Lance wasn’t sure where to start. What to say to JC or how to begin the amendment process. His mind wandered constantly to Justin, and Malibu, and he wanted to be that man he swore he would be. But he had to be truthful with JC -- lay it all on the line in the hopes JC would understand. Accept. Realize that it had all been for him. Now curled up in their bed, Lance lay on his side, his back pressed against JC, his mind wandering -- searching for the right words. It had only been a few days. And he’d avoided telling JC everything until he was ready. Fully aware of the passion it could incite. Rolling over, Lance let his hand curl around his cross -- hoping for strength. Hoping Justin was watching over him. He sighed in the darkness and swallowed a thick lump of anxiety down. “Lance, what’s wrong?” Suddenly, JC’s arms were around him, and Lance wondered what kind of man was so good. So pure in thought and patience that he would stick around after such a round of emotional abuse. Seeing what Justin had been saying. That true love is precious and kind. Rare in all its beauty and should never be forsaken. Not for money, or time. Not for a career or for a phone call. “I want to tell you all about Malibu,” he said softly, drawing his hand from his necklace to JC’s chest. “About what happened.” Lance felt JC tense a bit, struggling to sit up perhaps. Gain better position for hearing. Bracing. “Okay. But you know I’ll never push you to tell me. You can tell me if you want, Lance. But I’ll never push.” “I know, I know.” Lance blinked up, glad for the darkness of the room to cloak his face. He hoped he could get through it all -- admit to JC that he’d made love with Justin. Admit to JC that he’d given Justin more of himself in that month than in all the years they’d been together. Because he realized it would sting. Stab at JC’s heart a little. And it might fuck it all right back up. “I owe it to you,” Lance confessed. “If we’re going to start a new, we need to be honest. And God knows I haven’t always been that with you!” He snorted bitterly as JC’s arms pulled him closer. “Okay, Lance. Okay. I’m listening.” And Lance could hear the tint of fear that laced JC’s soft voice, like maybe he was fearful of having it all fade away on him again. It broke Lance’s heart to know that he had put that dread there. That he’d abandoned JC time and again. Lance licked his lips and snuggled closer, resting his cheek on JC’s stomach. Squeezing his eyes closed like a frightened child. His arm snaked around JC’s waist and he curled his fingers between the flesh and the bed. Capturing JC. Holding him steady so he could get it all out. “I love you,” Lance said lowly, his voice barely above a deep whisper, his heart thundering incessantly to a nameless tune his body kept. “Really love you. I realize how fucked up I’d been. Just totally taking you for granted all these years. Trying to keep you at some kind of bay with me. And I still can’t be sure why or how it got so bad, but I’m sorry.” He paused for air as JC’s hand stroked his head, as his hearing caught slight echoes of the heart that beat below him. “So,” Lance continued, inhaling sharply, “it’s hard for me to say that Justin and I were intimate during our visit. And I wanted to let you know because I learned so much ...” “Whoa, wait up!” JC reached over and snapped the light on, illuminating Lance in pale light. Forcing his cover of protection away. “Intimate like what?” Lance backed away, the flicker of uncertainty strong in JC’s blue eyes. Confusion but not hurt. Questioning but not completely surprised. “We ah. We were close and.” The words wanted to come out, to spill over into the air, but they were jamming with apprehension and fear. He sat up and drew his knees to his chin, biting his lip and lowering his gaze. “Made love. Connected spiritually. Bonded.” He waited, holding his breath inside until it hurt. Until stars floated before his line of vision and his pulse reverberated in his ears. Studying JC’s face. Trying to understand the quiet. Finally, JC met his gaze. Finally he reached out with a tender touch and stroked Lance’s arm. And when Lance looked deeper, he saw tears unshed sitting there, glossing over the sapphire that gleamed. Hardly knowing what to say. If it was forgiveness, it wasn’t clear. “We were apart,” JC said with a shaky breath. “We had no ending. But no ties. We had lives so fucked up and a relationship neither of us knew how to save.” Lance nodded timidly, welcoming the warm touch that JC was so kind to leave. Accepting that Justin wasn’t a bad thing, and shame needed to play no role in this. “I didn’t want you to be hurt,” he said evenly. “It was a love, yes, but not like how I love you.” Lance forced a smile and moved closer. “I’m in love with you, JC. Totally in love and completely an asshole for never letting you know it.” Silence fell over them as they stared at each other, as they tried to deal with overwhelming feelings of love that flowed like lightning between them. As they connected fiercely and justly. “I was with someone too,” JC said finally, holding his arms out for Lance. “And we didn’t have sex but we were together. And I didn’t consider it bad or good. More like it happened. And I realized how much I fucking missed you.” His voice choked off a sob as Lance moved toward him. Dealing with it. Ready to move on and over. Ready for kisses that now meant so much -- and soft touches of rediscovery. Entering into a place where they made love. Where it was symbolic of an undying and lasting love. Where Justin was their guardian angel. And long talks into the night lead to the dawn. Where Lance shared what Justin taught him. Where laughter was as much a part of their routine as anything else. ********************* Christmas Eve ... One Year Later Lance scrambled about the condo, strings of lights wrapped around his body. “Jesus,” he growled, tripping over a green cord. “Fucking things.” A snap under his barefoot caused him to roll his eyes, and the phone let out a screaming ring, causing him to drop forward onto the couch. “Oh for the love of hell,” he gasped, kicking at the lights. “Hello?” “Hey. I’m on my way home. Need anything?” “Yeah, I need some new Christmas lights! I think I just broke a strand or two!” JC laughed, and Lance laughed behind him. Loving the smile he knew was showing across the line. Imagining that JC was sitting behind the control board at his studio, tapping his pen idly on the panel, grinning with that bright smile reserved just for him. “Just kidding. When are you coming home?” Lance asked, hurling the lights to the floor. “Five minutes. I’m on my way!” Lance hung up and thought. It had been a year since leaving California. A year and his life was completely changed. There had been times of melancholy, of course, but JC had been there. Rubbing his back. Holding his hand. Making love with him in ways he never dreamed. They were re-discovering one another in every way. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. Going to church. Healing from the destructive ways of old. It had been a year of phone calls from Britney, brief but informative. Letting him know that Justin was going on the best he could. Surviving. Still laughing. And everyday, Lance waited for the one call he dreaded. The one to let him know Justin’s fate had finally been delivered. Lance chuckled as he looked around the place. Boxes were half open and strewn around. Christmas decorating once done by a professional was now being attempted by him. Bows and ornaments were scattered across the Oriental rug. “Man, I made a huge mess,” he giggled, standing up. Scratching his nose, he wandered to the kitchen and checked on dinner. Dinner for JC. For the rock in his life. The amazing man that stood by him always. And he’d been so thankful for that connection -- that second chance in life to be with him. The doorbell chimed and he smiled. Knowing that time was unimportant and dinner would wait. Cherishing the fact he’d come so far. “I’m coming!” Lance yelled, dashing to the door. He wiped his hands off on a dishtowel and glanced at the stove. Hoping his roast wouldn’t burn. The doorbell rang again and again, and he shook his head, curious as to why people were impatient. “I said ...” He flung open the door and looked down. Big brown eyes stared up at him, a pink tongue hanging out. A tiny yip echoing through the hallway. “Baby?” Lance cried, bending down to scoop her up. “Baby what on earth?” “She missed you.” Lance choked. His throat constricted and his body trembled. Lost eyes scanned for the voice -- the voice he knew so well but couldn’t imagine being there. In New York. In his building. So close to Christmas. “Justin?” It was muffled, achy as it called out. And then there was the appearance, like a cool drink on a hot day. Like a phantom that entered with such ferocity it hurt. The lanky body and vibrant eyes. A black cap over a shaved head. A thin layer of stubble over an angelic face. Navy flannel knotted around his waist and a khaki green army duffle slung over his back. Justin. Lance dropped Baby and lurched forward -- his view blurred with tears. “What the hell?” he stammered as his arms wrapped around Justin, as his body leaned in for a stalled moment in time. “Justin? My God!” “No, not your God!” Justin laughed, wobbling under the strain of Lance’s powerful embrace. “Your friend, Justin. Remember?” Lance laughed and backed away, his stomach rolling with excitement. A call from another world, or so it seemed. “Come in, come in!” Justin entered and dropped his bag with a nod. “Merry Christmas,” he sang, bending to scoop Baby up. “Hope you don’t mind. Brit and Chris went to Aspen for the holidays and I didn’t want to leave her alone.” Lance was stunned. In too much shock to do more than stare and nod. To shake and chomp on his lower lip with disbelief. To run his hands over his face and hair trying to accept the unexpected gift. “Are you alright?” Justin chuckled, moving easily to the couch. “I mean, I didn’t expect to render you speechless.” And honestly, in Lance’s heart, there were no words to say. Nothing that would even dare touch the pure joy he held inside. A second chance to see Justin. He didn’t care how, or why. “Lance?” Justin leaned back on the sofa and bit his nails absently. “Man, you alright? Speak or something!” Lance shook the fuzz, the delicious haze that had startled his brain to stop. “I’m sorry,” he gaped. “I just never ... didn’t ...” He moved forward, awkwardly, suddenly in awe of every nerve ending that tingled throughout his body. “Justin! I can’t believe you’re here. In New York. Are you alright? I mean, I spoke to Brit last week and she never mentioned ...” “I told her not to,” Justin grinned, nabbing a handful of peanut M&M’s out of the crystal candy jar on the coffee table. “I wanted to come see you and JC. And I hear Joey’s in town with the baby. Gotta give hugs to my niece.” Lance was inundated with swirling thoughts -- with questions that fought each other to get out. He put his finger up and excused himself, diving into the kitchen to pour a shot of brandy. Hoping it would ease him out of  stupor and into consciousness. Justin was behind him in seconds, and pushed himself up on the counter near the sink. “I seem to recall and elbow to the gut last time I was here,” he said lightly. Lance’s hands shook as he swallowed the alcohol. “Yeah. Seems like a different lifetime.” He placed the empty glass down and rested his palms on the marble, composing. Evaluating. Smiling. His head turned to the side and he saw something different in Justin. Something he couldn’t place. The cross around his neck burned suddenly -- a message to look deeper. A sign to stare harder.  In one swift movement, Lance jerked forward and grabbed Justin’s hands. “Tell me,” he urged gently. “Why are you here?” It was a slow and steady smile that spread over Justin’s face. A light that flowed from above. A mystery solved perhaps. “I was going to wait until tomorrow,” Justin whispered, jumping off the counter. “Until JC was here too. Until I could tell you both.” “Tell us what?” Lance was insistent, his belly a tangled web of hot spots. Nausea rolled past him, and he shook. “Tell us WHAT?” Justin licked his lips and looked away slowly, deliberately. When his gaze returned, he nodded slightly. “The cancer is in remission, Lance. Its like a miracle. They said it was too late to take the drugs. To try. But I wanted to anyway. I wanted to fight. And I was granted a gift. A lease on my life.” The world spun around and around, and Lance clutched Justin’s shirt for balance. The sink seemed to grow arms and the floor seemed to lick his chest. Nothing made sense as color dripped into black and white and Justin’s voice grew wings. Justin was in remission. Hope and miracles, angels and peace. They all formed to pull Lance back as tears gathered in his green eyes. As a heartfelt sob ripped at his throat trying to get out. But Justin pulled him in with crushing force, holding and grabbing him like a life line. Clutching at Lance’s shirt like a child. Letting his own sob out before Lance’s could come. “I might be okay,” he whimpered. “God’s given me this. He’s given me your wish. The star, Lance. The star. You made this.” Lance cried as he held Justin. And his face tilted toward God’s ears as his lips mumbled in thanks. As he saw the power of life and love -- and of hope and faith. As he saw the little boy come out of Justin -- the one that was scared to death the whole time, only refused to show it. The one that needed love as much as he needed to give love. A pure spirit in every way. sweet november 12 menu epilogue