It was a story they both knew all too well.

Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal were tearing the Lakers apart, and nothing anyone had done on or off the court had been able to stop it. It didn't matter that they had won back to back championships or that they were considered two of the greatest players in history. Nothing mattered, even the game which they had both claimed to love above all else. So this was it, a last ditch effort to keep them on the same team, side by side, where they belonged.

Joey looked at Chris and shrugged, the helpless kind of shrugging that said they'd been over this ground before. They had their own version of Kobe and Shaq and unless something happened to change things, they were going to need outside help themselves. It had gone beyond Chris stepping between Justin and JC like a referee. Beyond getting pushed around himself when one of them lost his head, when all they cared about was getting in the last, ugly word.

The other two had just wanted it to stop.

Chris had wanted to know why.

-::-

After seven years, it just happened. No matter what a person was doing, after seven years they got tired of doing it. There had even been a movie about it. Some poor schmuck, away from his wife and kids for the first time in years, fantasized about doing something else, anything other than what he'd been doing for the past seven years. And sure enough, suddenly there was Marilyn Monroe, standing over a subway vent in a billowing white dress, eating potato chips and drinking champagne while he played the piano better than he ever had in his life.

Nothing really life-changing happened that weekend, but on Monday morning that same poor schmuck went back to work a happy man.

A few daydreams. A break from the everyday routine. And he was able to go on with his life.

It all made perfect sense.

So when Justin and JC had another meltdown in San Jose, Chris had brokered a settlement. When the tour ended this time, there would be an extended break. No less than six months and no more than two years. The tears that night in Orlando were real, but each of them had had their own private reasons for letting them fall.


Lance had actually been gone for over a year before anyone noticed. He’d always had good nights and bad nights on tour, but somewhere along the line, he’d thrown the switch. He was done.

He wouldn’t admit to it or even talk about the change because for him, it simply didn’t exist anymore. That was the thing about Lance. If you were in his universe, he would do anything for you. If you weren’t, he would let you bleed to death by the side of the road and never blink an eye.

It had taken Joey a long time to appreciate that point of view, but when he finally did, it had made his own life a whole lot easier. When Justin was an ass, which he was most of the time now, Joey could deal with it because for him, Justin didn’t exist anymore. The problem for Joey was though that JC still did. And if you wanted JC then you got Justin. They were a package deal. A fucking, screwed up package deal, but a deal nonetheless.

Lance had already given up on both of them, but he had not given up on Joey. And though they’d never talked about it, Joey and Lance become allies themselves, their own package deal. It had made for a nice balance.

That is, until the night in San Jose when Justin had almost blackened Chris’s eye, trying to get at JC.

The next day Lance had announced he was going into space.

-::-

From a stranger’s point of view, it must have seemed odd. That whenever JC stepped away from Justin for any reason, Chris would take his place, become Justin's best friend, maintain the delicate balance that kept everything from falling apart.

Chris talked about it all the time, how important it was that some things stay the same, but Joey had never really paid that much attention until the day Lance dyed his hair back to its natural color.

He'd been bleached and bimboed up from day one, just like Justin, both of them blonde because it seemed to fit the group dynamic. Joey had gotten used to seeing Lance that way and unlike Justin, whom he’d stopped seeing once he'd stopped liking him, Joey had never stopped seeing Lance.

He had liked Lance as a blonde, a blonde with eyes so green that they looked like someone had painted them on.


Joey had started really looking at Lance that spring. The movie had just given him an excuse to keep doing it. On the Line had been about Lance and Emmanuelle Chriqui falling in love, but the time in Toronto had been more about Lance Bass and Joey Fatone. They hadn’t fallen in love, but they had been more than friends. And now there was a kind of understanding, something unspoken between them.

Joey had never said anything about it, but when they came back on tour, he had caught Lance staring at Justin and then at JC. When he'd looked back at Joey, Lance's eyes were different.

As if in looking at them, he had seen himself.

-::-

The call from his agent had come in just after eleven in the morning. Joey had spent most of the day alone. He had wanted to celebrate, but he still couldn't tell anyone until it was official and all the papers were signed. Then he would talk and talk and talk and never stop.

It was after seven now and Chris was back, eating out of his refrigerator and being a general nuisance. There was nothing unusual about that part of it, but Chris had also been there for almost an hour now without suggesting that they go out to a club or rent a movie. That meant that he wanted to talk. Joey pushed the last of a meatless burrito into his mouth and tossed the wrapper at the trash can.

“So what is it, Kirkpatrick?”

Chris never missed a beat, almost as if they had been talking about it all along.

“The cooling off period is over. They should have worked it out by now.”

“Who?”

“Don’t be a stupid fuck, Fatone. JC, man. Justin. They’re like nowhere.”

Joey flipped the cap on a bottle of Schweppes Bitter Lemon and Chris wrinkled his nose.

“And what’s that crap you’re drinkin’?”

Joey smiled and patted his stomach.

“I’ve got to lose a little bit. This stuff’s not bad. You want one?”

He started to get up, but Chris waved him off.

“No way. I can’t stand that carbonated shit. Jesus, Joe, can’t a guy get drunk around here anymore?”

Joey took a slow sip, then cleared his throat before speaking.

“Give me a break, will you?”

Chris put down his beer and stared at him.

“Say that again.”

“Say what?”

“Wha•tit? Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like JC after he saw Gosford Park.”

Joey took another swig, then smoothed the label with his thumb. In a more perfect world, Chris would have been one of the first people that Joey told about getting the role on Broadway. If he could talk to the Chris who had been in high school musicals, and sung in a choir, and done a little acting on the side, the one who understood childhood dreams and fear of failure, everything would be allright. That Chris would get it. But there was also another Chris, a Chris who craved attention and approval, who had coined the expression, Basstronaut at the expense of Lance’s feelings, essentially turning his dream of going into space into just another clever turn of phrase. That Chris would find a way to make Joey feel small and there was no way to know which Chris you were dealing with at any given time. It wasn’t worth the risk and Joey didn’t take it. Instead, he finished the last of his drink, settling the bottle on the counter more deliberately than he had to.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t have one.”

“Right.”

“Swear to God. Look Joe, in a couple weeks we get to smile pretty for the cameras again. And you guys get to play basketball.” Chris held up his casted arm and shook his head again. “I haven’t seen the king and his concubine in almost two months. And from what I hear they haven't spoken to each other at all. If this thing's not happening this year, we need to scratch, you know, like tell people that we're not coming. When’s the last time you talked to Bass?”

“Don’t worry. He’s coming back for the game.”

Chris checked the time on his cell phone, then frowned before slipping it into his pocket and heading for the back door.

“We need a plan, Fatone.”

Chris slipped on his glasses and stepped out through the sliding glass door, onto the back patio, without saying another word.

Joey was still staring as he heard the Harley fire up and pull away, but he wasn't thinking about Chris Kirkpatrick anymore. Or the annual basketball game that was suddenly in doubt. Or about telling Justin that he was on his own for the gig in LA now, the chance they would have had to mend their friendship. Or even about facing a whole new life in New York.

He was thinking about Lance.

It was no secret to anyone that he was having a hard time selling his space project. The films he had wanted to produce had also been met with a stunning silence. Joey understood that like no one else ever could. It was amazing how quickly the interest and money dried up once he stopped talking about NSYNC. Even the money men behind My Big Fat Greek Wedding had inquired diplomatically if any of the other members of the group had shown interest in the script.


Chris had asked about Lance, but Joey hadn't answered because he'd had nothing at all to say. He had done none of the awards shows, hoping instead to go to the Sundance Film Festival. But although they had talked about it for months, when the time came, Lance had avoided the subject altogether, eventually going to Utah without him. Joey had felt confused and betrayed. It wasn’t until they were forced together in LA, rehearsing for the Grammy’s, that he let his true feelings be known. Lance had exploded in frustration.Two members of NSYNC anywhere screamed boyband, he'd said. Not actor. Not producer. He had worked hard to be seen in a different light. Joey was a tie to the life he had left behind. If Joey Fatone wanted to be taken seriously in Hollywood, he would have to pay the same price. And he would have to do it on his own. Lance would not be there.

They had passed the rest of the Grammy weekend in polite silence, but the day Joey landed the role opposite William H. Macy, he had driven all the way to Lance’s home in Floribama so that he could tell him in person. Lance had put an arm around his shoulder and ruffled his hair.

It was one of the best days of Joey's life. He wanted more days just like it, but with Lance half a world away, chasing his own dream, he was going to have to wait.

Chris was right. They needed a plan.

-::-

It had taken a few days to track him down, but eventually Chris found Justin.

There was something almost tangible about being in the same room with him and Chris knew that Justin was there before he ever turned around. The bar at Cook’s Corner was dark and out of the way which was exactly how they liked things these days, their hardtails just another pair of choppers in the dirt outside.

Chris wasn’t even sure he would recognize Justin. After the blow-up in San Jose, he had shaved his head to get back at JC and had finished the tour that way. What Chris had seen of Justin since then had been the same as everyone else: a sound byte on TV, his hair hidden by yet another knit cap.

The real trick was guessing how many beers it would take for Justin to let his guard down, before he would laugh and say 'Get outta here'. It only took three this time, but after four, they had run out of things to say.

And they had never once talked about JC.

-::-

The idea had come to Joey as he watched his mother fold laundry. Nobody knew him better than she did. He'd gone over to have dinner and then had stayed to help her clean up. He’d followed her out back while she watered the roses. Now they were in the garage folding sheets, the dryer humming in the background.

She brought up Lance as if she'd been reading his mind.

“He’s probably homesick, Joey. Who wouldn’t be? You should do something nice for him while he’s here. He probably has to go back right away, doesn't he?”

The garage door opened suddenly, Big Joe pulling the car in for the night and the conversation faded away. A few minutes later, when his mother handed him a freezer bag with two loaves of homemade bread, Joey knew exactly what he had to do.

He just hoped there was a place on the internet to order Mud Bugs.

And that they delivered.

-::-

Chris stared at Joey dumbfounded. “We’re doing what?”

“A cookout, sort of. With a movie. And fireworks.”

“And everybody gets a blow job.”

Joe let out a snort. “Will you do it?”

Chris was quiet. Hehad always liked letting people twist in the wind, even when he agreed with them. Joey was used to it, but Chris seemed to be staring this time as if Joey had said something wrong.

“What?”

“You're still doin' it.”

“Doing what?”

“Soundin’ like Manners, the butler.”

Joey let himself smile. The vocal exercises that he'd been doing were working. His enunciation was better already. Just a couple more days and he could tell everyone the good news. Right now the good news was that Chris was on board. He liked the plan. He just wanted to be wooed a little. Joey waited quietly and finally Chris caved in.

“So this is our plan?”

“Yes.”

He could hear Chris tapping his keys on the kitchen counter.

“The Lakers hire a shrink and we're having a barbecue. Okay, Fatone. This better be one hell of a cook-out.”

-::-

Joey had hosed down the pool deck three times before deciding that it looked good enough. Then he had spent another hour trying to tie a king-sized sheet between two trees. A staple gun had finished the job. He finally realized how crazy he was acting when the idea of getting flowers crossed his mind. Flowers still sounded like a good idea after he had tapped the keg and set up the ping pong table. He was shaving when he told the reflection in the mirror as sternly as he could that this was a barbecue, not a wedding reception and that flowers for Lance were not an option.

~

Chris offered Lance another beer. The third in the last twenty minutes.

“I just want to hear you say it again. C'mon. Say it.”

Lance smiled indulgently and laughed, pushing Chris and the bottle away. Though he’d hoped to learn some Russian while in training, the language had proved impossible to pick up just by being around it. But Lance had done some picking up on his weekends in the UK. Cheers though was his latest acquisition. It was London’s equivalent of Thanks anyway. He even had the accent down. All this from a man who still said terlit and warsh without blinking. He leaned now against the wall of the garage and smiled broadly at Joey.

“This is way cool, Joe. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“What?”

Joey smiled sheepishly while lifting a stainless steel basket so that Lance could check the contents. Steam billowed from a huge vat below and the water draining back hissed as it fell. Lance nodded and Joey gave it one last shake, then poured the last of the crawfish into a foil pan lined with paper towel.

“C’mon. Andouille. Dirty Rice. Now Mud Bugs.” He ran one hand through his hair, shaking his head in obvious pleasure. “And the Catfish. It's really great, but you shouldn't have.”

Joey held up his hand as he moved toward the table.

“That wasn’t my doing. The catfish was Justin. And JC knew about tabasco or I’d have blown that part of it completely.”

“Well, it’s great. Really. Like a dream.”

“C’mon.”

“No. Really. I’ve never missed a big holiday before, you know? Never. It doesn’t seem like much, but it was. Not only was I away from you guys and my parents, I was the only one who even knew it was Fourth of July. Nobody cared. It was a miserable day. I’ll never do it. . . .”

He stopped suddenly and Joey looked up, expecting him to go on. Instead Lance was staring over his shoulder toward the open patio door. Joey turned toward the house. He could see two figures there, stopped just inside the door where they thought no one could see them. One was holding a platter piled high with bread and the other balanced a pitcher and some napkins. They were close enough to be kissing. Lance spoke without looking away.

“How are they doing?”

His voice sounded wistful. Joey let out a long breath.

“I don’t know. I don’t think they know.”

Lance nodded.

“I had the idea that once we stopped, you know. . . .”

His voice trailed off and he looked back. Joey shrugged.

“I don’t think they know how to stop.”

He poured the last of his beer on the grass, then stuffed the bottle into a trash bag.

“C’mon, let’s eat. Your mom said you like these things so hot that you can’t tell between the sweat, the snot, and the juice that comes out of them.”

“My mother said that?”

“No, I saw it on a web site. But she did say you could suck heads with the best of them.”

Joey looked at Lance and winked and for the briefest moment, they were in Floribama again. The aroma of that perfect day, the one he had spent more time thinking about than he was willing to admit, filled the air between them. As Lance slipped a cotton mitt over each hand and picked up the foil pans< Joey thought again about the flowers.

As he followed Lance toward the table, neither of them missed the flush that colored his face.

-::-

The air now smelled of fried fish and spent fireworks. And except for a minor skirmish when Chris had tried to put catsup on the crawdads, the plan had gone off without a hitch.

Justin and JC had spent a long time cleaning up the kitchen and now sat, one layered over the other, on the glider out by the pool. Over the last hour, they had grown quiet and Chris had wondered aloud if they had somehow fallen asleep. When he started to walk that way, Joey had waved him off.

Lance had been mindlessly scooping handfuls of ice from the tub underneath the table. When he stopped, his eyes welled up with tears. He swallowed, then nodded toward the makeshift movie screen that Joey had spent so much time on.

“My mom again?”

Joey smiled and shrugged.

“She said you liked home movies, but I think we got a pirate copy of ‘Spiderman’ instead.”

Lance sniffled once, then rubbed his palms together energetically.

“Okay, put me to work before I turn into a complete woman here, Fatone. Brandy or bourbon?”

“Let's take a poll.” Joey raised his voice. “We got Jesus Juice. Who’s in?”

Chris waved silently. Then Lance pointed over his shoulder and Joey turned to see one long arm extended over the back of the glider. Two fingers raised in the air. Joey pushed the bottle of Courvoisier across the table.

“Some things never change.”

Lance smiled, holding Joey’s gaze for just a moment longer than usual. Then he dropped a cube of sugar into each of the plastic glasses, fingered nutmeg over one of them and handed it to Joey. Then he lifted his own glass.

“To you, Joe. Congratulations on making it to Broadway. Three dreams down and two to go.”

Joey looked at him in stunned slence. Lance pushed the glass up to his lips and smiled.

“Drink up, Fatone. Only Americans think keeping a secret is a good idea. I heard you got the part almost a week ago, from someone in London. But I wanted to see you in person. They don’t know?” Lance nodded toward the pool.

Joey shook his head, still wondering if they were talking about the same thing.

“It’s kind of weird, you know. Since it’s just me. And there’s this gig in LA I won't be able to do now.”

Lance set his glass on the table and finished working on the other drinks.

“You can’t be in two places at the same time. Even if you want to be.” He looked up at Joey and smiled again. His eyes much greener than Joey had remembered them. “It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

Light flickered on the sheeted wall and Lance picked up three of the plastic cups.

“You take care of Chris. I’ll get the Boy Scouts of America.”

Joey followed him as far as the pool and then joined Chris on one of the long lounge chairs. His eyes were closed, but he raised a hand to take the cup as if he'd been looking right at him. When Lance came back, they both looked up. Joey wrinkled his brow and Lance smiled, lifting his chin in the direction of the pool. The glider was rocking slowly. Back and forth. Rhythmically.

“You can go ahead and start the movie, Joe. I think they've got other things to do.”

-::-

Justin was mildly hungover. It had been a good night, a really good night. Enough booze to get a little high. Food that tasted just the way it should. And JC, looking and acting exactly the way Justin had hoped he would.

That had been the best part.

The last of the plates had been stacked in the sink and Justin had leaned against the door in Joey's kitchen, watching JC wipe down the counter with paper towel. Then JC had lifted his arm and rotated his wrist, meaning to brush off the crumbs left from frying the catfish. Then he had noticed Justin watching him and he had licked the spot instead. That was all it took.

It had been sweet and sexy, and even now Justin couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed kissing anyone that much. The kind of kissing where each stage has its own beginning and end. Slow and easy with no place to go. So good, in fact, it made everything else seem right.

Almost everything.

Justin leaned into the mirror and lifted his chin to the right and then to the left. He closed his eyes, then stepped back and took a deep breath and looked again. It was still there. A mark on his neck, about the size of a silver dollar. A purple silver dollar. He brought his hand up, letting the pads of his fingers brush across it. It was still tender to the touch. He scrubbed his face with his hands and looked again at his reflection. It was too late for ice.
 
He thought back over the night at Fatone’s. Most of the time, he and JC had been alone. First in the house. Then later out by the pool. They'd been eating from the same plate. Drinking from the same glass. Intimacies that even Chris had noticed. But Chris had said nothing about a mark. And he would have. Most definitely. If he had seen it. So it had to have happened out by the car. Justin heaved a sigh, then felt a shiver of pleasure take its place. Of course it had happened by the car, during the twenty or so minutes it had taken them to say good night.

JC had been using his teeth on him. Very gently. Justin remembered that part all too well. The wet warmth of his mouth. The pressure. Then the rough edges kneading his skin. They had talked some and kissed again. Eventualy JC had gone back to his neck. Finishing what he’d started.

Justin stared again at the mirror, then slowly lifted his shirt. His pale torso was unmarked. And his back showed no trace of the nails JC had dragged over his skin. He was oddly disappointed that there was nothing to see.

Justin took another deep breath and switched off the light. Then he stood in the darkness a minute longer before heading downstairs.

-::-

Chris whistled loudly as he let himself in the front door. Joey had expected Chris to be on his doorstep the very next day, but it had taken him almost a week. By then word of his role on Broadway was out.

“I'm back here!”

Chris followed Joey’s voice into the family room.

“Woah. Clean up on aisle three.”

Joey rolled his eyes and snorted. "The service comes in tomorrow. Just walk around it."

Chris dropped his keys and cell phone on the counter, then sat on the edge of the couch. Joey did not look up from a set of photographs that were spread out on the table in front of him.

“Give me a minute here, okay.”

Chris nodded to himself then picked up the remote, surfing through QVC, a spanish soap, and Hey Arnold before finally dropping it again. He pointed at one of the pictures just before Joey moved that particuar one to a new position on the table, switching it with two others, like a shell game on a street corner.

“What’s this?”

Joey pushed one picture to the side and rearranged the others. This time in rows of three.

“It’s for the Mark thing.”

“Who the hell is Mark?

“The character? Mark Cohen? He’s clean-shaven. The producers wanted the beard off for the publicity stuff, so it's gone.”

Chris shook his head. “No dork, I’m talking about this.”

He tapped the bottom of nearest photo. The one of Joey, in a black t-shirt, pointing at the marquee of the Nederlander Theatre.

“This.”

He touched it again, lightly brushing the spot where the water mark and name, Joe Fatone came together. Joey exhaled loudly and pushed two more of the glossy photos off to the side.

”It’s called distance.”

“It’s what?”

“Lance calls it distance. Like at Sundance last year. As long as I’m Joey Fatone, I’m Joey Fatone from NSYNC. I have to make some changes. The name is just one of them. It's no big whoop.”

Joey lifted one of the photos carefully and set it in front of Chris. They both stared at it for a long moment, then Chris raised one eye brow and nodded.

“Okay. Joe Fatone it is."

They sat quietly for another minute, then Chris spoke again.

"So. Lance Bass, huh?"

Joey did not not look up. But what he said left Chris without a comeback.

” Yeah. Like I said. Distance. I used to think head was head. It's not."

-::-

Lance had not expected to miss playing basketball. He understood the concept of it, the bonding of team sports. He had just never liked the game and the fact that he had to face playing in one, every summer, had never sat well with him. He had done what he had to do, but he had dreaded it. For some reason, this year things were different. He had actually wanted to be there, to play. And truth be told, he would have loved to perform again, just one song. The irony of it passed over him as he stared at the monitor. The words on the screen had made him homesick even for that.

A little song, a little dance, a little crawdad in your pants.

One of the few things he had missed about being on tour was Chris and his crazy limericks. No one was safe and nothing was sacred. This time seltzer had given way to crawdad, a subtle reminder from Chris of the barbecue, that although he was far away, Lance was still missed. Chris would never come out and say it. It wasn't his way. But he had loved the group and everything about it and that included Lance, the Lance who had stopped caring and turned to the stars.

It was nice to know that some things about their lives had not changed.

He had opened the attachment a good half hour ago, but had been unable to close it, clicking through the pictures that Chris had sent him one at a time, studying each as if he would never see it again. The last one was of Joey, his face alive with mischief, blowing bubbles at Justin and JC.

Lance closed his eyes, reliving the moment. There was so much he wanted to remember. It was strange. Of the hundreds of photos they had taken over the years, the most precious ones had come from a few disposable cameras left over from the tour, the ones Chris had insisted were part of his retirement package. They'd each gotten a case of those cameras. Only Chris had thought to open his.

Lance tapped the mouse again. A picture of JC threatening Justin with the hose filled the screen. Their bodies twisted together, struggling for control of the nozzle as water sprayed everything around them. Lance had danced out of the way that day, laughing, spilling the drink he'd been holding down the front of his new pants.

If asked, Chris would swear that he had chosen the pictures at random, but Lance knew otherwise.

He leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers, then stared past the monitor across the darkened cubicle he now called home. Even now, none of it seemed real. It wasn't the part about the space station so much. He was finally starting to accept the fact that he was going. What was harder to accept was that there might not be anything to come back to once the adventure was done, that all that remained of this life was the past.

He looked back at the screen, closing the window to the pictures and opening the text itself. The email itself was short. Something about taking a few rolls of free film on his trip to the moon. The moon. Another small detail that Chris had changed just because he liked it better that way.

The last sentence on the page caught Lance so off-guard that he had to read it twice to be certain of what it said.

Joe said to tell you he 'wanted lagniappe' next time. He said you'd know what he meant.

Lance blinked at the screen, at the expression he used so often, but that no one north of the Mason-Dixon Line ever seemed to understand. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. As he closed the window, something in his brain did a double-take. He reopened the message and there at the bottom were the words he had glossed over as more silly Kirkpatrick banter.

It wasn't.

Lance opened a reply and then let his fingers rest on the keyboard.

Maybe there was something to go back to after all.

-::-

Justin had been trying to look busy. He felt Chris' eyes on his back as he moved around the room.

“So when’s the cast come off?”

Chris made I don’t know sound like a dying man's last words. “You don’t think my dick’s gonna get bent, do you? Usually I switch off hands.”

Justin shook his head and smiled.

“Your dick’s the least of your problems, CK.”

Justin scrubbed at his chin nervously and Chris snorted in response.

“Hey. Y'all want to act like the Hardy Boys on a date with Nancy Drew? That’s your business. My testosterone level is just fine, thank you. I ate some of that Cajun Cuisine and my sperm count jumped another 200 points. Most of it tasted like ass, but it’s all good.”

Chris watched as Justin rolled the rest of his clothes into a ball and pushed them into a duffel bag.

“So, J. Why am I here watching you pack to go back to LA?”

Justin put a knee on one end of the leather bag and pulled at the zipper. “C’mon Chris. You know Joey can’t do the show with me now. You can’t--”

Chris finished the sentence for him.

“--be in two places at the same time. I know.”

Justin made a sweep of the room, then walked into the bath suite and out again. All the while Chris pretended to study a hangnail on his thumb. Justin slipped on his watch and let out a loud sigh. Without Joey, he would be doing the Teen Choice Awards alone.

“Don’t you have something you can do out there for a few days, Chris? You know I hate these things.”

Chris looked up and smiled. He loved to watch Justin at moments like this. In another life, Justin would have been a great game fish. A marlin. Jumping and twisting in the air. Even though he knew what the outcome would be, that he would be hoisted onto a hook and held up as a trophy, he would still struggle against it. That’s just the way he was.

Chris stood up and arched his back until it cracked.

“JC won’t go?”

Justin shook his head.

“You got work to do there, boy. Listen up. I’ve been watching the Fat One the last few weeks. He’s finally gettin’ his act together. You should pay attention.”

Justin lifted his hands in protest. “Hey, I rolled catfish for his little party, didn't I?”

“Yeah, and he noticed. We all noticed.” Chris peeled open a toothpick, punctuating the air with it as he talked. “Now you gotta roll some for JC.”

Justin looked ready to argue, then changed his mind.

“I’m trying.”

“Well, you gotta try harder. I don’t think he-- "

Chris stopped suddenly, smothering a snicker with the back of his hand. Justin turned to him with narrowed eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing." Chris pushed the toothpick into his mouth, adjusting it until it sat just to the right of center. "I assume you tried a frozen spoon on that thing."

Justin walked out of the room without saying a word, dropping his bag by the front door. Chris followed him out, waiting quietly while Justin collected keys and chapstick, shoving both into his pocket. He finally looked at Chris and spoke like he was reciting state capitals from memory in a high school history class.

"Spoon, aspirin, toothpaste, concealer, and stuff that's supposed to get rid of pimples overnight. I've eaten six bananas and combed the hell out of my neck with a plastic brush. If you've got any more suggestions of how to get rid of a hickey, email me."

He picked up his bag and gestured toward the door. Chris stepped out onto the patio and waited while Justin set the alarm. They walked down the driveway in silence and Justin tossed his bag onto the seat. Chris tried one more time.

"Look Justin--"

"No. You look. Miss Scarlet and Colonel Mustard spent the night on the glider with the candlestick. Now I'm headed out to LA alone. You're the one who loves games. If you figure it out, let me know."

Justin slid behind the wheel and slammed the door.

Chris watched in frustration as the car pulled away. Then he bent down and picked up a small, smooth stone and threw it as hard as he could at the spot where the SUV had disappeared from sight.

-::-

He had gone straight home, killed the last of the beer in the refrigerator, then tried to go to sleep. It was no use.

Chris kicked off the comforter and sat up, squinting at the clock on the table by the bed.

It was 4:00am.

He had a lot on his mind, but part of the problem was force of habit. His body still hadn't figured out that there was no wake-up call coming. That there was no bus waiting downstairs to take him to the airport. Or to some draughty arena for sound check. All of that was on hold now.

Or gone forever, unless he could figure things out.

He wiped at his mouth and then exhaled loudly even though there was no one to hear it. Of anyone in the group, Chris understood about dreams. He'd watched his own come true six years ago. Now Joey was on Broadway and Lance was in space and Justin had his own album. And JC was living the everyday life he thought he was missing. Everyone should be happy. What the hell was going on?

He thought again about Justin, the things he had said before driving away. He was angry and Chris still didn't know why.

Maybe he was out of touch, had spent too much time trying to keep FuManSkeeto from falling off the face of the earth, but he didn't think so. The last time he looked, having someone who loved you for who you were, sucking your neck and your dick, was not a bad thing. Maybe Justin was the one who was out of touch.

Chris glared at his cell phone for another minute and then picked it up. He punched in a few numbers and waited. Justin's voice was slow and groggy. Chris got his thoughts together quickly.

"I got two things to say. First, the thing with JC the other night? You ever get back to him on that? Follow up with him at all?"

Justin was quiet.

"I didn't think so. Number two. That thing on your neck? It's not a hickey. It's a love bite. Grown-ups get 'em all the time. It means someone likes the taste of your skin. That's a good thing, Timberlake. Not something to be pissed off about."

Chris paused. He could hear Justin breathing.

"Dani used to take the cap off her lipstck and twist it back and forth over the mark. It does somethin' to the circulation. You've got ChapStick with you. Same thing. Do it tonight. It'll be gone in the morning."

This time Justin responded quickly as if he was finally awake.

"Okay. Thanks, man."

"Yeah. And listen. One more thing. You let him get away, you're a dumb fuck. Trust me on this one. Now I'm goin' back to sleep."

Chris closed up his phone, then laid back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. When sleep came, he was working on a new rhyme. Finding words to go with head and come was the easy part. Getting Chasez and Timberlake to rhyme again was a lot more work.

~

The email from Lance was waiting for him when he woke up. The barcecue had sounded like a stupid idea the first time Chris had heard about it, but it had done exactly what it was meant to do. Mend fences. Build bridges. Open doors that had been slammed shut and locked from the inside.

If a night of Cajun food and cheap booze and a pirated movie shown on a sheet could take them that far, then a night on Broadway just might get them the rest of the way home.

-::-

The Nederlander Theater wasn't huge by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, tonight it looked small. And full.

And Chris was getting nervous.

He checked his watch, then looked over his shoulder and up the aisle to where the same usher who had glared at him before glared back at him again. At first glance, she had nervously adjusted the collar on her uniform. The next time, she had pulled at the hemline of her skirt and attempted to square her shoulders. The last time she had simply flared her nostrils at him and turned away.

Lance tapped him on the knee and smiled.

"They'll be here. You know JC and his sense of direction. Maybe they got lost."

Chris nodded. "They better not be taking public transportation. Anybody who gets on a bus marked 'Cemeteries' without a second thought scares me to death."

Lance smiled remembering the last time they had been in New Orleans together rehearsing for the tour. It all seemed so long ago and for a moment he wondered if it was too late, if they had let too much slip away for things ever to be right again. He blinked away a tear that had snuck up on him and he glanced past Chris, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. After all, this was Joey's night. For once, it was about him. Everything else would have to wait. He checked the door agai n in time to see Justin handing his ticket to the usher at the top of the aisle. Behind him was JC. They were both smiling.

Lance stood and waved to get their attention, aware for the first time in what seemed like years that he was really glad to see them. That he wanted them there. All of them.

And that he wanted to be there with them.

-::-

They had signed autographs and smiled at the blue-haired matrons who flitted around them. Most had no idea who they were, but had asked them to sign their programs anyway. Lance had just gotten back from the bar when the chime sounded for the start of the second act.

"Drink up. It's time to go back in."

Chris lifted his glass in a toast, saying the first thing that came to mind.

"To Lagniappe."

Lance smiled and corrected him gently.

"It's lon•YOP."

Chris shrugged, then emptied his glass and looked past Lance to where Justin and JC stood. They were both still smiling, Justin's hand on his back as they followed the crowd inside the theater.

"What does that mean anyway?"

"Lagniappe?"

"Yeah."

Lance finished his own drink, putting the glass on a service tray by the door.

"It's kind of hard to explain. It's -- something extra. Something you've earned, that you've got coming, but that you still have to ask for. The other person has to know you want it before they'll give it to you. So, if you want Lagniappe, you have to go after it."

Lance looked at Chris and smiled

"Don't worry. It's a good thing. Always."

Chris studied him for a moment and then nodded. The doors began to close and they stepped inside. Lance touched his arm just before they reached their seats.

"What's that thing you always say?"

Chris looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Which one?"

"You know."

"You mean, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing?"

"Yeah." Lance winked. "Maybe it's not."

JC and Justin had filled the center seats and Chris found himself sitting on the aisle. He looked past Lance, hoping to catch Justin's eye, but he was busy. The good kind of busy. Finding a way to hold JC's hand in his lap without putting his arm to sleep.

Lance looked up from his program, then over at Justin and JC.

"I hear there's new music."

Chris bobbed his head.

"They've been spending a lot of time in LA."

"That's good. So, what happened?"

Chris looked at Lance and raised one eye brow suggestively. Lance rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"It's got to be more than that."

"Maybe. Maybe not. There was always something missing though. Some tiny piece of the puzzle they couldn't seem to find."

The lights in the theater began to dim and music from the orchestra overwhelmed them. Lance looked away, his eyes now fixed on the stage. His voice was just loud enough to be heard.

"Maybe they stopped being afraid. And asked for what they really wanted."

The theater was completely dark now and Chris was sure that Lance didn't see him nod, but he knew he'd heard him say it one last time. Lagniappe. In the world Lance had grown up in, it had meant that you had to ask. Even if you knew you deserved it, if in your heart you knew it had been honestly earned, you still had to ask. Someone had to know that you wanted it. That was the hardest part.

Asking to be loved.

Chris settled into his seat, and as the curtain opened he had a sudden flash of Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal, glaring at each other across the floor. He had no idea what they wanted, what they thought they had earned, but he hoped they got around to asking for it sooner than later. And that when they got it, it was worth it.

For now, he was just happy that the brothers he'd thought he'd lost were together again, that there was a future to look forward to, and that they would each have what they really wanted.

Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday.

Someday.