Date: Wed, 29 Sep 1999 23:27:57 GMT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Lance-In-Shining-Armour-3-4

Let's start off with the obvious.  This is FICTION!  To my knowledge,
none of the members of NSYNC are gay.  (Though I have some suspicions
and a heck of a lot of wishful thinking. :)

Second, sexual content may (probably will) appear in future istallments (if
there are future installments).  So if you don't wanna read man/man sex,
then skip the stories that have the sex warning at the top.  Otherwise, it's
just a story with some romantic elements.  I believe that if  the sex is
going to be worth writing, it needs the proper build-up.  A story that goes
"Look there's Lance!  Hey, he's dropping his pants.  Now I'm sucking him"
doesn't really interest me. :)

If it's illegal for you to read this, then don't read this.

If you happen to be a member of the NSYNC group, please, email me. :)

If you aren't in NSYNC, I'd still love to hear what you thought of the
story. Email me at thepoetboy@hotmail.com  Thanks to those who've already
written to me!

I've got a lot of spare time at the moment -- my classes still aren't in
high gear, so these chapters will come out quickly for the first little
while.

Lance in Shining Armour
Part 3

In between forkfuls of what appeared to be some form of hashbrowns,
James managed to mumble, "You should call your friends.  Reception's
been turning away all of your calls, just in case."

Talking and hashbrowns don't mix well.  Soon he was coughing until
tears formed in his eyes.  I wanted to go over and do the back patting
thing (pointless, but fun) but he regained control before my services
were needed.

I smiled at him.  "That's what happens when you ignore my warnings
about hospital food."

He glared at me from behind his fork.

I made some calls, just quick "Hi, I'm alive, getting out in a few days,
yada yada yada" calls.  Allen made sure to mention that he's seen me on the
news a lot over the past few days.  He also mentioned that they used the
picture from my student card.

"Don't worry, Allen, they must've wanted a picture that made me look
fragile -- in that one I look like I was just hit by a transport.  Course,
it's probably still a step up from today.  Jeez, I must look like crap.  Or
at least as bad as James."

I was hit with a bun on the side of my head.

I finished up my calls just as James was finishing up his feast.  He put the
tray on my bedside table and sat on his spot on the bed.

"New mission for ya, Jimmy.  I'm pursuing the elusive bathroom -- I may need
help with transportation."

He helped me up and I made sure I leaned heavily on my beautiful, overly
fragrant NSYNC boy.  Happily, my outfit did have proper buttock
coverage.  I was a bit weak, but it wasn't all that painful a walk.  I left
my guide in the main room as I did a quick sponge bath and washed my hair as
best I could in the sink.  Then I spent about half an hour peeing.  I didn't
know I could store that much.

James was right, it WAS like peeing in a florists.  There was pretty well no
space to walk, finding the sink was a quest in itself.  Here and there a
little teddy bear face peered out from behind some flowers.  Some people
remembered how much I hate cut flowers and had sent potted plants.  Since my
rez room was already nearing forest standards, I doubted I could keep all of
them.

Other than the black eyes, I didn't look bad.  With more sleep those would
go.  I lifted my outfit to see the damage.  There was a patch of white
material taped to the left side of my stomach.  It was a 5 inch square.  I
didn't have the guts to peel it away for a better look.

I could hear the tv in the main room, but the mirror held more of a draw.

A hero's eyes?  If such things existed, I didn't have them.  I had tired
eyes.  Eyes that were . . . shit, eyes that were missing an in-class essay
in contemporary lit.

I was praying for leeway.  If I limped a lot, moaning in pain when I sat
down, I should get another shot at the essay.  Even bitch-prof must have
some heart in there.

There was a knock on the door and Lance . . . JAMES asked if I was
alright.  I straightened myself up and opened the door.

"Fine, Jimmy.  Just fine."

He gave me a weird look and I collected all of the little cards and letters
from the bathroom.  He took the small stack from me and walked me back to
the bed.

"Did you tell everyone in the band you were coming here?"

"Josh tried to talk me out of it.  Justin wanted to come.  Joey and Chris
didn't care, but they send their best.  Didn't matter though.  I can do
whatever I want with my week off, just as long as they know where to find
me."

"Well, you've seen me.  I'm fine.  You can head back to New York
whenever you want."

He looked . . . he looked hurt.

"If you want me to, Davey."

"I don't want you to, Lance . . . JAMES!  I just don't see this as the best
way of spending your vacation."

"I'll decide how I want to spent my vacation.  I'm having fun so far."

"I love you being here."

He smiled.  His big cheeks got bigger when he did that.  He was like a
gorgeous, blond chipmunk.

"I just don't love your smell, Jimmy."

He laughed at me and went into the bathroom.  I watched a talk show
while he was gone ("You Want Implants?  You're Too Big Already!"), to
pass the time.

He was nice and clean when he came back out, with wet spiky hair.  He
grinned and I made more room for him on the bed .  I was actually very
surprised he accepted, but he lay down beside me and then commandeered
the remote.

I didn't mind much.  I was having a bit of trouble concentrating on the tv
anyway.  But then he stopped on a local news station, and there, on the
screen, was my student card picture.

He laughed at me -- "Are those rings under your eyes permanent?"

I narrowed my eyes at the screen, death staring whoever passed the picture
to the media.  "They caught me on a bad day."

It was a report on my condition.  Basic "He's in good condition and the
doctors now feel that he will be able to leave the hospital in two to four
days.  He's an English and Creative Writing double major at yada yada yada."
  Maybe even less, if I had anything to say about it. "Meanwhile Derrick
O'Hara is still in critical condition.  It is  expected that he will make a
full recovery, but police are still waiting to do their primary
questioning."

A young girl's face replaced mine on the screen.  She couldn't have even
been 12 years old.  She was cute in a "I haven't eaten in a month" kind of
way.

The tv continued.  "Laura O'Hara is with her mother and grandparents.
She was unhurt in the attack."

I took the remote back and muted the volume.

"Are they going to be questioning me?"

"Probably."

"But I don't remember anything, James."

"Then just tell them that.  They'll accept it."

"I didn't get a concussion or anything, did I?"

"Nope.  Only injury is to your tummy."

His accent was a little too soft.  I got the impression that he tried to
keep it hidden.

"Then why can't I remember?"

"Give it time."

He cancelled the mute and watched the weather update.  I fell asleep
again.

***

It was dark again.  James was still lying beside me, snoring lightly. I'm a
light sleeper -- in my first year, I had a roommate who snored like a
mangled elephant and didn't get a good night of sleep all year. James'
snoring was quiet.  And, just like everything else about him, adorable.

The fact that he was breathing on my neck was nice too.  He'd rolled over so
that his head was in my shoulder and his left leg was lying on top of mine.
His hand was on my chest.

And there was absolutely no feeling in my left arm, which was somewhere
under him.  He's cute, but he's not worth an amputation.

I tapped him on the shoulder.  His green eyes opened a bit, then they
opened a lot.  He jerked away from me in shock, nearly falling out of the
narrow bed.

I giggled at him.  "Don't worry, I just wanted my arm back."  I shook it a
few times to get feeling back.  "Now calm down and go back to sleep."

He lay back down, but kept a clear separation between us.  Perhaps an
amputation would've been the better route, I decided.

"Lan . . . James?"

"Yeah?"

"Why would you come and live for a week in the hospital room of
someone you've only known through email?"

He was quiet.  There was a pointed silence, the kind that said that
someone knew what they should say, but couldn't say it.

"Don't worry, James.  I love having you here.  I won't ask again, I
promise."

I could feel him relax.  I started to drift off again, but not before I felt
his head on my shoulder again, and his breath on my neck.

Amputations be damned.

***

I guess I should tell you a bit more about Jason -- James' alter-ego. He was
sweet -- apparently he was also fictional, but I still didn't now where
James' imagination ended and where James began.  Since I met him in a poetry
workshop, I knew he was artistic, and (as I've already said) his poems were
very songlike -- so I guessed he was a musician.
Something weird happens in email and other cyber-socializations.  You
trick yourself into thinking you really know the person really quickly.  And
really well.

And they are so easy to fall for.  What could be better?  There's no risk
involved because you'll never meet.  It's a guaranteed fuzzy feeling that
comes without the hassle of dating.

But then you meet them and the rug gets pulled out.  They don't look like
you imagined they would, their personalities are different in real
conversation than it is in the more artificial email environment, even the
sound of their voice is unexpected.

I fell for Jason.  But he doesn't exist.  It's James Lance Bass.  HE is
real.

Okay, admittedly I did have a crush on the Lance Bass from NSYNC.  He
was cute -- and presumably talented.  You never really hear Lance sing, he
rounds out the harmonies but never gets a chance to show off.

So here I am with a crush on the image of Lance and the illusion of Jason.
And then James comes along, and I don't stand a chance.

Three crushes -- same guy.

And he was drooling on my shoulder.

***

The sun was up and my stomach was growling.  I didn't know they were
going to start me off so slowly, but I'd just had one meal yesterday. Lance
had four or five -- all on the same tray.

Fortunately, Leslie was thinking of me.  She walked into the room like a
fire into a forest.  Apparently she was having a bad day.  Or, quite
possibly, a bad decade.

She stopped at the foot of the bed with my tray and sneered at James and I.
"Brothers.  Yeah, right."

I upped the death stare to the next level.  "We're close."

She snorted, displaying just how lady-like she could be.  My tray was left
on the table on James' side of the bed, out of my reach.  I considered
beaning Leslie with the remote control as she left.

James buried his face in my shoulder to muffle his laughter.  It was cut
short when he noticed how wet it was.  He sat up quickly.

"Sorry -- I don't usually do that."

"It'll dry, don't worry.  Let's get a look at what room service brought."

We divided the spoils and ate, still in bed.

"That doesn't hurt, Davey?"

"It'll take more than a hole through my middle to get me to give up food."

He laughed and I poked him in the stomach.  Then I poked him again.

"Jeez, you've got an iron stomach."

"Side effect of being in the group."

"I've gotta join me an internationally famous music group.  I'd love abs
like that."

Dr. I Laugh At My Patients' Pain made his presence known.  "You're going to
have to wait a while for that.  Take it easy on the muscles for a while."
Then he noticed James' part of the feast.  He looked like he was going to
switch to Dr. I Yell At My Patients for a moment, but my stomach saved us by
growling nice and loudly.  He reverted to laughing.  "You're out of here
tomorrow, David.  You can take your flowers, take your media, take your
brother and leave any time after 9 am.  Sound good?"

I nodded, and started doing as much damage as possible to the oatmeal
from hell.

The doc laughed again and left.

James set aside his food for a minute and looked at me.  "David, I've got a
little bit of experience dealing with media.  If you want any help, I'm
willing."

"I don't think it'll be a problem.  I'll say that I'm alright, they'll get a
picture or two and then they'll leave me alone."

James lifted both of those sculpted eyebrows and I felt a bit stupid.

"They will leave me alone, right?  I mean, it's not like I'm touring the
country, saving girls in each major city."

"They know I'm here, Davey.  Saving her would get you local coverage --
probably even provincial.  Saving her and being friends with NSYNC
means that you're being watched by North America."

"I'm not friends with NSYNC -- just with one of them."

"Remember when I hooked you up with the email of Scott from Tennessee?"

"Yeah.  He's a great guy."

"He's Justin."

My jaw dropped -- just a little bit.  "But the media doesn't know that."

"Actually, they do."

"How'd they find out?"

"Someone asked him why I'd been spotted in Toronto with you.  He told
them that he and I were old friends of yours."

"I think I will need your help."

He smiled at me and dove back into his food.

***

We'd just finished eating when Leslie came back for the tray.  She glared at
James again and when she was leaving said, "Your other brother is here."
She snorted again and left.

"I don't have another brother," I called after her.

James looked as confused as I did, but from his side of the bed he had a
better view of the hall.  His face split open into a big smile.

Justin came running into the room at full speed.  James just managed to
catch him before he jumped onto the bed, and onto both James and me.

"Hey, you ruined my entrance, Scoop."

"Justin -- the guy's been shot."

"I wouldn't have hurt him."  Justin was almost sulking.

I sat quietly.

"What're you doing here?" James asked.

"Couldn't let you have all the fun.  New York got boring, so we came up
here."

"Everyone's here?"

"We couldn't all pass as family.  Damn, David, they've got things tight up
here.  I thought the family rule was only for intensive."

I smiled at him.  "Those of us being stalked by the media get special
treatment, Scott."

Lord, he was tall.  I always thought of him as the little guy in the group.

"Call me Just.  How long you in for?"

"Until tomorrow."

"Yeah!  You can give us the tour."

Nurse James Lance Bass broke in.   "He probably won't be up for
sight seeing."

"I'm always up for sight seeing, boys."

James glared at me.  "You've never gone sight seeing with celebrities as a
celebrity."

"Fine," I said, "then let's get this celebrity thing over with.  Give me a
few minutes to clean up and then I'll do the media thing and get rid of
them."

"Oh yeah," Justin laughed, "you should see the lobby of this place.
Cameras are camped out all over the place.  It took us half an hour to get
in here."

James looked worried.  "They saw all of you?"

Justin nodded.  "We had to give a few little interviews just to get past
them."

Damn.  Now the world thinks I'm friends with all of them.  James sat on the
side of the bed, staring at me with those beautiful green eyes.

"I'm sorry, David. I didn't mean to drag you into this."

"Shut up, James.  Let me enjoy my fifteen minutes of fame."

"It'll be a lot more than fifteen minutes."

"Doesn't matter.  What happens happens.  I'll survive."

"We'll go with you to talk to the press."

I raised an eyebrow.  "Then you'd better get in that bathroom and get rid of
the bed-head, Jimmy-boy."

Justin laughed -- loud and high pitched.  "If you weren't already here,
Lance would hospitalize you for that one, Davey."

"Just, call me Davey again and I'll make sure you get first hand
experience with intensive care security."

I hobbled into the bathroom.

***

Part 4

After rediscovering the sink under its flowery mountain, I remembered
that I had nothing to wear for a media circus.  I didn't like hospital
clothing, especially when the one shoulder was discoloured by mega-star
drool.

And I'm guessing I didn't want the clothing I got here in.  Call me weird,
but I don't enjoy wearing clothing stained with anyone's blood, even my own.

The dark circles had faded, still not good, but at least it looks like I was
punched at least a week ago.  I couldn't do anything about the beard -- I
hadn't packed properly for a near fatal shooting.  Well, I'll keep it in
mind for the next time.

I did a basic wash.  It's all I really could do.  And I cleaned my teeth as
well as I could with a sink, ten fingers, and a thousand roses.  The sheer
amount of sneezing didn't help matters.

I probably ended up looking worse as I sneezed my way out of the
bathroom.  James and Justin were going through a suitcase on the bed.
They looked up at me as I entered.  I sneezed again, and put my hand over
the pain in my stomach.

"This is why I don't buy flowering plants," I complained.

Justin looked at me critically.  "You're right, Scoop.  Give him the red
one."

James tossed a red t-shirt and a pair of beige pants onto my pillow.  He
raised an eyebrow at me, "You're on your own for underwear.  Just
promise not to bleed all over my stuff."

"Aye aye, Captain."

He put a hand on my shoulder.  (Yeah, I thought it seemed weird too, but
there it was.)  "Think you can change by yourself?"

"Naw, I think I need five famous singers to stand around and watch."

Justin stared at me for a moment.  "I'm outta here."  He slipped out the
door, nearly knocking over the beloved Leslie.

James laughed, covering his mouth as he did it.  "Will one be enough?"

"I'll manage on my own, thanks.  Take your perverted mind out of the
room for a minute."

He laughed and closed the door as he left.  He was pretty well my size, but
the pants were just a bit tight around the waist. I left the shirt untucked
to cover it up.  Ever tried putting on pants without bending at the waist?
Didn't think so.

It took me about ten minutes.  And, I admit, I was going commando in
another man's fatigues.  The hospital hadn't supplied underwear.

Not that I didn't enjoy the idea. :)   I'd always dreamed about getting into
Lance's pants, this just isn't the way I pictured it.

I left the room slowly, walking carefully.  I still felt a bit weak kneed,
but it was getting better.  I saw the five guys down the hall by a nurse's
station, surrounded by nurses.  Dr. Evil Laugh was there too.

James saw me and came running to help me walk.  I shook my head at
him.  I didn't want to look weak in front of the press.  Or Dr. Laughing
Gas.  I wanted out as soon as possible -- I wouldn't let him push back my 9
am departure.

As we waited for the elevator, James switched into business mode.

"I sent an announcement down that you'd be talking to the press.  They're
gathering in the lobby.  For some reason this place doesn't seem to have any
media rooms.  We'll stay quiet in the background, we'll help out if you get
stuck or anything, but we're mostly there for support."

The elevator showed up and we were on our way.  My palms were
sweating.

"It'll be okay, " Lance said.  "It's just twenty minutes, max.  We'll all be
there with you.  You just have to say we're friends who came to town when we
heard what happened.  That's it."

I found myself wondering what else he thought I could tell him.  I wasn't as
comfortable with the business Lance as I was with the sweet James.

JC interrupted.  "We got rooms at the Holiday Inn.  Where're you
staying, Lance?"

Lance.  James.  Scoop.  Jason.  How am I supposed to keep track of all
this?

James wouldn't look at JC.  "I'm . . .  I've been staying here."

JC looked angry.  Too angry.  Something weird was happening.  But the
doors of the elevator opened before I could analyse anything.  Chaos ruins
my logical side.

***

There was a wall of lights aimed at the elevator doors and somewhere
beyond there were voices.  Lots of voices.  Dozens or hundreds of voices.
And even further back was a constant sound of screaming.  A lot of girls
screaming.

I felt someone's hand on my back and I was pushed forward.  I felt like
Bambi being pushed onto a busy highway by his mother.

Then the questions started.  Yelling.  Each question trying to climb over
the last to get the first response.

I pulled a hand up to block out the lights, but there was Justin pulling my
hand back down.  He was smiling out into the chaos, looking incredibly calm.
  I was being lost in the reality of the lights.

And then Lance was there.  He stepped in front of me and held his hands in
the air.  Somehow the questions slowed.  The questions stopped.  There was
Lance, there were lights and there was the distant sound of a mob of excited
girls.  But there was Lance.

And there was calm.

Lance's voice was louder than James'.  It was the business man's voice,
deeper and more forced.  Everyone could hear it, and for some reason,
everyone listened.

"David's got a short statement to make, and then he'll take some
questions.  After that, you'll all have to leave.  This is a hospital, not a
concert hall."

I had no statement.  I had no clue what to say.  I couldn't remember being
shot.  I couldn't say how it happened, why it happened.  Hell, I didn't even
know where it happened.

Lance turned to me, turning his back to the crowd and suddenly he was
James again.  He winked at me with one of those gorgeous green eyes and I
smiled.  I had no choice.

He stepped aside and I stepped forward.

Hell, I thought, I'm a writer.  I just have to write on the spot.  Without
the paper.  Or the ability to throw it all out if it showed up
embarrassingly bad.

I put on my own Lance voice, as deep and strong as possible.

"Thanks for coming.  I'm not dead yet."

I knew that was the wrong thing to say from the moment I said it.  But life
has no backspace key.

"I've been told that I can go home tomorrow, and I'll be glad to see
something other than that little room.  I thank you for all the cards and
letters and flowers and everything else.  I'm glad everything has worked
out."

I couldn't think of anything else to say.  I stood staring into the lights.
Everyone stayed quiet, waiting for me to say something else.

And then Lance was there again, just behind me, whispering into my ear.

"Tell them how you know us, Davey."

I tried to regain the strong voice again, but it kept cracking.  "Some of
the guys of NSYNC have been pen pals of mine for a while now.  To tell you
the truth, I'd never met any of them face to face until just a few days
ago."

Lance patted me on the shoulder and then stepped up beside me.  His
voice carried out over everything.  It soothed me, like his snoring.

"David will now take some questions.  He's still a bit weak, so we'll have
to keep this short."

The voices came again.  But it was more orderly, and they were
responding to Lance.  He pointed into the wall of light, and a voice came
back.

"Did you know Laura O'Hara before the shooting?"

"Never met her, no."

Lance pointed somewhere else.

"What made you step into that situation for a complete stranger?"

"I couldn't call myself human if I didn't step in.  I can't be more exact
than that because I don't remember the event at all.  All of my information
about it comes second hand."

"Have you spoken to the police yet?"

"No, but I wouldn't have much to tell them."

"How do you feel about the trust fund that's been set up in your name?"

Trust fund?  "To tell the truth, I haven't heard anything about it.  The
hospital has kept me very sheltered."

"Has NSYNC decided on which song to release as their first single?"

Lance ignored that question and immediately pointed somewhere else.  As far
as I was concerned, he was pointing into the sun.  My eyes refused to adjust
to it.  Every so often there would be a brighter flash from a photographer.

"How do you feel about being in the same hospital as your shooter?"

That froze me.  I'd heard that he was injured, though I didn't know how.
But I didn't know he was here.  He was in the same building.  The man who
nearly killed me has been under the same roof with me since all this crap
started.

Justin was the first to see something was wrong.  He grabbed Lance who
immediately turned back to the media.

"I think David's taken all he can for today.  JC, Chris, Joey and Justin
will stay with you for a few more minutes to clear up any other questions
you may have."

Joey was holding the elevator door open.  Lance pulled me in just as the
calm broke and the layers of voices returned.  The doors took forever to
close.

***


Lance pressed the button for my floor.

"You didn't tell me he was here, Lance."

"Call me James."

"It doesn't matter.  James.  Lance.  It doesn't matter.  You didn't tell me
he was here!"

"I'm sorry, David.  I didn't think it would matter."

"Is he on my floor?  Just down the hall?  Why didn't they just put us into a
double room together?"

"He's under guard.  The police never leave his door."

I pressed my back against the back of the elevator, staring at the doors
with the afterglow of all of the lights burned into my eyes.  I couldn't
even blink.

He was in the building.  My faceless shooter was in the building.

"He's not even conscious, David."

"What happened to him?"

"He . . . got shot -- it was the only way to stop his attack."

He shoots me, the police shoot him.  I could've been dead, they let him
live.  His daughter could've been dead.

The doors open and there was Leslie standing with a pile of trays, waiting
to get on.  She looked at me with what could almost be concern as James lead
me off the elevator.  She turned to watch us go, missing her chance to get
on the elevator.

I was lead to my bed.  James quickly closed his suitcase and slid it back
under the bed.  I climbed on top, barely noticing that someone had changed
my sheets.

"Let's leave, James.  We'll just walk out.  They're going to tell me go in
the morning anyway.  I want to go back to my residence.  I don't want to be
here."

He sat in his spot and pushed my hair back off my forehead.  I hadn't
noticed, but I was covered in sweat.

Maybe commando wasn't a wise idea.

"Calm down, Davey.  It's just one more night, and I'll be here with you.
Nothing will happen."

He pushed be back, so that I was lying on the bed.  He put his hand on my
chest and left it there.  I could feel the weight of every finger. I knew he
was watching me with his concerned look, but I couldn't look at him.  I
couldn't look at anything except the ceiling.

Someone was running up the hall.  Getting closer.  And closer.  And
coming into my room.  A faceless man, cornering me in my room.

But it was Justin.  I heard his voice, full of concern.

"Is he okay?"

James had a quiet voice.  A deep quiet voice.  "He'll be fine."

And even though I knew it wasn't true, I believed it -- just for a moment.
It came from James, it was his voice.  I could trust that voice.

They stayed quiet.  I could hear Justin lightly walk to sit in the chair by
the window.  James' hand was warm on my chest, and eventually I fell asleep
again.

***

Thus ends part four.  I've already got the next two parts semi-planned.
I've just gotta take the time to write them out.  It's amazing how the page
count piles up when you're not looking.

And email me with comments, critiques, etc at thepoetboy@hotmail.com

Thanks!