He remembers Lance in the beginning, and that's saying a lot since there isn't much Joey cares to remember about when this all started. Details are sketchy, vague memories of the staleness of their first gigs, the blank faces. He remembers how he felt, the attempt at making the best of it and the ever-present range of emotions from delight to discouragement, and everything in between. But mostly, he just remembers Lance.

Liking Lance had been simple, blond, smooth and just a little awkward. He wasn't pretty, not like Justin or JC, and with years to go until he'd reached his potential, there was no way to tell how the smooth boy from Mississippi would turn out, if at all. Strangely, Joey didn't care. He liked that Lance had been the quietest one, the new guy, who basically accepted his place in the band. And Joey liked Lance's unassuming nature, the way he sat back and watched. Joey could see that while Lance watched, he learned and then waited until it was the time and place for him to stand up and finally assume something greater, something larger than any of them could have expected, and then not so suddenly Lance became a sort of rock.

Joey had been proud of how Lance grew, taller in confidence than physical stature, the lines of his face tightening, angling into something well beyond beautiful. His eyes maintained their unblemished hue and simply shone with unabated enthusiasm and pure thankfulness for what he'd achieved. His work ethic never slowed and he simply became a man that Joey was proud to know and love.

Joey always recognized the fact that before, none of these things came easily for Lance, that in the beginning, he had allowed himself to be intimidated and sometimes driven to tears. Those occasions oftentimes brought Lance, weary and needing, into Joey's bed. And Joey hadn't minded. He liked being needed. He liked sharing a place with Chris as practical foundations of the band. Older, wiser, rocks. So, he didn't think twice about wrapping his own strong arms around Lance, so that the next day, Lance could return to work and take further steps in his evolution.

Joey always acknowledged the sense that Lance wouldn't hang on to him forever. As Lance's emergence into a higher level of stardom began, Joey forced himself back. He sat back and took over the role of watcher. Sadly, or more disappointingly so, stepping back often offered a view that Joey never wanted to see. Joey never wanted to see how Lance watched Justin during rehearsals. He didn't want to see the physical contact sought by so many, even when he knew that it was something that really hadn't changed a bit. And there was no denying the celebrity that Lance had achieved, the beauty of his face, the slow, calculated tones and words, the smiles that lit his lips but stopped reaching his eyes. Joey watched him schmooze, watched him revel in his popularity like it was the only thing he wanted, needed. And Joey wanted to stop watching and go back to being blissfully blinded by the Lance that, on occasion needed him enough to crawl into bed with him.

It stopped happening after the movie. They'd had such high hopes for it, of course, and the time spent filming had been some of the best in Joey's life, and he thanked God everyday for the opportunity to branch out and to do it with Lance. There'd always been the stigma hanging over them all about the band and who was most important and most popular. And Joey's seemed to fluctuate more than anyone's and he found himself the one with something to prove. 'On the Line' had been that. It was new and it electrified him, reviving so much of the passion the years had stripped from him. He'd found something he enjoyed almost as much as the band, something he was good at, and something he was acknowledged for.

The movie tanked. And Joey started sleeping alone.

The fight had been quick, over almost as soon as it had begun. Joey never confronted Lance, not really in the years they had been friends. It was always just better to appease him, like Justin, first because of his fragile confidence and then for reasons that made Joey feel ugly and used. And then when the talk of traveling to space became more than a possibility and all of their realties threatened to totally change, Joey called Lance on the transformation, on the image he was projecting. Lance had blanched, said it was good for the band, and tried to blow him off. But Joey had grabbed on, determined for once, not to let go, not to let Lance have what it was he wanted. And that was when Lance hit him, close-fisted, full and hard on the mouth. It had flattened Joey, both physically and emotionally, and he could only stare at this man that he'd been so proud to love and wonder where the hell he went. But Lance didn't stop, he pounced, jumped onto Joey, and it took all of Joey's strength to grab hold of Lance's wrists to hold him off.

He supposed that it was something that had been building in Lance. Years of acquiescence, playing second, third, fourth fiddle to guys who, really didn't rate their personal successes in rank or fan mail. But it still didn't make things easier to hear the words spinning through his head, jealous fuck, needy, and things that Joey never thought Lance could utter, let alone would. Then, Joey let go of Lance and caught a brief glimpse of his tear-stricken face before he leapt up and fled.

Lance didn't talk to Joey for days. He didn't talk to him, nor did he look at him. It didn't make things easy when it came to performing and Chris had, several times, pulled Joey aside and told him to fix it. For the first time, Joey didn't want to fix things. He half-hoped that they'd fix themselves, but the feeling in his gut was that it didn't matter.

Joey got used to sleeping alone, the section of his bed that Lance occupied, cold and empty. Before Lance hit him, Joey sadly lingered on the hope that they could go back, or at least, move on to something different, maybe better. But Lance needed space, more room, and Joey thought maybe, just maybe-

It had been a tiring day and longer night, when Joey was finally able to crawl into bed. Tour winding down and the possible changes before them all looming ever so close left Joey drained and exhausted. And it'd been weeks since Lance last spoke to him. So, it was a surprise when he heard the footsteps, muffled and slow in his room and towards his bed. The sheet rose and feel and the bed dipped where Lance crawled in. For a few fleeting moments, Joey wanted to push him out, yell and scream at him and tell him fuck off, that it was too late to realize who it really was that cared about him and would get his back for the rest of his life, not matter what happened to the band. But he didn't. Lance was heat and shaking life, spooning behind Joey, and then… clutching. Joey's breath caught for several moments before he blew it out slowly. Lance's hair, soft without styling products, tickled the back of his neck, and his breathing was sharp and shaky. He'd been crying. And Joey pulled his hand out from beneath his pillow and took hold of Lance.

"I'm sorry," the words were choked and muffled in his back, but Joey didn't move. Couldn't. No matter how he felt, Joey never, ever wanted to see Lance broken. And he knew, even before the words left Lance's mouth that he was.

"I'm not going. They didn't pick me."

A deep sigh escaped Joey's mouth and he couldn't decide if it was because he was sorry for Lance or relieved. Even through this, Joey acknowledged that he was no saint and that he was as selfish as the next guy, in this case, Lance. And he didn't say he was sorry. He, in fact, said nothing at all. He simply twisted onto his back and pulled Lance, shaking and rumbling, into him.

~end~