Alone Together

Here's the next chapter as we draw to the end of our little Australia adventure. And, as usual, questions abound. There are some answers here, but more questions too, and maybe a surprise or two. I hope you like this chapter. Let me know what you think. Also, on a related note: A website is in the works, so I hope to have this story posted on its own site soon. I'm having kind of a hard time thinking up domain names, and I don't want to call it www.alone-together.com because hopefully I'll do a new series, someday (if I ever have the time and finish this one). So send suggestions for domain names, and feedback, to denis141@hotmail.com. WRITE ME!

DEDICATION: This one is for Carla, because I think it's really sweet how she worries that JC and Lance won't always be happy.

DISCLAIMER: I don't know NSYNC, and this story is purely a work of fiction. This story also contains male/male loving (and occasionally some smut). Thus, if that's not your thing, or if you aren't old enough to read this, you should stop reading now. Sorry.

ALONE/TOGETHER

CHAPTER 36: FAR, AND AWAY: Part Five: What Lies Behind the Truth.

"It's only the wind

blowing cans along the street.

Someone's dustbin lid

playing havoc with the peace.

There's nobody hiding

behind a locked door

and no one's been lying

'cause we don't lie any more."

-- It's Only the Wind, Neill Tennant.

"He who wishes to teach us a truth should not tell it to us, but simply suggest it with a brief gesture, a gesture which starts an ideal trajectory in the air along which we glide until we find ourselves at the feet of the new."

• Jose Ortega y Gasset

"The truth is a snare: you cannot have it, without being caught. You cannot have the truth in such a way that you catch it, but only in such a way that it catches you."

• Soren Kierkegaard

"You look a little tired," JC said, running his hand through Lance's hair.

Lance tilted his head back and looked up at JC, squinting because the sun was in his eyes now. JC was sitting on the blanket they'd spread out on the grass, his legs stretched out in front of him. Lance was lying on his back, his head resting against JC's thigh. His hair tickled the bare skin there and JC smiled at the feel of it. The air smelled of lemons and dill and olive oil and the ocean. JC had made prawn salad for lunch, and they'd eaten it outside, with chunks of bread torn from a crisp baguette, and a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc. There were fresh strawberries too, but they'd not eaten those yet, choosing instead to rest and enjoy their afternoon alone together.

"Just relaxed," Lance said, rolling over while continuing to look up at JC. "Not so stressed out, which is nice."

"That's what days off are for," JC said, his fingers still interlaced in Lance's hair. "To relax and not think about work."

"And us with the place to ourselves. Imagine that."

"It was nice of Colin to take Aaron to the zoo."

"He really likes Aaron," Lance said, tilting his head and looking down across the long slope of the lawn. "And Aaron likes him."

"They're a funny pair," JC said, gently rubbing Lance's forehead with his thumb.

"Have you noticed how Aaron picks up Colin's accent when he's around him?"

"It's cute."

"Yeah, it is," Lance said. "And it's been really great how he looks out for Aaron on the set when I'm not around."

"I wonder why he never had kids. Or got married."

"He's been married. Twice I think."

"He's certainly handsome."

"Now you're just trying to make me jealous."

"No I'm not," JC said, laying his hand on Lance's cheek and rubbing it. "I'm just pointing out the obvious. Besides, he's not my type."

"What is your type?"

"You."

"No - seriously. How would you describe it."

"I don't know," JC said. "It's not so much a looks kind of thing. I'd say it's more a feelings thing."

"Like how?"

"I don't know how to describe it except to say it's how you make me feel, how you've always made me feel - important, and needed, and trusted, and cared for. But, you know, the most important thing probably is how wanted you make me feel. You don't just need to be with me, but you want to be, choosing over and over and over again to be with me, because you want to."

"I do," Lance said. "I always have. Even when I was away, all I wanted was to get back to you. It just took me a while to figure out how, and then when I did, and you weren't there, it was awful."

"I know," JC said. "It was awful for me too. Being in the house alone. There was just never a second when it felt right."

"It feels right being right here with you."

"Yeah," JC said, his voice softening, and a hint of sadness creeping into it.

"Is something wrong?" Lance asked, looking up at JC. "I didn't mean to bring up a sad subject."

"No, it's okay," JC said, rubbing the back of Lance's neck. "That's all past now."

"Long past."

JC was quiet for several minutes, looking out across the lawn, thinking.

"Do you think I'd ever keep something secret from? Or lie to you?"

"Not about something that matters," Lance said. "But I think everyone has some secret, something they don't want to share. Even you."

"We've been together a long time," JC said.

"Seventeen years," Lance said, smiling. "That's a lot of time for secrets."

"That's not funny," JC said, his voice suddenly serious and hurt. "It's not like, 'Oh, I haven't lied to Lance in a while, time for another one'."

"Whoa - Josh," Lance said, turning over and looking up at JC. "I was joking. I know you wouldn't lie to me, not about anything that mattered."

"I wouldn't."

"Sweetie - I know that. Do you think I don't?"

"No," JC said. "It's just something that Justin and I were talking about a while back. It's not important."

"It sounds important."

"That's not exactly what I meant," JC said, smoothing the hair away from Lance's face, where it had fallen when he'd rolled over. "But it's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"I promise."

"All right," Lance said, rolling on to his back again and resting his head where it had rested before on JC's thigh. "I wonder how Justin's doing with Mel's mother. Think he's killed her yet?"

"I'm sure he's thought about it."

"Mel will be sure not to leave them in a room alone together."

"When do they get back?"

"A week after next. On Thursday."

"In time for the wrap party then."

"Yeah, assuming we wrap on time," Lance said.

"Do you think you will?"

"I don't know. We get the scripts for the final scenes tomorrow."

"Are you excited?" JC asked.

"Kind of," Lance said, tilting his head backwards again and smiling up at JC. "It's been a long shoot, but it's been interesting too."

"How so?"

"I'm not sure how to explain it," Lance said, sliding one hand under JC's thigh and then turning on his side so his cheek was pressed against it. "My character, Jhon, I don't - he's a little too much like me at times."

"Gorgeously sexy?"

"Yeah, like that," Lance said, laughing softly and kissing JC's leg.

"So how else is he like you?"

"He's someone who had responsibility thrust upon him, and in a way he didn't expect, or maybe even wanted, at least not at first. And so Jhon worries he's not up to it, to the challenges he's faced with."

"You've certainly been up to yours."

"We have," Lance said, kissing JC's leg again.

"Well, then we didn't have to deal with the evil Spiden and his plans for galactic domination."

"That's true," Lance said, laughing.

"It seems like we've been away from home a long time."

"We have been."

"Are you anxious to get back?"

"I am."

"Me too," JC said, sliding his fingers back through Lance's hair.

"That was kind of fun singing again."

"I really didn't think you'd do it," JC said. "I almost didn't ask."

"I'm glad you did. It's a beautiful song."

"I wish I'd wrote it."

"Neill cracks me," Lance said. "When he was here helping us record it, I thought I was going to have to change our pool service, the way he followed that one guy around every time he was here, offering him lemonade like in some bad porn movie."

"He has become something of a dirty old man."

"But it was very cool that he let us do the song."

"He said that he'd always thought of it as a duet," JC said. "And I thought that since the first album had covers, it'd be cool to do one for the last album too."

"You think the world is ready for Lance Bass singing a lead vocal?"

"We can only hope," JC said, laughing.

"Does Justin know?"

"He thought it was a great idea. And he really liked the song."

"When's it being released?"

"I'm not sure," JC said. "Probably next year sometime - the album. And then the box-set after that."

"It's not going to be released together?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You think it'll sell?"

"Who knows," JC said. "But I'm proud of how it turned out."

"That's all that matters then."

The conversation eased to an end for a moment. Lance thought about what JC had asked him about having secrets. Perhaps he had secrets too. No, of course he did. We all do, he thought. From ourselves and others, and there was nothing wrong with that. There were many things he knew he did not know about JC's life. Things in childhood that he hadn't thought to tell him about, probably because he'd thought them of too little import to share. Or things that had happened when they were apart, like when JC was in Europe, in Barcelona. Lance knew he had studied drawing, and he knew about JC's favorite café. They had gone there together once, when they were in Europe seven years ago shooting a film. And he'd seen the building where JC's small apartment had been, and heard the story of Isabella Cavaziel and how she'd one day disappeared and never returned. But he did not know if JC had taken a lover in Spain, and had never thought to ask. Not because he did not want to know, or did not want to ask, but because it did not matter to him. All mattered was that he knew JC loved him, and he loved JC. So long as that was true, it did not matter what secrets lurked, or what small lies may have once been told. That was what he believed, and that was what he hoped, would always hold true.

"I love you so much Josh," Lance said, sitting up quickly and taking hold of JC's hand. "I really do."

"I think you just might have mentioned that before."

"I used to tell you more."

"Maybe," JC said, squeezing Lance's hand and then kissing the back of it. "But even when you don't tell me, I still know. I think you show it more than ever."

"You think?"

"Yes I do," JC said, kissing the back of Lance's hand, his voice softening. "Like I said before, you make me feel tremendously loved."

"I think I worry too much sometimes. More than necessary. "

"Oh my god," JC said, laughing. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Don't tease me," Lance said, blushing slightly. "I'm getting better. You know, with you and with Aaron. Or at least I'm trying to."

"No - you've gotten totally better. I mean, you better before, but it just seems like something really clicked in you while we were here. Even Aaron noticed it."

"What did he say?"

"He said you hardly ever make 'the face' anymore."

"The face?"

"Your worried look. He calls it your face."

"That's funny."

"It is," JC said. "But it's good, because Aaron worries when you worry. He's a pretty sensitive kid. He picks up on things really easily."

"Too easily maybe," Lance said. "For someone so young."

"He's not that young anymore."

"He's grown up so fast," Lance said, his voice softening and becoming deeper.

"He has," JC saying, his voice softening too and then drifting off.

Several minutes of silence passed between Lance and JC. The only sounds were birds calling, the rustle of the trees below, and the fragile tinkle of wind-chimes that JC had hung from the bottom of their balcony. He liked the sound of them at night.

"You make me happy," Lance said, putting his arms around JC and pulling him down so that both of them were lying on the blanket, arms and legs intertwined.

"I try my best," JC said, resting his chin against Lance's chest.

"I love you," Lance said, whispering it into JC's ear and then kissing his cheek. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Hmmm?" JC said, smiling. "I wonder if Lance loves me?"

"I love you, I ..."

JC covered Lance's mouth his hand, quieting him, and then kissing him. The two of them lay together like that for quite awhile, letting the time slip by, not counting the minutes, or even noticing their passage. It was as if this moment was outside of time, and that the ordinary rules no longer applied. They were alone together in a place that no one else could follow, or find, or ever be. It was their place alone, created in that moment, by them, and for them. And had someone been there, perhaps watching from a window, or from across the yard, he might not even have noticed them, except as two men, lying in on a blanket, holding each other one sunny afternoon, surrounded by the remnants of a picnic lunch they'd half-eaten before falling into a conversation that led finally, like a long wandering walk, to making love.

"We have a saying in France - L'appétit vient avec mangeant."

"Appetite comes with hunger."

"Ah - c'est cool," Stephane said, his usually serious stare becoming a half-smile. "Vous comprenez le français. Nous devrions parler en français alors. Oui?"

"Uh, non," Toni said, a look of flustered confused concentration taking over her face. "Ce n'est pas cool. Uh - je parle français très mal."

"Est-ce que vous préférez, then we will speak English. Like before."

"Thanks," Toni said, tossing several peanuts into her mouth from the small bowl of them that sat on the table in front of her. "It's easier."

"Yes, for you it is."

"Sorry," Toni said, eating another peanut. "It's just that your English is so much better than my French."

"No need to apologize," Stephane said. "It is good that I practice."

"Yeah, I've heard Ang complain to you about your accent getting too thick."

"It is from talking on the phone with my friend."

"Ah, you're friend," Toni said, trying to sound conspiratorial. "Do tell. Or is it some sort of secret lover you don't want me to know about?"

"Why is that we always end up here?" Stephane said, ignoring her question .

"I don't know," Toni said, shrugging and reaching another. "I guess because it's easier to drink in the hotel. Then at least we're stumbling distance from our rooms."

"You are very much about things being easier," Stephane said, shifting sideways in the booth and extending his legs the length of it.

"You prefer difficult?"

"Yes. Sometimes I do. Or most times."

"Why?"

"Perhaps because I know that I am easy to be bored. So, you see if something be difficult for me, it is required that I must be paying more attention. Like with my role in the movie. It was not too hard for me at first. To me, he was just a bad guy. But Ang he tells me, 'No, no - you are a bad guy who wants to be good. You are not bad.' And so it becomes interesting then for me. He is déchiré, divisé - how you say, torn, divided."

"Ang is a strange man," Toni said, shaking her head. "I don't know if I really like him. His direction tends to confuse me."

"I think then maybe that is what he desires," Stephane said.

"For me to be confused?"

"Bien sûr. Of course."

"That makes no sense."

"Why not?" Stephane said swinging his legs back under the table and turning to face Toni again. "If he believes that your character is someone who is confused, perhaps that is what he wants to come from you on film, no?"

"I'm not complaining or anything," Toni said. "It's just different."

"Viva la difference!" Stephane said, smiling.

"You are such a cliché sometimes."

"Well, I would not want to disappoint you," Stephane said sarcastically.

"Any-way," Toni said, draining the last of her martini. "What was that you were saying about appetites and eating."

"Ah," Stephane said, making the tight eyebrow-arched smile he made sometimes. "L'appetit vient en mangeant, mais la soif e'en va en beuvant. It is by Francois Rabelais. It means "Appetite comes with eating, but thirst leaves with drinking."

"I guess that's true."

"Yes but it is clever too, because he also speaks here of how some things in life, it is the having that brings desire, while with others, the having satisfies, and the not having is what brings desires. You see?"

"I see that you like to confuse me too."

"Not intentionally."

"Well," Toni said, picking up her empty martini glass. "I understand the being thirsty part, because mama's glass is dry."

"And so it is. Shall I get you another?"

"Yeah, why don't you."

Toni watched Stephane walk to bar. The way he walked reminded her of a cat. It was slow, almost leisurely, and aloof. He did not walk directly, but seemed to wander in the bar's general direction, arriving as if by accident. It was mysterious and nonchalant, at the same time, and Toni found it terribly attractive. She had asked him already if he was gay, and his answer was typically cryptic.

"I am French," he had said, and then said nothing more.

She had let it drop, content to have sex with him without knowing the answer, and it not really mattering anyway. Watching him lean against the bar, ordering their drinks, it occurred to Toni that the way he made love was much like the way he walked. Smiling at the thought of this, she reached into her purse for a cigarette and lit it. She liked that he didn't mind her cigarettes, and shared the occasional one with her too. Stephane had made the shoot much nicer than she'd expected it to be, and she was grateful for it. When he returned to the table, she offered him her cigarette but he shook his head no.

"I never noticed the way you walk before."

"You notice my walking?" Stephane said, wrinkling his forehead. "That seems to be strange to me somehow. You mean watching my ass?"

"No, no," Toni laughed. "The way you walk."

"How is it?"

"It is just interesting."

"All right. I don't mind that it interests you. There are worse things you could be interested in."

"Or better."

"Yes. Or better."

"Do you want to order some food," Toni said, finally seeing their waitress.

"Here?"

"Yeah, it's..."

"Easier," Stephane said. "But not so easy as room service would be."

"I bet that line has worked before."

"It has with you," Stephane said, smiling at her. "Several times."

"True," Toni said, putting her hand on top of his. "But not tonight."

"So tonight it is that you do not like me."

"No I like you. I'm just not...anyway. Not tonight.

"That is fine. One does usually not get something unless one asks."

"You're full of wise sayings tonight."

"Perhaps not all wise, but there it is."

"I didn't hurt your feelings though, did I?"

"Mine? No. Not at all. This is not a serious thing for me. Nor for you, I suspect. Being together, whether here, or in my room, it is something for us to do, something that is enjoyable - don't you agree?"

"Sure," Toni said. "It's fun. And it beats being bored."

"Precisely," Stephane said.

"Do you think we are being cynical?"

"No. We are being practical. And realistic. I am not looking for love with you, and I have no interest in romance or childish infatuation, like Alex who could not seem to leave me alone, and now at least pursues Colin. Infatuations like that are for children. IN them perhaps it can be charming. But for Alex - no. C'est très tragique."

"Et James - Ce n'est pas très tragique?" Toni said, smiling at Stephane as if she knew a secret, or had something on him.

"James," Stephane said, sighing, but not impatiently. "You are obsessed with this topic, I think."

"No," Toni said. "Not obsessed. Interested."

"It is what it is. I do not think too much about it."

"But you think about it some."

"That is true," Stephane said, tipping his glass at her and then taking a small sip of scotch. "I cannot deny that."

"Do you wish you were his age again?"

"You mean to be with him?"

"Why? Would you want to be?"

"I do not understand your question," Stephane said. "I am not his age now. This much is obvious, I think. I am my age.

"How old are you again?"

"I will be 38 next month. So that is 23 years older than James. So no, I cannot think of such things. C'est stupide."

But what I meant," Toni said, trying again. "Is if your 13 year-old - or, I don't know, your teenager self - if that person was here today, would he want to be with him."

"Yes," Stephane said, after taking at least a minute to think about his answer. "It is something he might want."

"Wow - why?"

"Why I cannot say."

"Or will not."

"I prefer who I am now," Stephane said. "That is all I will say. I'm sorry."

"Well, I think it's sweet how James has such a crush on you. I don't think he realizes how obvious it is."

"These things make one blind. It is only later in life that one learns to step outside one self and look to see how one appears to others."

"Now on that we agree," Toni said, slightly too emphatically. "But it wouldn't hurt you to be nicer to him, throw him a bone now and then - well, so to speak."

"A bone? I do not understand."

"To do something nice for him, humor him, play along a little."

Oh god no," Stephane said, frowning. "That is the worst possible thing I could do. It would be cruel. I am surprised that you do not think so."

"He's just a boy."

"Precisely. He is just a boy. And I am not."

"Well, let's not fight."

"I am sorry," Stephane said. "But I know how difficult it is to be his age and want something you cannot have. Someone. That is why I am sad for him. And because I know that getting what you think you wanted can turn out badly too."

"That sounds like experience talking."

"C'est vrai. It is true."

"Tell me."

"Maybe another time," Stephane said, pushing his empty glass to the outer edge of the table. "Tonight I am tired, and I think I will go to bed. Tomorrow is a big day, and I don't want Ang yelling again."

"All right."

"Are you sure you won't join me for some dinner in my room."

"No," Toni said, patting the top of his hand. "But thanks you for asking."

"Au revoir alors."

"Yes - au revoir."

Toni watched Stephane slide out of the booth and leave the bar. For a moment she considered following after him, changing her mind about joining him, but she thought again and decided not to. She'd have another drink, and order some food here. It felt like a good night to be alone.

"This place is packed," Colin said, looking around the pub, which was called The Hero of Waterloo, and was in The Rocks area of Sydney.

"I like it," Aaron said. "Me and my dad come here on Sundays for lunch. Just me and him. It's our together time."

"Lance?"

"Yeah."

"Ain't that a bit of strange sometimes, calling 'em both dad?"

"No," Aaron said, shaking his head as he took another sip of soda. "But it can be kind of funny when they're both in the room and I'm like saying 'Dad can I whatever' and they'll both turn around, or one will say no way, and the other one will say yes, like at the same time. It's funny."

"I'm tipping you can use that to your advantage sometimes."

"I try not to," Aaron said, laughing. "Well, not too often."

"You're a sly fella," Colin said, winking at him.

"So how come you don't have kids?" Aaron asked. "You'd make a good dad."

"Just never did," Colin said, frowning and furrowing his brow and then taking a long swallow of beer.

Aaron said nothing, watching the expression on Colin's face. He seemed suddenly sad, and it made Aaron sad to see it.

"Well," Colin said, taking a long deep breath as he scratched his chin with his finger. "That ain't entirely true, and I don't want to be lying to you neither. But it also ain't be a story I'm lookin' to tell ya right now, so no offense intended."

"Is it sad?"

"Tis," Colin said, reaching across the table and putting his hand on Aaron's arm. "But I don't want you to be worryin' 'bout it A-bomb, for serious, 'cause you and me got plenty o' 'appy stuff to be talkin' 'bout, now don't we?"

"Yeah," Aaron said, smiling. "Like your kissing scene with Brendan?"

"Oh, feck," Colin said, wincing and pulling his hand back like he'd been shocked. "Now why'd you have to go and bring that up. You'll be putting me off me food."

"I don't really get what Brendan's about," Aaron said. "He seemed okay at first, you know, nice and all. But I can tell my dad doesn't really like him."

"He's a caffler, Brendan, that much is bloody true."

"What's a caffler?"

"Sort of a combining of an arsehole and an eejit," Colin said. "So, you should be following your aul man's lead and steer clear of 'im. He's always talking shite and spreading nonsense about folk. But he'll get snared rapid one o' these days, and when he does you don't want to be anywhere near it. "

"Okay," Aaron said.

"Jay-zuz," Colin said, swiveling his head from side to side. "Where's our feckin' food. I got such a mouth on me I could eat a baby's arse through the bars of a cot."

"You're so funny," Aaron said, bursting into laughter.

"Yeah, well I be knowing the second half of this stale routine," Colin said. "And I be funny looking too."

Aaron laughed as Colin stuck his tongue out at him.

"I think that's our food coming," Aaron said, still laughing as he pointed to a waitress that appeared to be heading to their table.

"Here you go mates," the waitress said, when she'd arrived, and set the food on it. "Anything else for now?"

"Another beer in a bit," Colin said, smiling at her and then winking.

"Aw right, I be back around," she said. "Enjoy."

"Thank you," Aaron said, picking up a French fry and blowing on it.

"Can I ask you something?" Aaron said, looking across the table at Colin who had just taken the biggest bite of a hamburger he had ever seen anyone try.

Colin sat the burger back down on his plate. Over a third of it had disappeared into his mouth with a single bite. Aaron smiled and tried not to laugh as he watched Colin struggle trying to chew it. The hamburger in his mouth moved back and forth, distending one cheek, and then the other, as he chewed. His eyes seemed to bulge too. Holding up his finger, like you do when you say, Just one minute, Colin took a long noisy swig of beer and swished it in his mouth before finally managing to swallow.

"Lord - 'bout choked me-self that time," Colin said, taking a second swig of beer and then burping. "Okay, what be on your mind?"

"Do you think my friend James is acting kind of weird lately."

"Well, now - I didn't know 'im from before," Colin said, eyeing the burger out of the corner of his eyes like it was some kind of adversary now. "But I think he may have a bit of a fancy for Stephane, the way he's always taggin' after 'im. Is that what you be meaning?"

"That's part of it," Aaron said, then taking a bite of his sandwich.

"You feeling left out?" Colin asked. "Like he be ignorin' you?"

"Kind of," Aaron said, popping two French fries in his mouth. "He seems like he wants to be alone more, and like have more privacy, and - I don't know - like we don't talk so much anymore, except about stupid stuff."

"Well, it ain't 'bout you A-bomb," Colin said, about to take another bite of burger but putting it down instead and looking across the table at Aaron. "He's still your mate. It's just he be going through some changes, that'd be me guess. You'll see."

"My dad says its puberty?"

"Ah, so the aul man had that talk with you." Colin said, smiling at Aaron. "He's a good man, Lance is."

"My dad's great."

"And true it is," Colin said, picking the last half of his burger. "True it is."

"I didn't think you liked him at first," Aaron said.

"Nah-way," Colin said, shaking his head and scrunching his forehead. "He's a bit on the serious side for me taste. And at first he came off a bit over-protective side, you being such an obvious good fella. But listen to me here, there ain't a damn thing wrong with a father bein' a bit over-protective, I'm telling you that. So you best be cutting your aul man some slack if in the future when you think he's holding the leash a bit short on ya, because that tug you'll be feeling is his love for ya. Don't you be forgetting that."

"Okay," Aaron said, quietly surprised by the Colin's serious tone, a tone he did not often hear him take. "My dad can be really funny too. Like when he's home, and not on the set and all stressed out."

"Well, it be a tough bit too, making a movie. I don't need to be telling you that."

"I know," Aaron said. "I'm glad it's almost over."

"Two weeks to go."

"I've really learned a lot doing it," Aaron said. "Not just about making a movie, but like meeting different people, and stuff."

"You be knowing a lot for a lad your age," Colin said, winking at Aaron. "Except what be going on in the bathroom with ol' James."

"You're just teasing me now," Aaron said, laughing.

"Right you be," Colin said, smirking as he was about to take the last bite of his hamburger. "But if I was you, I'd be giving ol' James a bit of space for now, like respect for his privacy. The two of you will be back on the same planet again in no time. I promise you that."

"That was what my dads said too."

"There it be unaminous then."

"Thanks for talking to me about it though," Aaron said.

"Hey, what a best mate for?"

"James is still my best mate," Aaron said, smiling. "But you can be my second best-mate if you want."

"It'd be me honor," Colin said, tipping his beer glass towards Aaron, and winking at him. "Me honor indeed."

Colin and Aaron finished their dinner in silence and when they were done Colin paid the bill and they left. Lance had had to work late on the set, re-shooting some scenes with Brendan and a few others, so he had asked Colin to drive Aaron home. Stopping for dinner was Colin's idea, and Aaron had readily agreed after calling JC to get permission. No one had answered at home or on his cell-phone so he left a voicemail message. When they got back to the house, Aaron did not get out of the car immediately.

"Do you want to come in?" he asked.

"Nah, I better be getting along," Colin said, patting Aaron on the shoulder. "I told Alex I'd meet her for bevvies back at the hotel. She's been hounding me for days."

"Do you like her?"

"She's a bit of a muzzy," Colin said. "But I don't mind bein' 'bout her. I ain't in love with her though, if that be what you be askin'. She ain't to me tastes."

"I could tell you didn't like her much," Aaron said, opening the door and starting to get out of the car.

"By the way," Colin said, leaning across the front seat to look at Aaron through the open car-door. "You were bleedin' deadly today in your scene with Ryan."

"Did you see it?"

"Feck ya," Colin said. "You had Ryan looking actually scared of ya, like he was about to wet himself."

"Thanks for telling me that," Aaron said, leaning his head back in the car. "It's nice to hear I'm doing good."

"You be doing great."

Colin watched as Aaron closed the car door and walked back towards the house. The front door was less than twenty feet away and it didn't take Aaron long to reach it. Aaron waved at Colin as he opened the door, and he smiled when he heard the horn-honk that was Colin's wave of saying good-bye again. As he walked inside and pulled the door closed he thought of the sad story that Colin didn't want to tell. He wasn't sure whether it was a story he wanted to hear, but knowing it made him want to hear, if only to know. He wondered if it had anything to do with Colin's tattoo.

Aaron had asked about that too, and Colin had let him look at it closely, but said nothing more than it was a reminder of something he'd rather forget. That had seemed strange to Aaron, and still did. But it was a beautiful tattoo: a colorful wind-puffed kite looking like it was flying up his upper arm with its long tasseled tail wrapped twice around his bicep. The make-up artists on the set covered it every day, something that Aaron had watched them at least a dozen times. And as he done so he had each time wondered whether covering it up made it go away for Colin, whether not seeing it let him not be reminded. That was why he had been so happy when Colin had laughed and smiled and hugged him the other day when he'd given him a kite he'd bought for him, and they'd gone to the park and spent two hours flying it. That had been a fun day, and thinking about it now made Aaron happy, and reassured him that the story that Colin had not told him was maybe not so bad after all, at least when he didn't think about it.

Brendan crouched down and peered into the hotel mini-bar. The light from inside it illuminated his face. Ryan could hardly make out the rest of him. It was two o'clock in the morning and Brendan had just finished fucking him for the second time that night. Three used condoms lay in a soggy pile on the table next to the bed.

"Do you want anything?" Brendan asked, looking back over his shoulder to where Ryan lay stretched out on the bed. "A beer or something?"

"Water would be good."

"Evian or Perrier?"

"Either is fine. Or Evian. Evian would be good."

"All right," Brendan said, pulling two bottles from the mini-bar and then kicking the door shut with his bare foot.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

"So you keep saying," Brendan said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he handed Ryan the bottle of water. "Here."

"Thanks."

"I've wanted to get on top of you for awhile now," Brendan said, laughing softly as he leaned down to kiss Ryan. "I wish I hadn't waited so long."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"It was good," Ryan said, licking the remnants of the kiss from his lips and tasting beer. "You were good."

"It takes two," Brendan said, pushing Ryan so he'd slide over and make room for him to stretch out too. "Because you sure as shit did your part."

"Ryan the power-bottom!"

"That's funny."

"Someone called me that once."

"Who?"

"Actually," Ryan said, laughing. "I don't really remember."

"Ooh, a fellow slut," Brendan said, hitting Ryan's shin with his heel.

"No, not really," Ryan said. "I mean, I've been with my share. Or maybe more than my share. But I pretty much avoid the one-night-thing hook-up."

"I'm not exactly boyfriend material," Brendan said. "To be honest."

"That's cool," Ryan said. "I'm not really in the market for one anyway."

"I'm totally up for hanging out though," Brendan said, rolling over on his side and facing Ryan. "You know, for the duration, and then...fuck, who knows?"

"Yeah, that's kind of what I meant anyway."

"So what was that you were saying about me being beautiful?" Brendan said.

"Why do I only seem to attract egomaniacs?" Ryan said, taking the beer bottle out of Brendan's hand and setting it on the floor next to his bottle of water.

"Ooh, down boy," Brendan said, as Ryan climbed on top of him and kissed him hard on the mouth.

"Daddy not ready for round three yet? Because I am."

"You are bad," Brendan said, looking up at Ryan now and seeing him grin.

"I know," Ryan said, sliding his hand between them and grabbing their penises so that they were pressed together. "I like being bad."

"Bad is good."

"Very good."

"You want to fuck me this time?"

"You want me to?"

"I do," Brendan said, spreading his legs apart and slowly pulling them up so that they were locked under Ryan's arms. "Bareback."

"That isn't a good idea," Ryan said, whispering the words into Brendan's lips.

"Positive?"

"Uh-huh. You?"

"I have no idea," Brendan said, reaching for the bottle of hand lotion on the floor next to the bed and squirting lotion on his hand. "Never been tested."

"You don't want to know?"

"Not really," Brendan said, reaching between Ryan's legs and coating his erection with lotion. "It's not something I feel like I need to know."

"So you've done this before."

"Get fucked bareback?"

"Yeah."

"Lots of time. It's a huge rush."

"Not knowing," Ryan said, exhaling noisily as began a long steady slow push into Brendan.

"Oh man you're thick," Brendan whispered. "Go in slower."

"You feel good."

"Yeah, you too," Brendan said, looking at Ryan and noticing how good-looking he was, something he'd noticed, but not in the same way as right then.

"You ready for more?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Brendan said, kissing Ryan.

"Mmm."

"Do you know who infected you? If you don't mind me asking.

"Yeah, I do," Ryan said, now all the way in, and pausing for a moment to let him get used to it.

"You hate him?"

"No."

"I think I would."

"What if I'm the one that infects you."

"I'll never know," Brendan said, smiling. "Which means I won't ever hate you."

"You know what?" Ryan said, pressing his lips against Brendan's ear and giving it a quick shiver-inducing lick. "I think I'm really starting to like you."

"So giddy-up then," Brendan said, grabbing hold of Ryan's face with both hands and staring into his eyes. "Show daddy what you got."

Aaron and James were behind the house laying in the grass near the pool. Aaron's head rested on James' shoulder as he lay there staring up at the sky, which was bright and clear and blue. Together their bodies formed an L-shape, James' legs pointed north and Aaron's east. It was Sunday, and the first day in six weeks that neither Aaron nor James had to be anywhere but where they wanted. They'd slept in, gone surfing, taken a bike ride, and eaten a late lunch a half hour ago - tuna fish sandwiches that JC made for them before going back downstairs to work on the album. He had said the album was almost done, except for one song, the new one that JC and Justin were writing together. Laying there in the sun had made Aaron sleepy and he was about to doze off when James spoke.

"I can't believe we've been here for six months."

"I know - it went by really fast."

"I'm glad school's over with."

"Me too."

They lapsed into silence again, and Aaron did doze off, but only for a second. He woke with startled shudder, like people do when they doze off but don't fall all the way asleep. James felt Aaron shudder against him, and his head jerking and slipping off his shoulder. Lifting his arm, James rested it along side Aaron so that he could put his head back where it had been, but this more on his chest.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Aaron said, reaching down to scratch his right knee.

"I really like today so far."

"It's nice not to be working."

"Totally."

"What do you want to do later?"

"My dad said he'd take us to the skateboard park when he got home."

"Where's he at?" James asked. "The studio?"

"Yeah. He's picking up our scripts."

"Is the ending going to be in there?"

"I don't know," Aaron said. "I think we just get the scenes we're in."

"Are you going to be in very many?"

"I don't think so. Like maybe just one or two where I get back to Corruscant."

"I think your dad and Eric's character, that General Schirach guy will be the big heroes and stop them from killing the Prime Minister."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what will happen too."

"Isn't it still kind of weird not knowing for sure? I mean, how do you decide how to act your part?"

"That's Ang's big thing," Aaron said. "Not knowing how it ends."

"That makes sense," James said, after thinking about it for a moment. "In real life you never know how stuff is going to turn out."

"Some stuff you do."

"Like what?"

"Like if I was mean to you, or hit you or something, I'd know it would hurt you or make you mad or something."

"But what if I didn't care. Maybe I'd just ignore it."

"You do care though."

"That's true," James said. "I do. Even though I guess I don't always act like it."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not."

"We've both been kind of busy," Aaron said. "With school and stuff. And I know you've been like, you know, going through - I don't know, being older than me."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know - just, you know, we aren't both always going to like be the same all the time, not like when we were little kids."

"It's kind of weird when you're body just starts to change on you," James said.

"That's what my dad said."

"And all the different feelings."

"Like what?"

"You know, like down there," James said, pointing at Aaron's crotch.

"Do you have hair down there yet?"

"Not a lot," James said, not sure he was comfortable talking about this, but glad that Aaron was so mellow about it. "It sort of freaked me out at first."

"Can I see?"

"Serious?"

"It's not like I haven't seen it before," Aaron said, sitting up, turning around, and looking at James. "Like when you stayed over. And I've seen my dad's."

"That's different," James said.

"No it's not," Aaron said, persisting.

Yes it is."

"No it's not," Aaron said. "Besides, my dad said that I shouldn't be embarrassed by it when it happens to me, when I get hair down there and stuff. And he said that I'd probably want to play with it, and that when I played with it, like after a awhile, then white stuff would squirt out, like I was peeing, but it wouldn't be peeing. He said that was natural, and nothing was wrong, and I shouldn't be scared."

"He said all that?" James asked, incredulous. "Really?"

"Totally," Aaron said, smiling. "I could tell he was kind of uncomfortable, but not as bad as the first time he told me, like two years ago, when I didn't really get what he was talking about, and didn't really listen. But when you started acting kind of weird."

"I wasn't being weird," James said, cutting him off.

"Okay - sorry. When you started acting different, I talked to him about it and he told me what he thought it was. He said you could talk to him too, if you want.

"That was nice of him," James said.

"Well, duh - he's a nice guy."

"Have you tried it yet?"

"Yeah," Aaron said. "Like played with it some when I was taking a bath."

"It feels good huh?"

"Kind of tickly," Aaron said, smiling like he was about to laugh, but not laughing, and blushing a little instead. "Nothing came out. Does stuff come out of yours?"

"Uh-huh," James said, in a low voice, his usual shyness reappearing.

Aaron looked at James, watching his cheeks change color, and his gaze become just slightly downcast as the two of them lapsed into silence, their conversation like a wave pulling slowly back from shore. The sun was lower in the sky now; it had started its descent toward evening. James could hear the far off whining-buzz of a lawn mower and the sounds of magpies calling to each other in the trees below the house. The breeze had picked up. Aaron could feel it in his hair, which was as long as it had ever been, and darker now too, from being dyed for his movie role.

Lying back down on the grass, Aaron rolled onto his stomach and propped his head up by putting his chin in his hands. James just sat there, not saying anything. Looking at him Aaron felt fortunate to have someone in his life like James, someone so different than him in so many ways. And the fact that he was older than him, even if only by a year, was suddenly for him something he noticed, and halfway understood. Maybe it was better that James not show him, not give him that glimpse into the future that he had thought he'd wanted. Maybe it was better not to know, and to find out by himself what these changes would look like. And maybe he and James could talk about it then, having something in common, rather than something that was not now shared.

James looked slowly up and saw Aaron smiling at him in that easy non-forced way he had with a smile. His face was tilted slightly to one side so that his hair hung down from the back of his head, the sun filtering through it, making it sparkle and glow. That he found Aaron so beautiful scared him. It had been scaring him for awhile now. He could no longer look at him and not feel pulled towards him, and want to touch him, and to hold him, like it had always been so easy to do before, innocently, and without any reason other than they were near each other, sleeping in Aaron's bed at home, or lying on the couch watching a movie. But that had changed. For him, it had. Because the thought of touching Aaron, or any male, had for now turned into something else, something that scared him. He knew what being gay meant, in technical terms; but he didn't know what it meant in terms of loving someone. It was love that scared him, and he feared he could fall in love with Aaron, and that this might ruin everything. And so he felt frozen, trapped between the wild desires he felt, and his devotion to a friend that still could love with such a seemingly untroubled heart. How could he ever merit such affection? He did not know, and he could barely allow himself to consider the question.

That was why fantasizing about Stephane was a convenient escape, a way not to think of Aaron in any way other than as his best friend. He could think of Stephane's hands on him, and his hands on Stephane, wanting to do with him what he'd seen him do in that movie, Wild Reeds. He hoped it would not always be like this, for him, by himself, or with Aaron, alone with his fantasies, wanting to be touched in hundreds of ways, but for now settling on touching himself. He knew he missed the physical closeness he had once had with Aaron, and he wanted it to return. But the fierce feelings, passions, were too much to risk letting them be directed at Aaron. So he directed them at Stephane, or whoever else captured his fascination on any given day.

"I don't want to show you," James said. "It's too private for me."

"That's okay," Aaron said, smiling and jumping up from the grass. "How about we go swimming for awhile. You want to?"

"Okay," James said, standing up and smiling back at Aaron. "That sounds great."

He hated meetings and he always had. Part of it was that he had a hard time sitting still or paying attention. But the biggest part of it was that meetings always made him feel like he was wasting time. He hated wasting time. Ang was up there, standing in the front of the room, going on and on and on about something. It had started out about the need for secrecy - he'd been paying attention when that much was said, and the agreements they'd all signed, and then there was something about not everyone getting the complete scripts, unless they were in the scenes, and they'd only get the scripts for the scenes they were in, so that no one would have the whole script...blah, blah, blah. Flipping the script open, he decided to read instead. There was a note from Ang, and then a summary of the story so far. He read it.

Leia Solo and her granddaughter, Lana Solo, are killed when their ship is destroyed in the Battle for the Harangian System. They were fleeing with the System's deposed leader, Marshall Petan, and on their way back to Corruscant.

In a daring counter-attack, General Cassell Schirach leads the few surviving Jedi, and a bolstered New Republican Army, into battle against Bayreuth Stygian's forces, defeating them and retaking the Harangian and Thuringian Systems and thus reinstating the Treaty of Verlock. With the battle won, he puts the Army in the control of Windsor Fritsch, who unknown to him is a Dark Jedi.

Jhon Skywalker has ceded control of the majority leadership to Blake Antilles in an attempt to win his kidnapped son's freedom. The ceremony that will formalize the transfer of the leadership is scheduled to occur in three days. On that day, Sepp Wolff intends to kill Prime Minister Chee, which will then put Blake Antilles in control of the New Republic.

Delia Wolff has learned of her husband's infidelity with Blake Antilles and betrays him, telling Jhon Skywalker of the plot against the Prime Minister. Learning of this betrayal, Sepp Wolff confronts and then strangles his wife. He is now on his way to threaten Jhon against any interference in the plot.

In a reenactment of the battle between Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, Luke Skywalker battles Spiden, the leader of the Dark Jedi. Luke is mortally wounded, but before dying he calls to Lucas telepathically and they together use the Force to push Spiden into the volcano that forms the dark heart of the planet Sluivan.

Before Luke dies, he gives Lucas his light-saber and saying, "You will build your own one day, but until then the power in this is yours alone. Use it wisely, and without hate."

Luke's last words to Lucas are: "Lucas, it is only you who can mend the rift between the Dark and Light Jedi. All depends on you." Luke then dies in his grandson's arm.

Fleeing Spiden's son, Clasen, Lucas Anakin Walker makes his way back to the X-wing. Clasen is trying to kill Lucas and stop his return to Corruscant. As he reaches his ship, Clasen catches up with him.

Turning to face him, Lucas says nothing, but Clasen hears him speaking in his mind: "I will kill you if you force me to." Clasen steps forward but stops when he sees Lucas draw his light-saber. In that moment, Clasen lunges for him, but Lucas moves too quickly and he knocks him down from behind, and then runs to the X-wing.

Having evaded Clasen, Lucas begins his flight back to Corruscant, flying the ship with the help of R2-D2. He knows he must get there in time to tell his father of the plot against Prime Minister Chee. Two ships appear, and fire on the X-wing, partly damaging it before it finally makes the leap into hyperspace.

The transfer of power ceremony is about to begin. Jhon is making his way to the Senate Chamber when he is suddenly confronted by Sepp, who knocks him to the floor and viciously kicks him over and over again. Jhon struggles to get up from the floor, and when he finally does, he fights back. He gets Sepp on the floor and is soon on top of him, choking him. Sepp pulls his blaster from beneath his tunic and points it at Jhon's chest.

General Schirach arrives back on Corruscant unaware of the imminent transfer of power or the assassination plot. He goes to Jhon's office and does not find him there.

Lucas arrives on Corruscant and immediately makes his way to the Senate Chamber. Half way there, he stops running suddenly, his back stiffens, his eyes widen, and a vision of his father fills his mind. He can feel his pain and he senses that something terribly wrong is about to happen. He turns and runs back up the hall, towards where he knows his father will be, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

When he was done reading, he closed the notebook, and tried once more to listen to what Ang was saying. Something about not knowing how things end, how things will turn out, and that in life there is always more than one path, and something about fate too. But by then he had closed his eyes, ignoring the drone of words that seemed like little more than the sound of mosquito buzzing around the room. What Ang said didn't matter to him. It was just a fucking movie after all.

Like nearly every other thing about this film so far, the meeting had taken twice as long as Lance had hoped, and now he was running late. He had the two scripts tucked under his arms and was heading out of the meeting room when he heard Ang call to him. Lance stopped and turned around, smiling to avoid betraying the frustrated impatience he felt. He had plans to take Aaron to dinner tonight, just the two of them, and he did not want to be late.

"Hey Ang," Lance said. "What's up."

"Lance, I just wanted to tell you that you should please read the script before you give it to Aaron."

"Okay," Lance said, not really understanding the import of what Ang was saying or why he was saying it. "Anything I should know about now?"

"Well, as I said, we will be shooting more than one ending. Partly for the sake of secrecy, and partly because that is what my film is about - as I said."

"Right."

"One of the possible endings is quite dark," Ang said, lowering his voice. "And it leaves certain things somewhat unresolved. It is, well, you will see. But I wanted to warn you that it may be disturbing to you, and to Aaron. It is only a story, of course, but I have tried to give it a meaning beyond being just a Star Wars film."

"So in one I die," Lance said.

"Yes," Ang said. "But that is not...well, you will see."

"Now you're making me nervous," Lance said, frowning.

"I'm sorry Lance. There is nothing else I can do. Even I do not yet know how the film will end. I will not know until it is done. And, you see, that is what my story is about too. The horrors and pains that are inflicted in the world of my film are those that are inflicted by characters who believe they can control destiny, when they cannot. "

"My character certainly is not like that."

"That is correct. Indeed, he is the exact opposite. For most of the story, Jhon believes he can control nothing at all, not even himself. But that will change, as you will see when you read the script."

"All right," Lance said. "I should be going anyway. I'm late."

"You're son is a very fine actor," Ang said. "As are you. Truly."

"Thank you," Lance said, smiling again now. "It's been a good shoot."

"Have a nice evening then," Ang said, patting Lance on the shoulder. "And say hello to Joshua and Aaron for me."

"I will," Lance said, and then left the room.

He looked at the bottle through bleary eyes. The bottle was over half full. In the years past it would be empty by now, or nearly. His hand shook as he took another small slow sip of whiskey and put the cap back on the bottle. The whiskey didn't sting his throat through. He was used to this taste, but not to this day, the day that should have been a happy one, but was bone-breaking sad instead. The small picture that sat on the floor between his legs was faded, like the others that waited for him at home in Dublin. The pictures of a beautiful smiling boy not yet three years old, sitting on the lap of his mother, a women with hair so red it looked to be on fire.

Today would have been the boy's birthday. But instead it was a bleak day of mourning, a day that he remembered what might have been had he been there to drive them home, perhaps on a different route, away from the intersection where they were killed in a collision so severe there was hardly a body left to identify as his son, and as his wife. He had nearly died that day too - from grief. And it was a grief he still carried, nine years later, like a disease, lurking deep in his cells, waiting to revive once a year, or more often. It was unpredictable like that. Sometimes it would be the smell of a perfume that called it forth, or a far-off laugh of a child playing, or seeing a kite. He had so loved to fly kites, astounded at how high they could climb and soar, and then squealing with each long low swoop, the tail fluttering in the wind as it raced toward earth, but then soared again, even higher.

Looking across the room, he managed a faint smile seeing the kite in the corner, leaning there against the wall, with the ball of string lying next to it. Aaron had bought it for him, giving it to him without asking again about the kite tattoo. He had given it to him and asked if he'd like to go to the park with him and fly it, which is what they'd done, running back and forth across the grassing, taking turns flying it, laughing and pointing, and running to the spot where it a few times crashed into the grass, never breaking it. He thought about that day, and how happy it had made him, and how almost happy it made him now. He knew that was why the bottle was over half full, and this time would not be empty by morning, not like years past. And he was grateful for that, grateful to a child he had known for only six months but would now never forget.

From where JC stood on the balcony, gripping the hand-rail, and leaning slightly over it, he could see Aaron sitting cross-legged in the middle of the lawn. Lance was standing at the edge of the lawn, right where its gentle slope away from the house began. JC was watching both Lance, and Lance was watching Aaron. He was sitting there reading the final part of the script, the two different endings that Ang had written for the film. Lance had waited until after dinner to give it to Aaron to read. Now he waited for him to finish, waited to see how he would be. Aaron was nearly done now, although Lance had no way to know this; he was on the third to last page of the second ending.

Lance shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands buried deeply in his pockets, his arms pressed to his sides. He looked like a soldier there, on guard, looming silently, waiting for something to happen, or to prevent it from happening. A cool breeze blew up from the harbor. The sky was turning from dark blue to black. The moon was full and slowly climbing. It was at the mid-point of its arcing ascent, hanging there in the air like a speckled silver-gray round paper lantern just above Aaron's head. The light from house stretched halfway down the lawn, just far enough so that it reached Aaron's back. Only his legs were in the dark, like hidden under a black blanket that he had pulled halfway up over himself, covering only that part.

He had looked away for a moment, to his left and up, to see if JC was standing there. And as suspected, he was. He was about to wave at JC when he heard the loud gasp and turned to see Aaron slam-closed the script and throw it across the grass, where it skid ten feet further before stopping. Aaron stood then and looked from side to side, as if lost, and not knowing where he was. Then he turned and ran up the lawn, toward Lance, not knowing at first he was there. When he saw him, Aaron ran to him and fell into his arms, crying inconsolably, and holding to Lance like someone drowning would.

As Lance held him, held his son's sobbing shaking body, he remembered what JC had told him once, told him about the first time that Lance had ever left him and Aaron alone, to go to New York on a publicity tour for one of his films, when Aaron was not yet three years old. JC had told him that he had stood on a chair in Aaron's bedroom, looking out the window, watching as the taillights on Lance's car crossed the driveway's bridge and disappeared into the dark. He had watched for several minutes, almost as if he expected the car to reappear. But all he'd seen were the dark outlines of the trees, looking more like shadows than real trees. Then he had stepped off the chair, and JC told him that he'd been careful to be quiet, and not wake Aaron. But Aaron had woken up, and said, "Joss" - which was how he had said his name back then.

"What is it Aaron?" JC had asked, reaching into the crib and taking Aaron's small warm hand. "Do you have to go potty?"

"No," Aaron had said, standing up in the crib, raising his arms in the air. "Time for up now."

"Honey, it's too early," JC had said. "You need your rest. Go back to sleep."

"No. Time for up."

"I'll tell you what," JC had said, picking Aaron up, and resting his head against his shoulder. "How about you come get in the big bed with me."

JC had told Lance that he'd carried Aaron into their room, laid him down on the bed, and then crawled in next to him, happy for the company.

"Come here, little guy," JC had told him he'd said, pulling Aaron into his arms. "Now let's you and me got some more sleep."

"Where did Lansh go?" Aaron had asked, his voice sounding sleepy.

"He went away for a little while," JC had sai. "He had to go to work."

"Did he go where my Dad is?" Aaron had asked.

And JC had told Lance how stunned he'd been by the question, its obviousness, and its sincerity. He'd hardly known how to answer it, except to tell the truth.

"No, Aaron," JC had told Lance he'd said, kissing the top his head. "Lance didn't go where your Dad is."

"Lansh come back," Aaron said.

"Yes. He's coming back very soon. In just three days."

"Good," Aaron had said, and then he was quiet, and quickly fell asleep.

JC had told Lance how he'd laid awake for a long while, holding Aaron. And how he had told him how he'd imagined Lance boarding the plane, finding his seat, sitting down, and staring out the window, feeling sad and angry, not wanting to fly away, or leave, or be gone. But JC had also told him that he'd known that Lance would return soon, just as he'd told Aaron, and that when he returned, JC and Aaron would watch him drive up the driveway again, and across the bridge, and then they'd run downstairs to meet him at the front door, excited to see him, and happy that they were all together again, which was the point of returning, to be together again. And Lance remembered that this was exactly what had happened, and that when he'd returned, he'd been happier than he'd ever been before, to be back with JC, and with Aaron, and he'd told them as he listened to Aaron squeal at each kiss he gave him.

Now as Lance held Aaron, who continued to sob and cling to him, Aaron seemed to shrink, to grow smaller and younger, until it was almost as if he was holding him as a three year again, holding him and listening to him cry and he heard Aaron speak through his tears, saying, "Please don't let me die Daddy. Please don't let me die."

"I won't Aaron," Lance said. "I promise I won't."