looked around his room. Once immaculate, it was now strewn with empty liquor bottles and amber bottles of medication. Dirty clothing littered the cream colored rug and he couldn't recall when his sheets had actually been changed. The past month had been personal hell, and JC was learning quickly that he had not bargained for all the commotion. The press conferences Johnny had to hold. The dozens of doctor’s visits. His mother flying out to Los Angeles to hover, and Bobbee insisting upon keeping watch over him twenty-four seven. It had been new machines installed so he could communicate and endless media scrutiny -- charitable organizations knocking his door down asking him to be a spokesman. What it hadn’t been, however, was a chance to see Lance more. It had compounded every nerve in his body -- making him a bastard to be around. Any ounce of his old self had burrowed deeply inside, and he even locked up his studio with deadbolts, refusing to go in -- or let anyone else in. “J! C!” JC rolled over and buried his head under his pillow. With his mother back in Chicago, and Bobbee on business in New York, Justin had offered to stay for a week, and JC had been miserable. “Doctor’s appointment. Ten minutes. Don’t make me call your momma because I will!” Justin ripped the sheets off and sighed. Slowly, JC’s hand slid out from under his cheek, and his middle finger shot up in defiance. “Oh fuck no, you did NOT do that!” Justin cried, kicking out at the bed. “Jesus! This guy is from Europe JC!” Justin pushed JC hard, with anger that bubbled up and out. “He’s here for you, so you better get your sorry fucking ass up! NOW!” JC felt no need to hurry, and he knew Justin was trying to help. Hell, he knew they were all trying to help him. All the thousands of fan letters, and flowers. All the experimental treatments people had thrust at him. Diagnosis after diagnosis that they could find nothing physically wrong with his vocal chords. He’d been shocked, and x-rayed, hypnotized and acupunctured. His body was exhausted, and his mind fried. He had gone along reluctantly, because he owed it. To everyone. JC fell out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, brushing past Justin without explanation, or apologies. It was too late for all that. As he stood under the hot water he thought of Lance, and how Lance had made a retreat out of his life after the first week or so. Scared beyond what JC could imagine, huge green eyes that just stared into him as if he *knew* something. Small pats on the back and hugs that seemed almost shallow. That hurt far worse than losing his voice. Lance was gone. He scrubbed his skin raw and breathed the steam in, hoping that steam could curl down his throat and spring his deadened chords back to life. He tried every damn day, and wished that wicked old man would return. Because he wanted one shot at him. One punch to knock the wind out of him, to snatch the golden box from his hands and destroy it. If he couldn’t have his voice, he didn’t want anyone else to have it either. But the coward had disappeared, and as JC wiped the shampoo from his eyes, he realized that alone was exactly what he was anymore. Justin stormed in and yanked the door to the shower open. “Get out.” He tossed a towel in JC’s face and tapped his foot. “If we’re not there in ten, we’re fucked.” Upset blue eyes stared at JC, and he felt guilt. SO much fucking guilt. And he ached to say “Sorry”, only he couldn’t. He could write it, but he couldn’t say it. So he snatched the towel and knotted it around his waist, and brushed his teeth quickly, pausing to open his mouth wide and stare into the mirror, hoping he could see something that maybe the doctors couldn’t. “Lance is here,” Justin said flatly as he walked away. “I’m gonna get him to kick your ass because I can’t deal with it anymore.” JC’s heart jumped at the mention of Lance. He spit into the sink and wiped his mouth in a hurry. And he hated the fact that he acted like this at all ... because Lance had turned tail. Lance had been the first to bail, running into Laura’s arms and hiding under a mountain of work, or so he said. Phoning occasionally to check up but never visiting. So it made JC curious as to why all of a sudden this would happen. Why Lance would show up.  And what he could possibly want. He even felt a little resentful as his pulse slowed and as he walked from his bathroom back into his bedroom, he collided with Lance. “Hey,” Lance said uneasily. JC nodded and walked to his bed. He dropped his towel and grabbed some boxers from the clean laundry in the basket Justin had deposited on his floor. “How’re you feeling?” Lance asked, kicking aside some dirty clothes to make his way to the bed. “Justin said this doctor you’re seeing is the best. Specialist and all.” JC glared at him, not meaning to, but the polite chit chat was a sword in his gut. So he ignored the special laptop Bobbee had insisted they buy for him to communicate quicker, and grabbed a pen. He snatched Lance’s hand and pressed the pen to his palm. :Why are you here?: Lance stared at the words for several minutes before looking up. JC tilted his head as he ran some gel through his curls. Questioning. But his anger seemed to fade as he looked at Lance, at a new round of hurt that flashed in those jeweled eyes. And when Lance stuck his thumb in his mouth to wet it before attempting to scrub the words off, JC weakened. “I’m sorry,” Lance whispered, not looking up. “I should have called maybe. Or .. shit. I dunno.” He wiped at the ink frantically, scrubbing harder and harder. “I just flew here on a whim, you know? I wanted to go with you, to this doctor. For support or some ... thing.” His voice cracked and Lance turned away. JC was stunned. He didn't know what to do. Of all the reactions, he hadn’t expected one of equaled anguish. Justin popped his head in and frowned. “Get DRESSED!” he shrieked. “God, what do you need it tattooed?” Lance blinked up and twisted his head toward JC. “I’m gonna go,” he said quietly. “I didn't mean to upset you.” He started to walk out but Justin grabbed his arm. “Where you going?” he cried. “Oh God, Lance! Please! Don’t leave me here alone .. I’m too young!” “Shh!” Lance pulled Justin out into the hall and shut the door behind him. “Jesus, Justin. Have some couth will ya?” “I can’t!” Justin said, throwing his body against the wall. “He’s moping. And just mean. I can’t stay here until Bobbee comes back. I’m surprised she hasn’t off’d him by now! I love him, I do. He‘s my brother but GOD! I have no idea how to deal with this!” JC pressed his ear against the door and listened, trying to erase that horrible look from his mind. Night after night he drank and popped his meds, and night after night he cried wishing for Lance to be there with him. The pillow was worn with his tears, and he lived in silence. By choice or not, it still stung. He pulled the door open and stared at his two friends, desperate to convey something. Justin shook his head in frustration and headed down the stairs. But Lance, JC noticed, remained. And it tugged at him sharply. “I’m going to stay at a hotel,” Lance said softly, blinking up at JC from under his eyelashes. “If you change your mind, or want to talk.” JC sighed and grabbed Lance’s wrist and softened his expression. He wanted to drag him to the bedroom and sing his heart away. He ached to just tell him everything, release the burden that was sinking him. But Justin was on a rampage, stomping and yelling and slamming around. JC looked at Lance, and he looked back. Gone was the easiness with which they had lead their friendship in the past, the gentle looks and understanding touches. The laughter that guided them into effortless friendship. Now there was just misunderstanding, and JC knew he was seeing more, so much more, buried deeply. But he couldn’t ask, like a man would. All he could do was squeak like a baby toy, and he felt less of a man because of it. “He’s pissed,” Lance said, the corners of his lips twitching. “Damn, you’ve really got him wrecked.” JC nodded and ran his hand up Lance’s arm. He was desperately trying to talk to him, to get messages across. That he needed him, and missed him, and longed for them to get at least a shred of their lives back. But Lance was despondent in a way, lost and afraid, and he jerked his arm away. “I should go,” he said solemnly. JC shook his head vehemently, and pulled Lance down the steps, ignoring Justin’s call. Ignoring everything except the pain in his heart. He needed to let Lance in, and beg for some solace the only way he knew how. Lance followed, and for that JC was glad. He tugged him toward the bolted studio door as Justin watched with wide eyes, well aware that room had been off limits since the incident.  With the key, he unlocked the door, a symbolic gesture of his life before. As the door pushed open, JC offered Lance entrance, and Justin caught his eye, backing off on instinct. Then it was the two of them, as it had been that fateful night. And JC waved his hand, and chewed on his bottom lip, and hoped with all his heart that Lance could *get* what he was trying to do. Lance seemed confused as JC sat down at his control board, and even more so as the lights of the studio dimmed just a bit. “JC? What is this? The doctor is ...” JC turned in his chair and pleaded with poignant blue eyes, imploring with all he had inside for Lance to just stay quiet and listen, to open his heart and his mind to when life was more simple. When there was little doubt about the future, or what was riding on that one night. Lance shrugged slightly, as if he might understand, and backed against the soundproof walls. JC could see the way his brows furrowed as if his mind was in great conflict, but he pressed on, letting his fingers drift over the buttons. Remembering how just five weeks earlier he’d been sitting on the edge of hope, thinking of dreams that never made it. So he pressed play, and soon his recorded piano and voice began to filter through the sound system. It was painful, more than he could imagine, and he watched in the glass as Lance’s mouth dropped a little. “I sat alone at watched the window Feeling I was all alone ... The world I think I see Is nothing more to me When I'm alone ... When I'm alone .. JC felt tears burn behind his eyes as Lance listened to the touching strains of JC’s voice combined with the piano. The song had been written off the cuff, and he hadn’t listened to it since before leaving for New York. And as it replayed, his heart beat faster, and his eyes focused on Lance’s expression. “It’s beautiful,” Lance said, moving forward. “It’s so ... I get it.” JC could tell by Lance’s expression that it affected him, that it hit the spot between his heart and mind, that maybe the shroud had been lifted a bit and rays of light were sinking in. “Is this for me?” Lance asked, tucking his thumbs into his pockets. “To tell me something?” JC nodded and stood up, his knees trembling and his body failing. It was no longer alright to suppress all the pain, and he took Lance’s hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over Lance’s wrists. He could feel the steady pulse of Lance’s heartbeat pressing through to him, and his body grew warm as it raced a bit. And he sank his stare directly into Lance’s soul, so he would know that this time there was no mistake. Then he moved in, and brushed Lance’s lips with his own. And waited to be pushed back. And waited. And waited. But when Lance’s hands rested on his waist, and his lips pressed back, JC sobbed. Because he didn’t understand, or get what was being pushed back at him. He only knew his heart was singing in the moment. In Lance’s mouth. In Lance’s hands. continue menu