What happens to a dream deferred? -- Langston Hughes
It's some nameless dark club in the endless stream of dark clubs that they find every night on tour. Chris doesn't register anything remotely special about it until he's aware that Lance's friendly drunkenness is more friendly and less drunk than usual. His lips against Chris's neck seem to burn.
"Missed you," Lance whispers against his mouth, and Chris can't do anything but nod and part his lips and let Lance in.
It's a thing. Less than a relationship, more than a flirtation. They're not sleeping together... yet. Yet. That's the word hanging over everything, heavy with possibility and promise. They tried it once, and then it ended, and now it might be starting again. Might. Yet. Small words that hold big meanings.
It's another small word, but this one doesn't make any sense at all. "Space?" Chris repeats, the word tasting strange in his mouth, as if it's been flavored with novocaine. "You're going to space?"
If Lance notices his response is less than enthusiastic it doesn't show. "It's not definite yet. It has to go through all these channels. But can you imagine? I could actually go to space."
He's glowing and excited and more enthused than Chris has ever seen him be about singing and dancing, and Chris is the first person he's told. It would be cruel for Chris to do anything other than what he does, which is plaster on a smile and pull Lance into a tight hard hug. "That's amazing, man. That's unbelievable."
Chris isn't sure what possibilities sound like when they die, but he suspects it's something like the sound of the ice cubes shattering against each other as he fixes himself a stiff drink, knocks it back, and pours another.
It's not really withdrawing, he tells himself. He's still there every day, every night. When they all go out to clubs he goes, and he dances, and sometimes he grinds up against pretty girls and sometimes he grinds up against pretty boys, and sometimes those pretty boys are his pretty bandmates. But there aren't any more whiskey-soaked kisses in the backs of limos or in the hallways of ritzy hotels.
"What're you doin', man?" JC asks, because everyone has noticed, but only JC has the balls to come out and ask. They have four days off, and they're using them to rest and regroup -- except for the one of them winging off to mother Russia for medical tests. " This is his dream. His dream."
JC is earnest and impassioned and totally in Chris's face, and he's clearly not going to leave him alone until he gets what he wants. What he wants, always, is for everyone to be happy, and if he has to knock some heads together to get it, well, that's what he'll do.
"Aren't you scared?" That's what Chris doesn't get. Everyone is thrilled and excited and amazed, but how is it that he's the only one who finds this whole endeavor absolutely fucking terrifying?
JC looks at Chris, and for the first time Chris sees that no, he's not the only one who's scared. "What have we done that's worthwhile that hasn't been scary? Takin' off for Europe with no contract and a bunch of kids? Coming back to a country that thought we were a ripoff boyband? Gettin' free of Lou? It's all scary, all of it. That's what following your dreams is all about."
"But it's his life," Chris argues, not ready to give up his right to be the devil's advocate in this harebrained scheme. "This isn't about careers or money or reputation. It's his life."
JC's eyes are steady. "Yeah, it is. It's his life."
There have been two kinds of people in his life -- those that stay, and those that go. The ones that went away always outnumbered by far the ones that stayed. He had to learn early on that it's not worth the pain to get attached to the ones that go, not the boyfriends that never stayed long enough for mom to get comfortable with them, not the teachers in the towns that they had to skip out of in the middle of the night, not the friends whose parents wouldn't let them play with a kid once they found out he didn't have a real address or a place to live. He learned that lesson well, and it's too late for him to unlearn it now. You don't get invested in the ones that are going to leave, because it only leads to heartache.
It's familiar, but not. Being pressed up against a wall in a dark hallway, the flash of jade eyes, whiskeyed breath mingling with his own. It's a going away party and not a club this time. Lance is not too drunk, and not too friendly, because his voice is hard, but there's a layer of amusement underneath.
"I'm coming back, you moron," Lance says as he holds Chris in a loose grasp. Chris isn't trying to hard to get away. "I'm not one of those people. I'm coming back."
Chris thinks that it's not entirely fair that Lance knows him so damn well just before their lips meet in a crushing kiss. He kisses back, hard and deep and searching. He refuses to think that he's kissing Lance like it might be the last time.
He doesn't say, "Don't go," because he won't let himself be that selfish.
He also doesn't tell Lance that they almost always say that they'll come back.
There was a time when time off seemed like a miraculous, unattainable thing, like a number one album or a multi-million dollar contract. Once they got those other things the time off seemed even harder to find. Now it's just a bunch of blank pages on a calendar, mocking him to be filled. He doesn't remember how to spend his days without his best friends within arms reach, and he never really wanted to be in a position to learn. So he crosses the days off on the calendar and makes a few appearances and tools around in a RV, waiting for something to come along that makes his days make sense.
In a reverse from their old lives, events now seem like a break from the monotony of time off. Chris isn't sure the other guys feel that way, since Joey is busy getting ready for Broadway, and Justin is busy getting ready to go solo, and JC is busy doing, well, whatever it is that keeps JC busy. And Lance, of course, who is busy getting ready to get off the planet entirely. So busy that he's not even there. Chris is sad but not surprised.
It's not the same without Lance, and Chris wonders if it will ever really be the same again. Right now, though, it seems the same, or at least familiar, hanging out at the after party. Another club, another dance floor, another night of grinding up against pretty girls and prettier bandmates. It would be easy to pretend that Lance is just down by the bar, or off in a corner schmoozing with some Hollywood suit, except that Chris doesn't let himself pretend like that. He hasn't for a long time.
JC giggles and blushes, just like he did out on the basketball court, when Chris comes up behind him and sing-songs, "Jaaaaaaaaaaay-ceeeeeee! Jaaaaaaaaaaay-ceeeeeee! Jaaaaaaaaaaay-ceeeeeee!" into his ear. JC's curls bounce as he turns around and shakes his head.
"You're a nut, you know that," JC laughs, pushing ineffectually at Chris's shoulder. Chris just nods, because of course he knows he's a nut. He always thought it was part of his charm. "Enough with the teasing, Kirkpatrick. Stop fucking around." He isn't mad, though, since he's still giggling as he says it.
JC gets about two steps away before Chris grabs him and pins him to the wall, one hand on his shoulder the other at his waist. "Who says I'm fucking around?" he asks, swallowing the last of JC's giggle with his own mouth, before pulling away.
In JC's eyes he sees surprise and something else. As he leans forward to kiss him again, Chris thinks that something else might just be possibility.
Once you figure out that a dream isn't ever going to come true it's a waste of time and energy to hold on to it. He's known that for a long time, but now he has to reevaluate it. Because this is something he has barely even allowed himself to consider dreaming about, and here it is. His neatly ordered monotonous life on hiatus has been tilted on its axis, and he finds he has a lot to reevaluate. He thinks maybe this is a good thing.
"I won't be a substitute for Lance." JC says that to him, simply and directly, and maybe it would have come as less of a surprise if he hasn't waited until they have been sleeping together for two weeks to spring it on him. They're in New York, where they've been since Joey's opening night a week ago, and every day Chris wonders if this is the day that JC looks at him and demands to know what the hell they're doing together. Maybe today is that day.
Chris never really let himself imagine himself with JC, because whenever he let his mind drift in that direction it inevitably ended with the two of them having unbelievably fantastic sex and then killing each other within the space of a few days. Instead he's discovered that he and JC are almost frighteningly compatible, that JC's sharply focused intensity grounds Chris's fits of restlessness, and Chris's impulsiveness shakes up JC's anal retentive perfectionist streak just enough to bring him back to earth. They work, which Chris never thought they would, and they work so well that it's a little scary to think that at some point soon they're going to stop this. Plus, the sex really is unbelievably fantastic.
JC is gazing steadily at him and Chris realizes that he's waiting for an answer. "You're not," Chris finally says. "Lance and I... we didn't. We're not together. We haven't been for a long time. You know that."
JC nods, because, yes, he knows that. "But what about when he gets back?"
JC is so sure that Lance will be coming back that Chris can't bear to tell him life's realities about people who stay and people who go, and people who say they'll stay but really go, and people that go and say they'll come back but stay gone. Maybe it's because all his theories don't seem to make quite as much sense with JC staring at him with clear blue eyes, licking absently at the flavored lip-gloss he's wearing. All Chris wants to do is pin JC down and taste the pink-tinged sparkle on his mouth and find out if it's raspberry or cherry, not worry about what's going to happen if Lance ever does come back.
Chris shrugs. "When he gets back we'll have him over for dinner." Then he pulls JC toward him until they topple onto the couch together.
As it turns out, the lip-gloss is cherry flavored.
There have been times in his life when he's been happy, but he can't remember a sustained period when he's been as content as he is now. Things make sense. His days have a structure to them without falling into monotony. They don't really plan far in advance, finding themselves on one coast or another, visiting one of the guys or picking up a producing gig or just vegging out on the beach for a week or two. It's disordered and yet relaxing, and no matter where Chris wakes up in the morning all he has to do is reach for the person beside him to know that he's home.
Travelling to Russia is a production for JC, who makes sure that they've packed everything from toilet paper to protein bars to extra pairs of blue jeans. "I think that was in the eighties, C," Chris points out to him, but JC likes to be prepared for every eventuality. Chris finally gives in and helps him pack. It's not like they can't afford the extra cost for too much baggage.
Russia is different than Chris expected, and they're not allowed to see Lance in person at all. He's in quarantine, and they talk to him over closed circuit cameras, but it's not the same. He seems happy and excited and not nearly as frightened as Chris expects. He's going to space. Living the dream.
The day of the launch they're escorted to the VIP section in the viewing stands, and they group there together with dozens of cameras aimed at them. Chris realizes JC is shaking beside him, and pulls him into a tight hug. They're all holding hands and clutching each other, so he figures it won't look too strange. He whispers, "It's gonna be okay, he's gonna be fine, don't worry," over and over again, until the countdown clock reaches 10 and the engines fire, and at 0 the rocket lifts into the sky.
They watch the plume of smoke arc gracefully across the horizon as one of their best friends leaves the planet, and when it fades from sight, JC relaxes. Chris murmurs, "See, I told you it would be okay," and when JC gives him a blinding grin before the four of them collapse into a pile of hugs, Chris realizes that he hadn't been scared at all. Somehow, JC has turned him into an optimist, and that just might be more frightening than anything else.
He feels like he did watching that clock, as if there is a steadily ticking countdown marking off how much time they've got left. How much time until Lance gets back. He's dealt with people leaving all his life, and holds close all those who have stayed, but he's never had to figure out what to do when someone promises to come back and actually does it. He doesn't want to think about it, so he pulls JC close and traces down the line of his spine. JC mumbles nonsense words and snuggles closer, and Chris rests his cheek against the soft curls and closes his eyes.
They're not allowed to go out to the desert with the military to the landing site so they wait in the hotel, in a gaily-decorated ballroom with a bunch of Russian dignitaries, assorted media, and Lance's family. They watch on television as the capsule parachutes lightly to earth, and Lance and his fellow cosmonauts emerge, waving happily. They jump up and down and hug and crack the champagne open, and by the time Lance gets there the party is in full swing. They mob him, piling on top of him laughing and shouting all at once, and just like that, they feel like a group again.
Lance is pulled away to answer questions and Chris realizes that JC is hanging back, watching him with cautious eyes. Like someone withdrawing because they know that someone is going to leave them, and Chris is ashamed when he recognizes the behavior. He was a coward, and he knows that now. His eyes lock with JC's, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to say, so he grabs another drink and messes up Justin's curls and laughs at something Joey says that he doesn't even hear. He's still a coward.
And then, somehow, the party clears out, Lance's family goes off to their own room, and it's just the five of them in a suite. Lance circles the room, talking to each of them in turn, and Chris flees to examine the mini-bar, wanting to delay the moment of truth as long as possible. He isn't even sure what the moment of truth will be.
Lance finds him there. "I know you didn't want me to go," he says finally, after the two of them have hugged again but not said anything after that. "I knew, and I hated it. But I had to go, Chris. I had to. It's... it really was my dream. You got yours, with the group. But I never thought I'd have a chance to go after mine, not the real one, and when I did... I couldn't let it pass me by. I needed you to understand that."
And Chris does understand it, now. "I know. I do understand. I'm glad you got this chance, and I'm sorry I was such a prick about it."
Lance grins and shakes his head. "You weren't a prick. Well, maybe a little. But I know how you get." He tugs on Chris's arm and Chris goes, lets himself be folded into Lance's embrace. "But I got my dream. And now I'm back."
Chris lets himself be kissed, lets himself kiss back for the briefest of seconds. Then he pulls back and hugs Lance hard. "I know. And I'm so glad for you." Then he steps back and smiles at JC, who's watching them and chewing nervously at his lower lip. "Everything worked out the way it was supposed to."
Lance looks from Chris, to JC, and then back to Chris. And then he understands. He puts on a brave smile, and nods once. "I guess it did." He hugs Chris once more, his body tense and awkward, and goes to talk to Joey.
Chris makes his way to JC's side, and JC watches him come, his expression unreadable. Chris wraps an arm around JC's waist and kisses his cheek. "We should invite him over for dinner," he says, and JC's smile blooms like a sunrise across his face.
He thinks sometimes that dreams are funny things. Lance left to chase a dream, and came home to discover he'd lost another. Chris stayed behind, thinking that all the big dreams had already come true for him, and along the way discovered the most important one of them all. He discovered that he can be happy, and that he deserves to be loved, and that sometimes people who leave do come back. And he's discovered that when you wake up in the arms of someone you love, every day is full of new possibilities.
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Author's Note: Thanks to a whole lot of people who beta'd this for me... Mariah and Kyla and Sandy (the Younger), and I'm sure I'm missing a couple people, but thank you, too! Amusingly enough, I got the plot bunny for this one in Fairvilla, the big porn shop in Orlando. You'd expect a lot more smut from a porn shop bunny, eh?