Date: Thu, 30 Sep 1999 22:50:25 GMT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Lance-In-Shining-Armour-5-6

Typical stuff -- this story doesn't mean that ANYONE in NSYNC is gay.  The
story isn't even about the Lance Bass we all know and love -- it's about the
Lance Bass who lives in my head.  My portrayal of his personality is
doubtlessly incredibly inaccurate!  I don't claim to know the man!

No sex in this one either.  This one had to deal with some issues that had
come up in the past few installments, so sadly comic value got sacrificed a
bit.  It'll be back -- don't you worry!

Thanks for all the great feedback, people!  I'd love to hear from everyone
who reads this -- with comments, critiques, kudos or flames! (Well, maybe
not flames. :)  Email me at thepoetboy@hotmail.com!

And special thanks to the Nifty people -- y'all are swell. :)

Well, onto part 5!

Part 5

She stood there, looking at him, trusting him.  She knew her father wasn't
supposed to hurt her and she trusted him.  She just stood there, waiting.
For what?  I don't know.  She just stood there.  Frozen with trust on her
face.

I knew he was behind me somewhere.  A faceless monster pacing behind me.  I
could feel him come closer.  And she just watched him over my shoulder.

I wanted to tell her to run.  I wanted her to leave.

But the monster would hear me.  He'd know I was there.

I couldn't save her.

***

The first thing I noticed when I started to wake up was that James' hand was
gone.  I was alone again.  I didn't want to open my eyes, I didn't want to
find the room empty, the suitcase gone.

Then there were voices in the bathroom.  Whispered yells.  It was his voice
-- James' voice.

I consciously slowed my breathing.  I was practically panting.  And I'd
sweated my way through James' shirt.

It was mid-afternoon, I guessed.  There was a cool breeze coming through the
open window, battling back the heat of the sun.

I hunted around and found the remote and turned on the tv.  I flipped around
a bit until something caught my eye.  My little press conference from hell.

I watched myself stand there, speechless -- a taxidermied human being.  Then
there was Lance standing behind me, whispering in my ear.

This was embarrassing.  Not "open fly and wearing pink underwear"
embarrassing.  THIS was "millions of people could see me stand there like a
fool" embarrassing.  I'd pay good money to switch the tape with one of me
prancing around in pink undies.

But I didn't even know where I'd get pink undies.

James came out of the bathroom at the same time as the best part of the
conference played.  I watched my taped face go pale and I watched Justin
panic.  Well, at least it's not all bad -- Justin ended up looking silly
too.

I turned off the tv and turned to James.

"So much for a career in politics."

His face was flushed and he was biting his bottom lip.  Hard.  He looked
ready to start a one man World War III, even if his only weapon was a
projectile cell phone.

"What's the matter, James?"

"Nothing."  He forced himself to look more relaxed.

"You lie as well as you smell, and right now, that ain't good."

I managed to get a smile out of him.  (Note to self, tell him he smells bad
more often, he seems to like it.)

"JC is insisting that I stay at the hotel tonight.  He says it won't look
good if anyone finds out I've been staying here."

"This is Pentagon level security, James.  You heard Justin."

"I know."

I sighed.  "Then go.  I'll be fine for one night."

He slipped his cell phone into his pocket and glared at me.

"You'd slip out of here as soon as I left, Davey.  You know it."

I did know it.  I was just surprised he did.  I guess my email personae is
pretty close to my real one.

"I'll promise to stay here."

"I'm staying.  JC can't force me to leave."

"I thought you two were close."

"We are.  Doesn't mean we don't disagree.  His heart's in the right place,
he just doesn't know what the hell he's talking about."

James came over to the bed, nudged me over and lay down beside me.

"You didn't bleed on my shirt, did you?"

"The shirt's red anyway.  No worries."

"A nurse dropped off some bandages for you.  She told me how to change the
dressing."

"Nope -- that's my job.  You're not going to stare at my wound."

He scoffed.  "Neither are you.  You hate the sight of blood.  You even
mastered changing bandaids without looking at cuts."

Jeez -- how much did my emails tell this guy?  I wish I'd kept copies.  I
hope I kept SOME secrets.

"When I have to do it, I can do it."

"You're also supposed to check in with the doctor on campus -- I set up a
few appointments for you over the next week.  He'll keep track of the
progress."

It was like having my own personal assistant.  One who drooled and looked
really cute in green.  (Or any other colour, for that matter.)

"Which floor is he on, James?"

"Who?"

"You know who."

James looked at me for a moment, deciding whether or not to tell me.

"He's three floors down.  Still not conscious.  I think they're planning
another surgery."

"Where was he shot?"

"Chest.  Came close to his heart."

If he even had one, which I doubted.

"I don't want to be here, James."

"I know.  But it's just one more night.  We can even lock the door.  Not
even the Leslie will be able to get in."

"Great -- then they'd think that you weren't just staying here, but that we
were having mad, passionate hospital sex."

Even his ears turned red.  He shifted away from me on the bed, so that we
weren't touching at all.

"I was kidding, James!"

"I know."

He reverted to his pointed silence.  I didn't want to dig.  He could offer
up whatever he wanted, but I wouldn't force it out of him.  After all he's
given me, a bit of time is the least I could give him.

***

A few hours later, the dinner tray arrived.  It topped off a few of the most
awkward hours of my life.  We just lay there in the bed, James in his own
little world and me trying to figure out what colour the sky was in his
little world.

Leslie looked almost nice when she came in.  My press conference antics must
have worried her.  Either that or she realized that I knew all of the guys
of NSYNC and she had a devious plan in mind.  Or maybe she'd been taking the
pain killers that were meant for me. :)

She'd even picked up extra food.  There was more than I could ever have
eaten with an intact stomach.  James got out of the bed as soon as he heard
her enter, and tried to look natural standing there beside the bed.

Leslie gave me a questioning look and I just shrugged.

"I just need to make a check of your dressing before I can let you eat."

I pulled up the shirt and she came over and looked closely at the bandage.
The sweat must've de-stuck the tape because it was coming up around the
edges.

"Ah well," she said.  "This'll give me a chance to teach you how to change
it."

She started peeling away the old dressing, obviously a believer in the "slow
and painful wins the race" school of thought.  I nearly gave her the death
stare, but if it didn't work on the Evil Leslie, the Good Leslie was
probably similarly immune.

James sat on his spot on the bed and took my hand.  I gripped it tightly as
she skinned me alive.

Finally she was done.  She looked at it for a moment.

"Doesn't look too bad."

That got me brave.  Not too bad.  Not a great bit gaping hole with flapping
skin around the edges and stitches like shoe laces.  So I made the mistake
to look.

>From James' yelp you'd have thought I broke all of his fingers.

It was big and disgusting and looked like it was oozing.  There was a stain
on the inside of the bandage that Leslie held in her hand.  I couldn't look
back at it.  Not if I wanted to keep my last few meals where they were.

Even James narrowed his eyes at the sight of it before he managed to rally
back to supportive.

"Yeah," Leslie said.  "Not bad at all."  I'd never make the mistake of
calling her Good again.

She took a new bandage from her pocket,  a roll of tape and a small pair of
scissors.  I focused on squeezing James' hand as she patched me up.  All of
my concentration was on the placement of his knuckles, the texture of his
skin, the press of his nails.  Anything to keep me from thinking of the . .
. thing on my stomach.  Part of my stomach.  Part of me.

Leslie pulled my shirt back down and stood up, collecting her supplies and
returning them to her pocket.  She smiled sympathetically.

"Trust me.  It could've been worse."

Then she was gone.  I was focussing on James' hand too much for that
celebration.

"It'll heal, Davey.  It won't look like that."

"I've been in two car accidents, James.  The one thing that got me past
those was not that I survived -- it was that I came out without a scar.  It
sounds insane, it sounds shallow, but it's what I thought.  I can't help
what I think."

"David -- you saved someone's life.  She's not dead and it's because you
were there.  Isn't that worth a little scar?  That scar will represent her
life.  It's there so that she lives.  In a few months it'll just be a small
scar.  You'll get used to it.  You won't notice it.  Better a scar than your
life, right?"

I nodded eventually, when my logical side kicked in and chose to agree.  I
pledged to stay in logical mode for a while, the emotional side was not
quite stable right now.

Unfortunately, the logical side couldn't get rid of the image of my stomach
so that I could eat.

James climbed back up onto the bed, and grabbed the control to bring the bed
up to a sitting position.  He picked up the tray and sat it on my lap.  I
couldn't even look at it.

I put on my perky voice.  "James?  If the nurse comes back, recoil from me a
bit slower so that I don't spill the juice, okay?"

Words can back quite a bit of a punch.  James looked at me like I'd just
dropped a nuclear bomb on him.

"I . . . I'm sorry, David.  I didn't mean to do that."

I pushed the oatmeal around.  It pushed back.

He was scrambling for words.  Damage control.

"I just . . . I let JC get to me.  I'm sorry."

I nodded.  It made sense.  My logical side was slowly regaining control.  It
tried to remind me that I don't hold grudges.  The rest of my was refusing
to be receptive.

"Just eat your food, James."

He watched me play with the oatmeal in silence.  I handed him a ham
sandwich.  He munched slowly.

***

Eventually I forced myself to eat.  Meals were strangely unpredictable here.
  I got the feeling that they simply weren't keeping track of who fed me and
when.

James ate his sandwich and then got up to stare out the window until I was
done.

I picked up the phone and dialled for an outside line, then dialled to pick
up my messages at my rez number.  I always assumed that those systems had
practical limits to message numbering.  I wasn't in the mood to hear 127
phone messages, so I hung up on the automated lady.

James' pocket started to ring.  He answered it and then turned to me.

"It's Justin.  He wants to talk to you."

He tossed the phone and I caught it.

"Wazzup, Davey?" came his overly perky voice.  Compared to the tension in
the hospital room, Justin sounded unnatural and out of place -- like a drag
queen in a nunnery.

"Not much, Just.  How're you liking Toronto?"

"Not bad.  No-one's up to much over here.  JC's locked up in his room and
Chris and Kevin are just exploring the hotel.  What's wrong with Lance?"

I ignored his question.  "You guys should hit the CN Tower today.  Great
visibility."

"Naw -- you can take us there tomorrow."

"Cool.  I've never actually been there."

"But you LIVE here!"

"Exactly -- I'm no tourist."

He was infectious.  He exuded energy.  I could feel myself perking up just
at the sound of his voice.  James was watching me -- he seemed pleased.

"So you want us to meet you at the hospital at 9, Davey?"

"No.  I gotta get back to my rez, Justin.  I've got some stuff I've got to
do.  Gotta make sure my garden and fish are good."

"You got fish?"

"Two of ‘em.  Sweetheart and Cupcake.  Honey died a few weeks ago."

His piercing laugh came through the phone.  James chuckled over by the
window.

"Give me the number and I'll call you there and we'll set something up."

I gave him my number.  James was standing at the foot of the bed, so I cut
things off with Justin, promising to talk to him tomorrow.  I hung up the
phone and tossed it back to James.

He looked like he was tearing up.  His green eyes were getting shinier.

"I'm sorry, David.  I didn't mean to pull back from you.  But JC got into my
head."

He had my forgiveness already.  "It's okay, James.  I'm sorry I snapped.
I'm just not used to looking like a harpooned whale."

I pushed myself out of the bed and wrapped myself around him.  He wasn't
crying, but he wasn't far from it.

"There's nothing I can't forgive you for, James."

It was one of the cheesiest moments of my life, but I don't regret it at
all.  I regret sleeping in pants that had a waist at least an inch too
small.  I regret buying the sound track to Phenomenon.  I regret my
hairstyle from grade seven through to my second year of university. I don't
regret what brought me into that hug.

I pulled myself away from him so that I could look him in the eye.  (An easy
task since we're exactly the same height.)  He was starting to smile at me.

"If you really want to do something for me, James, you'll come with me.
Right now.  Deal?"

His smile came to full power.  "Just let me grab my suitcase."

Now I was in a celebratory mood. :)

***

Part 6    (The Escape. :)

I grabbed my personal items from the drawer of the bedside table. James
tossed me a blue shirt and I tossed back the fragrant red one.  He scrunched
up his nose at it and then just shoved it into his bag.

Sneaking through the halls of a hospital with a big suit case, an
international celebrity, and a hole in my side the size of Greenland -- this
would be fun.

I stuck my head into the hall.  Leslie was down at the nurse's station
taking with an older nurse.  No sign of Dr. Laughter Is The Worst Medicine.
We slipped out to the right, in the opposite direction of the elevators and
the nurses.

James was carrying the suitcase to keep the noisy wheels from giving us
away.  I doubt it would have been any more notable than James already was.
Apparently the suitcase weighed more than James could really handle.  It
crashed to the floor before we reached the corner. We both looked back to
see Leslie staring at us in shock.

I waved.  Then we ran, with the suitcase rattling along behind us, being
pulled by a small wrist strap.

I'll point out that I'm not the best runner, even in the best of times.  My
event is stairs.  Up or down, I can hit record speeds.  I was campaigning to
get stair climbing into the summer Olympics.  (As long as you define
campaigning as "idle thinking, never expressed to anyone.")

There was the sound of two sets of nurses shoes in pursuit.

Finally we found a stairwell and I pulled James towards it.  He held his
ground and looked at me like I was crazy.

"It's nine flights, David!  I can't even carry this suitcase across a flat
hallway!"

"Gravity'll do a lot of the work!"

"Not with my laptop in there, it won't."

He grabbed my arm and we went up the hallway.  I pulled him into an open
door, and closed it behind us.  It was a dark room with two beds.  I could
see the outline of people in each bed, looking straight at us.

"Sorry -- wrong room."

But I didn't move.  James had his ear to the door, waiting for Leslie and
friend to pass by.  A few minutes passed and I waved to the roommates and
James and I ventured back into the hall.

"Back to the elevators?" he asked.

"You go," I said.  "I'll take the stairs and meet you down there.  They
can't stop you for leaving.  I'll see you in the lobby."

"Don't get caught."

I grabbed him into a hug.  "I promise."

Then he was off, holding the suitcase to his chest and waddling as quickly
and quietly as he could.  It was like some weird cartoon -- or an episode of
the Monkeys.

Even waddling, he had a great butt.

I tore my eyes away and followed him as far as the stairs.  He turned around
and gave a meek wave before I disappeared.

***

I stopped on the landing to the sixth floor.  I didn't think stairs and
stomachs had anything to do with each other, but I hurt.  That, and I knew
who was on the sixth floor.

But James was waiting for me.  I couldn't leave him waiting.

I continued down.

***

James was waiting in the stairwell on the first floor, without his suitcase.
  He was smiling at me and full of energy.

I was panting happily and trying to look indestructible.  An apparent
success.

"I've got a cab waiting outside," he said.

"That'll cost a fortune.  We can just take the subway."

"With our faces?  We'd never make it.  We'd be mobbed.  Don't worry, cab
fare is on me."

He peaked out into the lobby, then stood up straight and quickly walked
directly for the exit.  I followed, trying to look like I belonged.

The elevator dinged and I heard Leslie's voice behind me, yelling.

But there was freedom.  James was leading me to freedom.

I waved to Leslie as the cab took us away, took me home.  She aimed a very
unladylike finger at me.

***

The cab ride was at least twenty minutes.  The driver spent at least half of
that time looking at me in the rear-view mirror.  Finally, halfway through
the trip, he said "You're David Sheer, right?"  He didn't seem impressed or
happy to have me there.  It sounded more like an interrogation.

"Nope," I said.  "I'm James.  I'm from Mississippi."

The driver narrowed his eyes.  James taped me on the shoulder and pointed
through the plastic divider.  I sat forward to get a look at what he was
pointing at.  A copy of the Toronto Star.  Today's edition.  My student card
photo was at least six inches high.

My descent into giggles was short and loud.

I guess I haven't pointed out how strange giggles look when they come from
me.  Take a serious looking guy with a goatee, set it up so that he hasn't
shaved for at least a week, making the goatee practically into a beard.
Give him a good punch in both eyes, then let them heal over for a week.  Now
make him giggle like a school girl.

My giggling got James going, and neither one of us was in a hurry to calm
down.

The cab turned into the maze of campus streets, and I had to give directions
to make sure the cabbie didn't get us lost.  A lot of them do that just to
drive up the cost of the ride (which was already too high, thanks muchly.)
Finally we pulled up in front of my tall building.

James paid the driver and we climbed out.  The common area in front of the
building was filled with a few dozen people.  Some of them I recognized from
my building.  A few were from other buildings.  Most of them were complete
strangers.

Some were trying to hang a banner ("Welcome home, David!") others were
standing around talking about what they wanted to do for tomorrow, others
were chalking welcome home slogans on the cement.

University students will do anything to get away from studying for a little
while.  Especially if it gets them out of their cells (read: rez rooms).
And double especially if there's any chance of a pub crawl when the work was
done.

James finally got his suitcase out of the trunk, and the cab moved away.  I
grabbed James and quickly moved around the side of the building before we
got spotted.

"We're going in the back way."

I dragged him to the other entrance and we slipped in.  The elevator arrived
almost immediately and I hit seven.

***

Next time -- homecoming.  :)

Email me!  thepoetboy@hotmail.com

I'd love to hear from you!