NOTES & DISCLAIMER: Two scenes written by Tiffany (http://www.wearemany.net/tiff), and thanks to her for that. Huge thanks to Younger for all things. Two lines taken from Isaiah Singer's song Shoot Me to The Heavens.

CODA

He likes thirty more than twenty-five and he liked twenty-five better than twenty. Thirty years old isn't so bad and he stands in his large office and looks out over LA from his many windows.

He drinks whisky straight from the bottle and watches the sun set. He quit drinking when he was twenty-two because there wasn't enough alcohol to drown his sorrow and he worried that if he tried to prove it he would never surface. Three years later he started drinking again, but only a little, just enough to reassure people at parties that he wasn't a prig. Once a year he allows himself this bender he should have gone on seven years ago. No particular time or anniversary, it's usually just a combination of pinpricks and songs on the radio and stray words overheard in conversation.

"You're drinking. Straight from the bottle. What was it this time," LeAnn asks. He turns and his assistant is standing there, with an expression that tries to be exasperated but betrays too much compassion. LeAnn is smart and nice and told him in their first interview that she thought N Sync sucked. He wishes he were bi, he would just marry her and be happy.

"This time," he says thickly. "Uh. I think it was a song on the radio - a D'Angelo song, point of fact - and someone asked me if I knew Britney Spears, and you know, generally it was just time." LeAnn looks down and shakes her head. She has no idea.

At first they thought they could do it, they could get along and make it work. That was just the shock, Lance thought. Then Justin went back to Britney and Lance never got over it. They carried it for three years, and someone told the choreographers and everyone made sure in group photos that they didn't have to stand near each other and Lance was just numb.

He became a much better actor and he only slipped twice. Once was some asinine MTV thing where he found himself playing some stupid game on live TV with Justin and Brit. He smiled through the whole thing but immediately after had gone to a bathroom where he threw up for what seemed like hours. Justin rubbed his back and kissed his neck and when Lance said, "Fuck, Justin, I can't," Justin would murmur, "I know. I know." On the last tour, when they'd already decided this would be the last tour for the last album because they weren't going to go out after reaching bottom, the stupid new choreographer had a move where Lance had to trail behind Justin and put his hand on Justin's hip. In rehearsals Lance kept screwing it up, holding on too long or letting go too soon. On the last day, Lance had blown up in a spectacular screaming fit, saying they should fucking change the fucking bit. But he did it exactly right through all sixty nights of the tour.

Lance walks over to the couch and sits down. LeAnn has lit a cigarette and Lance takes it from her and makes her light another for herself. "I should get laid," he says.

"You should." LeAnn sits in one of the leather chairs and pushes a strand of red hair off her face. "Seriously, I know people. I know some nice guys."

Lance shakes his head. "I like pretty guys," he says, even though there aren't any left. He tried occasionally getting laid after Justin and before the band was over. But in retrospect they were all the same stupid encounter, power plays and making sure Justin knew about it and then feeling bad about making sure Justin knew. And for the last five years when there was no Justin and no worries about publicity because Lance is just another probably gay producer and occasional actor in Hollywood, he finds himself not making much of an effort.

LeAnn is rooting around in the CDs. He says, "Don't put on any - I don't want to hear us or you know..." The band's biggest hit and sometimes LeAnn plays it, as it's the only song of theirs she can stand. Except everyone think Justin wrote it about Britney and Lance knows Justin wrote it about him. Lance didn't even sing on the damn track and he still had to stand there and hear it over and over again at the video shoot and pretend to sing something while Justin sang it through the last two tours. He can't bear listening to it when he's drunk.

LeAnn glares at him. "Don't worry." She finds a box hidden in the back and makes a noise. She looks down at the CD. "This is a good CD. Why do you have this? This is a really good CD."

She holds the cd up to him and he runs his finger down the front of the CD. "It has a baby blue cover," he says. "Bought it in Tallahassee, seven years ago."

"Can I have it? You never listen to it. I'd know if you listened to something as cool as Kristin Hersh."

Lance takes the CD from her and puts it down next to him. "I stole it. Lance's progressive tax."

LeAnn puts something else in the CD player.

Lance drinks more of his whisky and watches the lights blinking on the city outside his window. "LeAnn, you don't have to stay."

"Well, I worry about you." She tries to make it sarcastic and fails again.

"I don't drink that much. Even tonight."

"But that's the thing. You don't have those natural drunk defenses." She stands up and starts shuffling things on his desk. "JC called, did you see that?"

Lance leans back in the couch. He needs to get laid. "JC, Joshua, C. Call him by any name but the man gives incredible blowjobs." Lance flicks his cigarette into a coffee mug on the floor.

LeAnn isn't shocked because he says that a lot when he's drunk. She just files the message.

Joey settled down in Orlando with his last girlfriend and his three kids. He calls Lance all the time and talks about coaching softball for Brianna's team. Chris found a girl, of all things, and married her and has made a success of the clothing thing. JC started writing better songs and now works more as a producer and collaborator than on anything of his own. And, of course, Justin has done fine. He started writing better songs before the band was even over and still does. And as the baby fat has eased away Justin looks more and more every year like some eternal thing of untouchable beauty.

Their policy of avoidance and studied politeness made everyone outside think they didn't like each other. And even now, when Lance sees Justin at industry things, they hug and move away from each other quickly, Lance retreating with LeAnn or whoever he's dragged to this party, Justin disappearing to whichever blond thing is pretending to be Britney this time. People think they don't like each other and often work to keep them apart or don't invite them to the same things. Which is fine, Lance thinks. Fine. He couldn't talk to Justin to most of the time before the band broke up, everything hurt and then there was Britney. And then the band was over and they never call each other. Fine, Lance thinks, it's all fine. He feels pathetic.

He walks over to his desk and takes another cigarette from LeAnn. He drinks more and reaches over to the stuffed dog on his desk. On the last tour, Chris took the dog away from Lance as a joke. Joey and JC had to pull Lance off Chris and only succeeded after Lance had nearly broken Chris's nose. He doesn't remember where Justin was that night. He remembers Chris shouting from the other room, "It's been three fucking years, Bass. Move fucking on!" He rubs the dog's nose and ignores the top of the toy's head where Justin cried in it.

He sits back on the couch and drinks more and passes out.

He wakes in the morning with a blanket wrapped around him. He changes into a pair of jeans and drives to the beach, blinking against the bright sun.

After the last tour and the last party, Lance went back to his house in Orlando and had a carefully planned one-month breakdown. He never left the house. He spoke once to the cleaning staff, telling them to come by only when he was asleep. He gave the delivery boys generous tips and closed the door before picking at the food. Mostly he wandered around the house and watched TV and said, "Justin," over and over again. He had three years of grief to cover in one month and he tried to be efficient.

Three weeks into his breakdown his mother came by and sat on the edge of his bed. She asked him what was wrong. He didn't sit up. He told her he was gay. He swallowed and said that he had fallen in love with Justin when he was seventeen and he and Justin had screwed around for a while but then Justin wanted fame and girls. And then Justin had loved him back and then it all fell apart. His mother had cried for half an hour and then left. Lance had mentally added another two weeks to his breakdown, but the next day she came back. She put on an apron and cooked for him and asked the right questions about Justin and clucked and hugged him. And Lance got better right on schedule. He asked her, before she left, to offer wisdom and guidance. She said in her sad voice, "Lance, honey, shit happens. I don't know what else to say."

He walks down to the tide and he feels the water move. He thinks someday there will be a last bender and he will be over Justin or something. He's heard that there is nothing that the water can't soothe.

*

He wanders around LeAnn's apartment, crowded a little with people who are mostly her friends and look at him mostly as just her boss. They're all tattooed, pierced dressed in black and brown and talk earnestly about Sleater-Kinney and Pavement as seminal influences on today's important music. More than once during the three hours he nurses his two beers, they totter up to him individually and whisper something in his ear along the lines of "JC's gay, right?" or "Britney's got implants, right?"

Lance ends up in the bathroom with the cute twenty-seven year old LeAnn has been threatening to fix him up with, and as he threads his fingers through Alejandro's hair, he stares at the Matisse postcards LeAnn has pinned to the wall. Bright color cut-outs and they swim before his eyes as he comes.

He fiddles with Alejandro's card as he rides home in a cab. He starts thinking about the last time he had sex with Justin. The last tour, midway through the tour, Justin, drunk, pushed him against the door of a hotel room, said, "Please. Please." He can almost reach out his hand and feel Justin under him again, those incredible long legs wrapped around Lance's waist. He remembers coming and his forehead against Justin's. They both heard Britney behind them, hissing, "I fucking knew."

Justin stood there, his shirt hastily pulled down and clinging to his wet stomach, and Lance felt like an idiot, condom hanging off his dick and pants around his ankles. Two years and a little more since they'd even kissed and then Britney bitching Justin out as he pulled up his pants. Lance had spent two years and a little more functionally numb and he was surprised to hear himself screaming at her. He called her a bitch and told her she'd won a long time ago and ignored the way she was already crying. Brit broke it off with Justin permanently the next day and he still feels guilty for what he said. When people ask him now, he says she never had implants, that she's incredibly sweet and that she really can sing quite well.

He loses Alejandro's number somewhere in the cab and he's too embarrassed to ask LeAnn for it.

He has two great weeks in a row. A small part on some science fiction series that goes very well, two acts on the charts, a script that really doesn't suck and just falls into his hands. Friday afternoon, LeAnn brings him a box and pours him some coffee.

The box has a tape from Joey, one of the ones Joey makes for all of them. Joey with his expensive satellite system, making sure they all get to see each other's TV appearances. Lance plays with the tape for a moment and then pops it in. LeAnn sits down on the couch across from him as it starts. "N Sync in the news!" She rolls her eyes and crosses her legs, lighting a cigarette. Lance glares at her and she keeps smoking.

The first thing on the tape is one of Justin's interviews, from two months ago. Innocuous and boring, and LeAnn watches the screen and says, "He's good at that."

"He's been doing it half his life, he should be by now." Lance doesn't really look at Justin, he just notes that Justin's dressing more casually these days. No more leather pants and bedazzled shirts, in the last year it's all jeans and t-shirts. This t-shirt says "helluva joke" across the front and Lance can't remember why that makes him wince.

Justin departs from what he should be saying all of sudden and Lance looks up. The interviewer is asking about N Sync and what Lance likes to think of as The Song and when she says that it was about Britney, Justin says "No" abruptly.

"I didn't write it about her," he says on the screen, smiling nervously. "I mean -- she knows that and I know that and everyone involved knows who I wrote it about. And, well, I just wanted to say that." Justin deflects the interviewer back to his new album and the new tour as expertly as always.

LeAnn looks away from the screen and back at Lance. "Do you know who it's about? I actually like that song."

Lance rubs his forehead. "Yes and I won't tell you." Because everyone who knows, they know and it's this one little thing from a life lived in the public eye from age sixteen to twenty-five that he has kept for himself.

Justin's interview is over and on the screen, cheap computer titles say, "Lance Bass needs Prozac stat and Justin Timberlake needs Lithium." LeAnn shakes her head and laughs while Lance says, "Wow. He finally found it."

"What is this?"

"We did this MTV thing. In, I don't know, 2002 or something. They followed us around and there was a lot of leftover footage. A lot. Someone at MTV put together this little film with the titles and everything. It's all the crap Johnny made sure they didn't air, you know, cut footage? And we heard about it, but we could never get a copy. I can't believe Joey finally found it." He laughs a little.

On the screen, he's twenty-three and bitter. There's raw footage of a soundcheck where Lance sang a few lines from Bob Dylan's Dirge instead of the usual nonsense they sang to test their mics. "I hate myself for loving you and the weakness that it showed. You were just a painted face..."

LeAnn swallows. "You have a nice voice, you know. They should've given you more solos."

Lance laughs. On the screen he's sitting at a press conference, meticulously shredding a press release and stuffing it into a glass of water. The scene shifts to a radio interview where the interviewer asks Lance what song best describes his last relationship. He watches himself, seven years younger, inhaling and saying, "You know, I think it would be Fiona Apple's Paper Bag. That one just sums it up."

LeAnn turns to look at him again, sitting at his desk. "That's a good song. You liked a good song."

Lance laughs again. "I just said it for the line 'thought you were a man but you were just a little boy.'" On the screen there's a number of shots of Lance sitting quietly in corners, expression bleak.

LeAnn sighs. "Shit, I thought you got down nowadays."

"LeAnn, that was me when I knew there were cameras around. That was me, trying to be cheerful."

"Shit. They did get you Prozac or something, right?"

"No. No, things got a little better. I was just pretty raw when they were filming." Lance shakes his head and watches his younger self glare at Britney with undisguised contempt.

They both watch as the clips start of Justin veering from a giggly manic exuberance to a snarly depressed torpor. In one clip he's both in the space of three minutes. Lance flinches for a moment and then starts looking out the window. LeAnn lets out a low whistle. "Well, shit, you boys were having fun that year. What the fuck was up with him?" LeAnn doesn't like Justin because she thinks Lance doesn't really like Justin.

Lance debates which answer is correct to say, which one is true. "Chickenshit asshole chose to boink his maybe lesbian ho instead of me and sometimes regretted it" is his first impulse. He simply says, "It was a tough year for him. It's hard growing up in the spotlight and getting away with murder."

LeAnn snorts. The next three clips are Justin's recent interviews. Justin talks up his new album, smiles at his good reviews. In every one he goes off the set answers for just one question again. The first time he says out of the blue, talking about growing up famous, that he learned a lot about responsibility from "the guys, especially Lance. I learned a lot from Lance, he was -- he's a great guy." Lance wants to rewind and try to guess at Justin's inflection at that line but LeAnn is sitting right there. And Justin seems to mean it, no cracks or wavers in his perfect smile. In the second interview, Justin looks suddenly serious at a question about growing out of a boy band and says, "There were a lot of sacrifices. Meeting the fans' expectations. There were things I -- all of us, really -- gave up, sacrificed. I regret some of those things." Justin turns the interviewer away from follow-up questions.

In the third interview, the host talks in flowery terms about losing love. Justin grins and says, "And the worst is all the things that sneak up on you. You know? Driving around yesterday and I saw a black Miata, and it was, like, ouch. That car -- just seeing one of those -- and my heart's all broken again. That relationship -- that's one I've never gotten over. Not with the car, of course, with the person who was in the car." The interviewer nods.

Six months after the band was over, after Lance had moved to California permanently and sold all his other houses, he and Chris and Justin met in a conference room for a call with JC and Joey and Johnny. The three of them sat across from each other, taking notes and not looking at each other, while they all disposed of some of the last bits of business from being together. When they were done, Chris lit out first, running to be with the woman who would be his wife. Justin stood at his full height in the doorway, looking down at Lance and meeting his eyes for the first time that day. He said, "I'm over you, now, you know. Like, finally."

Lance meant to say, "Well, good," and walk out. What came out was "I thought you were over me a long time ago. You know, when you started fucking Britney two months after we broke up."

Justin narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "I wasn't over you then. But I am now. I just wanted you to know." Then he turned and left. And now, five years later, Justin says he's not over it. Lance shakes his head.

Lance watches the rest of the tape while LeAnn answers the phone and puts together his schedule for the weekend. On the tape, he watches an interview with JC, hyping his new producing thing for the hot new singer from the sticks. Two interviews with Lance, looking, Lance thinks, tired and not as good as Justin, from a premiere and another guest spot. A spot from a fashion show talking about the success of Chris's new line for toddlers. The last thing on the tape is five minutes of highlights from Brianna's softball games. Joey's youngest girl, only two, toddles up to the camera and says, "bye bye bye" and the screen goes blank.

LeAnn walks into the office. "Did I miss anything at the end?"

"Joey's littlest girl is the cutest thing in the world, does that count?"

LeAnn grins. "Okay, so, you have that thing on Saturday. Want me to come or will you bring your own real date?"

Lance looks down and thinks of Alejandro. He should ask for that number. He closes his eyes and all he sees is Justin, two weeks before his sixteenth birthday, grabbing his face and kissing him before a photo shoot.

"I have a bad heart, LeAnn." He opens his eyes and looks at his desk and the stupid stuffed dog.

"I know. You have a heart murmur, though, that's not quite bad-bad, you know? And that doesn't answer my question."

It's not bad-bad, he thinks, it's permanently broken and empty. "You should come with me," he says.

He lets LeAnn drive to the thing and tugs at his tie. "Do I look okay?"

"You look hot. If you weren't gay and fucked up, I would totally hit on you."

Lance almost grins. "I'm only a little fucked up. Just a little, I swear." LeAnn grins completely.

"Oh, and -- fuck, I forgot to tell you this, didn't I?"

"I don't know. Tell me and I'll tell you if you forgot."

LeAnn stares straight ahead and swallows once. "I'm pretty sure I forgot to say Timberlake might be there, and now I need to tell you he's definitely coming."

Lance sighs. "Okay. You definitely forgot to tell me that."

LeAnn sighs. "It pisses me off how much I like his new album. Fucker."

Lance bought it the day it came out, like always. Went down to the record store and bought it, even though he could get it for free from fifteen different people. Doing his part to demonstrate that ex-boy band members still can sell right out of the gate. He listened to it once and then put it away. He tries not to remember any of the songs. He glances at LeAnn. "It's good. Nice reviews everywhere."

"Yeah. Fucker. I hate that. I was perfectly happy thinking he was a talentless waste."

Lance shakes his head. "Justin has never lacked talent. At, really, anything."

It's not a fun party for him and he starts drinking early. Justin walks up to him with a tentative smile after Lance has finished his third screwdriver. Lance shifts away. "You're here. How long are you in town," he says, because he has to say something.
 
"I'm -- Saturday, I'm at the Hollywood Bowl."
 
He knew that, Lance knows. "Right."
 
"I was hoping you might -- you know, bring someone, I think JC will be there, it's not the same when you don't come."
 
Lance waves his hand around and hopes it might land on a drink. "I have this --"
 
"Yeah," Justin interrupts. "It's the Hollywood Bowl, man. It's a big deal."
 
Lance is already nice and drunk. "You know," he says, looking at some empty place far across the perfect lawn lit up with little Chinese torches, looking, he hopes, like he's looking at someone or something. "Anyone can rent the Hollywood Bowl. It's, like, a hundred thousand or something, you just call the management people and you can do whatever you want with the place for the night."

Justin looks down and then swallows the rest of his Coke. "It would be nice if you came," he says and leaves.

Justin doesn't drink anymore. Two years ago, Lance started hearing from Joey and Chris and JC that Justin was increasingly fucked up when they saw him. Lance couldn't comment, as he drank a little too much every time he thought might run into Justin. Chris made worried noises while they talked over lunch, saying Justin maybe needed a talking to. Joey asked Lance if he'd heard anything from his Hollywood friends.

JC took him to two of Justin's shows. The two of them went every tour to one of the LA shows, JC working the industry crowd and Lance very carefully drinking only two beers. But then, JC was worried and he dragged Lance to a second show. Backstage, Justin hugged JC for too long and let go of Lance like he was on fire. They could both tell Justin was pretty far gone, drunk and maybe something else. Mostly, Lance remembers the envy he felt because Justin had just done another fucking near flawless show and he had clearly been three sheets to the wind. If Lance could have done that back in the day, he would never have been sober for the last three years of N Sync.

Lance left after Justin started hitting on JC. The next day he had a flurry of calls. JC, next to himself with worry, talking about how they had to get Justin help. Chris calling to confirm that JC wasn't exaggerating. Joey, calling to see if Lance thought Chris and JC were over-reacting. Lance said "yeah" a lot over the phone and agreed that something should be done. He knew they wouldn't make him do that something.

A week later, Chris called and said, "He's staying here. He's gonna dry out and we'll take care of him."

Lance nodded, realized Chris couldn't see him and said, "Do you want me to come over and --"

"That's not a good idea." Chris's voice was abrupt. Lance tried offering names of rehab facilities that Chris shot down. "He doesn't need that. Seriously, Lance, if I thought he did, I'd send him there." All Lance seemed to be allowed to contribute was his house for Chris's wife and kids while Justin was with Chris. Chris accepted that offer, and Lance was grateful he didn't have to actually talk to Justin.

He had a week of late night phone calls -- two or three a night -- where the caller hung up right after Lance said, "Hello?" The last call, he heard a sad hiccup. Lance thought, I recognize even that. He said, "Justin, baby?" and then the caller hung up again.

The next day, Chris called. "You should come over. He wants you to come over." Lance drove across LA to Chris's with his stomach clenched in knots. He sat in his car for a few minutes before he could walk up to the door. Chris stood there, with the door half open and said, "It's not a good idea. You should go home."

They had an absurd argument, in half-whispers there at the door. Lance didn't want to talk to Justin, really, but he wanted to knock down Chris and run through the house until he could see Justin. Maybe he did want to talk to Justin. Chris just said over and over again that it wasn't a good idea. Lance looked over Chris's shoulder and saw Justin sitting on top of the steps. Just a quick glimpse and then Justin got up and retreated upstairs. He watched Justin and Chris whispered to Lance, "It's not like he's over you." Lance shook his head and walked back to his car. He looked over his shoulder once and saw a curtain twitch in a second floor window. He drove home and couldn't sleep.

Chris called the next day and just said, "Sorry."

Lance wondered what Chris was sorry for, but he didn't say anything other than "it's okay." Lance heard through JC and Joey and eventually Chris that Justin was all dried out and doing much better. Chris's family went back to their own house after two weeks and Lance missed the noise a little but was thankful to be able to play music after nine.

And now Justin doesn't drink, even at fancy Hollywood parties. Lance still does and he has a fourth and fifth screwdriver so he doesn't think about the way Justin smelled, like wisteria maybe. Or not, he probably just smelled like his deodorant or the candles scattered over the table when they talked.

He's gotten used to this occasional binge hangover thing and he's in the office by eight because he can't ever sleep when he's been drinking. Third meeting in, LeAnn buzzes his desk and he bats at the phone, annoyed.

"In a meeting --"
 
"I know, hold on."
 
He sort of bites down into a smile for the sake of three guys from SKG who are about to give him a lot of money.
 
LeAnn comes back on the line. "I've got this courier here --"
 
"C'mon, I'm in the middle --"
 
"I KNOW. He won't let me sign. He says it's person-to-person or something and he needs to hand-deliver it."

The SKGers are looking bored. "Fine," Lance says, and this redheaded nineteen-year-old saunters in the door wearing a ripped-up Nirvana shirt and lace-up boots and it's like the last fifteen years never happened and Lance is still waiting for grunge to really die. He reaches for the clipboard, scrawls and dismisses with the back of his hand, dropping the envelope to the desk. The kid takes the clipboard and leaves.
 
He claps once and drums his fingers on the desk. "Let's finish this," he says, and Jack, the one who is in charge, reaches into his jacket for a pen.
 
"Aren't you even curious?" says Phil, who looks like maybe he's trying to look like Jack. They have on the same shirt.
 
Lance shrugs, flips the envelope over for their benefit, doesn't recognize the handwriting.
 
"Well?" says Jack, so now he has to.
 
Two tickets to the Bowl concert. No note. Lance scoops them back into the envelope and into his top desk drawer in one move. "And I just figured I was getting sued again," he says, but he can't even really fake the laugh.

JC calls that afternoon and tells him he has to go. "Seriously, Lance, he really wants you to be there."

Lance wants to bash the phone down on the desk. "Why don't you guys stop with this? We broke up. We don't get along. We make each other miserable. I know it makes it easier for you guys to see us at the same time, but it's never gonna be good or anything."

"That's not it, Lance. That's not it at all. It's not about things being easier for us." JC pauses. He takes a deep breath. Lance thinks, suddenly, of when he was fucking JC and ignoring Justin. JC says, "We want you both to be happy again. So, come to the show."

"And that will make me happy?"

"I don't know, man. I just think if you could settle things with Justin, if you guys weren't both so, so, whatever that would be good."

Lance grits his teeth. "Why do you keep saying 'both', C? He doesn't -- he didn't want to see me last year when he was drying out, and now?"

"He did." JC sighs. "He did and he changed his mind. Chris put the phone in his hand a hundred times. He chickened out, okay?"

"He does that a lot." Lance hangs up.

Chris calls and says he's going to the show. "I'll see you there, right?"

Lance sighs. "I'm going, will y'all just stop fucking calling me."

He asks LeAnn to go with him. She makes a face. "I can't. Lance, man, I feel bad enough even owning the album. Fuck, VIP seats? I'll have no cred left."

Lance grins. "You know, there was, like, three weeks where Justin was obsessed with people like you. Drove me fucking crazy."

LeAnn steps back. "He was obsessed with your assistants?"

"No. He was obsessed with people who hated N Sync, like you. He was always pointing them out and just, anyway, it was incredibly annoying."

LeAnn sits down on the couch. She rubs her temples. "He was upset about it?"

"Yeah. Very upset. Again, the *pain* it caused me."

LeAnn looks down at her feet. "Okay. If he really was upset, I'll go."

He lets LeAnn drive but he doesn't have anything to drink before. LeAnn plays a tape and he starts thinking about Germany. When he could get into clubs, but Justin couldn't, or wasn't allowed to try and Justin would talk him into buying CDs of the music they played there. They'd put on the CDs and Justin would dance around their room, grabbing Lance to dance along. And then Justin would pull him closer and they'd make out. He likes that memory best, almost innocent hand jobs and feverish kissing. Before they got to blowjobs and more, and hiding from Lou and the chaperones and their moms meant that Justin wanted to get right to the action.

He rubs his forehead and they've arrived. LeAnn deals with the valet parking and they walk in to their seats. Second row. "Joey's not even here yet," LeAnn says.

"Joey? Joey's coming?" Lance looks around, almost panicked.

"Lance, when did you stop looking at your messages? I left you a message." LeAnn grabs his arm and smiles.

"I didn't check this morning." Lance looks around at the empty seats and sees a security guard coming towards them.

"Joey's here. Or he's coming. Just him. Justin called him. That's the message I left you." The security guard confirms that he's Lance Bass and guest and gives them a pass for backstage. The guard waits for them to stand up and follow him. Lance sighs and trails behind the hulking guard.

He sees Justin all the time, he tells himself. He sees Justin every single fucking time Justin is in LA and there's nothing so extraordinary about this time. Nothing's changed just because Justin's dried out. Justin dried out a year and a half ago. And he was perfectly sober when he went back to Brit all those years ago.

He wants to fall down and scream at Justin. He wants Justin to beg for his forgiveness for giving up. For not holding on. He wants Justin to give him back his life. And Lance thinks, underneath it all, he wants to fuck Justin until he can't breathe. He wants to wake up next to Justin again. He wants to kill Justin.

He rubs his forehead and follows the security guard. LeAnn trails behind him, humming. They go first to the backstage area and Lance recognizes people, starts to wave. The security guard says, "No, no, I gotta hook you up with Lonnie, follow me."

Lonnie cracks a smile and even hugs Lance. Once, Lonnie gave him orange juice and Lance waited on a balcony for Justin to come home. Once, Lonnie rode shotgun while Justin and Lance were so drunk they didn't care and made out in the back of a limo. Lance thinks Justin even blew him that time and he blushes as he follows Lonnie to the more private backstage area.

He's relieved to see there's a crowd. He sees Justin's mom and she hugs him. He wonders, like he always does when he sees her, if she knows about him and Justin. He introduces LeAnn. When he used to get nervous before shows, he would review the choreography. Kill two birds with one stone, he thought. Now he stands amidst Justin's family and friends and leeches and starts thinking of the steps for Bye Bye Bye. It's too easy, he did that one too many times. He's thinking about Here We Go when Joey comes up and hugs him.

"My man!" Joey's larger and softer and in twenty years he'll be round like a honey pot. He grins wide and looks nothing but content.

"Joey! Man, so good to see you." They hug and Lance grabs LeAnn so they can say hi.

Joey introduces LeAnn to some cousin of Justin's and pulls Lance aside. "Dude, let's go see Justin."

Lance stops in a hallway, a little ways away from the crowd. "What the fuck? What is this fucking thing? It's fucking over, Joey. I came to this damn thing but damn it. Chris told me to get over it, and I'm fucking over it. I don't wanna see him. I don't ever want to see him."

Justin walks up behind Joey and grins. "Too late, baby." Joey smiles and shakes his head. Lance closes his eyes and Justin grabs his arm and pulls him along to the dressing room.

Lance leans against the make up table and rubs his eyes. "Justin. I can't do this."

Justin leans against the door. "We're not doing anything."

Lance lets his hands fall to his side and looks at Justin. Which, he thinks, is always a bad idea. Justin's still more beautiful than Lance ever deserved. Lance swallows and looks at his shoes. "Whatever this is. This everyone on my ass to come here and talk to you. I'm pretty sure you're not pregnant, so, well, whatever you have to say, just say it so I can go home."

"You should stay for the show. It's gonna be a good show." Justin steps closer and grabs Lance's hands. "It's always good to see you, man. Even when it makes me wanna puke."

"You make my heart skip a beat." Lance sneers.

"That's, like, genetic or something. I don't have anything to do with it. Generally." Justin almost grins.

"It started after I met you. I blame you." Lance wants to make a joke but it comes out wrong. "You broke my fucking heart."

Justin takes another step forward and leans his forehead against Lance's. "Well, you broke mine, so we're even."

Lance sighs. He leans back and tries to look at his shoes. Except Justin's standing right in front of him and he's looking at Justin's legs and crotch. He closes his eyes. "Fine, we're even. We've been here before, nothing's changed, let me get back to being miserable."

He hears Justin sigh. "Yeah, cause Lord knows, it's not like it hasn't been seven years. It's not like, we're not, you know, older. And since we're still in a boy band and selling some demented image of ourselves as available, and stuff. It's like it's 2001 and it's not fucking seven years later."

Lance screws his eyes shut and tries to shake off Justin's hands. "You can't -- fuck, Justin, it's a little late for the let's get back together moment."

He hears Justin say "why" softly and then Justin is kissing him. Lance opens his mouth for a moment and then pushes Justin away.

"Justin. Fuck. You don't get to just fucking do this! Why? Cause eight million reasons why. Cause we broke up for a reason. Cause you fucking chickened out and went back to Britney. Cause you don't even know me anymore! Cause you just up and did this now?" Lance swings his arms around and he's forgotten how small dressing rooms are. He bangs his arm into a closet and starts to fall over.

Justin catches him and laughs. "Dude. Dressing rooms small. Is your hand okay?"

"No, it fucking hurts." Lance cradles his hand against his chest, and tries to wriggle free of Justin's arms. "What the fuck, Justin?"

"Lance." Justin pulls him closer. "Look. Uh, A. Do you still have a daily planner with like, four different colors to coordinate everything you need to do?" Lance nods. "B. Do you, uh, still have to sleep with all the lights off?" Lance nods again. "So, I think I still know you. And, yeah, when I was twenty I went back to Britney. I don't think I would call that chickening out, but I know you did. But, uh, you were there when me and Brit broke up, so let's leave that argument for later."

Lance leans against Justin and sighs. "Fuck, Justin, you can't persuade me to do this. When did you think this was such a great idea?"

Justin rubs Lance's back. "Like, two minutes after we broke up? Every two weeks after that? As soon as I stopped waking up with Jim Beam?"

Lance murmurs, "And? So what? It's been a while since all those things."

"Fuck, Lance. I look at you and I want this. I just wanted to talk to you, try to whatever, put all this away. And then you're falling into my arms." Justin laughs a little. "Lance. You know you want to kiss me. Damn, give in, dude."

Lance closes his eyes again. Dressing rooms smell so familiar, even after five years. "What if I say no?"

"I'll stalk you. Like some fucked up romantic comedy musical montage sequence, only it won't go so fast. Kiss me, dude." Lance opens his eyes and looks up at Justin. They kiss and Lance closes his eyes again.

"This won't last," he murmurs against Justin's lips.

"Yes, it will."

*

Justin sips his coffee and doesn't look up but he knows he's been recognized. He's trying to concentrate on the woman sharing, but he's not. He's thinking about that scene from The Player where the junior exec at the movie studio is going to AA meetings to make deals even though he doesn't have a problem, even though he isn't an alcoholic. Justin needs to ask Lyle about a different meeting he can go to in LA. Justin slouches against his chair and pulls down his baseball cap a little more. He stares at his feet.

Ninety days since the flameout that brought him here and this is important. Life or death, like Lyle said, so Justin stares at his feet and listens. Except the woman's whiny, blah blah blah even sober her problems with her co-worker won't go away. Justin thinks sobriety doesn't solve anything at all, honey, it just gives you better tools to deal with things. He won't say it, isn't going to share here but he listens. He reminds himself to stop being so judgmental. A lifetime of important decisions based on a first impression and Justin needs to stop treating every meeting like an audition, on both sides.

He sips his coffee and knows he's smiling. Because he just spent the last two days and three nights in bed with Lance. However many years of saying that name, even in his head, with bitterness and hate and love and loss and for the last ninety odd days he just said it sad. But now he thinks, Lance, and smiles. He shifts in his seat and thinks he needs to call his assistant and get some clothes sent over. This is his vacation, this week, and he's going to spend it at Lance's, for sure. Or not so for sure, he should ask. Maybe Lance won't want him to, and Justin looks up because he won't think that.

Holding hands, serenity prayer, keep coming back because it works and then Justin almost runs out before some dork who recognized him wants to talk. He drives back to Lance's house and lets himself in with the spare key Lance left that morning. Justin picks up the phone when it rings and says, "Hello?"

"You answering my phone now?" Lance sounds like he's smiling and Justin grins.

"Well. Yes, apparently I am. Did you try to call earlier? I was out for a thing and I missed it." Justin walks through the living room and stands on the balcony looking over the hills and LA shrouded in a slight haze.

"I didn't. I just wanted to call and say, you know, see what you were doing today or something." Lance sounds a little hesitant and Justin knows that fear.

"Nothin'. Gotta call my assistant and get some clothes sent over. If that's okay. I mean, I have the week off before I need to be in the studio for the concert video thing, and I have a house here in LA, but I thought. Would it be okay if I stayed here?"

Lance says it fast and sure: "Of course. Please, really. Stay with me."

Lance and Justin both laugh at the same time and Justin says, "And how is your day going?"

"Oh, fine. Talked LeAnn out of quitting so that was an accomplishment." Lance sighs.

"She wanted to quit?" Justin tries to picture LeAnn but he's only seen her a few times. Strawberry blonde, pretty, round face, sweet smile. Something like that.

"Yes. Because of you, I might add. She was very upset that I never told her. About us. She thought, she knew I was -- apparently she thought my secret heartbreak was Chris and you had stolen Chris from me or something and that's why I hated you, or she thought I hated you and she'd canceled me from things where we might have met and she felt like she'd done something wrong and yeah. And then there was the concert on Friday and I guess Joey decided to tell her the whole story for some fucked-up reason." Lance pauses and chuckles a little. "Anyway, talked her out of it."

"That's good. Chris, huh?" Justin sits on the balcony and digs in his bag for his emergency cigarettes. A pack a month, and he still has five cigarettes left this month, so he lights one and pulls the ashtray Lance has on the balcony closer to him. Justin inhales and says, "I never slept with Chris, you know? Which is kinda funny when you think about it, 'cause it's not like he's not hot."

"He was always so whipped on JC, it would have been weird. You know?" Lance sighs. "Anyway, so, I'll be home around six or seven. We can order in again, I think I have no food."

Justin won't go in Lance's kitchen because he's pretty sure Lance has alcohol in there and it's silly and he hasn't told Lance about the AA thing or the great flame-out so it's even more silly and Justin says, "Sure. It's not like I can cook, anyway. Nothing real, anyway. Delivery it is. I'm just gonna, I'm gonna call my manager, get some clothes sent over and sleep or something."

Lance says, "Cool. See you then." Another pause. Then, quietly, "I love you."

Justin smiles and pushes the phone closer to his face like Lance is right there and says, "I love you, too. We'll be fine, I swear."

Lance says, "Don't swear in front of the cameras," laughs and hangs up.

Justin wanders around Lance's house, avoiding the dining room with the booze on display and the kitchen. Lance's living room is starkly decorated, and Justin's been in LA enough to recognize the style of the hippest gay interior decorator in town. Howie and Nick's house down in Malibu looks just like this, somehow, so it's not that hard to identify. There's only a little of Lance in this room, pictures of Lance's parents and another picture of Lance and his mother in a place of honor. Justin wanders back to the study and there's more of the Lance Justin remembers here. A display case of awards and it's mostly the same ones Justin has because they're mostly from the N Sync years. A couple of awards Lance's acts have earned, some small awards from movies in addition. Justin's case has two more Grammys than Lance's, but Justin's prouder of the N Sync ones somehow. Platinum and diamond record awards on the wall, and Justin wonders if Lance has duplicates up in his office or if he saves the N Sync crap for his home. Justin has never even seen Lance's office. He should change that.

Pictures of the band, carefully posed photo shoots and all from No Strings Attached on. Justin grins and thinks Lance doesn't like the way he looked before that. He looks closer and realizes that in all the pictures Justin is standing far away from Lance. Except one, and when Justin sits down in Lance's chair, it's the one that's easiest to see from the desk, when looking up from the computer. It's an awful picture. The only one from before No Strings and they look like freaks, except JC. Justin squints and then sighs. He walks back to the living room and gets out his glasses. Vanity, he thinks. He needs the damn glasses, he should just wear them.

Back in the study he looks at the picture without shoving his face right up to the glass. It's from Germany and Justin smiles and sighs. In a place of honor of sorts, it's a picture from the shoot they did when Justin first kissed Lance. Lance looks like a girl and just bad, a complete dork in comparison to Lance now or even Lance two years later, but he's glowing in the picture, blushing for hours later after Justin grabbed him and shoved his tongue down Lance's throat.

Justin sighs and wanders down to the basement. Workout equipment, a movie theater, a small room with some recording equipment and that one is set up for perfect playback, an audiophile's dream. Justin strips down to his boxers and works out for an hour. He showers, gathers up the clothes he borrowed from Lance and puts them in the hamper, orders food and eats lunch.

After a call to his assistant for clothes from the other house he calls his manager. Britney got Johnny in what Justin likes to think of as the divorce and Justin has some hotshot from the biggest firm around who's the same age as Lance. "Patrick," Justin says.

Patrick sputters and says, "Where are you, Justin? You lit out of your own party."

"I'm staying with a friend for my one week of vacation. An old friend."

"God." Patrick sighs. Two years since he's been able to link Justin with a girl with any authenticity and Patrick has accepted that Justin's not about to play that game anymore but he always has to whine about it. Patrick says, "Is it Bass? I thought you two weren't friends. But he left with you."

"Yup. Lance. I'll be here all week."

Patrick makes a strangled noise. "You know, everyone knows he's gay. Or thinks he's gay. I just. Fine. Do what you want."

Justin says "okay" and hangs up.

When Lance comes home, Justin is wearing his own clothes and he's left the suitcase in the bedroom but hasn't unpacked anything. Justin is sitting on the couch, watching some movie on one of the fifty premium channels Lance gets. Justin looks up and says, "Honey, you're home."

Lance rolls his eyes and sits down next to Justin. They kiss and that came back first, they fit back together physically like nothing's changed and Justin's twenty all over again. Lance says, "Did you make me dinner?"

Justin laughs. "I was waiting for you before ordering. I didn't, I don't know what you want."

Lance says "whatever" but he has his favorite dishes from the local Indian place and Justin wouldn't have guessed them so he's glad he waited. Dinner is only a little awkward and mostly nice and they fuck all night. Lance gets up early and works out and heads off to work. Justin goes back to sleep and wakes up a second time with the sun high in the sky. He calls his sponsor and asks about a different meeting for tomorrow.

Justin sets a deadline for himself. Before he goes back to work on Monday he will tell Lance. And they eat and hang out and things are nice. Justin can tell they're both skirting things and avoiding conflicts and he thinks that's okay. Seven years apart, five years without much contact in any real sense and they just need time. And two meetings later and Justin blinks and it's Sunday night. Justin sits on the balcony, the last of his emergency cigarettes in his hand. New month starts tomorrow and Justin will buy his new pack or order the damn things in. Lance comes out and sits next to him, lights his own cigarette. Lance says, "What's up? I know I'm not, okay, I think I can still tell when you're sitting on something."

Justin smiles. "I totally am. I mean, I have this thing I need to tell you. About me." Justin sighs. He has said this over and over again for the last ninety-six days. So Justin looks at the skyline and the hills and says, "I'm an alcoholic. Like, you know, the joke? I'm not an alcoholic, they go to meetings? Like that. I go to meetings."

Lance takes a drag on his cigarette. He says, "Oh." And then, "I thought. Chris said you didn't need rehab or anything. I thought you just." He stops again.

Justin looks over at Lance and Lance is looking at him. Confused, mostly, Justin thinks. Justin looks away and says, "Yeah. I spent a year or so doing the white-knuckle thing, just not drinking. Then I had, like three months ago, I realized I had a real problem. So, yeah, now I go to meetings and everything. I'm an alcoholic and I'm afraid of your kitchen and yeah."

Lance takes a drag and says quietly, "Do you have a celebrity sponsor or something? Like all those rockers, or Steven Tyler?" He's grinning when Justin looks up and Justin smiles.

"I don't have a celebrity sponsor or anything. I have one, but he's, he's a lighting guy on the tour. I did, I ran into Steven Tyler once at a meeting. Not to bust his anonymity, but he's done it so many times, I don't think it's so bad."

Lance says, "Yeah?" He's still smoking and looking at the city and Justin.

"So, yeah, I'm in Savannah, Georgia, for this show, a weird one-off charity thing and I go to this early meeting in the basement of some church. Slouch in and see him sitting right behind me. So I do the sheepish wave and he's all pissed because at first he thinks I'm just some dork who recognized him. And then he does the classic double-take and looks at me and is all, 'Hey, Justin.' Then he says, 'good for you.' Turns out he was in town for some family wedding." Justin grins and grinds out his cigarette in the ashtray. Justin looks twice at the ashtray and realizes Lance has had the thing made out of an O-Town CD.

Lance says, "You're afraid of my kitchen?"

Justin sighs. "Yeah. I know, I guess you don't drink much, but. I know you have stuff there and I don't want. Look, I should get over it, or not. But. Yes."

Lance says, "Okay. It's nothing, seriously. I'll get rid of it. You're staying here and I don't, you've been here, you know. I don't drink except socially. I don't need it here." Lance stands up and flicks his cigarette into the ashtray. "Wait here." Lance comes back five minutes later and takes Justin by the hand into the kitchen. It's a gleaming thing of white and there's four empty bottles of different kinds of booze on top of the recycling bin. Lance says, "All gone. No fear here."

Justin kisses Lance in the middle of the kitchen and says, "Thank you. You know, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for AA. Like, not just the dead part, but I wouldn't be here with you. So, I'm pretty fucking grateful."

Lance kisses him back and says, "Me, too, then," and they fuck right on the floor.

Justin breezes into the studio on Monday morning and tousles JC's hair as he says hello.

JC looks up and grins. "How's Lance?"

Justin just smirks. They're making a concert video of the last show at the Hollywood Bowl and they set up the stuff and Justin and JC get to work on getting the sound perfect. It's easy work with JC, he and JC have been working on this stuff for so long they barely talk anymore in the studio, just communicate by grunts. JC's worked on every album Justin has ever done, and Justin never listened to idiots like Patrick who said he should shuck all N Sync related connections and not do it. Justin knows how great JC is.

After three days, over lunch, JC says, "So, really, how are things with Lance? I guess it would be a little weird. After all this time."

Justin eats his sandwich and looks at JC. They used to be the same, carrying torches they wouldn't acknowledge to anyone else, haunted eyes and quiet sighs. JC knows he's lost forever, he fucked it up in his crazy days and he'll never get Chris back and Justin thought he knew the same thing. Except Chris is married and happy and Justin has Lance back. Justin says, "It is. Weird. We do talk, but I think. I dunno. We're happy but we're very careful. Careful with each other. We haven't really talked about the big things, or we haven't talked about most of them. And it's, you know. It's not like I don't know the highlights of his life, the ones from TV or that Joey told me about or you or Chris, but. We'll be fine."

JC sips his water and says, "Don't take that for granted. You know? You two were never such the perfect fit, you know? It takes work. And he's worth it, so." Justin smiles and pats JC on the back and they go back to work.

They're done in two weeks and Lance and Justin actually go out for dinner at some uber-trendy Thai restaurant right on Sunset Boulevard to celebrate. Lance says he starts filming this thing the next week and Justin says, "You have a part or it's one of yours where you're producing?"

"Acting. I do three acting jobs a year. Or try. Two stock roles and I try, you know, be a little adventurous with the third one. Or something like that. It's this indie thing, and the director-slash-writer is some Soderbergh disciple. Anyway, I'm the evil crime overlord, if you can believe it." Lance smirks and looks every inch evil.

Justin grins. "Remember during the lawsuit? During your depositions? Try that expression a lot."

Lance laughs. "Yeah. Anyway, ten days for my scenes, and. Uh. I'll come home at night cause it's just over in the Valley, but if you wanted to stop by. I know you're writing now, but it might be fun." Justin thinks, he's nervous. Lance is nervous about the part and he wants Justin there.

Justin says, "Of course. You're all sexy when you're evil. I'll so be there, at least once."

The set is dusty for some reason and definitely indie. People recognize Justin and stare for a moment before looking away. There's already been a small item in some column about Lance and Justin being friends again, but Lance isn't that big anymore and it wasn't even a veiled thing about their relationship, just an excuse to put Justin's name in boldface. Justin doesn't care but he's always still a little surprised now when people just stare and don't rush him. He likes this version of fame better and knows it would have killed him when he was twenty. His love-hate relationship with the kind of adulation he had when half the girls in America were thinking about being Mrs. Justin Timberlake.

Justin watches a scene and marvels at how much better Lance has gotten at the acting thing. Lance was always confident and now he's holding his own in a scene with some up and comer who's been nominated for two Emmys. Lance does evil well and it is sexy. They walk back to Lance's trailer and Justin pushes him down in chair. Lance bleats a little but doesn't protest as Justin unzips Lance's fly and tugs down his pants and underwear before diving in. Justin hums and Lance bucks up more and puts his fist in his mouth when he comes so no one hears. Justin cracks his neck and rests his head against Lance's warm thigh. He says, "You do evil really well. You should play that more often."

Lance clears his throat and says, "Will you blow me after every scene if I do? I could live with that."

Justin writes. Album, album, album. He's happy with the last one, his first with any degree of sobriety but he thinks this one will be even better. The writing is going well, even as he complains to Lance that he thinks he's writing a new James Taylor domestic fest of happiness. "All the songs, man, I'm all lightness and sap."

Lance grins. Such a pretty smile when he means it, Justin thinks. Before they got back together, Justin only saw that smile every once in a while. Never in photos, but in the video of Joey's youngest daughter's baptism, once at a concert before Justin walked up while Lance and JC were talking, things like that. And now Lance smiles like that again at Justin and Justin can't help himself from smiling back. Lance says, "Well, you know, I'm not sorry."

Justin says, "Me neither." It's almost a distorted prophecy because they have their first fight that night. Lance says something about Britney, Justin defends her and they're off to the races, really.

Lance says, "You always defend her. Always."

"She's still one of my best friends, you know. I hurt her a lot." Justin looks away.

"Yeah, you mean we did, right? Fuck her. I mean, whatever, you certainly did enough, but damn it. I'm tired of feeling bad about that. I didn't, it's not my fault that we worked the way we did and none of us could ever be honest about anything. In public." Lance is snarling a little but he isn't quite worked up to a fury.

Justin takes a deep breath. "I hurt her a lot. You didn't, you were pretty incidental, you know? I didn't exactly lie to her. I never said, when we got back together, I never said I loved her. And I still put all this pressure on her to stay with me, to protect me and protect her, too, and it sucked for all of us. But. It's not like she stole me away. I did that on my own."

Lance says, "I know." Justin looks up and Lance is looking away, his back to Justin, staring at a picture on the wall in his bedroom. Fighting in bed and that's the same old story, except it's not some generic hotel room, it's Lance's bed in Lance's house and Justin sighs.

Justin says, "I always. I always wanted to see what I could get away with, even while I wanted to get everything I could have. So I was the virgin boyfriend in public and tried everything else while I could get away with it. And I did that a lot. And then, now, I realized I couldn't get away with the drinking and everything else, really. But, Lance," Justin reaches out and rests his head against Lance's shoulder. "Lance, the only time I stopped trying to see how far I could push shit and still get away with it was when I was with you. I've learned. I'm not gonna, I'm gonna try not to repeat my mistakes."

Lance lies back on the bed and turns on his side. "Right. Right. Me neither. Because, you know, no matter what I've told myself for the last seven years, I'm not some saint here."

At a meeting Lyle recommended, less full of Hollywood assholes, Justin shares and tries to explain to himself and everybody else, how important all this is, how hard it is. Lance is older, he was always older, but now Justin feels younger than ever, trying to put things together without alcohol or all the other crutches of his youth. And Lance is old and broken in so many ways and most of that is Justin's fault, or had something to do with Justin and Justin knows he can't cure Lance, he can barely take care of himself, but he's still in love. Still in love and he's just like JC, they'll never get over their first loves ever. After the meeting, Lyle says he should say those things to Lance and Justin blanches. Justin says, "Hello, fear."

Lyle sips his coffee and waves Justin outside because Lyle wants to smoke. Lyle says, "Well, you love him. He probably feels the same. Don't ask me for relationship advice, I'm just saying, for you, you're carrying all this shit around and it's not good for you."

Lance has a closet full of tailored suits and expensive clothes. He has a personal shopper who keeps him stocked and Lance is just a natural at being the rich man of taste. Justin grabs a t-shirt from his drawer at Lance's house and realizes they've been practically living together for almost two months now. Justin spends token nights at his house in Malibu and goes places without Lance, which makes Patrick happy, but he's still at Lance's place five days out of the week. Justin finds it easiest to write on Lance's balcony, watching the sun over the city. Justin doesn't like LA that much, but he guesses he's living there now. Because Lance loves LA and sometimes Justin can see the city the way Lance does and that's good enough.

Justin decides to go by Lance's office. First time ever but he does want to see the place. LeAnn grins at him and she's prettier than he remembered, and also taller. She shows him into Lance's office and says Lance will be back in ten minutes. It's a nice office. Only a few N Sync things and mostly decorated with things from Lance's life after. On the desk Justin sees the stuffed dog he bought Lance all those years ago. It's a more than a little wrenching, Justin thinks, that one thing of the two of them, that one pathetic bit of Lance's heart on display if anyone knew what to look for. A stuffed animal Lance always has with him and the only thing that looks out of place in an intimidating professional place. Justin sits on the couch and waits.

He wants a drink, he always wants a drink. He sighs and thinks, not today. He can do not today. And he fingers his key chain with his little chip of sobriety and thinks broken, broken, he and Lance broke each other and maybe getting back together wasn't the best idea. Because if they break now, they'll be worse off than before. Justin rubs his eyes and sings the most cheerful song he knows, a hymn from church.

Lance comes in smiling and sits next to him on the couch. "Hey, you," Lance says softly as he kisses Justin's cheek. Lance springs up and leans against his desk. Justin suddenly remembers Chris saying once that Lance couldn't even stand straight. Lance waves at the office and says, "First time here, what do you think?"

"It's intimidating." Lance smiles and then Justin says, "And it's depressing," and only Justin would have seen how Lance's face falls a little at that.

Lance says, "Depressing?"

Justin says, "Like, maybe just to me. But I remember you, you used to be goofy sometimes, in a dorky way, and in a cute way, but goofy. Even after all of us. I dunno, there's so little of you here." Justin trails off and watches Lance take off his glasses and rub the lenses.

Lance says, "It's funny, isn't it? I have to stop myself sometimes. I always want to paint all of that, you know, the band, in black and misery and it's all broken hearts and pining for you or being miserable. But we did have fun. I was happy, maybe, more than I was sad. Even taking into account those last three years."

Justin grins. "Me, too. I do that all the time. I talk about it like something I endured and with all the using I was doing, the drinking and the drugs and the general insanity by the end, I did have a lot of fun. In balance, it was more happy than sad."

Lance says, "I'll put up a clown picture, how's that?" Justin laughs. Lance says, "What are you visiting for?"

Justin fiddles with his glasses and looks out Lance's window. "I wanted you, I came to ask you if you would sing on my record. It's two songs, but. I mean, they're good and it would just be back up but they're good."

Lance says, "Oh." Justin looks back and Lance is crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at his three hundred dollar shoes. It's not like Lance hasn't done this recently. Lance is JC's favorite back-up singer and Lance probably has ten or eleven singing jobs a year with JC's projects and other people they all worked with who just love Lance's voice. But never Justin's projects, of course. Lance says, "The songs are good, you say?" Lance is smirking a little.

Justin says, "Yes. I mean, I played 'em for Patrick, the demos, and he smiled like he hasn't since we got back together."

Lance smirks and it's almost wolfish. Lance says, "I didn't tell you. But I should have. Patrick stopped by last week. Here." Justin shakes his head. "Idiot. He comes to me, which is just stupid, because it's my office, my advantage. Comes in the afternoon and, of course, I made him wait on principle. And he sits in front of my desk like an idiot kid at the principal's office and wants to talk about you."

Justin says, "What about me?"

Lance says, "He's worried about you being outed. Because of us and because of me. Despite the fact that a certain segment of the press is determined to make you a heterosexual." When Justin visited Lance on the set, he hung out briefly with an actress he'd met once at a show and one coy statement from her publicist and one eager noncommittal denial from Patrick later, the Enquirer had called the girl Justin's former fling. Lance was laughing about it this morning.

Lance says, "Thanks to Britney." Three years ago Brit did her big comeback, "mature" album and in the publicity for it, she told everyone about all the sex and wild times she had with Justin and hinted at her own bisexuality. Justin doesn't even remember the discussion he had with Britney about what he was okay with her saying, he was too drunk. But he was fine with it. Whatever Brit wanted, that was fine.

Justin says, "But he thinks what? That I'm planning something?"

Lance shrugs. "He asked me if you were planning to come out and what I thought I was doing. If we wanted to be like Howie and Nick." Three years ago a video was leaked of the two of them on vacation somewhere, somewhere they felt safe. They were holding hands, kissing. Carter had a solo career in the works and now he's just some wealthy guy, but they're still together out in Malibu. Justin watched the video and felt nothing but loathing. They'd made it through being in a group together, all the boy band madness and Justin hadn't. He's still nice to them, and he used to visit them sometimes and grit his teeth with how much he envied them. Justin looks down at his hands.

Lance says, "Since I love you, I couldn't even have any fun and lie so I said you didn't talk about it, and what I thought I was doing dating you. He huffed and puffed and we went back and forth about out pop stars and your demographics and I put my feet up on my desk and he eventually left with his tail between his legs."

"So. Yeah, Patrick's a piece of work sometimes." Justin smiles.

Lance holds up a hand and says, "Well. He has a point, you know. If I came out the main reaction would be surprise only that I hadn't actually done it yet. But I'm small potatoes these days and you're not. And, well." Lance pauses.

Justin says, "What? I haven't even had sex with a woman for the last two years, you know." Justin dated a series of guys for three weeks each that Chris called the Frankenstein period after he stopped drinking but before AA. The first had green eyes, the next had blond spiked hair, the next was from Mississippi.

Lance sighs. "Look, the thing is. I know, you're happy just making token gestures about this but you may want to decide. Decide if you're gonna do it or if you're not ready or if you don't want ever do it. Because you're not careful enough and you don't want a Nick and Howie thing." Justin thinks about pointing that they're perfectly happy now but he doesn't. Lance sees something in Justin's face and says, "You're right. They're happy now. But neither of them is working now. Not upfront. And yes, of course, now that Nick's free of mom, he probably doesn't care. And he could have done it and kept his career and he chose not to, but both of 'em are happy to tell you that's not how they wanted to come out."

Justin sighs. He says, "Okay. I get it." Justin looks out the window. LA is sweltering today, and he thinks he can see the heat rising even this high up. "Look, let me think. I won't play that game, you know, with a beard and all that shit. And I won't, I won't give you up. I just, I see your point."

"Consider it tabled." Lance unfolds himself from his perch on the edge of his desk and walks over to sit next to Justin. "You want me to sing on your album?"

Justin smiles. "Yes. Back up and stuff. On two songs."

Lance rolls his eyes. "Yes, I heard that. But, are you sure? I'm sure you could get a bigger name. Or someone better."

"That's bullshit. You know, just last year, I heard someone at a party saying that one of the advantages of getting JC to produce something was that only JC seemed to be able to drag you into the studio these days. Some fuck from Universal, so, you know, he could only have been repeating other people's opinion." Justin rubs Lance's knee.

Lance agrees and Justin leaves mostly happy.

Three months since they got back together and Lance shows up at the studio in carefully distressed designer jeans and a t-shirt from the Popodyssey tour. He looks good and Justin laughs at himself because he's sure he's got naked lust written all over him. It's just JC, Justin and the engineer and Lance is still incredibly professional. He goes over everything, nails it all in one take and doesn't complain when JC asks for two more takes because he knows JC is a perfectionist. Justin feels like a dork because he doesn't say much at all. But it sounds perfect, just like he wanted and he can't think of anything to add.

The engineer leaves for the day and Lance comes over and plops down in Justin's lap. He licks Justin's jaw and while Justin's shivering, Lance says, "It's a good song. I agree with Patrick."

Justin manages to say, "Good." He can see JC grinning and getting up out of his seat over Lance's shoulder. "I'm glad you liked it."

Lance has one hand at the back of Justin's head and the other one is rubbing over Justin's crotch. He says calmly in Justin's ear, "You didn't say much so I wasn't sure if you were happy with it or not."

Justin hears JC closing the door and then the snick of the lock. Justin gasps a little because fuck, it's hot, Lance is such a fucking tease and between Lance's hot tongue against his neck and Lance's hand doing that to his dick, Justin can't think at all. Justin says with what breath he can muster, "It was so perfect I couldn't think of anything to say."

Lance stops his hand and Justin frowns but then he feels Lance unbuttoning his pants. Justin can't look down because he would probably come right away but he manages to lift his hips at the right point so Lance can get his jeans and underwear off. Justin has a moment to think that the seat is cold against his bare ass before Lance's hand is back, and this time right on Justin's dick and then Justin can't think at all. He hears Lance say, "You know, we fucked in every state in the union, maybe we should start on studios or something."

Justin just tries to breathe. He hears something fall on the floor and realizes Lance has taken off his pants and is naked from the waist down. Justin clutches at the thin cotton of Lance's shirt and closes his eyes. He's so turned on right now, he thinks he wouldn't notice if the engineer and the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir walked in the door. Then Justin thinks about what Lance said and says, "Wait. Did we ever get Alaska?"

Lance pauses and gets off Justin's lap. Justin opens his eyes and sees Lance on the floor, rooting around in the pockets of his jeans. Lance looks up, and he's hard and so fucking sexy. Strong thighs and long torso and fuck. Fuck Alaska, Justin thinks. Lance says, "We cheated on that one." Lance gets back on Justin's lap and uncaps a thing of lube. He glances at Justin and smirks. He takes Justin's hand and puts the lube on three of Justin's fingers. Then he's pushed up against Justin, guiding Justin's hand to his ass. Justin thinks, right. He knows what he's supposed to do here. He starts pushing his fingers up in Lance and Lance still manages to say, "We did it in the plane. Over Alaska, and counted it that way. We could, you know," and Lance pauses to exhale slowly as Justin adds a finger, "we could take a vacation there or something if you wanted to make it clean and even."

Justin means to say something, but he can't, really, because then Lance is lowering himself onto Justin's dick and it doesn't matter that they've done this a million times or something in the last three or four months because it's Lance. He's thrusting up and Lance pushes back down and Justin is sweating and trying to brace himself somehow without letting go of Lance's waist. All the people Justin's fucked drunk or sober and somehow, Lance is Lance and that's what turns Justin on in the end. Over and over again, and somewhere there's a song in how much of the rest of Justin's life is wrapped up in Lance and those green eyes fluttering closed as he comes. As they come.

Lance stands up gingerly and gets dressed quickly. He looks at Justin and Justin's sure he looks debauched and sated and worn out. Lance says, "Thanks for asking me to sing. I really enjoyed it." Lance smirks and helps Justin get dressed.

An early print of the indie film makes the rounds and Lance starts getting more calls from offbeat projects, though they always want him to play the heavy. Lance takes one or two but none of the ones outside of Los Angeles and for the next two months of recording, they're surprisingly domestic. Justin's never done this almost living together and being in love and he knows Lance hasn't either so he tries not to worry too much about all their tiny spats. He doesn't think too much about how much Lance has turned into another Hollywood person, someone who lives in on rarefied air and rejects a restaurant because the maitre d is too full of himself and turned away one of Lance's singers the week before. Lance who gets even his workout clothes from boutiques where everyone has an assistant trailing after them taking notes.

After AA, Justin decided to simplify everything. He sold all his houses except the one in Orlando and the one in Malibu. He's sat in enough meetings in grimy basements where single mothers complained about unemployment checks and late child support to know his definition of simple is different from most of America's but he grew up how he grew up and he knows his definition of simple is still starkly removed from Lance's. Lance complains about people who only bathe in designer water while he drives in his custom car and gets the most sophisticated air filtration system available installed in his office so he and LeAnn can smoke there without any lingering smell. Justin only smokes outside.

Lance is drunk at a party and Justin just wants to go home. He goes over to Lance and says, "Can we split now?"

Lance says, "We need to, I need to talk to that guy." Lance points a little and then covers his mouth and looks bashful and goofy.

Justin sighs. "Talk to him. Then find me, okay? I'm gonna go outside and smoke."

Lance grabs Justin's arm. "What? Why do I need to find you?"

"Because we came here together and you drove and I need to drive home now." Justin clenches his jaw and walks out to the gazebo area where he can smoke. He's there ten minutes when Lance finds him. Lance sighs and lights a cigarette.

"Am I not allowed to drink now?"

Justin closes his eyes. "No, you're allowed to do whatever. It's just, dude, you're drunk. And it's fine for you, it's not for me, and you should do whatever."

Lance says, "Then let's go." He hands Justin the car keys and Justin drives home. Another little spat and they're fine in the morning. Fine.

Justin thinks it's too easy to say Lance became completely Hollywood to forget Justin. Chris says that and laughs and Justin disagrees. Chris's house is as messy as Justin thinks it should be with three kids under the age of five and neither of them mentions JC in front of Chris's wife, Marianne. Everyone likes Marianne and she'd never hurt Chris so it's all right, but in the basement, Justin knows, Chris has a study like Lance's, decorated with the pictures he won't talk about with JC standing far away from Chris in every one. But Chris is happy, at peace for the most time and Justin visits a lot. Once in a while he brings Lance and the three of them can talk for hours about everything and nothing. That part is perfect, all the broken parts back together. Sometimes they even meet JC for dinner at some quiet place in Silver Lake where Chris lives and twice while Justin is recording Joey flies out and it's really old home week. When it's so easy and the five of them, Justin remembers how Lance said it was more happy than sad. A little more, at least.

Justin can't think of anything else to do besides work the steps and love Lance. Even the Lance he sees sometimes at parties who's so fake and slick Justin can't even figure out where the Lance Justin woke up next to has gone to.

Justin has a minor scare while he's mixing and mastering the album with JC. One of Justin's exes from the Frankenstein phase wants money from Patrick or he'll spill all to the Enquirer. There's no pictures or any definitive proof, but Justin has been practically living with Lance for months now and besides the girl from the set, he hasn't even been photographed with a girl for the same length of time. Lance just sits across from Justin at his dinner table and says Justin should do what he thinks is right.

"The thing is, what I think is right isn't what. It isn't what I think I can do. I'm not, I'm holding on to sobriety with my fingernails here. I wouldn't be able to do it." Justin sighs and picks at his food. "I should say fuck it. Blow that bastard out of the water and tell all to Diane Sawyer or some such shit. But I don't think." Justin looks down. He feels like he's still twenty and sitting outside a hotel room all night unable to go in and tell Lance they can do it, they really can. He walked out on Lance twice and he knows Lance expects him to do it a third time.

Lance says, "It's okay." He doesn't say much else.

Justin drives home to his own house and doesn't stay at Lance's, token night at home and Lance already knew that before he pulled up. It's miserable anyway and he hates himself. He goes by Lance's office in the morning and sits on the couch, waiting for Lance to come in. There's a new picture of Lance at seventeen, looking like a complete dork and hugging Mickey Mouse hung by Lance's desk. Justin smiles and doesn't cry.

Lance comes in and sits by Justin. He kisses Justin's cheek and doesn't say anything. Justin takes Lance's hand and squeezes it. Justin says, "Here's the thing. I can't do it. I'm not ready to come out. But I will be someday. When I have a little more sanity under my belt. Just, not now. I swear. I'm gonna tell Patrick to pay off that fuck. And whatever else he needs to do to make it quiet. But I won't get a beard and I won't, this isn't gonna control my love life. I'll be on tour soon, and that will take care of the whole I'm practically living with you thing for a few months. And maybe when this tour is over, maybe then. Or not. But, this is what I can do."

Lance says, "It's fine, Justin. I'm okay with it." He kisses Justin again and they sit like that for a little while, not saying anything.

And then the tour. Album done, almost out, single doing well, and Justin jokes with Lance about how he should always write about Lance because those songs always do well. Every song on the album is about Lance in one way or another and it looks like it will do well. Video artfully shot, interviews in the can and the tour starts. The first three weeks are fairly miserable. Lance has things, he can't come out to visit at all or see the shows and Justin tries to sleep in hotel rooms and bus bunks alone when he's used to waking up next to Lance as often as he can. Lance calls after the shows but it's not the same. Lance knows how it feels but he can't get away and Justin tries not to be resentful.

He goes to a meeting every day and arranges things as much as he can so Lyle is always pretty close to him. The tour swings by Texas and Lance is in Austin filming another movie so they have two nights together. Justin doesn't sleep at all, just has sex as much they can and talks the rest of the time. They've been on the phone all the time and email and everything else but it's not the same as talking to Lance and actually seeing him, smelling him.

The tour goes better after that. Justin starts to feel confident that he can do all of this. Lyle has two days off and Justin thinks that's fine, he's strong, he's been sober for real for almost ten months, he and Lance have been together now for almost seven months and that's longer than they managed last time, so things are good. After the show, he goes with the band to a local bar, he can handle that easy. He smokes two cigarettes, blinks and looks down at a full glass of whisky in front of him. He didn't drink any, he knows that, he licks his lips and knows it. He looks at the bartender and the bartender points behind Justin and says, "From that one. Says it's what you had last time you were here and wants to know if you want more like that." Justin turns around there's a woman and a man sitting at separate tables. He has no idea who either of them are or which one sent him the booze.

Justin stutters, "No thanks," and leaves. He could call Lyle and he should even though he didn't do anything but instead he looks over his schedule and goes to the airport. He's in LA six hours later and at Lance's house after an hour cab ride. He opens the door with his key and resets the alarm. He walks into the kitchen and the microwave says it's four a.m. Justin drinks a full bottle of Lance's imported bottled water and then goes upstairs. He lies down next to Lance and falls asleep.

Lance wakes him up at six a.m. and says, "Hey. Justin? What are you doing here?"

Justin rubs his eyes and looks up at Lance. Sleep rumpled and tiny, fine lines by his eyes. No trace of baby fat on his face and those same amazing eyes. Justin sighs. He says, "I didn't tell you about my great flameout, did I?"

Lance shakes his head. Justin stares at the ceiling and says, "Well. See, I hadn't been drinking for about a year and I thought I was just the shit. I could handle anything. So one night, after the second or third show of the tour I went out and had a few drinks. A few. Maybe more than that. Totally blacked out for about three hours and I come to and there's some incredibly pissed guy, naked and getting ready to walk out of my hotel room like that. And Rolling Stone has a reporter coming to interview me over breakfast. And the guy's just bitching me out. He says over and over again I'm a complete asshole and, wait for it, you'll laugh, he says I kept calling him Lance while we were fucking." Lance winces slightly and starts rubbing Justin's chest while Justin talks.

"Anyway, I get the guy settled down and I still don't know his actual name but Patrick gets rid of him and Lyle helped a little and then Patrick screams at me and then he leaves to cancel the interview. And I'm still not dressed for any of this. And Lyle says since I don't have the interview, there's maybe somewhere else I could be. So, you know, went to my first meeting and that's my great flameout. People have a lot worse, but I just, I was a complete asshole and I completely jeopardized my career in a lot of ways and I'm here because I missed you. I love you and I need to see you more, I think."

Justin sighs and puts his hand over Lance's. He holds Lance's hand against his heart and says, "Right. I know, that makes me sound all dependent. Like, I can't live without you. And we're not in the same band anymore and we have things we need to do in separate places but I dunno. I need you."

Lance says, "It's okay. I've missed you, too. I should, I can talk to LeAnn and try to make more time."

Justin nods and says, "Okay. I feel sometimes, you know, like I don't know you anymore, so I feel bad asking these things of you, but. I do know you and love you and yeah, thanks."

Lance purses his lips and says, "You don't know me anymore? I'm right here."

"You know what I mean. You're all Hollywood and we haven't, before this, we didn't see each other in any real way for at least five years." Justin sits up and lets go of Lance's hand. "I mean, you've changed. It's okay, I still love you."

Lance frowns. "Well, thanks. I'm glad I'm still okay with you. You've changed, too, you know. And maybe I seem all Hollywood because you're all self-righteous with your sobriety and looking down at me from your pedestal of recovery."

Justin gets out of the bed and stares at Lance. "Self-righteous? Self-righteous how?"

Lance waves his hands. "Every way. You don't think I've noticed the way you get all pissy because I have money, and I might add, nearly as much money as you have, and I have money and I like to spend it. Not being a child star or anything, I enjoy having the best things, you know? I'm not a bad person for wanting things."

"It's not wrong," Justin says, wanting to smash the stupid five hundred dollar alarm clock over Lance's head. "It's just sort of silly. You're filthy rich, you don't need to let everyone know. And God, fuck you, you know? I know, I know I'm always the baby who hurt you and I can do no right and I never know anything compared to you and God. Fuck you."

Lance says, "Actually, you know, that's one thing that's definitely not happening this morning, you fucking brat."

Justin stomps out and slams the bedroom door.

An hour later, he hears Lance sit down next to him. Lance says softly, "Why are you sitting in the hallway?"

Justin keeps staring at the door. He says, "I won't leave you. Not now, not ever. So, I'm sitting here waiting to calm down. But I'm not walking out that door until you kick me out or I die."

Lance exhales or sighs but it's ragged and Justin looks over and Lance is covering his eyes. He's crying and Justin pushes up Lance's arms and climbs into Lance's lap. Lance says, "Okay" and then hugs Justin. "Fuck, Justin, I'm sorry. I just, I thought you had left again."

Justin says, "Nope. I thought about it. But fuck, I wouldn't recover. At all. I meant it, you're my fucking heart."

Lance says, "Me, too. So, yes."

Justin rubs Lance's back and says, "Right. We can do this, I swear. We really can."

Lance says, "I believe you."

And there's still things to talk about and settle and there's a million wounds to heal and Justin needs to call Lyle and go to a meeting but it's more happy than sad because Lance sniffles and smells like Lance and Justin mouths the serenity prayer and then says out loud, "I love you," and that's all he needs to make it through the day.

THE END.

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