by Giddy Geeky

~..~

I'll be your strength,
I'll give you hope,
Keeping your faith when it's gone.

~..~

Chris looked at Lance over the stack of papers between them. Lance's eyes were red, a little swollen. He'd probably just say it was allergies, but Chris knew what he looked like after he'd been crying. He hadn't seen it often--Lance was good at staying in control under even the most extreme stress--but he'd never be able to forget the few times it *had* happened. He'd never mistake the signs.

"Am I right?" he asked quietly, knowing that he was simply because of that redness, still needing to hear it said to make it real. It seemed impossible to believe that Lou had screwed them over, except that it *didn't*, the signs were *there*, Chris had just been willing to overlook them because he'd wanted to do this so badly. Part of him still wanted to overlook them and he found himself thinking, come on, Lance. Tell me no. Tell me what I want to hear--

But he'd come to Lance in the first place not only because the kid had a brain that didn't quit, but also because Lance never just told him what he wanted to hear.

Lance was the one who quietly informed him that he was being an ass, who told him that he was getting shrieky, who told him that no, he couldn't shelter Justin the way he wanted to because that would only be dangerous in the long run. Lance was the one who'd sat on Chris once after a sugar-rush that had resulted in three broken lamps and JC locking himself in the bathroom, who had stayed there until Chris had stopped poking and punching at him and fallen asleep, and who had still been sitting by his hip when he woke up. Lance was the one with iron will and totally realistic outlook, and was probably the only person on the planet outside his blood family who never just gave him what he wanted in the end.

He gave Chris what he needed.

"The numbers don't lie," Lance said slowly. "The numbers...Chris, when you look beneath the surface, the numbers speak for themselves."

The truth, unalterable, undeniable, hit like a fist.

Chris sucked in a deep breath and held up a hand as if to protect himself from further damage, ducked his head, exhaled slowly. Inhale. Exhale. "We'll fight this," he said when he could breathe again. "He can't do this to us."

"He's done it." Lance's smooth, soothing murmur of a voice was rough, on the trembling edge of calm. Chris looked up and met his gaze; those unbelievable eyes of his were welling, even redder than they had been a moment before.

This was not the time for Lance to lose that will, to channel his realism into pessimism. This was not...not right.

He gave you what you needed, Chris thought, give him something back.

He held out his hand. His fingers were trembling a little, but that was all right. Lance twined his between them and gripped tightly, staring into Chris' eyes, a little calm coming into his own. "We will fix this," Chris said. "I swear that to you now, like I swore we'd make it." He felt determination rise in his chest, felt himself calm just because someone--Lance--needed that from him. "We will get through this."

Lance's eyes were calmer, but still deep with misery. "I can't--"

"*We* can." Chris brought their hands up, pressed their twined fingers against his chest. "We can," he repeated, holding Lance's gaze. "I promise."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Chris feeling strength rise up in him like a tidal wave, ready and able to knock an industry on its ass, and seeing that same strength rise up in Lance, slow and smooth. Formidable.

He was suddenly glad, damned glad, that Lance was on his side, and thought that everyone'd probably find that amusing, a great big joke--crazy Chris, on the edge of intimidated by laid-back Lance? Hahaha.

Except, not so funny when it was almost *true*.

He didn't want--there were a lot of things he’d decided that he’d do with his life. A lot of them. Falling for Lance? Not one of them, and dangerously close to happening.

"OK. All right," Lance said finally, and he straightened in his seat, took a deep breath. Chris shifted in his seat, tried to loosen his grip on Lance's fingers and pull his own hand away.

Lance didn't release him.

"Let's get started," he said, giving up on the whole taking-his-hand-back thing and cautiously allowing himself to absorb the warmth of Lance‘s skin. You're just as strong as he is, he thought. And twice as tough. Don't be a dork about this. You can handle him. "Let's get it going."

"Forget going." Lance squeezed his hand a little tighter, smiled. A little watery still, but stronger than any guy his age had a right to be, really. Chris thought that maybe there were things in that smile he was better off not remembering in the morning, when he had to face Lance in the sun.

"Forget going," he agreed. "Let's...just get it done."

~..~

And I will take
You in my arms
And hold you right where you belong.

~..~

Chris came up behind him, strong arms slipping around Lance's waist and gripping tight. Lance smiled to himself and leaned back a little, his hands over Chris'.

"What's up, Bass?" Chris murmured in his ear.

"Sales are up," Lance said, and smiled wider. "Up higher every second."

Chris laughed and squeezed him tighter; Lance couldn't help laughing back. It all just felt so *good*, to get an update every hour and know right down to the bone that this was *it*, the biggest record they could possibly break coming closer and closer to being theirs with every *second*.

Johnny leapt up, his phone pressed to his ear. He raised a hand and everyone grew quiet until he grinned and announced the new numbers. Applause broke out and Chris jumped up and down, his arms around Lance encouraging him to jump too--jump, or be knocked over by Chris' exuberance.

"I can't--Bass, I just can't get over it. This is the biggest thing that will ever happen to me," Chris shouted through maniacal laughter.

"Besides meeting us, right?" Lance turned his head to share a smile, found his gaze met by brown eyes so sweet with joy that he had to look away.

"Of course, besides meeting you." Chris laughed again. "Nothing will ever be bigger than that. Nothing ever has been."

"I feel the same way," Lance said, and this time his smile was small, just for himself. Chris was humming in his ear and his hands were hands gripping tight. "Like I'll never do anything bigger than this."

Chris whooped breathlessly, then loosened his arms and turned Lance around, pressing a fierce kiss to his cheek. "Don't bet on it, baby," he said. "I think you're going places. I promise you, someday all this--" he motioned to the party bubbling on around them-- "all this will seem like small potatoes."

"Chris," Lance said, and he put a hand on Chris' cheek, felt stubble and soft skin. "There will never be anything bigger in my life than you." And he pressed his lips to the curve of Chris' cheekbone, feeling the skin there warm and vibrant with life. Chris' eyes were dark, sober, remembering for just a second. But they cleared abruptly and he laughed with his head thrown back before dancing away, singing a silly song about alligators.

Lance smiled, watching him. Then he ambled into the crowd too, to celebrate their triumph.

~..~

I've loved you forever,
In lifetimes before.

~..~

He had the craziest dreams while they were on the PopOdyssey tour, about being a little kid and playing games with Justin on a grassy field, except they were very nearly the same age and Justin's eyes were a warm, golden brown, like his. Their parents were there, sitting on picnic blankets, and they were dressed oddly too, old-fashioned. Their mother--*their* mother--was carrying a parasol. The sun was warm, and everyone was laughing.

Then he was sitting on a beach with JC, who was throwing rocks out over the water. JC was singing under his breath, a doo-wop tune that he already had planned to work into the next tour, but he was singing it just like it would have sounded on the radio back when it was originally released. He'd pause every now and then to tell Chris about his plans to run away and marry his girl as soon as he could, take her to Hollywood so that they could be stars. Chris tucked his hands into his pockets and tilted his head back to feel the sun on his throat, listening to JC's dreams.

They were riding horses but it seemed natural, not like that first time where they'd mostly all bumped around and laughed themselves sick. Dogs coursed around them, filling the woods, other riders silently following their lead. Chris looked at Joey as the hounds streamed away, their voices rising. Joey turned to grin at him and his smile was a fierce slash of white in the midst of dark, thick beard. He said something in a language that Chris didn't understand, even in his sleep, and then charged ahead. Chris laughed with fierce joy as he followed.

Lance laid a hand over his and bent his head while their families applauded. Joey made a lewd comment and everyone laughed, even Chris, everyone but Lance.

"I *promise*," he repeated, and Chris stopped laughing.

"I know," he said. "I know you do, Lance." That was something he probably couldn't have said, outside his dreams. But it felt good, felt right and the crowd in the room fell away so that it was just them, hand in hand--

Until Lance's cell phone rang, just like it would've in real life, because Lance had to be physically separated from his cell phone in order for it to be turned off. And like always when the ring interrupted something, his face was blank and cool except for deeply flushing cheeks. Everyone was laughing, crowding in close to make fun of them and steal the phone and pass out hugs. Chris caught Lance's gaze again and smiled.

He thought, after that dream, that he maybe remembered a solemn boy playing quietly with him and Justin and their kites, the friend who helped bankroll JC's trip to California with money he made working at his uncle's garage, the man who stayed behind him as they rode out, steadfast protection.

Lance.

And he woke up wondering if he was going insane, or finally beginning to see things clearly.

~..~

Just close your eyes
Each loving day
I know this feeling won't go away.

~..~

Chris could be sweet but almost never with words--he believed in action. Don't promise me things, *do* them. Don't tell me how you feel, *show* me.

Words were Lance's forte. When it came to actions, he sometimes got things all mixed up. Extravagant when elegant would have done, brisk practicality when tenderness was called for.

But finally, yes. Lance's words, Chris' actions...something had connected, clicked. Sealed.

The bedrooms at Chris' house were nicely decorated in the beginning but no one remembered how anymore because half of them were tumbling full of junk and half of them had been redone hodge-podge. Chris couldn't stay in one place for long even in his own house and was constantly taking favored pieces from one room to the next. He was currently in one of the downstairs bedrooms because he'd been sleeping at home every night for the past couple weeks, and he said he wasn't used to having the same view all the time.

In reality, Lance knew he just liked to mess things up. He'd always hated rooms that felt like plastic dollhouses, perfect and unlived in, had always *hated* hotel rooms. He didn't want to have a room like that in his house. The best way to banish perfection, he had said once when he was drunk and philosophical and honest, was to exist within it.

So he dragged his CDs, DVDs, game console and laptop upstairs, downstairs, outside sometimes, on bad days when he felt particularly restless. Carted his favorite blanket and his clothes and his robe from room to room whenever he felt like it. The big bed he loved most wasn't really portable but he took the pillows with him. The awesome night stand that had been in the smallest guest room originally was a constant companion when he was home--

Tonight, it stood in the master bedroom because that room had the best bed, the big bed. It held a lamp, a few scattered condom wrappers, a tube. Water in a coffee mug. Two cell-phones, carelessly tossed, and a pair of glasses decidedly not in Chris' perscription--

Lance's glasses.

And on the big bed, deep in the soft sheets, Chris kept his eyes closed while Lance kissed his throat then nipped him gently. Lance’s hands were tucked between the mattress and the shifting muscles of Chris' back, his hips settled firmly between Chris' thighs.

"Open your eyes," he whispered. "Open them, I want to see you." And they did open, the rich color made darker by shadows and lust. Lance leaned over to turn on the lamp because the fading sunlight wasn't bright enough, not for this, not now.

Chris smiled, slow and easy. His body rolled, pushed against Lance's, a tease, a promise. "What are you waiting for, Bass?" he said huskily. "You ain't getting an engraved invitation to this party, baby."

Lance laughed and let his weight rest more heavily over Chris' body. Between them, their erections pulsed, heavy and wet. "Are you sure?" he said. "Because this feels engraved to me."

With his eyes rolled back into his head the way they were, Chris couldn't see Lance's smirk. But he could feel it against his neck, probably, Lance thought, and that was what had earned him the smack he got. His body shuddered with laughter and he reached between them, gripped himself hard, guided himself home but waited until he felt serious again, intense and tender.

Then he slipped inside, his lip caught between his teeth as Chris let out a high, quiet moan.

"God," he whispered, and it *was* a prayer--no, different, more--

It was gratitude.

In a few days, he left for Russia. Just a few days. Tonight, Lance had said, "Yes--"

and "I'll be back so soon--"

and "Of *course*--"

and "I lo--"

That was as far as he was allowed to get, because Chris had slid his hands down Lance's pants at that point but he still wasn't ready for *that* kind of intimacy. Getting upset about it would be pretty stupid, Lance figured, considering how it would probably get him kicked right back into the holding pattern he'd been in for *years*. Besides, he thought the way Chris shut him up with a kiss and then led him to the bedroom probably meant that he could try to say it again someday.

He knew how to be patient. He had a kind of talent for it.

And now he was moving perfectly inside Chris' body and Chris was murmuring dark, sweet, meaningless things in his ear. He hadn't pictured it like that, had thought it would be the other way around with Chris moving like this and him saying things that would've scorched the air if he wasn't whispering, but this was apparently his year for shocks and surprises and dreams coming true.

So yes. Gratitude.

~..~

Without you in my life baby
I just wouldn't be living at all.

~..~

While Lance was gone, Chris did all the things he'd ever done. There were animals to be cared for and business stuff to attend to, more animals now since he was keeping an eye on things for Lance too, more businesses for the same reason. Plus, Justin needed to have his hand held, and Chris was glad to do it, smiling into blue eyes and remembering little boys at a picnic. "Justin," he said a thousand times a day, "no, I know. We’ll be there for you," until Justin believed him

JC thought he was working too hard on their break and came over to cook dinner with him twice a week, work on songs for the next album. Chris didn't have the heart to tell him that cleaning up the messes left in his kitchen and listening to JC mumble the same five words two thousand times was not his idea of relaxation. But he liked the conversations they'd have after dinner, over coffee, about where they wanted to go next and how far they were willing to go to create the perfect record for them.

"All the way into obscurity," JC said one night with a cheerfully crazy grin, and Chris made spiraling motions with his hands and whistled like a dropped bomb. They laughed for at least two hours, after that.

Joey needed help with his daughter. She was at a stage of difficulty where she ran him and Kelly ragged and her grandparents shuddered with fear at the slightest hint of a cloud across her normally sweet face. Plus, he missed Lance too.

"I swear to you, it's like having a hole in my heart," he muttered one night, after five hours sleep in two days and three beers at dinner. Chris could do nothing but lean against his side, Brianna draped across his lap and finally sleeping.

The hole in his own heart was carefully obscured with normal life.

~..~

Lance was almost too busy to think about them, really. Every second of every hour was filled up with training and testing and proving himself over and over again, with eating everything they gave him and trying to make friends and to carry on like he didn't need to be with *them* in order to function at all.

After a couple months, he was pretty good at it. He even stopped turning around to point out interesting things to JC and listening for Justin's voice. He stopped waiting for Joey's hand on his shoulder whenever he stood in a crowd. He stopped waiting for Chris to rush into his room and whisper frantically, "Lance, if you can get me three Cokes, some string and a lampshade--"

He stopped waiting for JC to sing him snippets of song and wrote lyrics in one of his notebooks to show him when he got back because he wanted there to be lots of things for JC to sing, even if his lyrics weren't the best.

He stopped wasting the batteries on his GameBoy at random intervals and wondering what games would be out when he got back and if he should practice sitting cross-legged on the floor. Justin always won the marathons simply because he didn't have to move for *hours*.

He stopped thinking about the cooking lessons Joey'd been giving him for years and the way Joey still tossed him a checkbook once a month and asked him to help balance it, even though Joey paid other people to do things like that too. He stopped wondering what new words Brianna had learned every day and if Joey had managed to quit cursing when she was around. If he'd find what he was looking for in all the girls he chatted up just because Lance was gone and not there to witness the miracle.

Forgetting to think about Chris' laugh, the sharp edge of it when he wasn't really amused and the wild sweetness of it when he *was*, that only took a few extra weeks. Learning not to think about Chris' skin under his tongue and Chris' body around his, that was harder. He eventually managed to stop thinking about Chris draped across his back in the middle of the night and the way Chris looked at him when he thought no one was around to notice, but--

He never quite managed to forget about Chris sitting across from him at a conference desk or beside him in a courtroom, Chris' wrists in his hands for a flip, Chris pretending to steal his voice and holding a funeral for a dog, and making him try on Fu clothes even though they mostly looked retarded on him. He thought about those things as he stared out the window at night when he was supposed to be sleeping, as he watched the stars. He thought about how even they were not stationary and about how Chris flickered and spun.

And every night, when he tried to pretend that he wasn't thinking about him, them, at all, he knew he was full of shit and he marked another day gone with a near-silent sigh.

~..~

And I will take
You in my arms
And hold you right where you belong.

~..~

They were all waiting together when Lance was on his way back to the States, the four of them practically quivering with enthusiasm because it had been *so long*, even though it hadn't really been that long at all.

"Time is such a relative thing," Justin said, trying for earnest and wise, his arm wound tightly through Chris'. "It feels like years since we last pissed him off. Decades."

"I've been marking the days on my calendar, and I haven't even had to sharpen my pencil yet. But it does seem like he's been gone forever." JC reached into his backpack, grabbed both calendar and pencil, and jotted some words down in the empty dates. Probably song lyrics, Chris thought, and poked JC in the side because it was so ridiculous that he worked on so many different levels all at once, living his life and writing about it, and writing about writing about it all at once.

"I bet he didn't miss us," Joey murmured, his voice light and easy and rock-solid. Not wobbly. At all. "I bet it was so calm and quiet up there that he thought about touring and living with all of us and decided to stay, and it's just that no one's wanted to break it to us yet."

Chris laughed. He could feel his heart racing in his chest but they were supposed to be meeting in private this first time now and he was going to control himself, be cool and collected. He was damned sure that news would leak about this reunion, and they weren't going to make their relationship the focus of this, it was about *them*, the larger them, the *five* of them reunited.

Still, he'd had a dream where he pushed aside a brown-eyed Justin, a JC who had a cigarette caught between his teeth, and a Joey with an incredible beard in order to throw himself on Lance and rip off all his clothes and hold him hostage until he promised to never leave again. He'd relayed an edited version in email back when Lance had the time to reply, and Lance had written back to say that no, he'd be holding *them* hostage--when he came back, he'd have seen the whole world at once, and he was pretty sure he'd have a plan to take it over and they'd be part of it whether they wanted to be or not--

That letter had been printed out. Chris had it in his back pocket, with some of the others. It was all bland stuff mostly, funny because Chris could tell a good story and Lance was a sarcastic bitch, but otherwise just like letters home from camp.

"It's pretty boring here," Chris had typed at the end of those too-few emails. "Be glad, very glad, that you're away."

"I can't be glad to be away," Lance always replied. "Remember, nothing bigger? But I'll be home soon--you let me *promise*. We'll do something fun. We'll do something fun every day for *years*."

And Chris, rereading those words while he sat at home in his den with a dog on his foot and a ferret draped across the back of his neck, would close his eyes and wish he felt like smiling.

"I bet he missed us so much that he'll never get over it," he said, and he could've elaborated but then he heard it, Lance's rumble of a laugh coming from behind them. They all whirled, stared, as Lance strode into the room--he looked pale and tired and far away still, but his smile was huge.

"Hey, y'all," he drawled. "I hope someone brought me McDonald's."

And they tumbled towards him, all of them laughing hysterically and on the verge of tears, wrapping him up. Chris felt Justin and JC against his back, slipped one arm around Lance and one around Joey, squeezing with all his strength. He heard Lance whisper in his ear, "I'm over it now that I've got you here again," and he thought about never letting go.

~..~

I know this feeling won't go away
Every word I say is true
This I promise you.

~..~

The next tour, and they added another bus. Sometimes Joey had it, when his girlfriend could travel with them. Justin and Britney had it whenever they were dating again and could schedule each other in. JC had it when he was writing, when he found someone interesting to hang with for a while, and sometimes when he felt like being alone.

Chris and Lance never rode it together. Everyone knew it was like a moving honeymoon suite and maybe they didn't even pretend to date other people anymore but they weren't planning to be *that* obvious about it. Still, it always somehow worked out that when Joey was on it, Chris was on the two man with Lance, because he had a newfound 'fear' of being alone. When Justin was on it, JC suddenly found that he needed Joey's voice to balance his out on a new harmony. When JC was on it, Joey needed Justin around so that they could bitch and complain and sigh sweetly about their girls.

It was a coincidence they didn't talk about in public, and laughed about in the dark.

"So weird, how we always end up together," Lance whispered wryly, when the bus they'd stumbled into was rolling on and it was quiet and dark and they were separated from the world.

"Yeah, it's like fate," Chris said. "Fate and my devious--I mean, just fate. Because it's not like I'm ever devious."

Lance snickered and pressed his hand against Chris' chest, feeling his heart beat, then pressed a kiss to his nose, to each eyelid when they fluttered closed. Fate. He believed in it, and thought that Chris did too, even if he'd mock the idea until he lost his voice.

Fate.

"Chris. You know what else is weird?"

A chuckle, dry voice. "That thing Justin does with his toothpaste when he's brushing his teeth is weird. And the way JC eats his bagels is just bizarre--"

Lance laughed but shook his head. "No--although, eww. Those bagels are disgusting. But I mean...like, you. How you always make these crazy promises and things happen exactly the way you want them to. But you never ask anyone to promise you anything in return. Except that they always come home." He smiled against Chris' skin. He meant himself, pretty much, but didn't need to clarify--it was like that in discussions now. Everyone knew where Lance had been when he was *gone* and what he'd promised. What he'd been allowed to promise, the night before he left. And everyone knew where Lance was now that he was *back*.

Except, sometimes, Chris.

"Promise you'll make pancakes in the morning, then," Chris said, not laughing anymore. One of his hands was trapped in the still-gelled spikes of Lance's hair, almost uncomfortably tight.

"How about I promise that I'll never leave you again," Lance whispered, and Chris shifted uneasily beneath him.

"Don't make--" he said, but Lance shook his head, kissed him.

"We've been together a while now," he said quietly. "You can't honestly tell me that you don't trust me."

Chris sighed a little and stretched out, sliding his hands to Lance‘s shoulder blades, making Lance arch back a little. "Of course I trust you, Lance. You're one of the few I've always trusted." His hands moved down Lance's back, the gentle scratch of his nails an attempt at distraction that mostly failed. "But you. You told me you'd never do anything bigger than the group, baby, and look where you went."

Another kiss, gentle. He knew that Chris didn't mean that the way it sounded, understood why Lance had wanted to go--and that he was glad to return. That he hadn't felt *real* until he'd returned. Distraction again. "You calling me a liar, Kirkpatrick?"

"You know I am. Although--you have mostly stuck around," Chris murmured, then he laughed. "For years now. Masochist. So I guess I could potentially take back every bad thing I ever thought about you. Mostly because I need to fuck you within like, the next ten minutes, but also because you've...."

"Kept even the promises you didn't hear me make."

"True enough," Chris said slowly, after a long pause. He opened his eyes and they glinted, gleamed, even in the dark. His voice was suddenly a whisper, light and high, more gentle than anyone but the guys and his sisters would know it could be. "But I was going to say, mostly because I told you we'd make it through anything back at like, the lowest point of our lives, and *you* believed *me*."

"Of course I believed you," Lance said. He met Chris' gaze, fighting to keep his smile small, knowing he'd lose. "I loved you, even then."

"I know." Chris cleared his throat, shifted. Let silence fall. It was all right, because Lance had gotten the words out there at least. He could be content with that.

Mostly.

For the time being.

And then Chris let out a deep breath, one quick rush of air that washed over Lance's temple and made him shudder a little. He mumbled, "Lance. You know. Uh. That that's why I'm going to believe you, now."

Lance said, teasing, "Only now, huh? At the high point of our lives? What about when things bottom out again and we're living on the street, wearing tinfoil hats and newspaper shoes?" But his heart was beating a little faster; relief, gratitude, love pulsing through his bloodstream. It wasn't like, a confession of undying love and eternal steadfastness or anything. It was just a simple statement of faith from a man who'd never really had a lot of it when it came to other people.

Except that, coming from Chris, a simple statement of faith was pretty much a confession of epic proportions.

"Dude, I don't spend the big bucks like you do, throwing parties and leaving the planet," Chris said. "I am never gonna be broke again. But that's not what I meant--"

"I know."

"--because what I meant is that I *believe* you and that covers every point, in every life." There was a frown curving his lips and his eyes were gleaming dark, but that was just Chris. His hands were gentle on Lance's body and he was warm and mostly still. Serious Chris. Focused Chris.

"When you say things, you mean them," he whispered.

"Part of my charm."

"Part of what makes you a scary bastard, Bass."

"Part of what makes you love me," Lance said, greatly daring, completely calm.

And Chris didn't argue. Lance rolled over, pulled Chris on top of him, held onto him tight. "Thank you," he said, and Chris kissed him, and that was it--

They had made it.

~..~

Every word I say is true
This I promise you
Ooh, I promise you...

~..~