Date: Wed, 02 Feb 2000 19:06:09 GMT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Lance-In-Shining-Armour-32-34.txt

Wow -- the amount of feedback I got from the last installment was
phenomenal.  Thanks, everyone!  It was a great boost after all the computer
woes I've been having.  (Switching to LINUX wasn't as easy as I was told
it was, after switching I learned my modem was a WinModem, which
doesn't work under LINUX, so I've been shopping for a modem for my
outdated computer -- and I just found out today that the modem I ordered
that will be arriving on Friday, the one the computer store swore was
compatible with my system, isn't going to be compatible with my system.
I've been using a public lab for a week.  And I will keep using the public
lab until I find a working modem. *weep*)

But enough of my problems, you're here for a story, no?

If you're not supposed to read this, don't read this.  If you like LISA,
then please, tell your friends and families and countrymen (and
countrywomen)!

This story isn't meant to represent NSYNC -- it's meant to represent the
characters I've created in my head loosely based on the good looks of
NSYNC.  I'm not saying any members of the real NSYNC are gay or bi or
in love with gunshot victims. :)

Feedback is always welcome -- you can email me at thepoetboy@hotmail.com
Junk mail is not ever welcome -- you can just keep that to yourself. :)

And people keep asking me about the stories I read in the archive.  From
the boy bands section, I *love* Separate Lives.  Brian and Me is a long
standing favourite.  NSYNC Lance and JC is always fun (even if Danielle
and Britney have disappeared for no apparent reason. :) I read and enjoy a
lot of other stories, but I can't fit them all in cause this header is
already
WAAAAY too long. :)

On with the show.

Part 32

Sitting on the window sill was a vase of roses, yellow roses.  Even with my
allergies I'd refused to let anyone take them away.  The card was on the
table beside the bed.  It simply read "Lance's Mom" in blue pen on a pale
yellow background.

I was working on my laptop, trying to see if anything interesting could
come from writing under a haze of painkillers.  And it worked, if you
consider horrible spelling to be interesting.  (At the time, I did.)

The guys had been gone about twenty minutes.  James had called after ten
minutes, wanting to know if my mother had arrived but refusing to ask.
My tension had eased as I decided she was going to be a no-show.  In spite
of what I'd thought, the dread had set in as her arrival time approached,
but
now I was finding freedom from that.

I wouldn't be seeing her, not tonight.  Tonight would be just me, my
hallucinations, and my computer.

The phone rang.  I picked it up.  "No, James, she's not here."

But it wasn't James.

"I'm just running a bit late, David.  Anything you need?"

It was her.  My throat constricted.

"You don't have to come," I said.  I couldn't bring myself to call her Mom,
like nothing had happened, like my childhood was no longer relevant to the
relationship.

"Someone's got to watch you.  One of your friends made me promise."

"They have nurses for that.  And I'll sleep through your visit anyway."

I wouldn't but I doubted she knew that.  Sleep was equated with being
defenseless. It had been years since anything had happened with her, since I
was twelve, but there was still no trust.  No love or respect.

And I was defenseless enough under the drugs, and trapped in the bed.  If
I'd been healthy and upright, I wouldn't have been as nervous.  She was so
much smaller than I was.

Confronting your demons is always so much easier when they're a thousand
miles away. When their arrival is imminent, the shield of bravery breaks
down.

"I'm just turning into the parking lot now, David.  I see you in a few
minutes."

I hung up.

I wanted to run.  Or to be drugged into senselessness.

***

-It wasn't terror.
-Then what was it?
-Anger.  I was furious.
-Wouldn't that make you want to see her?  To have it all out?
-You think I was angry with her?  You've got it wrong.
-Then explain it.
-Even at six, you can run.  You can tell people and get help.
-You never ran.
-And I never told.
-It wasn't your fault.
-I could have stopped it.
-She was your parent -- that would have meant risking everything.
-It's not just the sexual abuse.  It's the silence.  The domination.  She
ran
the ship.  Until I got the money, until I was shot, she had control of every
penny I spent.  I didn't get student loans, I owed my parents.  When I
wasn't trapped by the house, she made a financial cage.
-She was afraid to lose you.  I mean, you were her youngest.  She did love
you, she just expressed it in the wrong way.
-Just go on with the story.  I'm not gonna use you as therapist, I just want
to help you understand.
-I'm trying.
-I know.

***

I was playing solitaire on the laptop when she came in.  I'd considered
pretending to be asleep but discarded it.  She wouldn't say anything
anyway, not if she didn't want to be completely cut out of my life, as she
had been for the past few weeks.

She put her bag down on the chair and opened the window.  It was dark
out, with a few stars and a lot of cloud.  It'd been getting colder over the
past few days, slipping from fall into winter.  The windows were whistling
quietly under the force of the wind.  I was expecting snow by morning.

She looked old.  The last time I'd seen her, really seen her, was two years
ago.  It was hard to find any traces of brown in her hair, and her face was
creased.  She was looking more like my aunt than my mother -- my aunt
being ten years her senior.

"I brought you some chicken soup."  She reached into her bag.

"Vegetarian."

"Since when?"

"Ninth grade."

"Oh."  She deflated a bit, but turned to me with a fragile smile.  "What's
it
like being rich?"

"Calming.  No more panic attacks about every little purchase.  No need to
justify my spending.  No more debts."

"Your father's getting a new computer with the cheque you sent."

I nodded.  I'd gotten David II to send my parents the balance of what I
owed them, plus ten thousand.

"And we're getting the roof re-shingled.  You should come see the house.
It was a bit of a fixer-upper, but it's starting to look good.  That money
is
coming in handy."

Her monologue wandered into silence.  Her hands were clasped nervously
in front of her.  She was terrified.

***

She found her forgiveness in that moment, that moment that made me
realize that she was as flawed and weak as everyone else, that she could be
terrified of her bedridden son and yet brave enough to come anyway, to try
to construct some sort of relationship.

I could create a new mother on that even ground.  There could be a
relationship that had nothing to do with childhood.

She wasn't who she had been.  She was *trying*.  She found redemption in
her effort.

***

A mother reborn of Phoenix fire.  She talked about my brother and sister,
updating me on their lives, their work, their relationships.  She described
my father and how he was reacting to his new retirement, his life on the
farm he'd always wanted.

And how lonely she was, away from a town, out of sight of even the next
house.  Just Mother and the dog in the house all day as Dad puttered
around in the barn, or in the fields, or visiting the neighbor farms.

In her talk, I found what I didn't realize I was missing.  Family.  The
security that had existed, however flawed, in that five-person structure.

The thing I'd been trying to build with strangers all of my life.

And that I'd unknowingly started to build with James, and Josh and Justin.
And sometimes with Chris and Joey.

The bond I'd built in Toronto with Jenn, Dan, Luke, and everyone else I'd
found -- all of the other people who went out into the world, desperately
trying to build functional families of their own.

The web of unconditional acceptance, that which James had been granted
by his mother, the bond she'd made physical with the yellow roses and the
card beside my bed.

And the bond with my Mother, who sat at the foot of the bed, talking
excitedly to a son she'd lost and refound.  Odysseus had returned, and the
obstacles that barred the way were gone.  The family unit united.

But it wasn't easy.  For the length of her visit, as she talked, I had to
remind myself that I had forgiven her, that she wasn't who she had been.
And when she was leaving, I had to resist the urge to shrink away when
she kissed my forehead.

It was progress, and I knew I'd never have a mother like James did --
someone I could be completely comfortable with, but I could have family.

Dysfunctional with a capital D, but a family none-the-less.

***

"The thing is," I said into the phone, "that parents can't expect everything
to
be hunky dory after something like that.  Kids don't forget.  You've done
it,
and it's a part of the equation forever."

"You're sure you're okay?"  James' voice was hushed, trying not to let the
cab driver hear what he was saying.  His ETA was fifteen minutes.

"I'm fine.  I can't say I'm looking forward to seeing her again, but I'm not
completely against it anymore."  I smirked.  "But don't think this means
you're off the hook for setting this up.  If you hadn't saved me from
bleeding to death, I'd say you owed me big."

He laughed.  "Don't worry.  I found a Golden Griddle.  The minute they let
you out of there, I'll make it up to you."

"Ah, pancakes.  You truly are my knight in shining armour."

He laughed again.

Pathetically enough, that made me happy.  The hospital had sent up
pancakes for dinner and somehow made them to the consistency of a
hubcap.  And I could tell the syrup was low fat.

"How was the concert?"

"Almost got cancelled, actually."

"Why?"

"Bomb threat.  They spent most of the day searching the place from top to
bottom, and the concert got a last minute go ahead."

"Another bomb threat?  That's two in two weeks, ain't it?"

"Something like that."

"And that's common?"

"Not quite common, at least not for us, but it's nothing to be worried
about.
None of us've been blown up yet."

"I suggest you avoid it.  I hear it's painful."

"I'll keep that in mind," he giggled.

"Well, I guess I'll see you in ten."

"With any luck."

I hung up my cell phone and clicked the CD control on my laptop, bringing
Julie Andrews back to the quiet room.  I'd discovered enough
clearheadedness to allow the writing of a semi-good poem.  With some
editing I was sure it could be publishable.

I dropped it into a folder marked for the next week, since editing works
better after some passage of time, and rigged up my cell phone to my
modem for a quick email check.

I had scanned through the first eight of the twelve emails when James
finally arrived.  His arrival coincided with another little sneeze attack.

He stood in the door and grinned from ear to ear.  "Still won't let me move
the roses to the bathroom?"

"No sir."

"My mother's going to love you."

"I already think she's really keen."

"Keen?"

"And nifty."

"Been watching Leave It To Beaver?"

"Nope.  At the moment I'm trying to catch an episode of Hello Kiss From
My Boyfriend."

He took the hint and I got my kiss.

"Get any work done, Mr. Poet?"

"A bit.  I'm thinking pretty clearly tonight."

"They're bringing you down to just Tylenol 3's for tomorrow."

"And they'll set me free?"

"In two days."

I sighed, but two days wouldn't be too bad.  I could get some work done, I
could sleep.  The nurses kept their distance at this place, the doctor's
didn't
laugh at your pain, and there wasn't a swarm of reporters waiting to hear
from me downstairs.

"You made it into the papers today, Davey.  Page three.  Update on your
health since word got around that you were back in the hospital.  Doug
managed to keep them from printing where you were, just in case."

"Not this again."

"No interviews, don't worry.  Just mild interest.  Privacy assured."

James climbed up onto the bed and lay down beside me.  He rested his
head on my shoulder and started reading thought the email on my screen.

"Hugh Hefner uses it?  Wow.  Go wild, Davey, place an order."

I laughed.  "Shut up.  I don't need no stinking Viagra."  I hit the block
sender button and the screen moved onto the next email.

***

From:  Mmmm_Lance@hotmail.com
Subject: Wolf

They can't all be fakes.

All it takes is one fucking real one.  Then  BAM!

No more N*SYNC.

***

I blinked a few times at the screen.

After a few minutes James cleared his throat.  "Send a copy to
NSYNC.com.  And don't delete it."

"Who is it?"

"Don't know, but send a copy.  Security'll look at it."

"How'd he get my address?"

James shrugged and hit the Next button, banishing the message from my
screen.  A few minutes later he excused himself to make a phone call.  He
was gone for twenty minutes, and when he came back, he was still pale.
He locked the door.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You lie like you smell -- bad.  Spill it."

No smile, no smirk.  "Chris got a similar email.  Ditto with Justin.  The
other guys haven't checked."

"What, to your NSYNC.com accounts?  Anyone could find those."

He shook his head.  "Our private accounts."

"Probably just a practical joker.  Don't worry about it."

He tried to smile and climbed back onto the bed.  Sleep that night was
fitful at best.

***
Part 33

I'm seven years old.  My sister and I found the frog one of the window
wells.  It sat quietly, knowing it couldn't jump high enough to escape.  Dad
put it in a bucket for us, so we could take it to the park at the end of the
street and let it go in the stream.

My sister makes me carry the bucket.

We let it go in the stream.  Some of the boys playing baseball came over to
watch.  It swims to the shore and then just sits there.  We watch for ten
minutes before I start to get bored.  My sister and I start to walk home.

I look back when we get to the edge of the park.  The boys are yelling and
laughing, a few are wandering away from the stream.  I can see sticks in
their hands.  They are all bigger than I am.

By the time I've run back to them the frog is already dead, it's insides
spilling out through the holes in it's skin.

***

When I was a kid, I was terrified that ants were coming to carry me away.
It's four am and James is asleep, curled around me like a new layer of skin.
I can hear the ants, just like I did when I was a kid.

I was convinced that each night they got louder, they got closer.  There was
nothing I could do to stop them so I concentrated on going to sleep so that
I didn't have to hear them coming for me.

I was twelve before I realized that the sound of the ants was just my pulse
echoing between my ear and the pillow.

I drifted back to sleep, listening to them get closer.

***

It's past five.  James slips a pill into my mouth and holds up a paper cup.
I
swallow the pill and take a sip of the water.  He smiles down at me and
scratches his aimless hair before climbing back into the bed.

"Thanks," I whisper.

"No problem."  His kisses my cheek.  I turn my head and kiss his lips.

***

The sun rises at 7:36.  I lie in bed, watching the light spread across the
room, and hold my man.  Spread across his face is a look of contentment
and security.  The same feeling I'd had after a nightmare, when my
grandmother climbed into my bed to hold me until I'd fallen back to sleep.

The same security I'd gotten when James was beside me,  That took away
the nightmares of the shooting.

But eventually he had to wake up, and face a world of bomb threats, emails
and infected bullet wounds.

At 8:03, there was a knock at the door.  I admit that I hesitated, that I
imagined the worst. (Derrick had been killed in a hospital.  I held no
beliefs about their safety.)

"Room service."  It was Chris' voice.  James was still asleep, so I
considered trying to get the door on my own, but rethought it.  I'd already
gotten in trouble for trying to do too much.

I kissed James' forehead, left a trail of kisses down his nose, and kissed
his
lips over and over, until those lips started kissing back.  I smiled down
into
those gorgeous green eyes.

"Go let Chris in, Jimmy."

He groaned but obediently pulled himself to his feet and stumbled across
the room, flipped  the lock and did an about-face, making his way back to
his spot on the bed before it got cold.  Chris pushed the door open, holding
two trays of food and with a large backpack strung across his shoulder.  He
pushed the door closed with his foot and made his way to the bed.

"We've got french toast, we have pancakes, toast, bacon, OJ, apple juice,
milk and grape juice."  He got one try down on the table before his
backpack started squirming.  He half-dropped the other tray, sending a glass
of grape juice to it's side, flooding the tray, but fortunately not rising
about
the plate to infect the french toast.

"Shit," he muttered.  "Scratch the grape juice."  He put the bag on the
ground and unzipped it.  "I told you to stay still."  Buster stuck his head
out and lolled his tongue before scrambling the rest of the way out.

"Hey, Buster!  Wazzup, pup?"  I smiled and watched as the dog ignored me
completely.

"It's Busta, not Buster," Chris corrected, passing me a plate of pancakes.
He slapped James' thigh, waking him up from his half-doze.  "You want the
french toast or not, Scoop?"

James nodded wearily and waited as Chris toweled off as much of the juice
as possible.  Busta had already found a comfy hiding spot under the bed.
Chris made his way over to the chair and sat with his glass of milk and
plate of toast.

"What brings you here, Christoff?" I managed, in between mouthfuls of
pancake.

"Didn't get much sleep."  He shrugged.  "And Busta was getting tired of the
hotel.  Thought that if he saw a bit of this place he's realize the hotel
was
doggy Eden.  How's the hole?"

"A bit sore, but that pretty well goes without saying."  I laughed, watching
James trying to yawn with his mouth full of french toast.  He shot me a
dirty, worn out look before breaking into a smirk.  "Any news from the
group?"

"Nope.  We'll hear later today.  I don't expect much -- a few more security
people, that'll probably be it.  No-one follows through on these things.
Happens all the time."  He made no eye contact.  His normal jubilance was
glaringly absent.

"But something's different this time."  I looked from Chris to James and
back.  They were both lost in thought, though in James' case, he was lost in
thought behind a sticky layer of maple syrup.  "James -- you're making a
mess."

I pressed a napkin to his chin and brought my hand away.  The napkin
stuck.

Chris was the first one to breakout laughing.

***

The rest of the guys showed up by ten.  They were considerably more
upbeat than Chris and James were.  Busta stayed under the bed,
occasionally barking when he wanted someone to try to drag him out -- he
didn't want them to succeed, just wanted them to try.

They sat around chatting for a while, with Justin checking out my laptop,
Chris and Joey playing with the dog, and James and Josh lying on either
side of me on the narrow bed.  We all waved cheerfully when the Doctor
Carter came in.

He smiled.  "I see the whole family is here."

"Pretty much."

Joey and Chris sat on the ground, trying to look like they were on the floor
simply because of a lack of chairs.  None of us really knew about any
hospital pet policies.

The Doc came up beside the bed.  "Shove off, guys, I need to check on the
sick one."

We all looked at Chris.  He smirked, "Shut up, you guys.  He meant
bullet-boy."

James and Josh slipped off the bed.  The Doc pulled up my shirt and
peeled away my bandage.  The wound was a lot bigger than it had been.
But they'd done it up nicely, it wasn't as ragged looking as the first set
of
stitching back in Toronto had been.

"Any pain, David?"

"Nope."  I caught a glare from James and sighed.  "Yeah, a bit.  Not much
though."

"I'm going to give you a three-week script for antibiotics, and two weeks
for painkillers.  Take the painkillers only when you need them.  Cut back
on food, instead of three meals a day, go for six small meals.  In two
weeks you can start to go back to bigger meals, but there was some tearing
to your stomach walls, so be careful.  Nothing too spicy."  He grinned.
"And get your fill of hospital food while you can, you're out of here
tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"  I was trying hard not to climb out of the bed and jump for
joy.

"As long as you promise not to do anything physically stressful.  No long
walks.  No dancing.  No heavy or moderate lifting.  You've got to get a lot
of bed rest, and if you have the choice between standing and sitting, by
God, sit."

I began to wonder which Cracker Jack box his medical degree came out of,
but I wasn't going to argue with an early release.

Josh interrupted my mental straying.  "How about a concert, Doc?"

"You guys are NSYNC, right?"

Josh nodded.

"Keep him out of dense crowds and keep him sitting, and he should
survive."  The doc grinned and pressed a new bandage into place.

He was nearly to the door when a sharp bark came from under the bed.
Chris and Joey were both into fake coughing spasms before the doctor had
a chance to turn around.  They coughed themselves into silence under the
doctor's playful grin.

"If the dog does anything on the floor, your brothers are expected to clean
it up."

***

"So what're your plans for the big release day, Davey?  Jog a few laps
around the park, enter a triathalon or two, trip to a strip club?"  Chris
was
sitting on the bedside table. James and Josh had found their way back onto
the bed, and Joey's feet were sticking out from under it.  Justin was in the
chair by the window with the laptop.

Occasionally there was a burst of growling from under the bed.  Once in a
while it was
actually from the dog.

"He plans to spend the day in bed back at the hotel.  Maybe by dinner time
we'll let him come down to the lobby restaurant.  If he's good."  James
poked me in the ribs.  "And he's going to take a bath.  Cause he smells."

Josh, on the other side of me, seconded the motion.

I laughed.  "Get the hell out of my bed, the both of you."  I poked James in
the belly.  "And what about that Golden Griddle promise?"

"I'll have it delivered to the hotel."

I sulked, but let it go.

"I thought you only got one email from that freak, Davey," Justin said from
the chair where he was still going through my files.

"I did."

"You didn't read all your email then.  There's another one."

***

From:  Mmmm_Lance@hotmail.com
Subject: no subject

Exploding 'em is so impersonal.

I hear shootings is nice and intimate.  Feedback?

***

That successfully killed the friendly atmosphere of the room.

"Why's he picking on Davey?"  Joey was reading the email over Justin's
shoulder even though Justin had just read it to the room.

"It's not just me," I added.  "Look at the email address."

Joey's eyes scanned up.  "Psycho's got a crush on Scoop?"

I shrugged, and hugged James tightly.  "You go nowhere alone, got it?"

James nodded and hugged me back.

***
Part 34

I sent Joey out on an errand with my credit card.  He came back with a pile
of board games.  Monopoly.  Life.  Trivial Pursuit (a Canadian Edition, I
noticed with glee).  Pictionary.  Scrabble.  Twister (which James took away
with a scowl at Joey).

"Did I ever explain the rules to strip Trivial Pursuit to you, James?"  I
whispered to him.  He giggled and shook his head.  "Two players.  Six
pieces of clothes each.  When the opponent gets a pie piece, you lose a
piece of clothing."  I looked around the room.  "Too bad the system breaks
down with more than two players."

He smacked me and giggled.

Within half an hour of Monopoly, Chris was bankrupt and playing with the
laptop, Joey was mortgaged into nonexistence, Justin and I were just
suffering through, James had amassed a large fortune, and Josh had lost his
shirt.  Or, to be more accurate, had sold his shirt.  I let him lose the
shirt
rather than paying his hotel bill (which he couldn't afford) at St. Charles.

It was a nice view.  I kept catching James sneaking looks, and each time he
would quietly blush.

With the next roll, Josh landed on Justin's yellow property.  Four houses.

"Want my pants?" he asked.

"Hell no," Justin replied, and Josh was out of the game.

I had the advantage.  I was dating the guy who practically owned the board,
which quickly lead to Justin's downfall.  He wandered out to get some food
in the cafeteria with Chris and Joey.

And James and I moved into death-match mode.  The stage in the game
where you'd tear out the jugular of anyone insane enough to *call* it a
game.  Josh was watching, and quietly rooting for me (the underdog) but
keeping his distance.

James owned three quarters of the board, and had a sizable stack of five
hundred dollar bills.  I had Boardwalk, Park Place, the St. Charles trio, a
five and two ones.  Admittedly, it looked grim.

But I had what James didn't.  I had the ability to be manipulative and evil.
Angel-boy didn't stand a chance.

Fifteen minutes, several puppy dog expressions, fake tears, and a glass of
orange juice later, James mortgaged the last of his property.  Josh was
trying his best not to laugh and ruin my bluff, and I was faking severe
stomach pains.  The tricky part was keeping James from running for the
doctor.

He rolled.

He swore.

"I'll accept your pants," I said with a wink.  James shook his head.

I charged him for staying in my Boardwalk hotel.

And then I made a remarkable recovery, suddenly finding that I was nearly
painless again.  I wasn't quite as surprised by my sudden health as James
was.

He swore again.

I smiled.

***

I was still celebrating when the food arrived.  The guys were each carrying
a tray, loaded down with food.  I stared in awe at the pile.

"I don't see how you guys can pack away that much."

"We're on tour.  It takes a lot of energy.  It's not like we're trapped in
Lance's bed," Chris laughed, "though that probably takes a lot of energy
too.  No wonder you were torn open again."

I smirked.  "Nope.  Justin and Josh   those are my boys."

"Hey," Justin scoffed, from behind a large bowl of cereal, "it can't just
have been us."

Chris handed me a veggie burger and fries.  "Vegetable oil," he said.   "I
checked."

We settled in and I watched in wonder as they slowly and methodically
made their way through their feast.  It was almost frightening.

"So who won?" Justin asked.

"I did."

"By a landslide," Josh added.

A spoonful of pudding hit him in the forehead.  James smiled innocently.

***

"Okay, Jimmy -- list your exs."

"None to list.  Well, none serious enough to list.  A few girls.  One boy.
How about you?  Any major love affairs I should know of and be jealous
about?"

"Nothing big.  Dated a few guys in Toronto."  I leaned over, using James'
arm as a pillow and nuzzling his neck.  "Mostly other writers -- which
pretty well dooms things from the start.  Two writers don't work well
together in a romantic context.  Too self involved."

He giggled.  "I want names and I want 'em now."

I rolled onto my back and lifted my index finger.  "First -- Terry.  He
worked at a photocopy place but wrote in the evenings.  Short stories
mostly.  Mostly porno.  I found that cute."  I laughed.  "I was young -- so
sue me.  His stories were fun.  It was always 'cock' this and 'eight inch'
that.  With each story the measurements were larger and the moaning got
louder.  In the end, I left because of performance anxiety."  I giggled.

I raised my next finger.  "Second -- Alex.  He was a poet.  Very dark and
brooding.  Short and kind of chubby -- but he was adorable.  Didn't work
cause he was . . . a poet."  I shrugged, as if that explained everything.

I raised my third finger.  "Third and final -- Nathaniel.  He fancied
himself
a novelist, but he hardly spent any time at the keyboard.  He'd take any
excuse to get away from his work.  He had this weird hangup about his
parents.  He was my first" -- I looked around the room to make sure
everyone else wasn't listening -- "sexual partner.  Bit of a let down,
really.
Didn't work out cause he was just plain crazy.  Jealous of my writing
ability too, I think.  Loser with a capital L.  He had furry feet."

James laughed.  "So you date writers?"

"You're my first nonwriter, Jimmy-boy."  I watched as James' eyes
carefully avoided mine.  I groaned.  "Oh, no.  Spill it."

He grinned.  "Joey and I are working on a screenplay."

I laughed until the tears were streaming from my eyes.

***

They had to go out for a public signing that afternoon, but I watched it on
a local TV station, so it was like they were hardly gone at all.  The
hospital
room became an NSYNC media hub.  They did phone interviews from there, a few
magazine interviews (which sadly dragged me into a few of the photos, much
to my chagrin and the management's delight.  Since the doctor didn't object
to the media presence, my NSYNC contract let the company play up the sweet
side of NSYNC.)

My mother called while the guys were out at the signing, and though the
conversation wasn't in anyway delightful, or comfortable, it was alright.
It
was nice to hear the dog barking in the background -- that dog is probably
the only thing that kept me sane through my teenage years, and I missed
her greatly.

After an hour of debating the action, I checked my email.  A few from old
classmates, friends, one from a TA saying she was sorry I wouldn't be
coming back to the class, and making me promise not to give up writing.  I
was free to drop in on the class whenever I wanted.

There was even an email from David II.  Joy was in the wall, beside her . .
. wife?  Life (death) partner?  Significant other?  Girlfriend?  Either way,
she was probably happy and having some amazing undead lesbian sex.  I
relayed my current whereabouts back to David II, just so that it wouldn't
leak back through the newspapers or teen magazines.  His email seemed
fragile, and I knew he was still deep in mourning for Joy.

Mourning was never really something I'd mastered, and it wasn't something
I'd had time for over the past few days.  I saw death as a way of rejoining
the universe -- dispersing and connecting with it.  While it was sad that
Joy
was gone from my life, as quickly as she'd become a part of it, I was also
happy that she'd gone back to the place she came from, whatever she
believed.

I also took advantage of an NSYNC-less hospital room to try experiments
with walking.  Bed pans were all well and good, but they just weren't as
satisfying as the real thing.

Plus, dignity was a nice thing to have.

I had to stay a bit hunched over, and I walked with a lopsided gait, but I
was in motion.  The knowledge came with a rush of adrenaline and a laugh
from the nurse who came to change my bandage.

And through it all, NSYNC was surrounded by screaming fans, smiling and
waving.  Signing CDs and books and photos and pre-teens.

I laughed at how many excuses Josh could invent for casually touching
James, or rubbing his shoulder, or tossing in a hug.  And I tried not to
notice that there weren't enough security people.

***

I was asleep when they got back.  The walking had worn me out, and the
Tylenol 3's were really starting to hit me.  They were scattered around the
room in the dark, watching the television I'd left on.  It was an episode of
Star Trek: Voyager -- my favourite episode.  The Doctor had to chose
between the lives of two people, one who was his friend, and the other who
was a little known crewman.  The choice had caused a glitch in his
programming -- he couldn't figure out how to make the decision, who
should live and who should die.  Should his program evolve and risk losing
him, or should he be reset with no knowledge of the choice he'd made.

James was lying beside me, he turned when he saw I was awake and gave
me a small kiss.  Then he pulled back and his eyes widened.  "You're
minty fresh," he whispered accusingly.  "Who let you out of bed?"

I smiled innocently and pulled his head back down for another kiss.
Moments later, everyone had to be aware that a make-out session had
initiated.  James wasn't a very quiet kisser.

There were a few mumbled words about going back to the hotel, and the
guys wandered out, closing the door behind them, and leaving James in my
arms.  After a few minutes I could feel James' hand sliding down my side
and I stopped it with my own.

"I don't think I have enough blood to go that far, Jimmy-boy."

He laughed and kissed me again.  I rolled onto my side, wrapping my leg
around his and nuzzling into his shoulder, feeling the soft skin of his neck
pressing against my nose.

"I love you, David."

"Ditto, Jimmy."

And that's how I spent my last night in the hospital.

***

-His neck is very soft.
-You already told me that.
-It can't be said enough.  It was my favourite part of him.  You make it
sound like I loved him for his eyebrows.
-I've been trying to cut back on eyebrow references!  People started thing
it
was weird.
-It *was* weird.  That and the fact that you always make my character get
up in the middle of the night to change his bandages -- I never did that.
Well, not much.  And I never dated a Terry *or* a Nathaniel.
-I can't write everything exactly as you say it happened -- face it, David,
you can be really boring.
-Hey, shut up, Mr. T., or I'll . . ..  Damn.  I can't remember what Mr. T.
always used to say.
-It's for the best, really.  I pity the fool who can remember.
- :)
-And at least I'm not getting graphic with the bedpans.
-Thank God for small miracles.
-
-
-You miss him?
-Sure.  Of course I do.
-I'm sorry.
-It's in the past, man.  Don't worry about it.  He's really happy now.
-You don't have to pretend you're strong around me.
-If you cry over everything, you'll never find the time to live.  This had
to
happen.  I know that.  I've dealt with it.
-You're stronger than I am.
-No, I'm not.  You've just never had to make the choice.

***

End of Part 34

Email me!  thepoetboy@hotmail.com